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When I Think About You (I Touch Myself)

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Frank wakes up with a mouthful of dirty hoodie. The fabric is sour, rank from sweat and god knows what else, but it tastes better than the inside of his mouth right now. He makes a face, sticking his tongue out like moving it might shake free whatever died in his mouth during the night. His shoulders are sore from sleeping half-upright, thigh half-numb underneath him.

“Jesus,” he grumbles. His voice is fucking shot, rough and kind of phlegmy, and it takes him a second to realize that it isn’t his voice.

Frank opens his eyes and stares down at his own sleeping face. For a second he’s horrified, then he realizes that he totally does look like some kind of angelic baby when he’s asleep, fucking Ray was right, and then he’s mostly back to horrified.

“Jesus fuck,” he says and slaps his hands against his face—not his face, the face that he can feel moving with every thought—which doesn’t help as much to figure out what’s going on as it looks like it would in movies. They always seem able to slide their fingers over unfamiliar cheekbones and eyebrows and fucking ears and know whose face they’re wearing. It isn’t until Frank hits a disgusting skuzzy grease coast of a hairline that he figures it out.

“Gerard.” He punches his rightful body’s shoulder, and tries not to think about how weird it is to hear Gerard’s voice squawking out his own name. “Motherfucker, wake up.”

Gerard-in-Frank’s-body wrinkles his nose, and it is kind of like a sleepy kitten, Frank retroactively takes back all the times he pulled Toro’s hair for talking shit about his sleeping habits. “Mmm?”

Frank punches Gerard again and gets distracted staring at the pale, blank hand that he controls now. He shoves the sleeve of the hoodie up to his elbow, and even though he already knew what he would find, it’s a fucking trip to see nothing but pasty empty skin. Frank looks back down at Gerard and watches his own eyes flutter open.

“Oh my god.” Gerard reaches up towards him, with an expression of pure wonderment that Frank is pretty sure has never been on his face before. “You’re inside of me.”

Frank wrinkles his nose. “I guess I am.” As weird as it is to hear Gerard’s voice delivering his words, it’s even worse the other way around. “What happened?”

“Don’t know.” Gerard cups his hand around Frank’s cheek, still gazing at him. “Does it matter?”

“Are you serious?” Frank stares at him. “We switched bodies, of course it fucking matters. How are we supposed to switch back?”

“You’re beautiful,” Gerard tells him seriously, stroking Frank’s cheek, which is actually Gerard’s cheek, and Frank actually recognizes the face Gerard is making now. He’s only ever felt it from the inside, but now that he can see the bitten lip, the flush at the apples of his cheeks, his eyes slightly widened, he has no idea how he ever thought he was subtle. “Can I fuck you?”

“What the fuck, Gee?” Frank doesn’t pull away, just tips his face into Gerard’s touch. “You are such a fucking narcissist.”

“Mmm,” Gerard says, tracing his fingers over the shape of his lips. Frank darts his tongue out, flicking against Gerard’s fingertips, and Gerard gasps. Frank tastes his own skin, salty and sour from old sweat and faintly metallic from the strings of his guitar and cans of beer last night. Gerard is looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world, except, of course, Gerard is looking at himself.

“Freak,” Frank mumbles, but he pushes forward, pinning Gerard on his back. It’s so strange to watch himself go like that; he never goes down without a fight, but he’s not him, he’s Gerard, and Gerard just moans and sprawls on the bench seat under Frank. Frank is staring down at his own wanton, desperate face, and it creeps him out way too much. He has to close his eyes before he dives in for a kiss, so he misses, mashing their noses and clacking their teeth together. Gerard cups either side of his face and guides him carefully, and Frank finds out what his own lips feel like (thin and kind of chapped). They both have shitty morning breath, but Gerard isn’t shying away so neither does Frank.

He keeps his eyes shut while they kiss, and it’s easier, even though it’s obvious that everything is wrong. He feels things that he shouldn’t, little tingles when Gerard strokes a hand down his side or worms a hand between to pinch his nipple hard. That actually makes him shout, eyes fluttering open again. Gerard is giving him the most shit-eating grin Frank’s ever seen, which looks totally at home on his face, and Frank realizes that he isn’t nearly taking enough advantage of his special knowledge.

Frank slides his hand into Gerard’s hair, playing over the buzzed side before he twines his fingers through the longer dark locks and pulls hard. Gerard keens, arching up, and Frank suddenly doesn’t want to close his eyes anymore. He wants to watch every fucking second of this, drink in every stupid expression that crosses his face, savor each curl of his lip and the way his pupils have dilated wide and dark. Gerard had the right idea all along; when do you ever get the chance watch yourself have sex? Video isn’t the same, and this is like the ultimate in masturbation: everything you know you love, you can do, with the thrill of it coming from someone else’s touch.

Gerard is so rough with him(self); Frank isn’t surprised, exactly, but it is startling to feel the way his cock goes crazy hard when Gerard gnaws on his neck. He grinds against Gerard’s hip and keeps tugging at his hair. He knows that Gerard has to be dying, and he hears it when Gerard groans under him.

“Shut up,” Frank mumbles into his sweaty scorpion. He never thought he’d have the opportunity to lick his own tattoos, but they taste just as good as he always imagined they would. Gerard whines and Frank grunts against his neck. “Shut up, Gerard, you’re going to wake everybody.” It’s light enough out that the rest of their band might have gone to grab coffee (and ditched them, fuckers), but they could just as easily be asleep, nestled and hidden in the boxes of shit packed in their van.

“I wanna fuck you,” Gerard moans. He kisses a sloppy, wet trail along Frank’s jaw until he can lick into his own mouth.

“Narcissist,” Frank mumbles back at him, but he’s pretty sure it just comes out muffled from around the mouthful of tongue. Gerard has such a fucking kink for himself, it’s ridiculous. But for now, Frank is on the receiving end and it’s really hot.

He shifts his weight off of Gerard, just for a second, but Gerard takes advantage. He shoves, and Frank forgets how strong he is when he tries. He’s a scrapper, even if he spends most of his time on stage instead of in the pits these days. When Frank struggles back, he realizes that Gerard has never fought off anything more vicious than an errant mic cord. Everything is flipped, and from Gerard’s grin, he’s into it. Frank is pretty damn into it too; there’s something about being the one (not really) struggling against a guy pushing you down.

Gerard rubs his hands over Frank’s chest, tracing down the stained old hoodie Gerard has been wearing the entire tour down to rest over his cock. “You’re so hot,” he purrs down at his own face, and Frank is so over being freaked out. This has to be a once in a lifetime thing; he’s going to enjoy himself.

“Stop fucking preening.” He pinches Gerard’s side and bucks his hips up. “You wanna fuck me?”

Gerard stares down at him for a minute, and Frank realizes that he’s totally getting off on being dirty talked by himself. “God, yeah.”

“Yeah, you do.” Frank smirks and grinds his hips up into Gerard. Now that he knows what he wants, it’s easy enough to push him, rub his chest and pout up at Gerard. He knows what Gerard looks like when he makes these faces, he's seen it enough on stage to do a passable impression. Let Gerard feel how hard Frank’s dick gets every time he plays his sexy stage games. “I’m fucking hot.”

The slutty double thing is enough to push Gerard over the edge; there’s no more time for teasing. They both shove their jeans down around their thighs, because they would rather spend their quarters on beer than the Laundromat and the denim is sweaty as fuck. They’re all grubby at this point, and Frank is sure that by the time they’re done, he’ll be dying for a shower.

Gerard reaches into his briefs and grabs his cock. It’s Frank’s cock, really, and Gerard gives him a totally filthy look Frank absolutely loves. He’s inspired, so he does the same, and he groans when he gets a hand around his (Gerard’s) dick. It’s fucking big, he already knew that, but feeling it in his hand is totally different.

While he gets to know Gerard’s dick, Gerard is moving over him again, tugging his briefs down and spitting a fat wad of saliva into his palm to fist his cock with.

“Thought you were going to fuck me,” Frank says, squinting up at Gerard as suspiciously as he can without stopping jerking off.

“No time. No space.” Gerard grunts and pushes at Frank’s hip. “Roll over? Please, fuck.”

Frank wants to say something biting, but he’s kind of always wanted to hump Gerard’s ass. He never thought he would be in Gerard’s body when it happened, but that’s the way it goes. He goes willingly, flipping over onto his belly with his hand trapped under him still on his cock. Gerard settles on top of him, his dick nestled thick and spit-slick between Frank’s ass cheeks. Frank bites the inside of his forearm to keep from moaning too hard and arches back, sticking his ass up in the air like a horny cat. He knew Gerard’s body could do this, make such a needy fucking pose, and he can feel arousal burning in his gut. He’s presenting himself, like he would never do in his own body, but it feels good and he knows it isn’t all Gerard.

Gerard’s breath is hot against the back of his neck while he grinds against Frank’s ass. He’s panting, so fucking into it, and Frank can’t even laugh at him because he’s right there with him. His cock just fits there, somehow, and Frank has no idea why he and Gerard never did this when they were in the right bodies. Maybe Gerard can only get it up like this for himself, but Frank thinks he could convince him, if only so he could feel the sweet, wet drag of his dick between Gerard’s thick round cheeks from the other side.

Frank is lost enough in the rhythm of it, grinding back and the slap of their thighs together front-to-back, that he almost doesn’t realize Gerard is talking to him. “Hey. Hey. Roll over.”

“Jesus Christ, Gerard,” Frank groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I already fucking did."

“I want to see you,” Gerard hisses against his ear, breath hot and rank and shiver-inducing. “Gotta see your face, please, please, please.”

Frank knows he would keep chanting forever if he thought it would help, and then the guys would really wake up. (Not that Frank can honestly believe anyone in the van with them is still sleeping through this.) “Fine, shit, I’m going.” He squirms until Gerard pulls back, then flips onto his back. He stares up at Gerard-in-his-body while Gerard’s hand flies over his cock.

“You are so fucking hot,” Gerard tells him, staring into his own face while he strips his dick, going fast enough that Frank is kind of afraid he’ll be chafed when he gets his body back. Which, hey, isn’t something that really occurred to him until now, but it's out of his mind just as quickly when Gerard grunts and comes on Frank, over his dick and his thighs, even on his belly where his shirt got rucked up in all the excitement. Some on the shirt too, and Frank takes advantage of Gerard’s glassy-eyed admiration to jerk himself off. He watches how Gerard still tracks every movement of his hand, and having an audience makes him jerk off much more flamboyantly than he would otherwise. It’s how he imagines Gerard might jack it in the privacy of his own room, lazy and teasing, with plenty of gropes to his balls. Gerard’s breath catches in his throat, and Frank knows he’s doing something right.

He comes, splashing over the now tacky cooling release already splattering him, not even trying to hold back one of the desperate little whines that only ever come from Gerard’s corner of the hotel room or, memorably, his stall in grody gas station bathrooms.

“Shit,” Gerard says, staring down at him.

“Agreed,” Frank mumbles. He makes a face when he sits up. The come is fucking nasty, and it’s all over him. He was hoping that they would switch back after orgasms, and Gerard would get stuck with the mess. The sex was his idea after all, but no such luck. “You’re dirty.”

Gerard reaches over and swipes his finger through the mess of cool come, sucking it into his mouth and pulling it out again with a resounding pop. “No. Pretty sure that’s you.”