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This Motel Sucks

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The band has stayed in some pretty damn shitty places on the road over the years; Ray thought he'd seen everything. He has to reassess that after watching the toilet in the crappy Motel 6 erupt, spraying water right across the bathroom, streaming across the carpet into the hotel room like a shit-scented tide.

Frank grumbles when he shakes him awake but when he sees the water advancing across the carpet his eyes widen in panic and they both scramble to rescue their gear.

The motel is so shitty there isn't even anyone on the desk to complain to, and they can't even go sleep in the van because it's mysteriously missing - along with Brian and Otter. That's how Frank and Ray wind up with their bags clutched to their chests, standing outside the door to Mikey and Gerard's room.

"Should we knock?" Ray asks, and fuck he is so fucking tired if they can't get into this room he's gonna sleep in the hall. They had to walk up a few stairs, surely the shit-tide won't get them here.

"Dude, try the fucking door," Frank whispers, and Ray's not exactly sure why they're whispering, except that Gerard's been having a lot of nightmares lately so if he's asleep it's probably best he stays that way.

The door isn't locked. Ray glances back over his shoulder and shrugs at Frank, who shrugs back and inclines his head like yeah, it's open, can we go in now, asshole? Ray eases the door open a slice and slides in, thinking he'll see if there's a couch they could pull some cushions off, or maybe he'll just curl up on the floor and use his bag as a pillow. It's gotten to that point.

It isn't until they're both inside, the door quietly closed behind them, that it becomes somewhat apparent that Gerard isn't asleep. And neither is Mikey.

It's the sound more than the sight that gives it away, because while it's pretty fucking dark in the room and Ray's eyes haven't adjusted yet, his ears are just fine. It's pretty damn easy to make out Mikey groaning, "Gee, Gee, Gee," in increasingly high pitch, as well as the sound of rustling sheets and wet slurping.

Ray goes completely still and he can sense Frank doing the same right behind him. There's a voice in his brain telling him to turn around, leave - leave now before suspicion can become knowledge - but his feet won't move. He blinks in the darkness and his eyes focus on the slowly shifting shapes under the street-lit window. He can make out the angular bend of an arm, the mussed mess of a head of hair - Mikey's - his slender torso curved upwards. Ray's eyes track downward to a dark lump which has got to be Gerard, his hand curved around Mikey's hip, his head buried between Mikey's legs and he must be - he has to be-

A loud sucking noise completely confirms it. Gerard is blowing Mikey, right here in the lumpy bed in this crappy hotel. Ray knows Frank puts it together at exactly the same time he does. Apparently neither of them know how to react because they both just stand there in the dark like fucking creepers as Gerard's head moves more vigorously and Mikey's breathing gets faster and more broken.

Ray can't look away. His breathing is shallow and he's hot all over. He doesn't realise immediately that the pressure he can feel on his arm is Frank's hand, until Frank's fingers tighten into a near-painful grip. Ray spares a glance down, but Frank's eyes are glued to Mikey and Gerard, like he doesn't even realise what his hand is doing. Mikey makes a ragged noise and Ray can't help but look back over, studying the shifting shapes like he can find more detail, see what he suddenly desperately wants to see. Mikey's voice paints the picture for him, his sharp breaths, his hiccuping moans, the slide of the fabric as he ruts up against Gerard's face.

Ray's so fucking hard it's an effort not to reach down and adjust himself. He knows he should leave, he and Frank should fucking leave and forget this, never mention it, but he can't look away. Can't make his feet move. He just watches as Mikey's hands reach down and hold Gerard's head, as he pushes his hips up off the bed and moans out beautiful choked noises as Gerard gets him off. Ray bites down hard on his lip, the pain echoed in his arm where Frank's fingernails are dug into his skin. He reaches up absently, covering Frank's hand with his own, not even realising the motion until Frank scissors their fingers together and squeezes.

Ray holds his breath, Frank's fingers tight between his as Mikey arches up off the bed, his body curling over Gerard's head as he cries out, "Gee, fuck" and comes with a shudder and choked groan.

Ray stands stock still, heat racing over his skin, the sounds of Mikey's ragged breaths and his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

What the fuck. What the fuck? Ray doesn't know what to do with this information. He has no idea how to react to this. And he's more turned on than he's ever been in his life.

He's never felt more conspicuous, huddled in the dark by the door, but the Ways seem oblivious to any extra bodies in the room. Gerard pulls off with a wet noise and crawls up Mikey's body, putting his mouth (which was just on Mikey's dick) over Mikey's and they make out wet and messy. Ray's mouth falls open a little wider. Fuck, what would he taste like?

It isn't until Ray feels a tug on his arm that he remembers he isn't alone here. Frank eases the door open and they manage to slip outside seemingly undetected. It isn't until they're back in the hall that Ray nerves himself to meet Frank's eyes, knowing his face is flushed red.

Frank's colour is high too. "Fuck," Frank whispers, sounding awed, "That was... fuck."

Ray huffs out a breath in response. It's all he can manage. His dick is throbbing in his jeans and it's taking everything he's got not to reach down and press it through his pants. Frank, it seems, has no such qualms. He palms his obviously hard dick through his sweatpants and when he catches Ray staring he just leers at the bulge in Ray's jeans.

"Like you didn't think it was hot," Frank retorts, and seriously, Ray still hasn't even said anything yet. Frank glances up the hallway, grabbing Ray by the wrist and taking off down some stairs. Ray follows, trying not to wince because his boner is making it hard to walk. There's a disabled toilet on the ground floor and Frank drags Ray into it, flipping the lock and meeting Ray's eyes, serious. "Just for the record, we are never talking about this, okay?"

Ray just blinks at him. Apparently that's all the response Frank needs, because he shoves his sweatpants and underwear down his thighs and starts jerking off. Just like that.

Ray's sensible brain has obviously completely disengaged, because he's already scrambling for the button on his jeans, tearing the zip down and getting them open just far enough to get his hand inside.

And oh. Oh fuck, that's what he needs.

His eyes slide closed as his fingers form a grip around his dick and he starts jerking it, squeezing and stroking and palming the head. His breath rushes out of him in a stuttery moan as he spreads the precome around with his thumb, speeding his hand because he can't go slow, not now, not when he needs it so bad.

A hacking noise grabs his attention and he opens his eyes in time to see Frank spit into his hand before wrapping it around his dick again. He's jerking off so fast the ink on his fingers blurs, the head of his dick red and shiny with spit and god, it should be weird. Ray should close his eyes, but he can't, the view is too good. He's so hot he's dizzy with it, his hand feels so good on his dick and Frank's jerking off in front of him after they both just watched Gerard suck Mikey off. Suck off his brother oh shit, it's too much, Ray's too far gone, he's just-

He comes, hard, his hips jerking forward as he spurts over his fingers.

"Fuck you, Toro. Fuck you," Frank grunts, his eyes hot on Ray's skin, on Ray's dick. Ray's still spinning from his orgasm. He watches through lidded eyes as Frank bucks into his hand, bending nearly double. He makes a high pitched noise and his body jerks hard a couple of times. It's so similar to moves Ray's seen Frank do onstage with a guitar in his hands he nearly laughs.

Frank stays down for a few long moments, just panting, and Ray's own breaths echo his. Eventually he wrenches his head up, meeting Ray's eyes between sweaty clumps of his hair. "This is weird, isn't it?"

Ray nods, reaching for the toilet paper to mop up. He hands some to Frank. "Yeah. Really fucking weird."

Frank wipes himself down, wrinkling his nose when some paper gets stuck to his skin. Ray finishes up and tosses the soiled paper into the toilet. "Weird's pretty par for the course for us though, isn't it?"

Frank looks up at Ray and smirks, "You got that right."

*

When they go back to Gerard and Mikey's door this time, they knock.

After an age, Gerard answers it. His hair is standing almost vertical and he's wearing a t-shirt that is both inside-out and back-to-front. "What?" he asks.

"This motel is shit. Literally." Frank says. Gerard frowns at him, his brow furrowed like he can't figure out what that has to do with anything.

"Our room is flooded." Ray explains tiredly. Now that he's had an orgasm he can barely keep his eyes open. In fact, he's surprised he's even upright. "Can we?" he waves a hand inside the room.

"Oh. Oh, right, yeah of course," Gerard says, stepping backwards and waving an arm around. "Mi casa, su ca-ahhh" the words are lost in a yawn. He grabs Frank and Ray by a hand each and drags them toward the bed, flopping down onto Mikey and who swats at him with a lazy hand.

"Shove over," Gerard tells Mikey, "Gotta share."

Mikey makes an unimpressed noise, but he wiggles to the far side. Gerard spoons up behind him and tugs at Frank's wrist until he shrugs and crawls in beside Gerard. Ray has no idea how he manages to squeeze in behind Frank without falling off in an ungainly fashion, but somehow he does. He throws an arm over Frank to anchor himself, and his reach is long enough that his fingers brush against Mikey's back. Gerard's hand finds his, twining their fingers together tightly and holding on.

Ray falls into a deep and satisfying sleep.