Disclaimer: I do not own any members of My Chemical Romance, however I do own the plot.
Frank can’t remember feeling so anxious about something so stupid since he was a teenager thinking about first dates and first kisses and first times. He should be over shit like this; he’s fucking twenty-four years old.
Snorting, he wipes too sweaty palms along his jeans for the third time in the past ten minutes before resolutely making his way out of the back lounge, headed towards the front where he knows the rest of his band to already be assembled; he idly hopes they haven’t been waiting too long or taken particular notice of his absence.
“Are we really doing this Mikey? I think we’re all old enough to not cheat.” Ray’s arguing, uselessly, once again as Frank throws himself into the empty couch, pleased that everyone seems distracted enough by the argument-debate to heed him little to no concern.
“There are some people, who still insist on telling other people who they picked.” The sarcasm and reproach in Mikey’s tone is almost lost on Frank as his eyes are drawn across the room to the pale face that’s grinning lazily at its brother.
“Come on Mikes, I was still drinking then. I’ll do better this year.” Frank knows he’s staring, knows that he needs to distract himself, and quick because he’s going to have to retreat to the back room, or worse, the bathroom, if he can’t stop the mental images, the slew of memories and fantasies that mix together on a daily basis, an hourly and quarter-hourly basis, as of late.
“I’m not just talking about you Gee. Frodo over there can’t keep his fucking mouth shut about anything! The kid’s never kept a secret in his life.” Lips curl immediately into a smirk that he can’t help because seriously, if they only knew. Still, he knows he should participate with some witty remark, and he’s working through it until those golden eyes land on him, the owners lips lifted in likeness to his own and every word Frank thinks he’s ever learned flies out his ears, abandoning him in his moment of dire need and he’s left lips parted slightly and word-less.
“Uh…” Oh fuck. Oh shit. There’s a moment where his bandmates simply stare at him, confused and anticipating and when he continues to look dumbstruck, lips closed at least, they each turn away from him with shakes of their head and quiet chuckles; all except Gerard. Gerard keeps looking, staring really with eyes too bright and knowing and piercing. And then he’s moving and he’s sitting next to Frank who doesn’t really remember how Gerard got there.
"If you're gonna buy me a present, don't spend more than twenty five bucks, you'll get a blowjob anyway." Whispered words send a jarring shiver down Frank’s spine, eyes bulging out of their sockets and Gerard’s back on the other side of the room, smirking like he’d never moved to begin with. Frank can’t help feeling like his whole body is on fire, like he needs to escape the confines of the room or the bus, like now. He can’t look at Gerard, keeps his eyes on the floor, trying to quench his internal fire, once again ignited by a futile promise.
Mikey’s fishing something out of the pocket of his jeans, sticking his fingers deeper into the denim pocket, hips twisting to the right as he struggles against the too tight material. He holds the blue pen up as his fingers emerge victoriously with their prize, eyes bright and lips grinning momentarily before he’s hunching over the table, pulling a small stack of paper towards him.
Frank’s trying to focus on Mikey, on Ray or Bob or even Brian who is sitting at the kitchen table with a cell phone practically pasted to his ear, but he knows that Gerard is still looking at him, can feel his eyes on his back and it’s starting to make him a bit twitchy, fingers tensely scratching at the scorpion on his neck before running through his hair as he stares ahead without seeing anything.
Mikey’s tearing the paper into strips, scribbling furiously, and Frank’s sure illegibly, before standing up triumphantly.
“Anybody have a hat or something we can use?” There’s a generally unhelpful murmur from each member of the band that leaves Mikey scowling at each of them in turn before he’s sort of awkwardly pirouetting on the spot and stomping into the kitchen area again, mumbling under his breath.
It seems like only seconds later that Mikey’s passing around the old metal kettle that Frank likes to use to boil water, everyone pulling out one of the strips of paper. Frank’s left hand fingers are crossed in the pocket of his sweater, eyes scrunched up in a silent prayer as his right hand reaches into the kettle fingers closing around the flimsy article. His hands are shaking slightly as he holds the paper close, reading the name scrawled messily across the white material and thanking whatever God was listening in to him earlier. Mikey’s voice startles him out of his pious thanks.
“Ok, so everyone knows the rules; you can’t tell anyone who you picked.” Mikey’s pointed glare at Frank hardly goes unnoticed but Frank shrugs it off with yet another smirk, aware that he would probably fail in the same way he did every year. Weren’t the holidays all about tradition anyways? “We’ll exchange on Saturday right after the show.” Four heads nod in distracted agreement and then they’re scattering, Ray and Bob un-pausing what Frank is sure was a furious game before Mikey issued a mandatory hiatus, Mikey and Brian are both reattached to their phones and it’s just Frank and Gerard still sitting across from each other.
With a soft cough Frank quickly extracts himself from the cushions, thinking that he might have just enough time to start looking for the gift if he leaves now; he’s not sure but he has a vague memory of seeing a comic book store on the way through town.
He’s head and shoulders deep in his bunk when fingers lightly touch the bare skin of his low back, shirt ridden up in the stretch; shock sends his head crashing into the wooden roof.
“Fuck!” Fingers massage at what is inevitably going to be a large bump as he wrangles free of his bed, brows furrowed as he unfolds himself to face his intruder.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Frank can’t help the nervous swallow or exhale of breath that leaves his chest and throat feeling empty and too dry. The awkward twitch of smile accompanies his high pitched giggle and Frank can feel the heat in his cheeks as Gerard stares curiously, his own lips curled up in a smile, all tiny bright teeth and pale skin and gold eyes.
“Nah, it’s cool.” Frank’s glad that he can at least form words, pleased that his voice seems to have leveled out as well. “I was just going to head into town…” Gerard’s lips are winding higher at his words; Frank fights the flutter of his heart, the way it’s slamming against his rib cage, another futile bid for freedom thwarted by bones and blood and skin.
“Mind if I tag along?” Frank’s completely against this idea, feels a bit bad about denying him, but knows that if Gerard comes along Frank will be completely uncomfortable and distracted, so the answer is a definite and unwavering NO.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Gerard’s lighting up and smiling like Frank’s his favorite person in the world and granted him some fantastic reward and Frank’s heart is fluttering wildly again, skin bursting out in beads of sweat, throat tightening uncomfortably.
They’re heading out the door, about thirty minutes later than Frank would have liked because Gerard couldn’t decide which leather jacket to wear with his old torn black jeans and then he insisted on them having a snack on the bus so they wouldn’t have to stop for something to eat while they were out.
“So, where were you planning on going?” They’re walking side by side down the main street and Frank’s scouring the stores, trying to find anything remotely familiar and really praying that the comic book store wasn’t in the last town.
“Uh, just um…maybe check out some new comics or something…” He doesn’t want to sound too committed to anything, doesn’t want to allude to the fact that he really needs to find that store and that he’s once again praying to some deity for yet another miracle; hopefully those sorts of things don’t have limits.
“Oh great! Did you see one on the way here? I could definitely use a new pile. I think there’s a new issue of Batman anyways…”
And Gerard’s off again on some account of the previous issue, narrating the entire story in case Frank hadn’t stolen the copy from Gerard’s bunk the night he finished it.
Sometimes Frank wishes Gerard didn’t like him so much. He thinks it might be easier to deal with the whole situation if that were the case. If they didn’t have to spend so much time together, in such close quarters, and Gerard didn’t refer to Frank as his “best friend”; if Frank didn’t refer to Gerard as the same thing. It’d be easier to hide the fact that he, Frank, is hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Gerard.
Frank’s looking for anything to distract Gerard, anything he can use to get some time alone in the comic store without Gerard’s presence and he sees it in the form of Starbucks. Smiling too widely to be normal, Frank points out the storefront, gently pushing Gerard’s shoulder in the correct direction even though the black haired artist was already staring wide-eyed and zombie walking in it’s path. He makes a list of things for Gerard to purchase for him, loading him up with suggestions and hoping that he doesn’t cheap out. As soon as Gerard’s reaching for the door, Frank’s sprinting down the rest of the street, eyes darting at each store window, searching.
Halfway down Frank finds it. Hal’s Comics. Original.
Rushing through the door he doesn’t bother with pleasantries or trying to find it himself because he’s not sure how much time he really has.
“Do you have the limited edition Batmobile?” He’s panting a bit from his little run, his nicotine blackened lungs causing him a few coughs as he stares wide-eyed and pleading at the man behind the counter.
“Uh…yeah, I think we got one left.” Frank’s cutting him off before the man, Hal, as his name tag reads, has even finished, pulling out his wallet and shoving the money at him, hands groping forwards to reach for the offered model, and then he’s ripping the proffered bag from Hal’s hands as well, shoving the box into it before thrusting both of them into his backpack, thankful he’d remembered to bring it.
The bell above the door tinkles and Frank’s can’t help the nervous giggle that erupts from his chest when Gerard walks through the door, arms laden with three coffees and two bags of treats that neither of them will end up eating but Frank just “had to have.”
Saturday seems to drag and Frank can’t help but feel both anxious and thankful when it finally arrives. He knows he’s been acting strangely, knows that his band mates have noticed even if they’ve refrained from saying anything yet.
They’re seated in the front room again, most of the floor space taken up with varying levels and colors and sizes of wrapped gifts and Frank can’t help the sudden lurch of fear that erupts as he considers that perhaps his gift isn’t worthy. Perhaps he should have gotten something bigger or better or both.
Mikey’s announcing that Gerard’s gift is the first to be given though and Frank hands over his carefully wrapped box, hands shaking slightly as skin touches skin in the exchange and Gerard’s ripping into the wrapping before he’s even fully holding onto the small package.
“What is it?!” Frank giggles at Gerard singing the question as he continues tearing at the package. “I know what it is!” He’s got most of the box unwrapped by now and pulling off the final stubborn pieces of Christmas paper he holds the collectors item close to his chest.
“Awesome.” Frank feels his cheeks glowing again as Gerard looks towards him, all tiny teeth and big bright eyes and Frank’s feet are betraying him as he stands up from the couch, leaning in towards the older man whose reaching his own arms out to enfold Frank.
There’s a moment when Frank is sure Gerard is going to kiss him. It’s brief, almost short enough that he convinces himself it didn’t exist, but there’s something in his eyes. Then its just arms wrapped fleetingly around his shoulders, chin resting on his shoulder; just enough time to breath in Gerard’s scent and then he’s leaning back and thanking Frank before retreating to his seat on the couch and it’s Frank’s turn and there’s a large box being pressed onto his lap.
They’ve opened all their gifts and once again Frank is lying, awake and alone, in his bunk. He can’t help feeling thankful once again that he’s surrounded by such wonderful people, that these people even exist. Still, he can’t help the small nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling that wishes he’d gotten something else; something a bit more substantial than the X-box from Ray.
Convinced this year was yet another failure and that perhaps his luck will change with a new year Frank is almost asleep, drowsy enough that he doesn’t notice right away when his curtain is pulled carefully open, when the far side of his mattress dips and the curtain slides closed again of it’s own accord.
His eyes feel heavy and blurry in the darkness of the bunk and he’s having some trouble determining if he fell asleep already and is dreaming when the voice greets him through the darkness.
“Hi Frankie.” Even in his dreams Frank would recognize that voice and considering it’s proximity he considers that it might be said dream, so he mumbles out a greeting, letting his eyes fall shut again and snuggling down against the warm body beside him.
The warm body seems to have other plans as it extracts itself from his sleepy grasp, wiggling and squirming down the bed and Frank’s more than halfway asleep when he feels the covers being lifted off momentarily. He wants to growl at the intrusion of cold air but the blankets are replaced before he can manage to part his lips so he burrows into his pillow again, content in his warm sleepy cocoon.
If Gerard had waited just a moment more Frank probably would have been unconscious and unaware of what was going on below the sheets, probably wouldn’t have noticed the cold fingers that struggle to pull down the younger man’s boxers. Patience is not one of Gerard’s attributes however and the soft groan is enough to alert Frank that perhaps he ought to open his eyes because in his dreams his pants always come off so much easier.
“What the fuck are you doing Gee?” Gerard’s huff of annoyance gives Frank enough time to blink open his onerous eyelids.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I told you what I’d do if you bought me a present.” Frank can’t help thinking that it sounds like a threat, like Gerard pulling off his underwear is a bad thing. And that leaves Frank sort of confused.
“Uh…?” Gerard pulls again at the waistband which he still hasn’t managed to get past Frank’s hips but without thinking Frank lifts his lower half, happy to assist.
“A blowjob Frank. I told you if you got me a present that I’d get you a blowjob. Merry Christmas.” Frank can’t help thinking that Gerard’s whisper makes the words sounds even more seductive as it sends a little thrill down his spine, straight to his dick.
Frank doesn’t know what to say but Gerard doesn’t seem to think that’s a requirement because his hand is wrapping around his semi hard dick, lazily stroking up and down a few times and Frank can barely suppress a moan at the sight because this can’t be real and then Gerard’s tongue flicks out to lick up the underside and the groan of absolute delight slips right past Frank’s lips.
Gerard seems to take that as encouragement because his own lips are wrapping themselves around Frank’s cock, wet and tight and hot and Frank feels like he could die right now an extremely happy man. Although if he could hold off death for a few minutes he has a feeling he could die a hell of a lot happier.
Every single touch, every swipe and swirl of Gerard’s tongue makes Frank feel like he’s falling apart. Frank knows that with all of the anticipation, the pressure building in his lower abdomen, he’s not going to last very long and when Gerard sinks even lower, swallows, Frank can’t help the obscenities that fly from his lips, the slight thrust of his hips and he doesn’t even have time to warn Gerard before he’s pouring down his throat.
“Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh God. Gee. Oh God.” His mumbled mantra continues for a few minutes as he pants, chest heaving as he tries to regulate his heart. Gerard slides up the bed beside him, child-like teeth too bright in the dark.
“Merry Christmas Frankie.”