Work Text:
Before tour
Frank knew that Gerard always had more to do in rehearsals than everyone else. This was part of the general truce they had come to as a band, and Gerard with himself; he could commit to his theme as much as he wanted, but everyone else could come and go at will, and Gerard had to give himself space to back out if needed. That last part had been Gerard’s idea, and Frank respected it.
It wasn’t weird for Gerard to be playing songs one minute and disappearing the next, was the point. All of them were called away at random times, of course. Frank had to train a new tech on his pedal board and strings sometimes, and he did the occasional podcast or interview blurb. Gerard had a lot more to deal with, though. More interviews with journalists. More label meetings. More approvals for stage design. A higher need for the occasional breather. And more fitting sessions with costumes.
Frank was surprised, however, when Gerard disappeared for one of these fittings, and the costumer’s assistant called for Frank after a few minutes. The assistant didn’t actually do anything beyond direct Frank toward the mostly-empty dressing room. Inside, it was just Gerard pairing a mini skirt with slightly beat-up fishnets, admiring their ass in a mirror. It was a good ass. Something about the skirt and tights without a shirt or shoes made Gerard look more naked than if they hadn’t worn a thing.
Leaning against the door frame, Frank waited for Gerard to notice him before he waggled his eyebrows. “Very nice.”
“Oh! Good,” Gerard said.
Gerard had that look on his face that meant he had a very particular image in mind, so Frank wasn’t very surprised when Gerard dragged Frank to a couch and pushed him onto it. Frank was surprised when Gerard immediately climbed on Frank, adjusting them both carefully until Gerard’s legs straddled Frank’s head.
“Hi,” Frank said to Gerard’s dick. Gerard wasn’t hard, but Frank’s dick was getting interested in the proceedings.
“What do you think?” Gerard asked.
“Uh. Big fan?”
Gerard…dismounted, was the only word Frank could think. They swung their far leg off Frank’s shoulder and stepped off Frank onto the floor.
Frank had to take a minute to calm down. Gerard probably would have enjoyed how flustered Frank was, but Gerard seemed deep in thought.
“Did you…have something in mind?” Frank asked.
“Pre-show blowjobs.” Gerard’s voice sounded as thoughtful as his face looked. “But I don’t know, something’s missing.”
It seemed obvious to Frank that the blowjobs themselves were missing. But he didn’t want to flatten Gerard’s…sex vision? Honestly, he was kind of touched that, if Frank was reading it right, Gerard was working to keep things spicy between them. He and Gerard usually only fucked around on the road, so the combination of the scarcity of hookups and their onstage foreplay was usually enough to get both of them revved up.
Frank kissed them on the cheek. “You don’t have to go to a lot of trouble for me.”
Gerard finally focused on Frank and frowned. “Of course I do. I want to.”
God. All these years making music and giving orgasms, and Frank still blushed like a fucking schoolkid sometimes.
Gerard ruffled Frank’s hair. “Okay, I’m gonna try something else. I’ll call you in a minute.”
Gerard’s next look couldn’t have been more different. Frank didn’t know a ton about dresses. Maybe this was a maxi dress? He felt like Jamia had said something along those lines. Naturally it was black and had a matching corset over the top with silver details. Kinda like if Stevie Nicks tripped into a goth club.
“Couch,” Gerard said, pointing.
Frank obligingly assumed the position he’d had before. He would have thought Gerard climbing on him would have lost some of its zing with familiarity, but to the contrary, his cock was way more ready to rock.
This was for two reasons:
One, Gerard wasn’t wearing underwear. They had been before, but the underwear had been black briefs almost exactly the size of the mini skirt, so there wasn’t a lot left to the imagination. Still, different having your hookup’s cock separated by fabric, and having it fully dragging on your cheek.
Two, there was something…soothing about the skirt around Frank’s head. Warm! That was it. Frank’s head ached a bit less with the extra heat. It was the same principle as wearing layers onstage. He wasn’t sure this was enough to keep his jaw from aching—he loved having his face fucked, but he had to do it less than he liked because of that chronic pain bullshit—but it was definitely better.
“There,” Gerard said, from above Frank. “You’re more relaxed.”
Frank dragged his hands up and down Gerard’s legs. “Yeah, this is good. Can I actually suck your dick now?”
“Yes,” Gerard said, and proceeded to fuck Frank’s mouth with gusto.
On tour
It wasn’t until Gerard showed up in his private dressing room before one show that Frank realized that Gerard had other surprises up his sleeves. Or in his cleavage? Gerard was dressed like fucking Jessica Rabbit. Form-fitting red dress? Yes. Red wig? Yes. Red lipstick? Yep. The gloves were black and latexy, matching black boots with silver spikes, but hey, there were the band’s aesthetic standards to meet.
“Jesus,” Frank said. “Did you psychically steal my teenage brain’s spank bank?”
Gerard giggled. That was one of Frank’s favorite parts about them; Gerard always defaulted to being a fucking dork. After the laughter died off, they did try a poutier look, but they snorted, and it started all over again.
Once things quieted again, Frank said, “This looks way too tight for me to blow you under. Or jerk you through? Actually, did you tuck?”
Gerard hummed noncommittally. “I have to mess up my lipstick a little. For the show.”
“Well. If it’s for the show.”
Before he got to his knees, Gerard checked to make sure Frank’s heating packs were well-secured to his wrists. Frank used the opportunity to grab a pillow from the side of the couch and put it on the floor. Gerard grinned as he knelt on the pillow and undid the fly of Frank’s jeans. Frank’s cock was super hard and leaking a bit.
“Happy to see me,” Gerard said in the dorkiest way possible, and then proceeded to suck Frank’s brain out through his cock. It was something else, Gerard’s usual prowess with dick-sucking combined with that redder-than-sin lipstick. It definitely got all over Frank’s cock, and he could feel it just a little, that waxy sensation that lipstick had sometimes.
Luckily, Frank was a firm adult and waited to come down Gerard’s throat for…at least several minutes.
Gerard didn’t go high femme (or messy femme, or even femme at all) every night. The reasons for what Gerard deemed “dad wear” were many. They didn’t want to be stuck if not feeling it, for one. They had deliberately left some pockets to give the tour laundry breaks, for another.
The ones Frank noticed the most were the low mood days. Gerard did pretty well these days, all things considered; he had regular Zoom therapy appointments even while traveling, he was on a medication regimen that was working, and he knew when to take days off. But even with everything, sometimes he just woke up…quieter. It wasn’t too different from Frank’s bad pain days. Just a little less obvious.
Frank’s body had been fucked up for years, long before the bus accident that took everything from “disaster” to “fucking hell”, long before he’d fucked his wrists up helping his daughter. He’d had to learn the hard way how to ask for space or help. It was nice to know that Gerard needed those things too, that Gerard was comfortable enough after decades in Frank’s sphere that they didn’t hesitate to ask, and they didn’t take Frank’s occasional nos as anything more than what they were: a no for now.
Some of the best nights were when Frank’s heating-his-body regimen didn’t help, and Gerard didn’t wake up at the energy levels at which he preferred to be. Best of all was when those nights lined up with a hotel night and they could spoon in bed, just existing with each other while it hurt. Sometimes Gerard would still be wearing an item or two of stage clothes, soft and with just a bit of that old funk that Frank associated with the old days touring.
On bus nights, though, they would exchange handjobs in the bus lounge, a quiet moment of relief as the world kept churning around them.
There were multiple last-nights of tour. The end of the Europe leg. The end of the US leg. The festival run they finished. Frank dressed special at the end of the Australia leg, which was the ending that had no other endings on the calendar. He didn’t say a word about it to Gerard, initially; when he needed help putting everything on, he called on a favor he had standing with Ray. (Not that Toro wouldn’t have been willing anyway. He was a good guy like that.)
Frank deliberately kept Gerard in the dark until they crawled to Frank in the middle of the show and leaned against his leg to scream into the mic. They had been wearing something vaguely tight, the dress deliberately ripping and tearing as Gerard rolled and lunged and bounced. It made a pretty picture when Gerard’s fingers felt the bumps of stockings and garters under Frank’s baggy pants and Gerard looked up at Frank, eyes shining. Frank waggled his eyebrows twice and went into the chorus with abandon.
After the show was over, and everyone had gotten past the first we-finished rush into a somewhat mellower comedown, Gerard declared brightly, “Me and Frank are gonna get changed,” and he pulled Frank into the locker room showers. The band had done the tour in a lot of these spaces, cushy and sterile at the same time, the tang of chemicals trying to hide the masculine funk that was expected to live here. And that was where Frank was gonna get fucked by his polyamorous, he/they lover while Frank wore lingerie.
It was good to be Frank, sometimes.
Frank casually handed Gerard a lubed condom and leaned against the wall by the showers as Gerard pulled his pants down. Dirty fabric gave way to fancy lingerie, with plenty of holes caused from stage motion. Gerard pulled Frank’s shirt off and the full setup was revealed: red corset, see-through red mesh panties, stockings of the same fabric, old-style garters holding the whole thing up. A bit flashy for Frank’s tastes—fancy was one thing, the bows on the back of the stockings were another—but one look at Gerard’s glowing and hungry eyes? Yeah. Frank would have worn a goddamned hoop skirt for half of Gerard’s intensity.
“I’m gonna destroy the panties with my teeth,” Gerard growled, and they dropped to their knees. Frank couldn’t help but wince, but hopefully, the combination of post-show adrenaline and time to rest later would get them through.
His thoughts disappeared as Gerard kept his promise, grabbing the already-ripped panties with fingers and teeth and pulling, revealing Frank’s ass fully. Gerard palmed Frank’s flesh eagerly.
“Gonna get you ready,” Gerard said. The words danced across Frank’s skin and barely made it to his ears, but Frank leaned into Gerard’s touch, knowing what was coming.
And oh, after months of tour and balancing pain and work and all the shit that came with existence, Gerard grabbing Frank’s dick (with spit to ease the way a bit) and putting his tongue inside Frank’s ass was exactly what the doctor fucking ordered. Frank groaned so loud, the sound echoed off the tiles and back to him loudly enough to make his teeth rattle.
Gerard knew Frank well enough to know when he was about to come and when he was ready to take Gerard’s cock. Unfortunately. The former came before the latter, so Gerard took their hand off Frank’s cock seconds before precome became ejaculation, fast enough to make Frank hips jerk in the air and grunt in reflexive frustration. There were a few more moments of Gerard’s mouth, some time where Frank’s body was trying to decide if Gerard’s tongue alone was doing enough for him to cross the distance to orgasm, before Gerard pulled back and Frank heard the sound of the condom wrapper ripping.
He turned, feeling shaky and debauched, and plucked the lubed condom out of Gerard’s hand.
“Let me,” Frank said.
Gerard was still dressed, so there was a moment where Frank and Gerard struggled to lift the remnants of Gerard’s dress and pull their cock out of their briefs before Frank could roll the condom on Gerard’s dick. It was so fucking hot, how Frank was basically naked and Gerard was messily covered and they were rushing to fuck. Frank needed Gerard so bad, and Gerard obviously felt the same.
Frank thought they would fuck standing, but they both ended up on the floor somehow, and Gerard worked his way inside Frank while Frank laid on his side on cold tile. He wished, for a second, that he felt up to bracing himself for a good hands-and-knees screw, but this option was rough enough that Frank would be taking painkillers for the next week, without actually causing permanent damage. It was just right.
Gerard held up one of Frank’s legs as he slowly worked his cock in and out, then faster and faster. Frank wriggled as best he could to meet Gerard’s thrusts and grabbed his cock, jerking in time with the rhythm. Thankfully, he had enough precome to smooth the way, if imperfectly.
“Close,” Gerard grit out. Frank sped up his hand, faster, faster, until…
Gerard got there first, giving a couple hard thrusts before filling the condom and yelling out their orgasm. Frank took a few more heartbeats before he came, marking the floor and wall with his spunk.
They quieted and stayed like that for a moment, fully entangled. Frank could feel his heart pounding all over his body, and Gerard’s heartbeat sometimes too. He made a wordless sound of complaint when Gerard pulled out of him, but Gerard shushed Frank soothingly and rearranged them both until Gerard was sitting up against the wall (away from where Frank came on it) and Frank was resting against them, sitting between their legs.
Soon, they would be going back to their lives outside whatever My Chemical Romance was. It was a good life. Frank played with friends around the world and spent time with Jamia and the kids in-between. Gerard would pick up a variety of projects, sometimes with Toro or Mikey Way or neither, and he’d run his D&D group, and they would spend time with Lindsey and Bandit. Frank and Gerard would sext or send each other regular thirst traps. Their daily, intense fucking would turn into a slow burn with an occasional boiling over.
All of that, as important and vital as it was, was later. Frank knew better than most that next moments weren’t guaranteed. So as he sat with Gerard, both of them covered in sweat and smears of Gerard’s mascara, and as he listened to the distant thuds of tour death and the loud echoes of their own breaths, he lived. Everything else could wait.