Wonderstruck

by vampirexchild

Chapter 2: of glass slippers and obliviousness

Notes:

Here we finally have the final part! so i decided there was no need to split this in two, i thought it would be fine for it to stand alone and it would feel less awkward like that. sorry this took a bit longer than expected, i had a lot to fit in and rework once it was completed, i wanted this to be perfect as can be! again, this is for my darling michela as a gift and a thank you for being a wonderful friend— i hope this lives up to your excitement!

One year later

“So . . . what do you do?” Frank asks, biting on the edge of a breadstick. His gaze flickers up from under his lashes to run over the face across from him again, a phantom spark of hope glowing steadily in his stomach, but there’s too much uncertainty to confirm anything. He smiles in a coy sort of way that elicits the exact reaction he wants from his date. 

“Oh, I’m around doing this and that,” the person says, mouth tilting in a smirk as he stirs his straw through his drink. “I guess you could say I’m a man of many talents.” 

“Oh?” Frank’s eyes widen, back straightening. His hand twitches towards his pocket. 

The man, he says his name is Jonathan, beams at Frank’s interest. He tucks his black hair behind both ears. “Obviously. I act, I play guitar, I sing on the subway—” 

“You sing?” Frank grins like a perked up fucking dog. 

“Yeah, but that’s not everything. I only sing when I want some extra cash. You know what I’m really good at?” Jonathan leans forward, smoldering. 

Frank’s smile falters around the edges with confusion. “What is it?” 

“Juggling! I should show you when we get out of here, I do it all the time. Sometimes I can juggle five items at once, it really gets a lot of attention when I do it on the sidewalk. I’ve always wanted to do it professionally but I have no idea how I would . . .” 

Jonathan’s voice trails off into nothingness as Frank tunes it out along with the rest of his crushed hopes. The debilitating disappointment rushes in and he can’t do anything but admit defeat once more. His hand slowly falls away from the mask in his pocket, folding in his lap as he pretends to listen, but cannot properly mimic the enthusiasm he had before. 

They part ways after, thankfully without Jonathan pulling out anything to juggle, and Frank makes no promises about arranging a second date as he drives back home with a pout and an emptiness in his chest. 

Date number . . . oh, well, who’s keeping track at this rate? 

“Fuck me,” he sighs into the lonely car. 

—

“Frank,” Frank’s boss crooks his finger until Frank approaches. He takes out the company card from his wallet with a pinched frown and sighs, holding it out for him to take. “We’ve got a weird request and I need you to run a couple errands today.” 

“Okay?” Frank’s brow scrunches. 

“Our band is . . . saying the studio is too dull to be inspiring. They want top of the line art for the walls, and they’re also asking for a buffet during our lunch meeting, so I have two places I need you to pick up food from.” 

Frank waits for the moment Larry bursts into laughter and relays the actual reason he’s being entrusted with the company card, but no such moment comes. “Larry. You can’t be serious.” 

“Unfortunately I am.” 

He’s sucked into a speechless vortex of disbelief so he can’t even form a proper response for that other than a rigid nod. 

Larry stands closer and lowers his voice, eyes hard as the tension in his jaw. “I know it’s insane, but they’re the most popular band in the world right now, we can’t afford to piss them off. Just do it. I don’t care about the price as long as it’s not in the millions.”

The Red Relentless are hardly an influential band with the right amount of meaning to spin the world on its head, yet somehow, this pretentious group that makes no effort to maintain their public image behind closed doors has got the world following their every step. Frank does everything to keep from kicking the singer square in his fucking package with every ridiculous request he makes. He seems to be under the impression Frank is the studio’s personal bitch boy who turns at the wave of anyone’s hand. 

That may be true, but only because Frank has been paid double ever since his promotion to Larry’s personal assistant and not just the office’s coffee boy. Not that it made much of a difference when they eliminated the office assistant position to integrate it with Frank’s job. They speak through Larry if they want something instead of directly speaking to Frank as if his existence is just a vacant piece of air. Frank has been tempted to piss in the hollow of the singer’s acoustic guitar, but it would be too obvious who’s responsible for the crime and Frank is hardly making enough for his rent in this expensive city as it is. 

With great reluctance, Frank puts on a tight smile, shrugs on his heavy winter wear, and storms out of the building. 

To his luck, it’s starting to snow outside. A flake lands on the tip of his nose and he hurriedly wipes it away with a gloved hand, burrowing deeper into the several layers of thermals, jackets, and a specularly enormous winter coat. Hiking up his hood, he rushes into the car where there’s a heater calling his name like a siren and cranks it up before the chilled air has a chance to frost his sensitive lungs. 

Frank sighs. He hates feeling small. Especially when he knows how much power he has both inside and outside, but it’s all wasting away because Frank can’t seem to grow the back bone it takes to break out of this cycle unless it’s for a couple temporary nights. What’s beauty and charisma and talent when there’s bills to pay and a fridge that cannot go empty? He’s a hit everywhere except for the places that count, so he allows himself to clean up messes and run around the city for others at the expense of his sanity. 

If he was worried about wasting his twenties before, he had no idea what storm would come when twenty-eight arrived. Just one year off from twenty-nine, two years from thirty. He has no clue if he can even enjoy that milestone at this rate. He hasn’t seen his friends in months. He doesn’t even have a warm body to come home to that defrosts the November city chill from his skin and warms him with the sweet comfort that caters perfectly to his misery until it vanishes. 

And trust him, he’s searched far and wide— but Frank keeps coming back to black hair and pale skin, flirty personalities that always end up being too bold. He’ll be just seconds away from tugging the black lace mask out of his pocket to ask if they recognize it before they do or say something that completely swings them out of the consideration zone. After last night’s miserable failure, the one that got away feels more distant than ever, to the point where Frank is questioning if he has it in him to make himself vulnerable to another foul spoonful of disappointment. 

Maybe Frank has made a lost cause of himself by carrying the hope for all the impossible things that seem to slip through his fingers like water. Just like his long abandoned dreams, the black mask has become a glass slipper, except there are no fairytale endings in the real world. 

Frank brushes the thought aside and mulls over his assigned chores. He doesn’t even know where he can get top of the line art, all he knows is it’s going to be an expense the company doesn’t need on their hands. He googles the nearest art gallery, groaning when he realizes it’s thirty minutes away, and that’s an estimate not including traffic. 

At the very least, he gets a break from the dickheads in the studio by doing this. It grants him the encouragement he needs to slide out of the parking lot and hit the road. 

—

The gallery is a colorful two-story building in the heart of the city. It runs a bit on the smaller side, possibly due to the fact this area is known for its expenses, but Frank hopes whatever he finds inside will do. He plans on grabbing whatever looks best— within reason, of course, meaning matching pairs or an entire collection if it’s possible. He doesn’t know the slightest fucking thing about art and has no qualifications to say what’s good or not, so if the band is dissatisfied with his decision and demands for him to return, Frank swears it’ll be the last straw for him. 

Frank enters the gallery and finds almost exactly what he pictures in his head. Maze-like wall divisions with paintings and other variations of hand-crafted art strewn across them, on the verge of being too crowded but with just enough space between to make sense of each individual piece. It’s cold here, so Frank doesn’t bother removing an inch of his winter clothes as reluctant as he is to wander around in his plump deep blue coat that gives him the likeliness of Violet from Willy Wonka after chewing the gum. He rolls his eyes when the music overhead is the exact band he’s making a temporary escape from. 

“Hi, welcome!” A cheery voice says from across the room, their voice bouncing between the displays. 

Frank turns and discovers someone walking across the gallery hauling a massive painting larger than themself. They teeter about like it weighs a lot, clearly struggling but not asking for help. It tilts dangerously to one side and Frank hears a gasp bubbling over the top of the enormous golden frame. 

Frank rushes over and grabs the other end of the painting before it topples over and the frame shatters. He barks out a laugh when the weight strains his muscles. “Jesus, is this thing made of pure stone? ” 

A peculiar honking laugh arises from the other side. “Tell me about it.” 

Frank looks on one side, coming up empty, then moves his head around to the other, and finally gets a look at the person he may or may not have rescued from death via painting. 

This person looks exactly like he belongs here; his hair is colored a flaming red, dye staining the fair skin at his neck, but what keeps the mess from looking tacky is the fact that this person has the face that Frank imagines most people would envision on a faerie. Delicate features and a peculiar mouth, which sets off a distant alarm in Frank’s head, but he can’t imagine the reason why. 

“Hey,” Frank greets, realizing he’s been impolite with his staring and lack of response. 

His eyes are huge from residual shock, but a breathless laugh spills out of him and makes a lock of hair hanging loose in front of his face flutter. “Hi. Thanks. My boss would have my head if I broke this, but I mean, she knows I don’t have nearly enough muscles to carry this baby all by myself.” 

Frank chuckles mirthlessly. “One of those bosses, huh?” 

“Happy to know someone else is familiar with the kind.” 

Frank feels his air is stuck in his throat watching the guy tuck that lock of hair behind his ear, a nearly dainty gesture, but he dilutes it by whipping the rest of his hair to the side with a quick motion of his head and a beaming crooked smile. It makes Frank realize this person isn’t merely pretty, he’s gorgeous.  

“Right,” he says automatically, not even sure why this is his choice of vocabulary, but what can you do? “Um . . . where do you . . . should we . . .?” He glances down at his arms still straining to uphold his end of the painting. 

“Oh, yeah, totally,” the redhead snorts at his forgetfulness. He gestures in the direction he’d been headed for. “We just need to lean it against the wall over there for now, someone’s gonna come hang it up in a sec.” 

Frank nods, putting himself to good use by helping lift part of the painting and lending the guy guidance as they cautiously hobble around the displays on their way to their destination. Once in the correct aisle, they ease it down and prop it carefully against the wall, steadying it. 

Once the painting is secure, the person steps away with a satisfied sound and comes to a stop in front of Frank, clasping his hands together in front of him. 

The way he’s dressed looks too casual for someone surrounded by prestigious work. A zip-up faux leather jacket hangs over a plain shirt with a stretched neckline that rests well under his collarbones. His pants are also impossibly tight, making Frank’s ears grow hot when he registers the fact that the fabric does little to hide shapes and curves that come with great appeal paired along with a pretty face. He refuses to investigate the boots, the visible leather garter wrapped snug around the calf with a defined muscle refusing to fall out of Frank’s focus. 

Frank’s eyes are huge. He looks away, forcing himself to focus on other sights, but his gaze retreats back to the person’s face. There’s a faint trace of a smirk on his face, his head cocked slightly to the side— definitely aware of Frank’s interest in his appearance. His eyes roam over Frank in return and his gaze comes back to Frank’s eyes with an endeared look to them. Oh, what Frank wouldn’t do to be dressed in less clothing so he doesn’t give the impression he always rolls around in too many layers. He has beautiful hips, it’s a shame to hide them from someone who he feels would appreciate them. 

“So,” Frank stammers out, swallowing hard because he’s clearly lost all sense of grace and eloquence at this moment. He quickly regains his footing before he makes a fool out of himself. “My boss sent me on a mission. The people we’re working with, they’re asking for art to decorate our studio with so they’ll feel more inspired .” He draws air quotes around the final word. 

“You’ve come to just the right place. Everything we have here is from local artists, new and old.” The redhead gestures around with a prideful beam setting up the crookedness of his smile, and again, Frank’s hand twitches at his side when it reminds him of something he can’t put his finger on. 

The redhead steps forward with an extended hand also stained in dye and what appears to be pen ink. “I’m Gerard. I’ll help you find what you need today, if you trust me enough to know what you’re looking for.” 

It’s the way his tone is involuntarily suggestive that makes Frank’s heart stammer in his chest. He looks up from Gerard’s hand to his eyes, finding them under an obscene spread of long eyelashes, and he honest to god wants to fucking melt. There are two ways he could go about this; cower in the remaining grayness of being made small, or act as himself, whoever that may be nowadays. 

The decision is made like a chemical reaction before any real thought is put into it. Frank slides his hand into Gerard’s with a grin lifting the corners of his mouth, one shoulder raising in a half-shrug. “You seem like you know what you’re doing. That’s enough of a reason to trust you, right?” 

Gerard couldn’t appear more thrilled by the answer. His smirk stays firmly in place as he turns and beckons Frank to follow him with a crook of his fingers. Frank falls into step with him like he’s chained to whatever invisible leash Gerard has wrapped around his wrist. 

“What’s your budget like?” 

“Anything not in the millions.” 

Gerard’s laughter is bright, familiar in a way that drives Frank to the brink of insanity trying to figure out what it reminds him of. Maybe a celebrity? Upon closer inspection, there’s a vague resemblance to Christina Ricci. 

“Alright then, that leaves you with plenty of options. What are you looking for? Something bright like pop art, or something abstract— maybe romantic?” Gerard’s brows fly up in question as he all but sprints through the gallery, having memorized it enough to not have to look straight ahead while he walks. Frank pointedly avoids being too engrossed in the shape of his ass now that it’s on full display like this, possibly the most divine piece of art in this entire establishment. 

“I’ve got not fucking clue. Pardon my language. What would you want to see in a studio if you were in a band and you just started on your new record?” 

“Depends on what kind of band we are,” Gerard chuckles. 

“The band you have playing in here right now.” 

Gerard slows in thought with almost a surprised look, eyes glazing, before they clear up and brightness bursts across his expression. “I might have something up my sleeve.” 

The two zig-zag around corners and immerse themselves deeper into the maze. Frank struggles to keep up with the brisk pace and faces the humble realization that he ought to find another way to get his steps in instead of abandoning his evening walks when the temperature drops. 

Gerard stops in front of one of the back walls, a section crowded in several displays of similar paintings all evidently done by the same practiced hand. They’re different variations of women playing guitar, only when the instrument is held against their body, it offers an x-ray vision to the very inside of their body, past the organs straight to the bone. The art style is willowy and graceful, but with a contradicting pop of bright color in the background contrasting the neutral tones the women are painted in. 

“This is from a new artist in the city. Her name is Soma Clifton. She’s an absolutely brilliant talent, she paints and sculpts.” Gerard gestures to the paintings, awe coloring his tone. “This collection is called Life’s Blood. She explained it as art being a direct exposure to an artist’s core, and how it illuminates the world around them.” 

Frankly, a band like The Red Relentless aren’t deserving of even glancing at art with this vulnerable of a meaning. With their artificial tactics and shallow lyrics, Frank doesn’t think they would understand, but that doesn’t mean anyone who enters the building after them won’t find a way to connect with the collection. It seems a shame to walk away from it even with Frank’s reluctance to share it first with a group of snobs, but it may be enough to find comfort in it himself. 

“Is it fine if I take the whole collection?” 

Gerard’s eyes light up as if Frank couldn’t have brought a better answer. Despite the megawatt grin, he asks more out of obligation than genuine concern, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see more before making your decision? Soma is spectacular, but there’s a ton of other impressive artists that make art in a somewhat similar type if you wanna see.” 

“To be real with you, I don’t think the band actually gives a fuck about the art, but I love it and wanna see it every day. Might as well pick something I like too since they’re sending me all over town like their personal butler.” 

Gerard snorts, a knowing look in his eyes. “I figured I should show you something you might like instead of them. You know, the ones who act like art snobs are mostly always pretending.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt this group is. The Red Relentless might be the most plastic band in the entire industry.” Frank rolls his eyes above his smile. 

Curiosity sends Gerard’s eyes flitting over him again. “So, you work for them?” 

“Oh god no, thankfully not.”

Gerard exhales a sigh of relief. “Good, that way I can tell you I can’t stand them. Their singer, I think his name is Damien? He sounds like such a fucking tool in interviews. Who the fuck has the balls to gets pretentious about a song they basically stole from Nirvana and reworded?”

Frank could cry being in the presence of someone who shared his opinion for once. “I thought no one else felt that way. I promise you the next record is basically all art theft this time. Everyone’s up their asses, you can’t even turn on the radio without hearing them.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Fuck the radio, man. CDs rock way better anyway.” 

“Yeah!” Frank grins. Gerard returns the gesture, crossing one arm over his chest and using the other hand to push his hair behind his ear. 

“So where do you work then?” 

“I work for Machina Records. It’s not as glamorous as you’d think, I mean after this I have to pick up catering and probably another ridiculously long coffee order that kills me to have to read out loud.” 

“Machina Records,” Gerard repeats with a low whistle. “That’s a big deal. You could say you clean toilets there and it would be impressive.” 

“Nah, that was last year.” Frank smiles crookedly, brushing aside his black bangs that have remained soft to the touch after applying fresh dye a day ago. “I’m their most special boy now. A doormat and a driver.” 

“I think I’d agree on the special boy part,” Gerard says musingly, eyes reflecting the gleam of the beaming lights overhead as he slowly drinks in each of Frank’s features, settling on his mouth.

Frank feels something warm twist in his gut with the heavy awareness of Gerard’s gaze on him. He tugs at his turtleneck at the sudden flush of heat, but doesn’t turn away, only tucking his lower lip between his teeth and smiling faintly. 

“So it’s mine?” 

Gerard blinks, shocked for a moment. “What is?” 

Frank laughs, gesturing to the wall. “The collection?” 

“Oh!” Pink tinges the tips of Gerard’s ears a similar color to his hair, not at the fault of the dye product, but he laughs despite it. “Yeah, of course. Most people like to negotiate the price or place a higher offer on it, if you want to . . .?” 

“I’ll take it as is. I’d pay more if it were my own money, seriously. If you see the artist again, please let her know she’s fucking stellar and I might even come back to pick something for myself.” It also pays to know Frank would find Gerard here to guide him to any future new additions, unable to tear his eyes away from him even with discussion of art on his tongue. 

Gerard’s beam melts into something softer, gratitude bringing further color into his cheeks. He nods, summoning someone to retrieve the artwork and properly ring it up for Frank. After swiping the card, Gerard loads the framed work onto a wheel-out cart and offers to help Frank haul it into the car, which Frank is grateful for because Gerard is likely far more experienced in handling fragile cargo and playing Tetris with it. Frank would spew out an infinite number of curse words trying to jam them in the car and accidentally damage either one or all of the paintings. 

As he assumed, Gerard flawlessly manages to slot each of the paintings into a sensical row in the trunk and tie them together with soft string to keep them from sliding out of place. He steps back with a smug smile and hand on his hip, tilting his head to the side to observe his work. 

“That should do it. If anything slides out of place, feel free to return and yell at me.” Gerard twists around, a tendril of red hair grazing against his cheek in the chilled wind flinging tiny flecks of snow across like a projection against his flickering gaze of interest. “You know, I never caught your name.” 

“It’s Frank.” He waits for the slight nose wrinkle or the confused furrowing of the brow he usually receives when sharing his name, but he only finds himself being assessed with the same intrigue. It’s not necessarily the feeling of being hunted, but Frank’s hands tingle at his sides and his blood rushes from the exhilaration of a chase when Gerard steps towards him. 

“I’ll see you around then, Frank. Maybe you should come to one of our exhibits, you could meet Soma and a ton of other artists I think you’d probably like.” 

“I’m not . . .” Frank tries to state he’s not exactly big enough on art for him to regularly attend exhibitions, but the hope in Gerard’s eyes ties his tongue in knots and suddenly he feels idiotic spilling the truth. 

Instead, he nods, playing coy. “Sorry. I meant to say I’m not really sure I’m cool enough to hang out with the art crowd.”

“Oh, you think artists are cool?” Gerard snorts. “Most of us are losers. What we make is cool. Don’t worry about trying to fit in.”

“Us?” Frank points out.

“I hang up a couple paintings here and there. Maybe you should come whenever I do. Here’s my card if you ever want to know when I’ll be displaying my stuff.” Gerard’s mouth tilts into a sideways smile, lashes catching snowflakes on the curled tips as he flutters them the smallest bit. He takes the liberty of sliding a business card from his own pocket into Frank’s coat, their gazes catching and lingering when it brings them into closer proximity. It seizes Frank’s pounding heart and he quickly comes to the conclusion it’ll be impossible to leave here without at least chancing the tension gathering between them. 

“You should go out with me sometime,” Frank raises the suggestion, softness lacing through the words as he turns on the charm, peering through his lashes. 

Gerard’s expression flickers with blankness followed by surprise. Frank worries for a moment he may have wrongfully assumed Gerard’s intention somehow, that his personality is the type that naturally plays along the edges of flirtation, but his worries are diminished by the pleased and almost triumphant smile that slides over Gerard’s mouth. 

“I thought I’d have to work a lot harder to get that out of you,” Gerard admits, a tiny laugh lacing through his confession. 

“Harder?” Frank’s eyebrows fly up. “You’d kill a man if you fluttered your lashes any more.”

Gerard’s eyes glisten as if he’d been waiting to hear those exact words. He chuckles, cocking his head. “Well, not everyone’s good at picking up on hints. I’ve gotta pull out all the stops sometimes.” 

“Are you calling me oblivious?”

“Far from it. You’re pretty forward. You’re calling me out for my ability to turn someone into putty with my eyes alone. Who’s to say you don’t have the same effect?” 

Frank’s lips slide into a gratified smile, warmth gathering around his cheeks at the insinuation that keeps his fingertips tingling, his feet sliding him an inch closer until it’s made clear Gerard’s focus is his alone. “I’ve heard I do from time to time.” 

Gerard tugs his lower lip into his mouth, eyes flickering all across Frank’s face in appreciation of every feature. Frank could vividly picture him drifting closer, crooking pale fingers and hooking them underneath his chin to tilt his face back the smallest amount, and Frank’s mouth is suddenly watering with the desire to be provoked in that enticing yet humbling way— belittling in a way he craves, not in the way he resents. 

“I should warn you. I’m a material girl. I only go on dates that include free cigarettes and cocktails.” Gerard spreads his cards on the table with a teasing note to them. 

Frank blinks and suddenly, his charm falls through the gaps between his fingers when the reason behind the odd feeling of familiarity strikes him with those precise words. 

Gerard reminds him of the one that got away. He flirtatiously bantered with Gee and those words arose in the midst of it, specific enough to make Frank nearly open his mouth in a rush of exhilaration and ask if this person could possibly be his Gee. The first initials, the mouth, the feline methods of drawing in attraction— 

But the chances of facing yet another disappointment have Frank swallowing down his excitement like bile. Too many spoiling factors trickle in. The vast difference in hair and presentation, the complete lack of recognition towards Frank, the fact that he found Gerard working here instead of singing his way around late night bars and seducing the audience with his voice. 

At some point, there’s no point in grasping the fading image of the past when there’s been no signs proving to Frank he shouldn’t lose faith in it. If anything, he’s been ignoring the signs that it’s not going to work out. He’s already forgotten the sound of Gee’s voice besides the tone he spoke with, he doesn’t know the color of his eyes, and the picture from a single dimly-lit night doesn’t suffice for his memory’s weak devices of holding onto even the most life-altering moments. Gee has become a fairytale, a streak of black and red on the canvas of the night. 

Meanwhile, Gerard is here. Black and red in different ways, open to possibility and holding all the potential to help Frank shake his unsolved mystery from his system. 

It’s only that his yearning would be wasted. But would it be if he spent every second of it with a kind of sincerity he’s never felt before? It’s better not to overthink it, he decides. 

“Lucky for you, I’ve always got a pack on me and I’ll let you pick where we go. But for that, I’ll need your personal number.” 

Gerard lights up. “Smooth. Most people would take their small chances with my business number.” 

“I don’t think you’d appreciate me calling your business phone just to tell you I’d really like to see how pretty you look on a date.” Frank smiles. He retrieves a pen from his back pocket and slides out the business card, grazing it across the zipper to Gerard’s jacket until his cheeks flush as crimson as his hair. 

Gerard doesn’t hesitate for a moment despite his tendency to flush from flattery. His smile would be categorized as demure if it weren’t for the twinkle in his eyes that flit between Frank and the card. He leans close to smooth out the card against Frank’s chest to jot his cell number onto. “I clean up pretty nice, but I tend to get a lot more love and attention when I wear nothing at all.”

Gerard slides the card back into Frank’s coat, winks, and takes off, leaving Frank grinning and feeling dizzy in a way he hasn’t experienced in a year. 

— 

Gerard’s waistcoat is a tad too small. He shifts at the pinch around his sides, only worsening the problem, and he fights not to scowl. He detests the fact that settling in a classy place requires formal wear, otherwise he wouldn’t have thought twice about strutting in the tightest mini skirt in his closet he would’ve loved to show off to his date tonight, shivering November be damned. 

The Soigné Room is designed exactly the way Gerard envisioned it before he first paid a visit to it. A moody lounge with gleaming chandeliers poised above luxurious satin upholstery, baroque styled mantels over the wide mouths of fireboxes churning with crackling flame, onyx ceramic floors in all the seating areas and near the bar. The counters are lined in gold, the walls white marble with the same gold flecked into it. The outdoor patio seating is beneath a billowy white canopy beside a truly magical blooming garden, stairs leading down to the brick pathway that trails all the way to the massive tiered fountain. It’s bold, beautiful, and self-important. 

Gerard’s not ashamed to be completely obsessed with it. He always dreamed of coming here until the day he finally made enough to afford it. But he wholly expected Frank to decline his invitation to this place, considering it might be too much for a first date, but Frank had been nothing but impressed. Gerard thinks it might be a sign they’re destined to be. 

Frank is currently in the bathroom while Gerard orders them drinks. Frank told him to go ahead and order anything he wants, not to worry about the price, which automatically made Gerard secretly decide he’ll pay from his own pocket tonight in appreciation of that gesture he’d only demanded as a joke the day they met. He might be a material girl, but working in the best gallery in the city in a position he worked damn hard to get to has awarded him a pretty decent paycheck he’s willing to spend on those most deserving of it. 

And the thing is, Gerard hasn’t been on a date in too long. Not a proper date that involves actual talking and interest that isn’t solely sexual. Gerard has fallen out of the habit of dating, tired of chasing after flaky people or the even stranger ones that see their partner’s sparkle as a threat to their self-esteem. Most truly can’t handle the high standards they expect from others and Gerard refuses to silence himself for someone else’s comfort. 

Not that having fun hasn’t been . . . well, fun . It’s just that Gerard is willing to give a second chance to the concept he abandoned and Frank seemed like the perfect candidate from the second he walked through the door bundled up like the cutest blueberry with snowflakes caught in his black dyed side bangs. However embarrassing it may have been to be in need of rescuing after nearly toppling over and being crushed by a ridiculously heavy frame, Frank hadn’t given Gerard the opportunity to be mortified by popping his head over the side of the frame and stunning Gerard with that angelic face. Pouty pink lips, large hooded eyes with the tendency to absorb the twinkle from every nearby light, the soft type of skin that makes it seem he hasn’t battled with a single blemish in his life. Gerard isn’t afraid to say Frank has the exact type of softness to his features that entices him. And sends him on the prowl, if you will. 

After he lent a hand, he looked utterly clueless in the way that made Gerard want to help him, then entranced by him in the way that made Gerard want to jump his bones. 

He’ll have to hold off on that later temptation at least until the second date, he’s promised himself that. Apparently, formal dating etiquette doesn’t include putting out on the first date despite his own ongoing agenda. Change is due, and change is all he’s known in the past year, so he’s turning along with the tide. A new apartment— one that thankfully isn’t shared with Mikey and his wife— new hair, new career path, new everything. You don’t realize how fulfilling change can be until you no longer feel like a burden imposing on a couple’s domestic life and your pockets don’t run empty only hours after a payment hits your bank account. 

Still, Gerard’s eyes wander as they often do. Not to find a more interesting body, or a prettier face— that’s practically impossible with the way Frank’s hazel doe eyes sparkle enough to steer traffic off its course, but it’s just that there’s only one other face that’s ever captivated him enough to hold everyone he meets to its standard, and he hadn’t even seen the entire thing. He’s only been able to imagine how heart-stopping it must be behind the privacy of a half-mask and painfully low lighting. 

Gerard sighs in frustration. He swore he would stop doing this. All the similar parties he’s attended, all the bodies he’s touched, none of them have led him back to Alex, so he’s long past trying to find him anymore. The habit sticks even after a few months of officially resigning from the investigation. He guesses it’s a bit of a stretch to formally state he’s given up, but what else can he do to dull out the disappointment? 

Gerard doesn’t like to linger if he can help. It just fills him with false hope and he’s had enough of that after three hugely failed relationships he thought he could salvage when he was younger. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s extremely sensitive, naive when it comes to love, or so an old therapist has bluntly put it. He feels stupid to have put so much faith in a chance encounter even after realizing that, almost bitter when he questions why Alex wouldn’t return if he knew where to find him— but now isn’t an appropriate time to get riled up about it. He blames the faint irritability on the fact that his waistcoat is tight and promises he won’t keep postponing going to buy a new one. It’s too easy to be stingy with oneself when it’s the habit of a person with less fortunate pockets. He turns his attention to the waiter speeding towards their table and picks up his menu. 

Frank returns after the waiter leaves with their drink orders. He rubs his gloved hands together to chafe warm into them. Peculiarly, the fingertips are cut off, leaving part of Frank’s fingers bare. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of wearing gloves? Gerard wonders if it’s a fashion statement. 

“Dude, they have those fancy seashell soaps in there. And there’s a guy waiting with towels, can you fucking believe that?” Frank sounds utterly overjoyed, eyes gleaming. Adorable as they come.

Gerard beams and leans his chin on his fist. “I remember. As you can tell I like to keep my date locations humble,” he jokes.

“Yeah? What’s next, someone’s gonna come over with a tray of free top of the line cigarettes?” 

“Nope, that’s your job tonight.” 

Frank snorts, readjusting the scarf around his neck. He looks cold. Though the sight of the tip of his button nose going red from the chill is endearing, Gerard guiltily bites his lip. 

“Maybe outdoor seating wasn’t the best decision. They have a nice fire going inside if you wanna sit there instead?” Gerard suggests. He’d like for Frank’s fingers to remain intact so he can thread his own through them at some point in the night. 

Frank shakes his head, pink lips smoothing out in a close-lipped smile as he meets Gerard’s eyes with a soft gaze. Fuck, he has a really nice mouth. “Nah, this is fine. It’s crowded in there anyway, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate you the same.” 

Gerard is about to lay himself out on the table and purr. Frank has a way of doing that; unexpectedly flattering Gerard like it’s the most effortless thing to him. He could spend all night concocting plans on how to get Frank to do it more, but he would be lying if he wouldn’t be at the risk of falling completely in love. A round of compliments and a few thoughtful gestures he didn’t need to beg for is all it takes for someone to wrap him around their finger. Like calling him pretty, offering him cigarettes . . . blowing him like he’s the most divine thing that’s ever roamed the earth . . . 

Gerard pinches his thigh underneath the table. He’s thinking about him again. It’s forbidden. He swaps the thought with one pertaining to the drinks.

“I got you a cocktail. It’s called Dancing in the Dark, it sounded good. It’s got Malibu rum, lime, some kind of tequila I couldn’t pronounce, and . . . I forgot the rest.” Gerard waves his hand through the air.

“I haven’t had a cocktail in ages.”

Gerard’s eyebrows fly up. “What’s that like?”

Frank’s snicker turns into a light quick giggle, the contagious sort. “Miserable as you’re picturing. I don’t even remember what a cocktail tastes like, when I drink I’m too lazy and tired to elaborate.” 

“We’re going to change that.” Gerard grins. “What’s your poison?”

Frank blinks, eyes going oddly blank for a moment. Before Gerard can question if he’s fine, Frank coughs into his hand. 

“Um . . . I’ve been big into champagne.”

“Fancy. I’ll fix us up with some of their finest next time.” Gerard winks at the hint he drops. “For you, anyway. I got me a mocktail, I always get one when I’m here.” 

Frank cocks his head curiously. “Mocktail?” 

“Yeah, I like places like this but I try not to drink most nights. A real cocktail is like a little reward from time to time.” Gerard smiles and shrugs. “Mine has Pentire Seaward. ” 

“What’s that?” 

“I have no fucking idea. But it’s good.” Gerard giggles, crossing one leg over the other and sitting back in his chair. “How do you like my special place?” 

“It’s definitely one of the fancier places I’ve been to.” Frank’s interested eyes wander around the chandelier fixtures and golden railing surrounding the seating area. “How’d you find it?”

Gerard is tempted to take the usual route by casually assembling a white lie and letting it reel Frank into his bubble, but it just seems tedious at the moment, and almost wrong when Frank looks at him with genuine interest that says this isn’t a form of small talk. It makes Gerard want to lay it all out bare so Frank will be besotted by him and not the elevated version he tends to put forward, the kind he uses for physical things, and that’s not the objective here.  

Gerard slowly starts to unfold his fabric napkin, reigning in the embarrassment. “I just . . . had a habit of googling ‘fancy places near me’. I found this deep in the results. The pictures, I don’t know, they just drew me in. It’s beautiful here and seems like a place only snobs would go to. That’s why I love it.”

“You’re definitely not a snob. I thought maybe you brought me here just to impress me.” 

Gerard barely refrains from bursting out into laughter. He crosses one leg over the other, letting his foot graze Frank’s shin under the table. “I can’t say that wasn’t part of the plan.” 

Shifting his leg to hook it around Gerard’s, Frank beams. It remains even as the waiter returns to set their drinks on the table, leaving them with a flourish once they’re satisfied. 

Gerard sips his mocktail and hums as the carbonation slides down his throat. “I wanted to climb up the ladder just enough to be able to reward myself with weekly trips here. That included working my ass off every day.”

“I know what you mean. I had a place like that. A guitar store— and anyone can go to those, but it’s a whole other thing to be able to bring their coolest fucking instrument home with you,” Frank says softly, but almost joyfully, like he’d been waiting for someone to have a similar experience as him. 

Gerard laughs in his throat, looking up and seeking large hazel eyes reflecting the string lights wrapped along the pillars outside. He can get used to looking into them. He shifts, feeling Frank’s calf slide against his shin, and his heart skips a beat. “You play guitar? What kind?”

“Uh, mostly electric, but I like acoustic, too. I used to play in a band.” 

“You clean up nice for a guy in a band.” Gerard always pictures leather and chains. Imagining Frank in that isn’t bad at all. 

Frank tugs his coat partially open to reveal a tie resting stark black over a white button-up snug around the chest. “My suit has been out of practice. I’m almost grown into it, I think I’m finally moving out of the stage where my upper body looks like I’m lying about my age.” 

Gerard snorts unattractively. “What, ‘cause you’re small?”

“Not that small,” Frank mutters, but a teasing light touches his eyes as he mirrors Gerard’s position. “Just enough that people like to toss me around a little. Only in a way I’d ask for, of course.” 

Gerard delights in picturing exactly what he means by that instead of shying away from it. He watches Frank from across the table, eyes flickering from his plush lower lip to the scarf wound around his neck, wondering what his throat looks like. Gerard is positively vampiric when it comes to that. He enjoys sinking his teeth in, marking up tender skin. Just like when Alex had the perfect target, a tattoo—

“Fuck,” Gerard swears under his breath.

Frank’s forehead creases with concern. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah! Just realized I . . . forgot my lighter at home.” Gerard lies through his teeth. 

Frank’s eyes dart down to the table and fix on something there. He raises his eyes back up, inquisitively bending his brow. Gerard looks down and flushes deeply with mortification. His lighter is highly obvious right beside his phone on the tabletop, not deep within his pocket like he thought it would be. 

Gerard sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Okay. Let me be honest.” 

Frank doesn’t take offense nor does he look upset. He leans a tad closer with an open expression, waiting for Gerard to continue. 

“I was kind of hung up on this . . . guy,” Gerard admits with great strength. “I still think about him sometimes. I haven’t connected with anyone since him, until you came in, so I’m sorry if I’m a disaster at first.” 

Gerard expects Frank’s immediate disconnect. It’s understandable, Gerard won’t be upset if Frank decides he’d rather not continue the date. But Frank only looks thoughtful, eyes trained on the lighting fixtures above Gerard’s head like he’s remembering something and frowning at it. Gerard has to scratch the side of his neck to get rid of the tingling nerves, awkwardly sliding his leg away from Frank’s. 

“I was hung up on someone, too.” Frank admits without a hint of reluctance, just the same open expression from before. Gerard’s eyes feel huge as he waits for more.

Frank finally looks back down at Gerard, smiling small and softly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s hard to pretend like you didn’t have that strong of a feeling. Harder to start building it again with someone different. Seriously, don’t stress about it.”

Gerard feels like a sack of bricks has been lifted from his shoulders. He bites his lip, wanting to tear at the skin, but he’s been trying to cut the habit. 

“It wasn’t even a relationship, just something special.” Gerard pauses, hoping his elaboration doesn’t bother Frank, but Frank only smiles encouragingly and nods for him to go on. It makes Gerard’s chest grow warm and honesty pours from his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you could be special, too. I’m not here to mess around.” 

“Me neither.” Frank’s warm gaze searches all over Gerard’s face, the tilt of his lips affectionate. It makes Gerard want to squirm, but he sits still in his chair so he doesn’t fall over. 

“I haven’t . . . been on a date in a really long time. Maybe two years, I’m not sure. But I just— I’m rusty. I kind of got the habit of exclusively sticking to hook-ups— not that I’m a total slut. It was just exchanging one thing for another. Dates intimidate me. I don’t feel intimidated by you though, that’s why you caught my attention.” Gerard chews the edge of his nail when he notices he’s starting to ramble, possibly killing off Frank’s warm feelings. 

If anything, to his surprise, it endears Frank towards him. “Gerard, you’re fine. It’s kind of freaky how similar we are. God, I can’t remember the last real date I’ve been on . . . but I didn’t hesitate to ask you out on one.” 

Gerard’s hand slowly lowers from his mouth. He giggles breathlessly, brushing a stubborn lock of hair from his face. “I don’t think it’s freaky. It just puts you in danger.” 

“Of what?” 

“Of me forming a sickeningly huge crush on you.” 

“Oh.” A splash of color brightens Frank’s cheeks. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

The sheepish set of his mouth is different from the effortless flirty nature he came in with, making butterflies erupt in Gerard’s stomach at the mere sight of it. Frank studies him quietly, and his leg returns, hooking around Gerard’s to resume their previous closeness in a way that causes giddy relief to rapidly flood into Gerard. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Frank murmurs. 

“Yeah?” Gerard says it far too breathily, but doesn’t give a damn. He smiles and looks from under his lashes, sliding his hand across the table to graze his fingers over Frank’s sleeve back and forth until Frank’s cheeks are coloring. He wants to watch his flush deepen, so he leans forward, tucking the tips of his fingers under Frank’s sleeve to touch his skin. 

“Say it again.”

—

Gerard does end up ordering a real cocktail at some point during the night. In celebration of the laughter that makes his cheeks feel on the verge of cramping and permanently remaining in that form, blushing almost red as his hair, he’s willing to bet. 

Frank feeds him spoonfuls of ice cream and raves about music, vents about the fallen musical heroes that made him retire idolization as a whole once he entered the industry and saw what these people in photographs are actually like. He gestures around with his hands until his cheeks are flushed and Gerard gets the feeling he doesn’t get to talk much about these things. There's quiet inkling that Frank doesn’t get to talk to many people at all, and it’s a mystery whether that’s a choice or something that happened along the way. Gerard listens, puts in his two cents, but he’s so content to just listen to Frank speak that sometimes he finds himself at a loss for words. 

When the outdoor lights beam on Gerard, Frank stops and gazes at him almost softly, almost like he knows him, and Gerard has the same phantom feeling that’s always at the edges of his mind. It allows him to let his mouth run freely to the point where he realizes he isn’t putting on any show as he ordinarily would and Frank takes it without an iota of disinterest or disappointment. He likes Gerard’s slightly snobby position at the art gallery, that he’s a casual part-time artist, that he just recently started his entire life over again, and that he’s not always as smooth as he is when he’s searching for something. 

It might be the most romantic night he’s ever had. 

They don’t overdo it with the alcohol. Gerard refuses to go beyond one drink and Frank is elegant with the amount he takes in, insisting the entire time he’ll handle the bill, until it’s served up to them and Gerard has to practically tackle him to the fucking table to swipe the card through the waiter’s clip-on card reader. Frank then promises to truly cover the payment on their next date, a guarantee rather than a suggestion. Gerard is so ecstatic and dizzy at the idea of getting to do this again.

At the end of the night, they go out to the park nearby, finding a lonely gazebo branching off from the pathway leading down to the murky city pond. Gerard is certain he’s going to need to jam his toes directly into his space heater when he gets home from how fucking cold it is, but it’s strange feeling warm inside when the exterior says the opposite. He burrows in that contentment as he and Frank pull out their pack of cigarettes to smoke and watch the still pond sparkling silver under the moon. 

Frank takes the lighter and ignites the flame to light Gerard’s cigarette first. Gerard’s eyes flicker up and find the orange glow encompassing Frank’s pretty face, accentuating the smoothness of his skin and the soft pout of his lips. Frank meets his eyes when he senses them on him and his pink mouth curves at the corners in motion resembling a faint smile. Gerard returns it, doing Frank the favor of lighting his cigarette with the end of his, leaning in instead of moving it with his hands so the only thing standing between their lips are the cigarettes. Gerard’s chest twitches on the first inhale and he doesn’t want to move away, but he does anyway, pocketing the tension to make use of it later. 

Leaning against the railing, smoke combines with the fog their breath makes against the cold air. 

“Jesus, I really fucking hate the winter,” Frank mutters around smoke.

Gerard snorts, his elbow bumping Frank’s. “What’s the point of cutting off the fingers of gloves if you know you’re gonna freeze yours off?” 

“It looks cool.” Frank spreads his hand out and holds it towards the sky for both of them to look. “Watch, if I ever become rich and famous, all the kids are gonna be copying me.” 

“With the fraying threads and all?” 

Frank smiles. “Hey, they’ve been through a lot. I’ve had these since I was in college. Dropped out after just one semester to make music.”

Gerard raises an eyebrow. “Why’d you quit?” he assumes because he’s completely sure Frank would have the entire industry desperately reaching for him if he gave music a real chance. 

Frank shrugs, dropping his hand and taking a deep lungful of smoke. “I never hit it off. I don’t know what it was about it . . . it just didn’t feel right like I hoped, you know?” He speaks softly, almost wistful.  

Gerard tilts his head in question now that his assumption is proven wrong. Frank elaborates in earnest, waving his cigarette through the air. “It was like whatever lived inside my brain couldn’t translate properly to page. Or to instruments, whatever. I guess there were other plans in store for me or some shit. I didn’t really imagine that would entail being someone’s juggler and chauffeur, but hey, at least I’m somewhere in the music world.” 

Gerard hums. He thinks back to a slightly younger version of himself drifting in and out of nearly empty lounges to sing to no one or the very few who were willing to listen, kicking pebbles and drinking himself numb from the feeling of failure. Now he only sings purely for the pleasure of fleeting joy in recovering a hobby once polluted, and he stops himself short when he starts to wonder if it was always better off this way. It’s a dismal thought even if it may be true, and he accepts it, but it doesn’t mean he relishes the sting. 

“It’s not easy,” Gerard murmurs. He takes a heavy drag and shakes the bleak memory out of his head. “Most of the time, when you think you’ve got something special, the world humbles the fuck out of you.” 

Frank agrees with a low hum. He turns to Gerard, squinting one eye shut like he’s looking through a camera lens. He smiles around his cigarette. “You on the other hand. You’ve fucking got it.” 

“What would that be?” 

“The twinkle. The fucking— star quality. I could see you on the covers of magazines or on someone’s TV screen.” 

Gerard snorts. “I work at a gallery, not in a film studio. No blockbuster hits for me any time soon.”

“Because you don’t want to be in a film studio,” Frank adds, eyes glistening warmly. “But you could right now if you really did. You’d give all these big movie stars a run for their money. Have them all crashing down on their knees whenever you walk through the door.” 

“What about you? Would you act the same?” 

“I’d be your number one fan. Watching from the sidelines, hoping you’d give me even a second of your attention. That’s how great you’d be.” 

Gerard opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, decidedly speechless. No one’s ever told him he’s good enough. Even Mikey softly discouraged Gerard’s choice of path because of how the misery caused him to crash and burn every night instead of telling him what he really wanted to hear; that he’s a fucking star, that he only needs to smile a centimeter wider and he’ll have the world eating out of his hand. He abandoned the dream so long ago he doesn’t want it anymore, but the remnants of it stay when he falls into someone’s bed. It’s a good rush, a reminder that he’s got it.

It’s exceptionally rare for anyone to tell him he does without him even trying. Frank is here, beaming at him, more beautiful than anyone Gerard has ever seen, and he thinks Gerard is special. 

Gerard’s heart gallops. He grinds out his cigarette and lets the remains crumble to the floor before he takes hold of Frank’s jacket and pulls him in to taste that sweetness of his on his pretty lips. 

God, he feels good. Warm, soft, real. His lips are like silk under his and they respond so prettily to him, parting with a soft moan that makes Gerard’s knees feel weak. Frank snakes his arms around Gerard’s waist and pulls him in closer with an invitation Gerard can’t accept quickly enough, his urgency leaking into the kiss now that he’s had time to react. 

It’s like the cold immediately disperses when Gerard feels his body pressing right up against Frank’s and his hands are sliding into that silky hair, fingers twisting around the longer pieces towards the front. Frank’s gloved hands are pulling at Gerard’s waistcoat in an effort to drag him closer as if it’s even possible with the way they must look like they’re eager to absorb each other from a distance. 

They walk backwards until Frank’s back is hitting one of the pillars upholding the structure surrounding them. He moans again into Gerard’s mouth and that’s a sound Gerard can easily get addicted to. Almost a whine when he tugs at Frank’s hair and gets his tongue in his mouth to taste him, scalding and messy. The kiss is heavy and neither of them are concerned with how they sound when it only heightens the desire to keep themselves interlocked this way. The slick sound of lips, the mingling moans over panting breaths, Frank’s nails scratching along the fabric of Gerard’s clothes like he wants to tear them off. 

At one point, Frank’s boldness peaks with the rash desire to truly access bare skin that time. He scrambles around Gerard’s pants button, teeth scraping his lower lip in his clumsy but skillfully quick pursuit. Gerard would be more than fucking happy to feel Frank’s hand on him, especially since his body has decided this is all the foreplay he needs to send the signal to his cock that he’s ready to go , but they still have a hill or two to climb over before they get there. 

Gerard genuinely can’t believe he’s doing this. He reluctantly pulls back just enough to break the kiss and grabs Frank’s fast hands before they can complete their quick work. Frank freezes, eyes huge and almost innocent with confusion. He’s beautiful with a spill of pink blooming in his cheeks and his lips reddened and slick from spit, parted as rushed breaths flutter through them. 

“Hold your horses, baby,” Gerard breathlessly inserts before he wholly abandons all other thought and dives in for Frank’s mouth again. He lowers Frank’s hands, pinning them to his sides. “You might want to get to know me a little better first.” 

Frank’s face scrunches with confusion. “Why?” It’s cute, not to mention flattering, that Frank hasn’t once stopped to consider there could be any existing trait in Gerard that would stop him from stumbling into bed with him.  

“I’m certainly not for everyone.” More like the contents of his closet aren’t for everyone. Normally, he tries to break the ice immediately by attending the first date with something that puts the message out there, but he wasn’t given the chance with this weather. 

Frank is already shaking his head. He brings his sweet mouth to the corner of Gerard’s mouth, kissing a trail down to his neck until Gerard’s nerves are singing with how good it feels. “I don’t care about everyone else. You’re for me. Wanna touch you, don’t tell me I’ll regret it because I fucking won’t.” 

Gerard almost slams Frank up against the pillar and tears his pants clean off. But he’s not an animal, and after tonight, he’s decided he’s too fond of Frank to risk the chance they’ll rapidly burn out this flame between them before they ever get the chance to properly tend to it. 

However, priming doesn’t do any harm. 

“Okay,” Gerard breathes, tipping his head back and letting Frank attack his neck. “How about next time, I take you home and I dress up for you.” He curls his fingers tight in Frank’s hair and holds his breath. “In an actual dress.” 

Instead of recoiling, Frank continues to respond positively to everything Gerard has thrown at him. He moans into Gerard’s throat, panting, but pulling back to curl his hands around his face to stare at him in heavy-lidded awe. 

“Fuck,” Frank licks his lips. “Fuck, Gerard, I swear I dreamt you up.” 

Gerard giggles, elation bursting in his chest at Frank’s acceptance that came without missing a single beat. He grins, sappy and unashamed of it, hands wandering down Frank’s sides in a slow descent. “Want me to pinch you so you know I’m real?” 

“Not there.” He takes Gerard’s hand and guides it down and around to his ass. 

Gerard groans. He takes a handful, squeezing until Frank is gasping in that way that makes Gerard want to ruin him, and dives back in for another go at that silky mouth he doubts he’ll ever get enough of.

He doesn’t stop, can’t stop, until the time is too late to avoid. They reluctantly part, passionately promising to see each other again, and Gerard stumbles home hard and lightheaded. He gets himself off fast and hard, curls up against his pillows, and grins into them in the most smitten manner as he thinks of Frank until he finally drifts off. 

—

“How come I haven’t seen you at any parties lately, peach?” Brian asks. He folds his arms on the extravagant bartop and watches Gerard with concern as if the subject of the question isn’t a fucking orgy. It’s a bit of a concern in itself that not making an appearance at parties of that nature is a clue of unwellness according to Brian. Maybe Gerard has overdone it. Even a sliver of fame is addicting. 

Gerard draws a slow circle on the counter with the tip of his index finger. “I don’t think I’ll be going back.” 

“What?” Brian’s hands fly up. “People love you there!” 

“Well, obviously,” Gerard smiles, curling a hand around his own cheek as he leans into his hand. “But first I didn’t have the time or energy, and then I found a guy I really like and I don’t think going to orgies is a really good idea when shit like that happens, right? Like, there’s monogamy and all that good stuff.” 

Brian’s eyes round out. “And you’re serious about him?” 

Gerard huffs. “You make me sound like a whore when you word it like that.” 

“No! You just never tell me about any boyfriends or girlfriends, I thought you preferred being kind of a lone wolf with occasional company.” 

“Yes, but— yeah, no, you’re right.” Gerard’s mouth curves into a bashful smile and he dips down to attach his lips to his straw, taking in a mouthful of iced tea. He enjoys being known, even if it isn’t always flattering. He sighs and swings himself back on track “About that . . .” 

Brian’s brows fly up. He quickly orders another drink when the bartender comes around and returns his undivided attention to Gerard.  

Gerard feels guilt chipping away the edges of his single piece of resolve. But he needs a proper resolution or else he’ll never know if whatever he’s been forming with Frank is meant to be or not. It feels sincere, settling in his chest with what can turn into permanence as long as he has no strings attached to anything else. He wants to be the serious type again, the one that fawns over simple gestures and falls in love without the fear that his commitment won’t be requited. First, he’s gotta clip the wings of the past that never had the chance to take flight. 

Stubborn wings that keep insisting on flapping by invading Gerard’s dreams lately. It’s like Alex refuses to let go of him, rising on the edges of his subconscious when he least expects it. Gerard can’t exactly work his magic on Frank when he keeps stumbling. 

“Did you ever know a guy named Alex? He has— um, he’s got tattoos. And kind of shaggy wavy dark hair.” 

Brian chuckles, befuddled. “You’re gonna have to be more descriptive than that. I know about thirty guys with tattoos and shaggy hair, none of them are named Alex. Unless he used a fake name.” 

Gerard groans. “I figured, but I couldn’t really see him in full detail the night I met him. I know Alex isn’t his real name, it was the night of the masked orgy. The room was dark and red and he had his mask on the whole time, I don’t even fucking know the color of his eyes, man. He has— he has birds tattooed on his hips!” 

Brian scrunches his nose, thinking deeply. After some time, he scratches the side of his head and shakes his head apologetically. “Sorry, peach, I don’t know anyone with that kind of tattoo. That night must’ve been the only party he came to and I didn’t see him. I’m pretty familiar with the people who go to my parties and their, er, naked state, not to be weird or anything.” 

Gerard catches onto a strong bubble of eagerness bursting to life in him that wants to solve this puzzle and he goes to ask if the neck tattoo would ring a bell if Brian hadn’t seen Alex at the party, but the guilt returns. He knows for certain that Frank— or anyone for that matter— would be less than impressed by their new interest chasing after an old flame behind their back. He starts up with an explanation that it’s nothing to do with Frank, but catches himself as he realizes he hasn’t actually been caught, though it’s probable if he continues like this. He hasn’t been given any reason Frank would go after the person he admitted he’d been hung up on, it’s too unfair. 

Suddenly, on top of everything, Gerard feels foolish sprinting after a night that should’ve been scrubbed away by now. Why wouldn’t Alex ask Brian about Gerard if he truly wanted to find him? 

Maybe Gerard fucked up beyond what he’s ever understood by vanishing without a trace. Maybe Alex is resented with him and would rather not reconnect at all. Gerard’s insides ache at that possibility he never took into consideration before. Yet he understands. He’d be pissed too if he were abandoned after an intense night like that and most people aren’t optimistic enough to imagine there had been a good reason behind something like that. He doesn’t know what Alex has been through, there can be a number of reasons why he wouldn’t give Gerard the benefit of the doubt. 

He thinks about Alex’s hand on his hip, the feeling of his lips on Gerard’s before he quietly told him, “I know we just met, but you might actually be the best fucking thing that’s happened to me all year.” 

Those words can remain as they are and not lose their meaning even if Gerard moves on from them. He prefers to think of it that way, as disheartening as it is to close that chapter and flip the page to begin a new one. 

Gerard’s clammy hands close around his glass. He feigns an equable smile, lifting his shoulder in a loose half-shrug. “It’s no big deal. I’ve got a new guy now, you know? I guess I just wanted to see if there was any chance Alex looked for me before I leap into something new.” 

“Clearing your conscience,” Brian nods with understanding. “Good move. Hey, let’s cheers to your new hottie, I’m sure he’s been head over heels since the moment he saw you.” 

Gerard giggles, raising his glass and clicking it against Brian’s. A heaviness lifts from his shoulders, giving him room to breathe in fresh air, and his smile is permanent when he feels his phone buzz and Frank’s name appears on the screen when he goes to check it. 

He’s fucking got this. He wants this, he wants Frank. That’s enough of a reason to cut his lingering fantasy short for good. Now a retired investigator, Gerard picks up his phone and lets his thumbs fly while Brian hollers excitedly at an old friend across the bar. Grinning like a fool with thoughts of falling in love on his brain.  

—

Frank doesn’t know if men like receiving flowers on dates, but one thing that’s almost certain in his mind is Gerard would. 

It’s choosing which bouquet is the best that’s the issue. He’s no fucking wedding planner, any flowers would do if he were the one being given them, but he can’t be lame about this particular bouquet. He wants to see Gerard smile, and also, possibly, for Gerard to fuck him as a show of gratitude. Wishful thinking. 

His indecisiveness keeps him shivering by the cool glass doors at the market nearest to his place. His phone chimes in his back pocket. Likely another text from Gerard, as is common in the past three weeks their schedules have clashed to a frustrating degree and their only means of communication has been nonstop texting. 

The last time Frank has ever fucked up his sleep schedule for someone was high school. The exhilarating refusal to sleep for the chance to soak up someone’s presence as much as he can even if he’s paying the consequences for it. Frank is a nightmare when he hasn’t slept correctly— he’s a nightmare enough on a bad day after being pushed too hard at his laughable job, but without fuel, he’s a growling stuttering engine anyone would hate to be or be near. 

If he’s losing sleep for Gerard, however, there’s nothing but kindness and love radiating from him, no matter the suspicious squinted eyes it casts his way. 

Frank contemplates every floral arrangement before settling for the tiger lillies. They’re bright, unique, and beautiful, much like the person whose hands they’ll be going into. He hums to himself in approval with a soft smile and heads off to the cashier to pay for them along with the two-pack of sparkling cider. 

It’s no question that despite every disappointment Frank has faced in his life, his affinity for romance has never been so devastated that he lost all faith in it. Maybe it’s gone quiet inside him with no person to evoke it, but it’s always steadily there under the surface, waiting for the chance to spring up to his head and make him stupid with it. 

He’s not there with Gerard yet. But the possibility comes closer with every conversation, every string of witty banter and dirty exchanges of messages shared after the sun sets. They’ve only been able to steal each other away for one date, but the minute the opportunity finally arose to initiate a second one, Frank practically tripped over himself inviting Gerard to his place for dinner. He’s a mediocre cook when it comes to himself, but when given an incentive to put more effort into it, he’s more willing to get his hands dirty. 

And he really, really wants to butter up Gerard just enough in the hopes that he’ll be rewarded with Gerard dressing up for him. 

He’s been unable to shut off his brain ever since those words slipped from Gerard’s mouth like a river of velvet, striking Frank right in the center of his legs and establishing a firm grip of ownership, Frank swears to fucking god.  Whatever invisible leash Gerard attached to him that night has a vice grip, not that he’s desperate to be released from it. 

Frank hasn’t felt like this since— fuck, no. He physically slaps himself on the wrist and ignores the strange look the woman beside him in line gives him. 

Frank has officially vowed to chase his mystery from his mind at the same moment Gerard promised to sweep away his own failed romance. It would be unfair to stay obsessed, not to mention the smallest bit pathetic that a year isn’t long enough for Frank to push out the hope that he may still discover Gee in the cereal aisle at the supermarket. Whatever expectations Frank held for the sake of his own hope have wilted and died off, Gee isn’t allowed to exist in his brain when he finally has something tangible in his hands, something he truly doesn’t want to lose. 

If life is going to continue laughing in his face this year, the least he can do is reward himself with one good thing that’s his and his alone. And not let it slip away as easily as the first one.

Frank makes it back to his duplex with his things in hand. He hurries to shower and dress, applying cologne to intimate zones like a real classy gentleman searching for some action he’s been all but guaranteed by Gerard’s tendency to run a filthy mouth like a tap. Frank almost cracks up at himself when he blushes deeply and his palms sweat opening Gerard’s messages at times, but he can’t resist the temptation to shoot back an equally explicit reply and pray he isn’t embarrassing himself. It takes a lot of charm to make Frank doubt his own skills. 

Gerard always responds with enthusiasm like Frank could never embarrass himself in front of him. It makes Frank fall deeper down the well that isn’t made of doom, but something lighter. 

Since his fucking heating system has decided to take a dive, Frank pulls out a turtleneck to keep his throat warm. Keeping it exposed leaves his frail victorian child immune system susceptible to the chill in the air. His hacking cough from last month had been contagious, not to mention deathly unattractive. He looks a little ridiculous, but not enough to be dissatisfied with the image he meets in the mirror. He’s beautiful, he knows this, and that’s enough for him to smile and hope Gerard thinks so, too. 

He passes his open drawer, nearly stepping on something discarded on the ground. He pauses, bending to pick it up. It’s fragile black lace with cut-outs for eyes and blood-red roses sewn in at random, ribbons to tie in the back. Frank swallows hard. His thumb delicately strokes one of the roses. He wholly considers ripping off the bandage and tossing it in the garbage, but when he’s hovering the mask above it, he can’t bring himself to do it. 

He allows just one more moment of weakness, one alone, by putting it on his dresser and hoping he forgets about it so it won’t plague his mind for the rest of the night. 

— 

Frank gets a text twenty minutes before Gerard is supposed to get there. 

My car is dead. I’m 10 mins away from your place in the Trader Joe’s parking lot, idk what to do! 

Frank immediately tells Gerard to wait there, grabs the abandoned jumper cables from his trunk, and hurries to the grocery store to find him. 

Gerard is waiting beside his car, arms crossed over his chest, snug in a long coat and scarf because the residue of snow on the ground gives the air a permanent clinging chill. Frank nearly slams his car into the one in the parking slot across from him when his eyes skim over Gerard and catch on to the fact that his legs are bare, all the way down to the heeled ankle boots firmly rooted in a small circle of the lot he created in the center of a patch of snow. 

Frank feels like the circulation in his brain has cut short when he stumbles out and once again tries not to focus on the possibility that underneath Gerard’s black coat is something that cuts off at the thigh. 

Gerard stands there expectantly, head cocked slightly to the side just like his charmingly crooked smile— a smile colored in deep red lipstick. It brightens the red in his hair that’s brushed and waved delicately around his heart-shaped face. God, the sight gets even better with every detail. 

“I didn’t think you were the handy type.” Gerard notes when Frank gets out.

“Not too much, but enthusiasm makes up for the lack of skill.” Frank laughs. “Let’s hope I don’t fuck it up.” 

“I know you won’t. But, fuck, this sucks!” Gerard meets Frank at the driver’s side once he swings the door shut. “I came here to get something for dessert, my car was completely fine. I don’t know the first fucking thing about cars, I just know it won’t even start. Usually my brother helps me with this stuff, but he’s out of town with his wife.” 

“I don’t know a lot, but I do know a dead battery. I have some cables for emergencies. I’ll just pop open the hood and charge it with my car, it’s fine.” Frank holds up the plastic bag containing the jumble of cables, smiling at the instant relief on Gerard’s face. He feels heroic somehow, especially when Gerard squeezes his arm in gratitude before he pulls away to get to work. 

Frank pops open the hood and leans in, but his eyes remain on Gerard’s pretty face as his mouth melts into a small smile. “You were early.” 

Gerard shifts, flicking away a lock of his hair from his face as he laughs quietly. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to be more punctual nowadays.” 

“You weren’t just eager to see me?” Frank pouts his lips and displays his roundest puppy eyes. 

Gerard grins. “You know I was, motherfucker.” Frank sticks his tongue out and takes his gloves off to get to work.

Frank looks up when he hears Gerard make a soft strange sound. He finds his eyes glued to his hands, large and detecting, maybe on the verge of alarm.

“Have you always had those?” Gerard stammers out when Frank asks what’s the matter. 

Frank’s mouth twists into a mischievous grin. “My hands? Yeah, I was born with them.” 

Gerard breaks through his stupor with a loud involuntary snort, slapping a hand over his mouth. He drops it shortly after and fixes Frank with a faux glare. 

“I meant your tattoos.” 

Frank glances down at the letters bridging across his knuckles, almost having forgotten them being there after a couple years have passed since he inked them. He laces his fingers together for the letters to form the word they make. 

“I got them a while ago. I’m kinda regretting it now ‘cause the guy who did them has tattooed probably every inked guy’s hands in the fucking state with the same exact style.” 

Gerard lets out a little breath at that, earning him Frank’s curiosity. Gerard waves his hand through the air to dismiss it, leaning up against his car. 

“It just reminded me of someone,” Gerard mumbles. “That’s probably why it looked familiar. I don’t know what that person’s tattoo said, it was too dark to really make it out.” 

“Probably just another client then. I mean hey, at least I can say mine is a little unique. Halloween’s my birthday.” 

Gerard groans. “God, you just get fucking cooler with everything I learn about you.” 

“You’d have a hard time finding anyone cooler.” Frank winks, savoring the fluttering in his stomach when it makes Gerard draw his lower lip between his teeth, and has to force himself to focus on the important favor he’s fulfilling. 

Frank is slightly embarrassed by the fact he fumbles around and has to do a quick internet search to fully jog his memory on how to do this, but his determination flatters him like he said it would. He gets the clamps in place and leaves his engine purring to refuel the battery, standing back with a satisfied hum. 

“That should do it. People make fun of me for having dainty hands, but they get the job done.” 

Gerard appears beside him with a towel to wipe his hands on. Frank raises an eyebrow to which Gerard giggles at. “I’ve always got one on me. You never know when you’ll have a mess to clean up in the backseat.” The insinuation hanging around those words makes Frank bite his lip through a snicker. Gerard’s not one to hold back in person, just like through messages. 

Frank swings open the backdoor of his car and keeps it open, gesturing for Gerard to sit so he won’t be left standing on high heels. Gerard perches on the seat and crosses his legs, undoes some tie underneath his coat, and something unfurls. A skirt, black and almost sheer against his smooth pale skin, done with an obvious slit sliding up the side and disappearing underneath the hem of the coat. A clear suggestion it probably goes to his upper thigh, making Frank’s tongue feel swollen in his mouth with the threat of rolling out like a cartoon fucking dog. 

“Told you I’d put on something nice next time we went out,” Gerard chuckles, smug and yet bashful at the same time as he toys with the edge of the skirt. 

Frank walks over slowly, eyes glued to the dress. He wets his lips so they won’t feel parched as he speaks, and all he can muster is, “Wow.” 

Gerard laughs, smoothing his hands down the front of the dress. “I got it brand new just for tonight.” 

“Show me the rest?” Frank dares to ask. 

Gerard’s smile is unfaltering. He stands, shrugging off the coat and leaving it abandoned on the seat. It’s a shin-length black dress with long sheer sleeves and a slit up the side traveling all the way to just a few centimeters beneath his hip. It shifts along with him, exposing one smooth pale leg, skin soft and completely void of a single hair. Frank’s throat closes up when Gerard’s fingers graze along his own thigh. 

“You like it?” Gerard asks, daring to be tentative as if Frank isn’t losing his mind. 

“Yeah I fucking like it. Seriously, Gerard, you look— you’re fucking beautiful.” Frank’s fingers twitch at his sides with the urge to touch that smooth thigh the same way Gerard had. “God. You’re seriously trying to kill me.” 

Gerard lights up at his praise. He drums his fingers along the car door, inching closer, the sound of his heels clicking on the frosted parking lot floor. 

“You wanna check on my car battery so you can stare at me like that at your place or are you gonna take the unclassy route by slamming me up against your backseat?” Gerard chuckles low in his throat, long lashes batting. 

Frank considers it. But he’s a gentleman, for fuck’s sake, there’s a time and a place for a lack of decorum. Trust him, he’s been to that exact place. He swallows hard and backs away from the car to make room for Gerard who ruffles his hair as he passes by to stand off to the side patiently. 

Frank tests out the battery and all but cries out in relief and joy when Gerard’s engine starts with a clear hum. He rapidly gathers up the cables, dumps them back in the plastic bag, and bolts back into his car so Gerard can follow him back to his place. His heartbeat pounds in his fingertips the short way there, eyes continually darting to the rearview mirror. 

At his place, dinner is waiting on the stove and candlelight is flickering on the table, Gerard’s tiger lilies displayed in a vase on the center of the table. He’d been completely prepared, practically watching the seconds tick by until the time came where Gerard would be knocking on his door. He can’t help but snort under his breath thinking not even this amount of preparation could’ve readied him for the dress. 

“I like your place,” Gerard compliments, setting his grocery store bag down on the chair Frank uses to dump his coats and other winter wear on when he enters. “You got it all to yourself?”

“After some major penny-pinching, yeah. I hate living with roommates, people are slobs.” 

“Oh man, you’d hate living with me then. My brother tried to kick me out ten times when I was living with him. I have to admit I’m getting better at it, maybe you’ll be my inspiration to be a lot cleaner with my space.” Gerard tacks on a soft word of thanks as Frank takes his coat for him, neatly draping it someplace safe. 

“I could come and help you if you want. Like, uh . . . a cleaning date,” he snorts. 

“If cleaning gets you going, then I’ll play along. Maybe help me redecorate, you’ve got a nice fucking style in here.” Gerard drops his phone, muttering a swear and bending over right in front of Frank to retrieve it. The thicker layer of the dress under the sheer one does little to cover up his ass. Heaven and its angels begin to sing somewhere above Frank’s head. 

“Thanks,” Frank chokes out. Forgetting his manners, evidently. Gerard stands and turns with a warm smile as if it charms him that Frank has gone empty-headed over the sight of him. 

Gerard’s eyes soften, the slit to his dress shifting as he walks over to Frank to curl his fingers in the belt loops of his pants. He draws Frank forward until their noses are practically touching and sends Frank up to the same heaven he heard before by kissing him softly on the lips— just a whisper of contact, a promise for more within it, but not right now. Frank chases after his mouth when it parts from him and Gerard allows it, kissing back in earnest. He wipes his own lipstick from Frank’s lips when they reluctantly pull away. 

“I missed you,” Gerard whispers when Frank’s hands automatically lift up to rest on his waist, mapping out the shape of him before he can even think of it. “Is it too soon to say something like that?” 

“No,” Frank says quickly, shaking his head. He wraps his arms around Gerard’s waist, feeling the softness of the dress under his palms. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.” 

Gerard chuckles. He tucks something into Frank’s back pocket. It feels square and solid, bringing a confused crease between Frank’s brows. Gerard smiles at his expression and pulls away, gesturing around like there’s a cigarette between his lips, and Frank quickly understands it’s the pack Gerard said he would bring him for stealing his cigarettes on the first date. 

Frank might honestly already be in fucking love. 

Gerard chatters easily about the day he had on his way to the kitchen with the cake he brought in his hands, walking backwards, but his voice cuts off when he turns and discovers Frank’s set-up. His eyes are huge, a hand coming up to rest over his heart. 

“You’re joking,” Gerard says quietly. 

Frank comes around behind Gerard to kiss his shoulder, hiding his smile in his transparent sleeve. “That would be a fucked up joke to make, wouldn’t it?” 

Gerard huffs out a laugh, bumping Frank’s chin with his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were Romeo Montague under all those layers of clothes.” 

“ Hey , it’s cold right now and my heater is busted.” 

“I can think of a couple other ways to keep you warm after this,” Gerard murmurs lowly, more of an afterthought than something he intended to say out loud, but it heats the pit of Frank’s gut. 

He pulls away before he can do anything rash like dig his fingers into the softness around Gerard’s hips and drag him towards the direction of his bedroom. He walks around the table and disappears into the kitchen, waving for Gerard to follow after him. 

“I made— well, I attempted to make pesto. From scratch. I always buy pasta sauce from the jar because I’m too damn lazy to make my own, so if it’s bad, you can’t hold it against me. But it smells pretty damn good.” Frank humbly lifts the lid of the pan, cheeks coloring at the presentation of his pasta. 

Gerard groans, all but stuffing his face into the pot as he inhales deeply. “God, I’m starving and this looks so fucking good, Frank. I don’t get how you can doubt yourself either, if I attempted to make this it would look like noodles in a mushy char paste.” 

Frank chuckles, lowering the lid to preserve the heat. “Self-effacing for my ego? Even if it’s true, I’d eat your noodle and char paste any day.”  

Gerard’s bright goofy giggle, almost a cackle, fills the kitchen. 

Frank retrieves a bowl from the fridge, peeling back the surround wrap. “I made a caesar salad as a starter course. I hope you like—” 

“Fucking love ceasar salad,” Gerard interrupts enthusiastically, eyes bright and excited. Frank can’t resist the urge to lean forward and kiss his cheek, twisting a fiery lock of hair around his finger. 

“Go sit down and I’ll bring your food to you,” he murmurs softly, watching Gerard blink as if in surprise of the affection. “I got cider since I know you don’t like to drink that much.” 

Gerard’s eyes light up. “What flavor?” 

“Apple, I hope that’s fine. They had the grape stuff, but eh. ” Frank wrinkles his nose and delights in the fact that Gerard mirrors his expression as an instinct, shaking his head. “Apple’s the fucking business.” 

Gerard indulges Frank with that softer giggle of his, the kind that would qualify as a shy subtle sign of laughter if it weren't for the half-lidded positioning of his eyes as he ropes his arms around Frank’s neck, ignoring the advantage in height with the stems of his heels adding a few inches. “If I weren’t ravenous, I would bend you over the sink right now as a repayment for how sweet you’re being. You saved my car and you cooked for me, you’re literally my hero.”

Frank’s flush travels to his hairline— Gerard has seemingly accomplished every challenge Frank sets up for people he considers becoming serious with. The challenge of whether Gerard is capable of coaxing a rare blush from Frank’s cheek has been a milestone he completed on the first meeting, not even the first date.  

Frank bites his lip through a smile. He pulls Gerard’s arms from around his neck, gathering up his wrists and pressing them up against his chest. “After. You’ve gotta make sure I stay on my best behavior before letting me have anything, right?” He echoes a phrase from one of their conversations, watching the recognition light in Gerard’s eyes like a flame. 

Without putting another word in, Frank backs away, satisfied by the weight of Gerard’s gaze resting heavy on his back as he leads him to the dining table to seat him before setting up for dinner.  

—

“The dude got sued by Elton fucking John himself. Pretty sure in an interview someone Elton called him a fucking wanker or something like that.” 

Gerard slaps a hand over his mouth to prevent from spitting out his mouthful of cider in the midst of his laughter. His string of giggles is hidden under his palm and Frank’s own chest is trembling with a laugh of his own. 

“There’s just no fucking way,” Gerard manages to get out. “How could anyone be that stupid? Everyone knows Elton John.” 

“I’m telling you, literally nothing fazes you when you’re a dickhead like that. I just let him brag about it like it was some groundbreaking part of him and didn’t blink an eye when he walked out on us to find some other company to work with. Eventually he got hit with that copyright lawsuit and he stopped making music.” Frank rolls his eyes, grinning despite the irritation he had to go through to be able to tell this story to begin with. “No one takes your advice when they think they’ve been sent to the earth by God himself. The only one that could save him was himself and he failed terribly.” 

“The Red Relentless are next, mark my words.” Gerard throws back the rest of his cider while Frank trembles with laughter. 

“If only you could work magic and make it come true just by saying it.” 

“How the fuck do you put up with arrogant assholes like that? I’d get a restraining order filed against me on my first day.” Gerard shakes his head in wonder, lowering his glass on the coaster on the table, minding Frank’s obvious weirdness about rings of condensation on the surface. 

“I don’t know. I put up with a lot more than I ever told myself I would at that job, not just dealing with stupid artists.” Frank swirls his drink, feeling some of his smile die off. “I just . . . I hate feeling small. But I feel like you have to bring yourself down so many notches to be able to do the things you want to do.” 

“Yeah, you have to be somewhat humble, but that doesn’t mean letting people treat you like shit, Frank.” Gerard brings his voice to a softer level to match with Frank’s. “You gave up enough, what more are you gonna let anyone have?” 

“Well, I still have my dignity, kind of. Parts of me I know are still there, I just need to shake them awake and dust them off to make sure they don’t fade away.” Frank bites his lip, unsure if he’s oversharing, but Gerard’s hazel eyes are boring into him like he’s saying something deeply intriguing. He holds their gaze, a tinge of warm weaseling into his supply of honesty. “I like that I can take out those sides of me when I’m with you. Like, the side of me that’s fucking confident and knows I’ve got a lot going for me.” 

Gerard tips his head slightly in thought, rubbing his lips together, spreading out the red lipstick. He looks down, sighing. “I think I know what you mean. I’m barely pulling myself together again. My life kind of fell apart for a while and I was tired of being unhappy all the time.” 

“I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me.”

Gerard tips his head in question. 

“You’re put together. My first instinct was to trust you at the gallery, like you’d been there for years,” Frank explains. 

“Technically I had been. Looking in through windows and walking around whenever I could.” Gerard snorts. “I got the hang of it by watching others. The gallery has always been my doorway to where I am currently.” 

“Are you happy now?” Frank asks softly. 

“I think so. That’s why I’m opening myself up to more things.” Gerard’s eyes flicker up through his lashes, settling on Frank. “Opening myself up to . . . candlelit dinners and beautiful people.” 

Frank preens. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Gerard’s mouth crooks up in a half-smile. “You fucking know I do. I tell you every day.” 

It’s true, and it’s unlocked an insatiability in Frank, not because it strokes his ego but because it’s a direct mirror image to his own desire for Gerard and it makes him bold. Frank hadn’t known so much about greed until experiencing the rush that makes him melt down to the bone whenever Gerard tells him he’s pretty, that it takes everything in him to keep his hands off, not that Frank would ever disagree to Gerard touching him. 

“What if I just like hearing it?” 

“Then I’ll say it until you’re sick of it.” 

Frank swallows, a rising wave swelling in his belly. He holds onto Gerard’s gaze, sinking into it, wanting it to last, but a single question holds him back. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?”

“Am I not the only one planning pretty dates to take you on?” Frank doesn’t want to sound insecure, but he genuinely can’t stand the thought of anyone having an advantage over him and winning Gerard over before he barely got the chance to try his own hand at it. 

Gerard doesn’t sneer or roll his eyes at the question. He says, “You are. You’re the only one I’d want to go on dates with, Frank, my head’s been filled with nothing but you since I first fucking saw you.” He laughs low in his throat, lifting his head to openly bathe Frank in the heat of his sideways smile. He makes no move, opening up the field with the confirmation that he’s all Frank’s for the taking, but he wants to be persuaded into taking things further. Frank is more than willing to lunge forward and give him all the reason to finally take what he came for. 

Frank feels the tug of the invisible chain then and leans in, kissing the corner of that smile, nose trailing along the softness of his cheek until it rests against the side of Gerard’s. Their lips graze, but don’t touch. The drawing of cards, and now it’s Gerard’s turn. 

It’s sweet and tense, building up to the moment Gerard’s hand slips over the small amount of space between them to rest hotly on his thigh. Breaking Frank’s expectation of a kiss and instead bombarding him with a whisper of arousal he’s been poorly containing for a majority of the evening, but he can’t he blamed for it because he thinks it would impossible for anyone to remain completely in check when Gerard is across from them, beautiful and interesting when it comes to every facet of him he’s willing to share.  

On that note, Frank wets his lips, feeling them part. “Remember when you said I should get to know you better first?”

“Yeah?” Gerard whispers so his breath warmly fans across Frank’s skin, evoking a ripple of goosebumps rising up along the length of his arms. 

“I think I know you like the back of my hand by now.” 

“Meaning?”

Frank exhales shakily. “Meaning, I’m asking if I get to touch you now.” 

Gerard’s eyes gleam. It feels like an exhilarating warning that automatically shifts the gears in Frank’s head, igniting a special type of flame that makes Frank completely aware of what he needs to be, how exactly to deliver on behalf of Gerard’s expectations.

“Maybe I’ll give you an answer if you rephrase that a little for me.” 

Frank’s breath feels mangled in his throat when he feels a soft squeeze on his thigh instilled with the heat of skin through clothes, his lower stomach twisting and sending tiny bolts of electricity further down. 

“Can I . . . please touch you?” Frank asks, voice wavering as it comes out more pleadingly than he could’ve expected from himself. 

Gerard watches his own fingers spread out over Frank’s leg. His throat bobs enticingly as he swallows, lips parting. “What if I want to touch you first?”

For a moment, the two of them are deathly silent. A charge fills the air, a veil of thickness gathering, but it doesn’t separate them. Gerard’s eyes flicker over Frank’s face— asking permission. Frank can’t do anything but swallow hard and nod, unsure of the details to what he’s agreeing to, but he fucking wants it. 

He looks down and watches Gerard’s fingers toying with the outer seam of his black jeans, inching inwards and up, following the lining like a map. The journey is excruciatingly slow, just enough for him to feel the warmth of Gerard’s skin bleeding through the thick fabric. He feels his legs part a centimeter, the tiniest amount, but it makes Gerard’s pupils dilate. 

Frank’s heart pounds harder the further he wanders, lips parting to exhale a tiny gasp when Gerard trails all the way up to rest the flat of his palm over his dick. He bites off a groan, feeling himself hardening under Gerard’s coaxing. A slow kneading motion, palm to gripping fingers, then back again in waves.  

“That was easy,” Gerard whispers, inching forward so he’s only a couple of breaths away from Frank’s face. Frank whimpers, looking up and meeting a fiery gaze, ruby red painted lips smoothed over in a tiny gratified smirk. He gets the sensation of falling before he’s ripped back up to the surface by Gerard fully grabbing him through his pants now that he’s semi-hard, a moan slipping from his lips. 

“I love that sound. I love how I hardly even have to try at all to get you to make it, all I have to do is kiss you hard enough and you’ll be whining. You don’t have any fucking clue what it does to me,” Gerard breathes it all hotly against Frank’s parted mouth swallowing all of his words going directly to his cock. Frank’s eyes flutter and his head tips back in pleasure, hips rutting up against Gerard’s hand alternating between massaging and rubbing. 

“Maybe I’m not easy,” Frank presses Gerard’s hand down harder against him with his own, pushing his body forward to lean his forehead against Gerard’s. “Maybe it’s just you that makes me fall to fucking pieces.” 

Gerard moans. The sound still vibrates in his throat when he leans in and catches Frank’s mouth in a hard kiss, lips immediately parting against each other and inviting tongue. It’s a desperate clash that makes Frank’s veins burn and his cock throb, his own needy sounds escaping him nearly making him laugh now that Gerard has brought attention to them, but he can hardly stay focused on it when he’s sliding into Gerard’s lap on instinct, encouraged by Gerard’s hands gripping his waist. He pushes Frank forward, letting him grind against him with frantic rolls of his hips, lapping up every whine that tears out of him. 

Frank pulls back, rocking his hips and hissing through his teeth at how good it feels despite the rough friction. He seeks until he finds Gerard, hard and huge under his dress, making another needy sound drip from him as he ruts up against him. Gerard cries out softly, fingertips bruising Frank’s waist and he brings him down against him hard, hips meeting his movements so it feels like fucking. 

Frank opens his eyes to take in the view he’s longing for. Fuck, he’s glowing. His red hair is askew around his flushed face, his lashes an obscenity fluttering like that, his mouth smeared in red lipstick and slick with spit. It’s—

Frank’s eyes fly open. He blinks, fighting against the mental image that intrudes on their moment. He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to focus on the feeling instead of remembering him and how his mouth had looked smeared in lipstick. He swallows hard. He opens his eyes again and there it fucking is again. 

Frank needs the thought to be shaken out of him— fucked out of him. By this beautiful, warm, fucking wonderful person he wants more than even the one who first had their lipstick smeared by Frank’s insistent mouth. 

He springs to his feet, hands still touching whatever he can, pulling on the sleeves of Gerard’s dress. “C’mon, let’s go to my room.” 

Gerard gets to his feet just as quickly. Frank guides him up the stairs, but it’s difficult when Gerard is all but glued to him, his body running a feverish temperature and his hands roaming whatever he can possibly touch. Frank’s giggles pour out of him before he can help it and mingle with Gerard’s, not stopping even as they burst through the bedroom door and walk backwards towards the bed. Their limbs tangle and their lips lock, all prior thoughts evaporating from Frank’s head as he grows drunk on the way Gerard’s tongue licks into his mouth and how his hands are bizarrely skilled undoing Frank’s belt with one fucking hand. 

“How the fuck did you do that?” Frank breathlessly asks, staring down at his belt being tugged free from the loops, Gerard’s pale hand practically a blur working over the button to his jeans. 

“What, you’ve never been really fucking horny before? I assumed you’re the desperate kind.” Gerard grins mischievously, prying Frank’s pants open and tugging them down his legs so they tangle around his ankles. Frank toes off his shoes to fully dispose of his jeans, snorting even in the hazy midst of his lust. 

“Yeah, I can’t work magic though.” 

“Well I can, and I really wanna show you what tricks I’ve got.” 

Frank kicks his jeans across the room, face splitting with a grin. “Corny,” he mutters.

Before Gerard has room to protest, Frank tangles his fingers in his red disarray of hair and brings their mouths together in an open-mouthed kiss, sloppy as they come and yet it pumps his blood hotter through his burning veins. He tastes cider under the sweetness of the moan Gerard lets out and he’s kicked into another frenzy, his hands tingling as he roughly rakes them over the delicate fabric of Gerard’s dress and bunches it in his clenching fists. 

Frank bumps against his own bed, legs standing apart, but he takes the alternate route by twirling them around so Gerard’s back lands on the mattress instead of his. He expects Gerard to have a look of surprise, but he finds something burning and dark instead, an obscenity in itself. Gerard uses his long legs to wrap them around Frank and bring him down against him, kissing him so deep it scalds him. His lips are soft, skin like fucking silk when Frank’s hands skate up the sides of his thighs to pull up the dress, exposing him. He groans as Gerard raises his hips with a searching motion, not stopping until he’s grinding hard up against Frank’s in these frantic motions that have Frank gasping for air. 

God, it feels like Gerard is trying to fucking consume him in the best way possible. He observes Frank’s every expression when they pull back, moving in ways that elicit more sounds from him, figuring out what feels good for the both of them. Frank gazes down into his darkened eyes sparkling in the dim light and he hates the shadows, how they swallow up Gerard and deprive the full sight of him. In a situation where he has control of it, he leans to the side and flicks on the lamp, letting the glow wash over Gerard who blinks in confusion. 

“Wanna see you,” Frank explains, wet mouth tracking down the length of Gerard’s pale neck, tasting and biting until Gerard is gasping. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” 

“Yeah? Shit, Frank, your mouth feels so fucking good,” Gerard breathes. He tangles his fingers in Frank’s hair to pull his head back with a shocking amount of strength, yet the sting flourishes and makes Frank whimper pathetically, hips kicking up against Gerard to grind harder, seeking friction.

“I should’ve known you’d like that,” Gerard says in a voice reminiscent of smoke after fire, dangerous and dark. “Pretty boys like you always like to get roughed up.”

Frank nods fervently, hands digging into the softness around Gerard’s hips and gliding down to attempt tugging up the dress to dispose of it, but Gerard restrains his wrists with his firm grip. Frank stares up at him with round pleading eyes. 

“You’re gonna have to wait for it, baby,” Gerard croons. “I haven’t even gotten to see you, it’s like you’ve been trying to drive me crazy by covering up as much as possible when we’re together.” 

Frank has no room to protest. His chest moves quickly with every strained breath as Gerard’s hands slide up his torso over his sweater, fingers digging into the fabric and twisting as if to inform it of the fact that it’s been a burden. Frank is proud to hear the hitch in Gerard’s breath when he runs his own hands over himself in the same way, gazing intently through heavy-lidded eyes. His nails scrape along the fabric until his fingers grasp the bottom, gathering up the edges of the sweater and pulling it up to reveal his naked skin. 

It’s a relief to have it off and Frank swears he’ll never wear another turtleneck for as long as he lives once he recognizes how suffocating it had been, but it’s fair to acknowledge it’s hard to breathe properly in general right now. He plants his hands on the mattress and tips himself back, stretching out ever so slightly to put himself on pretty display, breath trembling as his own fingers skate down his abdomen in a slow trail to brush through the soft line of hairs over his waistband— until he realizes Gerard isn’t having the reaction he expected him to. 

His eyes are huge. Not because he’s in awe of Frank, but for some indecipherable reason, something a touch frantic and bewildered. Frank knows it can’t be because he thinks he’s unattractive. Not to be egotistical, but that’s quite impossible. He opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but before he has the chance, Gerard’s hand is splaying hot but gentle over his lower stomach, flat over the birds tattooed there. 

“Alex?” 

Frank feels his system freeze. No, he couldn’t have heard that right. Frank must’ve imagined it. 

“What— what did you say?” Frank laughs unsurely, the sound weak and quiet.  

“ Alex? ” Gerard repeats it in an exclamation, huge eyes wheeling up to stare at Frank like he fell from the sky, or maybe from heaven. “From the fucking orgy?” 

Frank feels sparks of pure shock bursting through his insides like the fourth of July. Each one ricochets and attempts to make more sense of this, and when it does, the sheer impossibility of it has him in denial. He blinks several times, incapable of forming a response or reaction, only a barrage of questions flooding his mouth, but it’s like his tongue has disappeared. 

Only the answer to them lies directly in front of and underneath him. Frank’s shaky arm shoots out to balance himself and he tips forward, staring at Gerard closely, searching. And there it is— the long lashes, the crooked doll-shaped mouth, the fair skin. Suddenly, it’s painfully easy to picture Gerard with black hair at a slightly longer length, fuller without the chopped layers. Frank’s eyes shoot down to the dress hanging crookedly from his body. He squints and focuses on the slip underneath, and yes , he’s transforming right before Frank’s eyes in a heartbeat. 

“Gee?” Frank’s voice sounds lightheaded as he feels while he struggles to process that his abandoned dream has been underneath his nose this entire time and he failed to recognize it. 

“Yes! Yes, it’s me!” Gerard pushes Frank’s head to the side slightly, baring his neck, and shouts, “Your scorpion tattoo!” Gerard is grinning from ear-to-ear with unbridled excitement, an enthusiasm Frank has yet to unlock because a part of him stands still in obstinate denial. He can only know for certain and make it real for himself if he ticks off one more box, so specific that there would be no room for denial any longer if he sees it. 

“Okay, I swear I’m not being a pervert, I just need to check something.” Frank slides himself off of Gerard and scoots backward, his hand clumsily reaching for Gerard’s leg to push it back. Gerard looks deeply confused at first, but he seems to understand in a flash. He hurriedly gathers up his dress, bending his leg and bringing his knee to his chest so the underside of his upper thigh and part of his ass are exposed. 

There, bordered in lace underwear that fills Frank with a pang of nostalgia, is the shadow of a bat-like figure staining Gerard’s skin. It’s faint, but definite in the light. He imagines it lifts from its designated spot to fly upward and strike sense into Frank’s head because the walls come bursting down and Frank is suddenly overflowing with laughter. 

“Oh my god! I know this birthmark!” Frank taps it, stomach aching from the amount of laughter pouring from him, lightness and bewilderment bundling together in a strange combination in his throat. His eyes even feel like they may water as he wraps his arms around Gerard’s leg and fucking hugs it, resting his head against Gerard’s knee.

“I loved it so much. It’s you.” It’s him, it’s him, it’s him. The one Frank has searched for in every face and hoped for in every outing. Him, in a full vision with nothing to obscure him, and he’s perfect. 

“It is! It’s—” Gerard stops himself short. He’s staring over Frank’s shoulder with another shell-shocked look at if there’s anything else in the world that could possibly come as more of a surprise tonight. 

“Gerard?” 

Gerard gently coaxes Frank’s arms from around his leg to scoot to the edge of the bed, his dress crumpled and falling off his shoulders, but he makes no move to fix it. He snatches something up from Frank’s dresser and whirls around with it clutched in his hand, his eyes tender and astonished. Frank’s stomach clenches and flips when he recognizes the lace and flowers. 

“You found my mask. You kept it. How did you— where did you find this, how did you find this?” Gerard shakes it around as he talks and Frank’s eyes can’t lift from it. 

“It was lying on the floor when I was leaving. I couldn’t not grab it, I . . . it was the only thing I had left of you. I didn’t want to forget.” Frank’s voice slowly burns out by the end because he’s suddenly insecure about his affection. Clearly Gerard remembers him in a positive light, but it’s possible he sees it in a much more casual way, a phenomenal hook-up that didn’t go beyond that. Not as . . . emotionally as Frank tends to put things. He can’t live with the idea of that sort of awkwardness, so he shuts himself up.

But Gerard swoops in before he deflates. 

“Frank. Baby,” Gerard tosses the mask onto the bed and stumbles forward, his hand gliding along Frank’s cheek to tilt his face up, and when their eyes meet, Frank’s vulnerability surfaces when he meets softness and remorse.  “God, I’m so sorry. You must’ve thought I was the biggest asshole ever for leaving like that. I just— I didn’t have time to write my number anywhere, my plane was about to leave without me, my brother was getting married.”  

It’s like a drain is being pulled. All of Frank’s doubts, his fears surrounding the morning after, plunge down the drain. He takes in a deep breath now that the water leaves his lungs and slumps into Gerard’s hand still cupped around his face. 

“I thought maybe it was something different for you. That you had your fun and your moment but your time was up,” Frank sighs. His mouth curls into a chagrined smile as he dares to admit the rest only because Gerard hangs onto his every word. “Like the clock struck midnight and your carriage was about to turn into a fucking pumpkin and your footman was like, gonna turn back into a possum or something.” 

“And you found my glass slipper? My mask?” Gerard giggles and tucks Frank’s hair behind his ear, warm like sunshine on a window so Frank physically can’t be embarrassed by his Cinderella tale. Suddenly he’s Prince Charming and he can’t exactly complain about that if it means they’re a match. 

“I tried out so many people who looked like you to see if it fit any of them.” It feels ridiculous now looking into Gerard’s face that’s more beautiful than any other. “None of them were you. Clearly. Eventually I just gave up.” 

“I looked for you, too” 

Frank’s heart jolts. “You did?”

“Yes, fuck yes, how could I not? I went to like, ten other orgies, and— well, I can’t say it wasn’t also to have a little fun, but I looked for you in every crowd and hoped that I— that I would feel that perfect mouth on me and I’d look down and it would be you again.” Gerard pulls his hand away to toy with his other, a wavering unsure laugh spilling from him as he gages Frank’s reaction to that. 

Frank expects some jealousy to come into play, it’s just in his nature, but to his surprise, he’s only filled with a fuzziness that blows his expectations out of the water and softens up his face. 

“That’s . . . weirdly romantic.” 

Gerard exhales like he’d been holding that breath in all the while. His eyes move over Frank’s entire being for a moment. Then he huffs. 

“How did I not recognize you?” He seems to realize after looking around the room and finding their clothes— well, Frank’s clothes— strewn on the floor. He groans. “The tattoos. You’ve been covered up each time I’ve seen you until now. You know, I almost had a heart attack when I saw your hand tattoos, but then you said that thing about everyone having hand tattoos in that style and my hunch immediately died. The birds are undeniably yours.” 

Frank hadn’t thought about that. He flushes as he fully realizes this would be the first time more than his face and hands have been revealed, so his partial nakedness stands out more, but he lightly smirks at the fact that his tattoos are memorable enough to become a dead giveaway if he’d revealed them sooner. He knew he was making a good decision by getting them. Tramp stamp comments be damned. 

“The birds tat was just too hot to forget, huh?” Frank rests a hand over them. 

“The hottest fucking thing I’ve seen.”

Frank strokes over his belly in a satisfied type of way. He examines Gerard closer, drinking him in.

“You’re different than you were then,” Frank notes, taking Gerard’s hands to guide him onto the bed beside him to look at him closer. He reaches out tentatively at first, funny considering he’d been all about touching Gerard just a moment ago. His fingers card through soft red hair and Gerard hums, leaning towards his hand. 

 “I was stuck on black hair and makeup and— oh my god, I’m so fucking stupid.” Frank slaps his palm over his face. It’s so obvious now. He feels especially idiotic when he remembers the fact that he’d been drawing comparisons the whole time and still couldn’t connect the dots. What’s the point of having eyesight if he’s this blind with it? 

“We’re so fucking stupid,” Gerard giggles out, cheeks burning red. He reaches out to touch Frank’s hair as well, twisting the longer section of his bangs around his index finger. “Well, your hair is different too. It’s black, I remember it being brown. You have more tattoos now!” 

Frank nods, pointing out various ones until Gerard’s fingers are following his same path. His face feels hot as he glances up through his lashes. Trying to point out more differences, something else occurs to him. 

“You’re working at a gallery. I looked for you in lounges. You said you were a star.” 

“Oh, right . . .” Gerard trails off stiffly, avoiding eye contact. “So, about that.” 

“You lied?” Frank isn’t exactly torn up about it, he always knew his searches were fruitless even if it had been true, but he’s curious to hear the reasons behind it. 

“I was playing a character. I always do. Gee is like— he’s a confident, beautiful, successful singer who just likes to have fun. I can’t say a lot of that isn’t me, but it felt good to make up the rest because when I met you, I was singing, but they were useless tiny gigs at dumb bars. I didn’t tell you about that on our first date because it’s like . . . my biggest shame. It’s why I had to slow down a lot on drinking.”

“I thought maybe you were just selectively sober.” Frank wants to cringe back with mortification when he says it. Why hadn’t he considered this? 

Gerard smiled weakly. “I wish. I could fall down that well, it runs in my family, but I didn’t want to. And then my painting had failed by that point, too. I was living with my brother and his girlfriend. She’s his wife now. So I worked really hard, made enough connections to land a job at the gallery so I could finally live by myself and be less of a burden to them. But I’m trying to come back to art and things I liked to do before.” Gerard toys with his own fingers as he explains, voice going higher as if he has something to feel deeply guilty about or maybe Frank will rescind all the affection he’s given up until now. 

But Frank feels no different than he did the second he figured it all out. If anything, he feels closer to Gerard— they’d both drastically failed their dreams and yet kept sailing along whatever flow life had in store for them even if it wasn’t exactly what they wanted. They managed to figure out whatever they could to build a life and no one could say it isn’t good enough, because it is, especially after facing so much trial and error. It isn’t settling for less, it’s simply natural to fail at first, and they’ll return to whatever dreams they had once the dust finally settles. That’s a promise Frank makes to himself, meanwhile Gerard has gotten a headstart with his painting. 

“You think I wouldn’t accept you like that?” He asks softly. Wondering how Gerard could think he wouldn’t understand. 

“It doesn’t run quite that deep, part of it is just me separating sex from my personal life. Everyone I sleep with gets that character. It’s also me putting on a performance and actually receiving a response I always wanted but never got.” Gerard picks at the sheets. 

Frank’s stomach sinks. He clears his throat softly, shifting his leg away so it isn’t so close to Gerard’s personal space. “I see,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck burning with a flush. Maybe he had misunderstood Gerard’s whole intention here. 

“I meant it when I said it wasn’t all a lie, Frank,” Gerard rapidly corrects, almost sounding frightened when Frank shifts away. He grabs for him, hands gathered up in his own, squeezing as his eyes twinkle with an honesty that makes Frank stand still in place. “I never stay with someone for long after we do it. But I wanted to be with you so bad. I dropped the act apart from one tiny white lie. It’s why I wanted you to take your mask off.” 

Frank slowly breathes out all that insecurity that gathered up in his chest like cobwebs. He gives out a hard little chuckle at how quickly they’d formed. Now he feels there’s a small mess for him to sweep up for Gerard’s sake. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t.” Frank squeezes Gerard’s hands, his thumb stroking along the soft back on his left one. Gerard tangles their fingers together instead and the warmth of their skin pressed together seems to trigger a button in Frank that has all of his emotions and secrets tumbling out through his mouth. 

 “I thought if I kept it on, you’d want to meet up with me again to finally see me with it off. Then I could tell you my real name and, I don’t know, we could go on a date and— and other things.” Frank stumbles near the end. He’s edging towards territory that’s definitely not fit for more romantic moments like these, his cheeks burning and his eyes going huge. He giggles anxiously when Gerard catches on, cocking his head curiously. 

“Other things?” Gerard lightly urges for elaboration. 

How does Frank describe this in the cleanest way possible? His gaze sweeps up through his lashes, then he has yet another epiphany. Gee and Gerard are the same person— neither of them would hope for the clean version of his desires. 

“You could fuck me raw,” Frank breathes in a small whisper. 

He feels Gerard’s fingers tighten around his before any reaction comes through. When it does, it comes in the form of a cherishable laugh of surprise, a pure lack of hesitation as Gerard releases Frank’s hands to fill his space and feather a shiver-inducing touch along the length of his jaw. He offers the most honeyed smile, the very same kind from that night one year ago that Frank is still kicking himself for being unable to recognize when he swore he would. 

“I can now.” Gerard’s voice softens and lowers just a tad, enough to make Frank’s insides twist and his heart race. 

“I— I thought we were having a really important revelation here?” Frank says weakly, because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than tear Gerard’s dress clean off his body and soak in every inch of that skin he’s been dreaming of endlessly. 

“We are,”  Gerard bites his lip in though, eyes traveling between both of Frank’s. “So let me tell you something before we resume, okay?” 

Frank nods because it’s all he can muster, entranced by the promise of something more surfacing in Gerard’s voice. Gerard smiles softly at him, cupping a hand around his cheek again to stroke the skin with his thumb in tiny circles until Frank is disintegrating under his touch. Surrendering to him entirely. 

“I’m pretty fucking sure you’re like, meant to be. I felt it the first night, but especially now, because this is fucking crazy, Frank, the craziest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m crazy for you. ”  He takes his hand and brings to Frank’s other cheek, cupping his face in both hands as he reverently says with all the seriousness in the world, “And it would be an honor, a privilege , to fuck you raw.” 

Frank should laugh. He almost does, his lips are curling on instinct and his eyes squint up from the effort of trying to restrain that pure burst of joy surging through him like a rocket. The other side of him, however, the kind that’s blooming with an animalistic sort of want, seems to be the dominant side. 

Frank can’t be apologetic for how he all but launches himself forward. The kiss they collide with is a heated tangle of lips, tongue, and teeth, an almost frenzied passion, but Frank can still appreciate the softness of Gerard’s lips and how the motions of his tongue are so clever that it has him whimpering, putty in his hands. He should’ve known this entire time that Gerard was Gee because no one else has been able to make him surrender and melt like this. No one’s hands have ever felt this good smoothing over his bare skin and digging into his hips with lustful fingers. 

Frank feels complete. 

His scrabbling hands are reaching for Gerard’s dress, seeking a zipper or buttons, anything , but Gerard seizes his hands and pushes them against his chest. 

“But,” Gerard breathlessly interjects, “not so fast.”

Frank nearly whines like a kicked dog. “Why not?”

Gerard’s beam melts Frank like butter alongside the softness of his laughter. “I want to talk. I want to— just, enjoy the fact that I found you and tell you everything that’s happened since the last time I saw you. I missed you even when I convinced myself I didn’t anymore.” 

Frank’s inner fire pipes down. It burns still, but with another kind of driving force, the kind that brings his lips back to Gerard’s in a softer, slower kiss. He revels in the soft exhale Gerard makes as their lips move together slowly, Frank’s hands coming up to hold Gerard’s face as he pulls back. 

He slowly begins to smile. He reaches along the bed, finding lace. He raises it over Gerard’s eyes, gently doing up the ribbon in the back, and once settled, he realizes it fits perfectly. 

“Gee,” Frank whispers, stroking Gerard’s lower lip. Then he shakes his head with a tiny laugh and says, “Gerard.” 

Gerard nods with a warm gaze, wrapping his arms around Frank’s neck and leaning his forehead on his. “Cinder-fucking-ella.” 

—

“That’s it, Frankie, taking it so good.” 

Frank can barely return the kiss Gerard sweetly lays on his mouth when his own lips are parted as a way to release the long moan emerging from the pit of his chest. 

He doesn’t know what time it is, but fuck the concept of time, right now feels like eternity when he has Gerard naked and keeping his legs pushed back. Gerard works him open slowly, excess lube dribbling down the sheets, and Frank is out of his mind from how much he’s needed this. 

Frank chokes on a moan when those thick fingers twist inside him at a perfect angle. Sparks fly up and down his legs every time Gerard crooks his fingers down towards that spot, flames twirling along his skin, and fuck, if Frank was dizzy before, he’s seriously about to come and pass out. Or the other way around, if he’s being realistic.

“I didn’t get to do this to you last time.” Gerard’s lips feather across Frank’s cheek and his breath feels warm fanning across Frank’s skin. 

“Yeah, I bet you’re loving that you finally get to take your sweet time now,” Frank manages to let out a raspy little laugh. It ends with him biting his lip and his eyes rolling back when Gerard twists his fingers again on purpose that time. His legs are already bent back as far as they can possibly go, but somehow they twitch like they want to pull further apart so Gerard can have at him in any way he pleases. He moans just thinking about how fucking good that would feel. 

At first, they talked until their throats were sore from it. Entering the peaceful silence where they felt thoroughly fulfilled, Frank couldn’t resist the pull and kissed Gerard. Of course, it’s important to note it might be impossible for them to kiss without it instantly turning in another direction because they began pawing at each other’s clothes in a heartbeat, opening drawers and fumbling the handy bottle of lube, Frank sloppily swallowing down Gerard’s cock and plunging his fingers deep inside him until Gerard flipped him over and decided it was his turn to have some fun. 

In short, Frank is getting his wish granted. 

A fourth finger entering Frank stings, but makes his entire body shiver from the thought of being stretched wide. Several slow motions later, he chokes out, “I’m good.”

“Well it was a little hard for you to take me last time even after all that prep you had before, remember? When suddenly every dick paled in comparison to mine?” Gerard is only a tad smug when he says it, mostly teasing in the more humiliating type of way that has Frank gulping and throwing an arm over his burning face.

“I can handle it.” 

“I don’t know . . . it might hurt a little.” 

“Please,” he whispers, “you know I like it like that.” 

It’s exactly what he knew Gerard wanted to hear. Gerard relents, pulling out his fingers. He pushes Frank’s arm away from his face so he can touch his lips against Frank’s in a soft kiss. 

“Don’t cover your face,” he whispers. “Had enough of that.” 

Frank’s heart gallops. He hooks his arms around Gerard’s neck to bring him down again, kissing him until he feels stupid with it. He spreads his legs even wider when he feels Gerard’s hands at his thighs. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, Frankie, you deserve it for being so god damn sweet to me tonight.” Gerard guides himself to Frank’s hole, not bothering with teasing. Their eyes link, as do their fingers interlocking across the backside of Frank’s thigh being pressed up against his chest, and he finally slides in. 

Gerard inside him feels like home in the most depraved way possible. Frank can’t describe it with his scrambled brain, all he knows is the sting feels incredible when he’s filled up to a degree that makes his head spin and his skin feel too hot. His eyes roll back in his head and he moans out long and low, one sweaty hand gripping at the sheets so hard he feels the tendons straining and the joints clicking. He looks down and another sound escapes him at the obscene picture of Gerard sliding deep into him, the wetness of lube glistening along the very insides of Frank’s trembling thighs. It transfers to the root of Gerard’s cock that slowly vanishes and reappears with every slow drag he creates, smooth and powerful. 

“Shit,” Gerard gasps, almost whimpering the word out. “One thing I didn’t forget is how good you feel, but fuck, I really needed a reminder.” 

“It’s even better like this.” Frank arches his back when Gerard moves out and back inside, deeper this time. 

He can feel the details now— the veins in Gerard’s cock, the dampness he leaves behind from precome, the heat of skin-on-skin instead of the infuriating rubber barrier, as thin as it may be. He feels Gerard pulsing and hard as steel inside him and he wants to cry from how fucking perfect it feels. Frank’s unquenchable desire to touch speaks up and his hand darts down to brush the very root of Gerard’s cock, fingertips coming away wet with lube, smearing across Gerard’s hip he grabs in a last ditch effort to contain the air trying to rapidly leave his lungs when Gerard slams his hips against Frank’s in an involuntary response to that brief touch.  

“Do me next,” Gerard breathes, fucking Frank steadily now, going harder every thrust. “I wanna know how it feels— I wanna feel you fucking me open like this, coming deep inside.” 

Frank moans shaking, cock throbbing against his stomach and leaking profusely, slapping against his stomach as he desperately pushes his hips forward to meet each of Gerard’s hard movements. “Gerard— god, you can’t make me think about that right now, not if you want me to last.” 

“You’ve gotta learn how to keep it under control, baby,” Gerard’s wet and hot mouth travels along the side of Frank’s neck, his fingers tenderly working through his hair in contrast to the filth he speaks. “I know you can. You’ve done it for all the others, haven’t you?” 

Frank’s mouth hangs open in surprise, but also to unleash a loud moan when Gerard pushes his arms above his head and pins them there, using them as leverage to fuck him harder, these merciless thrusts that shake Frank to the core of his being, his cock drooling precome all over his stomach. 

“You remember,” Gerard speaks against his ear, taunting and heated. “Letting strangers use your mouth and your ass. How greedy can you get, Frank? When’s it enough?”

“Just needed more ‘cause they couldn’t fuck me like this,” Frank stammers out, struggling to speak while having the brains fucked out of him. “Not the way you can.” 

“I know,” Gerard whispers against his jaw. “I’d like to see someone try though.” 

Frank can’t find the room to be stunned when Gerard is dragging him up, arranging him on his knees, turning him and all but slamming his back against his chest. He slides back in with one smooth stroke. Frank gasps, the shift of the angle placing more pressure on his prostate. Gravity sits him down completely and he whines at the feeling of Gerard’s hand resting flat and hot over his stomach to steady him. His thighs spread and his head tips back, Gerard’s free hand wandering up to trace the hollow of his throat to his bobbing adam’s apple in a feathery caress making Frank’s entire body shiver. 

“Good?” Gerard asks softly. 

“Keeping going, fuck,” Frank chokes out. 

Gerard swears, thrusting up once, reveling in how Frank cries out for him first before picking up the pace again. Gerard resumes pounding into him, hands slipping over his waist in a steely grip, one escaping to reach down and grip Frank’s painfully hard cock in his hand. It’s wet and red, sensitive to the touch, so even Gerard’s soft palm feels almost too much against it. But Frank needs it, needs every bit of his attention and affection, laps it up like the finest fucking cream. 

Gerard’s hand twists around Frank’s wet cock to the head to swipe his thumb in tiny circles matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He raises his glistening fingers, smearing them all across Frank’s parted mouth until he finds the give and shoves two inside to make him taste himself. Frank groans, lips wrapping around those digits and sucking greedily, tongue sweeping between them and gliding up the undersides. He doesn’t even mind the unpleasant taste of himself, it’s the thought of it alone that makes him suck down Gerard’s fingers and take them to the back of his throat until he’s gagging and drooling. 

Gerard pulls them back with a breathy swear, tracing Frank’s throat again. 

“You really are the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Thought so since I first saw you, you know what that was like? I thought you were a fucking painting. Fucked out and laid out so pretty. Like you were a treasure for me to find.” Gerard curls a hand in Frank’s hair to tip his head back, mouthing up the side of his neck. 

Frank’s face flushes despite the fact that there’s no possible way for him to get shy in this position. Yet he gets swallowed up in the heat of his blush and Gerard chuckles against his skin like he knows, and he likely does. 

Frank can’t help moaning over it. His romanticism is officially invading his lust. But it eggs him on with a newly fueled fire. 

Frank sways his hips back, riding Gerard hard and dirty, swinging an arm back to wrap it around neck to plaster himself against him. 

“Do you think I’m pretty right now?” Frank breathes. 

“Yeah?”

“Then fuck me like I am.” 

Gerard groans. He buries his face in the crook of Frank’s neck, guiding him down on his cock like his life depends on it. Frank loses control then, lost in the rapid onslaught of pleasure, the way Gerard strikes his prostate with every rough movement inside. 

Gerard breathes heavily, moaning, sounds turning into soft whimpers as he loses rhythm and structure. Frank reaches back to caress his hair, muttering filthy encouragement, until Gerard’s hands are slipping over Frank’s sweaty thighs and he cries out. 

Frank swears loudly at the feeling of Gerard filling him up. He knows it’s dirty to be so gratified by that sensation, but he doesn’t give a damn. He grinds down on Gerard’s cock, moaning, wringing as much out of him as he possibly can. Gerard bites Frank’s shoulder and digs his fingers into his ass just to cope. Frank takes it as a cue to lean forward on his palms, reaching back with one hand to spread himself, allowing Gerard the view of his cock buried inside him. His arm quivers balancing himself in his overwrought state. 

“Fuck,” Gerard pants out. “Oh my god. Frank.” He pulls Frank back in to trail rough and hot kisses all along every visible part of his neck. 

“Yeah?” Frank croaks, stupefied and far too happy.

“Let me finish you?”

A heartbeat stills and resumes faster than before. His mind first goes to obvious acts of service, but something in particular that resonated with him calls his attention, makes his skin tingle. Frank cracks his eyes open. “Remember I fingered you?” 

“What about it?” 

Frank only waits a beat of a second pass before he’s gently easing himself off Gerard’s cock. He gasps at the sensation of his come dripping out, leaking down the insides of his thighs. He twists around and fists his hands in Gerard’s hair, kissing him hot on the mouth, his cock rubbing up against his belly. 

“Let me fuck you,” Frank sighs. “Please? I know you already came, but I just—“

“Fuck yeah.” Gerard’s pupils are blown wide and he can’t stop repeating his enthusiasm. He pushes back to lay on his back, spreading his legs, hands urging Frank between them to bring him down for another open-mouthed kiss the both of them needily moan into. 

Frank’s hand is gentle caressing down the length of Gerard’s abdomen all the way to his groin, circling around the soft inside of his thigh, wandering down to his ass. He feels it, the residual dampness of lube, Gerard’s skin warm to the touch underneath. He pulls back and nuzzles his nose against Gerard’s soothingly as he runs a finger through the sheen and slowly plunges it inside him to check if he’s ready or if he needs more work. Gerard’s gasp and tiny laugh waft over Frank’s parted lips and elicit a smile from him. 

Frank had managed to get three fingers in before they’d stopped. Gerard feels relaxed, pliant, and wet in the way that makes Frank’s insides hot with need. 

“C’mon,” Gerard urges, wrapping his thighs around Frank’s hips and making him blank out from how good all that plush skin feels around him. “Make yourself come, Frankie, you deserve it.” 

Frank’s shaky arms bracket around Gerard. Gerard, who takes the lead by guiding Frank’s cock to his hole, teasing the head around it until the both of them are gasping. Frank’s hips kick forward on instinct and it’s enough for the tip to pop in. His spine bows and a shaky whimper tumbles out once that tight heat is pulling him in and he can’t resist following after it, hips pumping, Gerard’s legs around him pushing him even closer so he sinks that much deeper in every time. His dick is wet enough with precome that it combines with the lube and makes a perfect seamless slide. 

He can’t fucking stop. Every time he pulls out is agony until he shoves back in, shaking apart piece by piece. Gerard clenches around him even though he’s visibly overstimulated, but he only nods rapidly and keeps Frank inside him, unleashing litanies of filth and trembling moans whenever Frank strikes that place inside him. 

“So good, Frankie, might even feel better than that pretty fucking mouth of yours,” Gerard mutters through the onslaught, hissing softly and kissing Frank’s open mouth hard. “Can’t wait for you to do this to me when I’m desperate and so fucking hard for you.” 

Frank whines. “Gee—” He stumbles, eyes widening at the slip, but it feels right.  

Gerard laughs softly, a tad breathless. His warm eyes beam up at Frank as he holds his face between his damp hands. “Yeah, that’s right. You found me, baby.” 

Frank shakily exhales and kisses him desperately. 

Eventually, Frank manages to get him half-hard, but he doesn’t make it to the satisfying point of working him up entirely again and getting him off because he loses control in a heartbeat, like the snap of a rubber band. He slams back in and stays there as he gasps and comes, feeling like his entire fucking soul is spilling out from his dick. Gerard moans with him and holds Frank tight with his legs locked around him and his arms covering the upper part of his body, like an octopus. 

“That’s it,” Gerard whispers, sounding a little dizzy. “Nothing feels sweeter than making you come.” 

Frank would have to agree with that in this moment. It’s even a struggle to come down from it and it has him idly wondering if he ever entirely will, blissed out beyond his imagination as his mouth curls in a dopey grin. He buries his face in the crook of Gerard’s neck that’s damp with sweat and nuzzles. A ticklish Gerard cackles and pushes Frank’s face away, bringing his hands to it to keep him still. 

“Let’s see the damage, yeah?” Gerard suggests in a breathy tone. 

Frank swallows hard and slowly pulls out, hissing at the sensitivity, feeling the tremble of Gerard’s gasp breaking across his cheek. He looks down and sees his own come leaking out of Gerard in a trail, wet and glistening. Frank licks his lips and breathes unevenly as he runs his fingertips around the rim, dipping them inside briefly, feeling Gerard shudder all around him. 

“Is that what you wanted the first time around?” 

“This was actually a lot fucking more than I pictured,” Frank breathes, fingers leaving a wet trail on the inside of Gerard’s thigh as he strokes over his birthmark. “I guess the same goes for the night we met, too.”

“When I snapped your back in half?”

Frank snorts, planting a kiss on Gerard’s cheek before flopping down on the rumbled sheets beside him. “Seriously, it’s like you went to some high-end school that teaches you how to fuck someone’s brains out.” 

Gerard delights in the praise, glowing from it. He turns to prop himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Frank with brightened eyes, hair a mess and lipstick completely wiped from his lips, though a faint stain of red lingers in the tiny creases. 

“Wanna shower with me?” Gerard shifts, rubbing his thighs together. “Y’know, before we damage your bed to the point where we can’t sleep in it tonight?”

“You’re staying?” Frank asks softly. 

“If that’s okay with you.” Gerard pretends to be casual about it as he toys with a lock of his own hair, winding it around his finger until the circulation cuts off. “If you think it’s too soon, it’s no big deal. Just because we had a huge epiphany doesn’t mean we’re like, married now or anything.”

“But it means we’re something,” Frank fills in the blanks and wants to recoil at the thought of Gerard taking off after this. He runs a hand along his smooth shoulder, bringing it up to his delicate face to tip it towards him, guiding his lips to Frank’s. 

“What’s something?” Gerard whispers between soft kisses. 

“Whatever you want it to be, as long as it means you don’t leave me tonight or any of the other times you come to bed with me.” Frank strokes Gerard’s hair away from his face to look into his eyes— sparkling dark hazel. That he’ll never forget, the question he assumed would always go unanswered. 

Gerard’s expression is unspeakably gentle, almost vulnerable. The ghost of a smile dances around the corners of his lips. “Luckily for you, it’s past midnight and my carriage hasn’t turned into a pile of rats, so I’m all yours.” 

Frank’s laugh falls quietly against Gerard’s lips. He wraps his arms around his waist to pull their bodies together, content in the exchange of warmth, and for the first time doesn’t feel a sliver of his heart chip away when he glances over Gerard’s shoulder at the black lace mask strewn across the nightstand. 

—

Several months later, the car shudders along the gravel driveway and comes to a slow stop beside the row of other parked vehicles. Gerard swiftly turns the keys in the ignition and the purr of the engine cuts off. Frank’s antsy and anticipating fingers unstick from the sides of the seat he’s been clutching onto throughout the whole ride and his stomach flips as his eyes flicker all around the outside of the massive house. 

“It’s not too late to back out,” Gerard says softly, attentive as ever to keep Frank’s well-being in check. 

“I don’t want to.” Frank rapidly shakes his head. “We’ve been talking about this all month, you’ll have to drag me back home by my hair to keep me from going in there.”

Gerard’s lip split into a sentimental grin that’s almost odd given the circumstance, but Frank can’t bring himself to be humored by it when the light catching on Gerard’s glossed lips dazzles him far too much to leave room in his attention span. His strikingly red hair hangs around his face in waves, setting off the red in the roses stitched into the black lace mask.

Frank has his own set of roses hand-stitched into his matching lace, a detail Gerard took the time to add to signal to everyone they’re a pair not meant to be seperated. Frank’s stomach flips with a tide of adoration whenever he raises his hand to the mask to graze the roses. 

“Brian’s gonna be stoked. I haven’t come around since I met you, even a couple months before that. He’s probably gonna kick himself when he sees us together and realizes he does know you.” 

Frank’s shoulders tremble with an inward chuckle. “I wish I would’ve asked him about you.”

“I get why you didn’t.” Gerard’s face softens. “But I’m glad I found you all by myself.” 

Frank’s heart leaps in his throat. He leans against the headrest, lips set in a subtle smile. 

“Alright, well you never decided. Do you want to get started together and let others jump in or do you want to watch me first?” Gerard angles himself in the seat to face Frank. 

Frank is torn between the two. He bites his lower lip in thought, groaning. “That’s too hard. I’ve been putting off making a choice, why can’t I have both?”  

“It’s just so we know where to begin, baby. We don’t have to do it all tonight either. You know we can always come back, right?” Gerard’s laughter fills the space. “We can just flip a coin for now or something.” 

“No— well, if you put it like that then I guess . . . I can watch you.” Frank flushes to his hairline, bright sparks of arousal already firing off in him. “You like that, don’t you?”

“I fucking love it.”

Frank swallows hard. “Fuck yeah. Then I’ll watch. But you don’t mind if someone happens to come up to me while I do, right? They definitely will.”

“I know. You’re too beautiful to pass up on, you sound like you know you are, too.”

Frank glows red, but his mouth fixes into a crooked smile. “I might have some experience that doesn’t really give me a chance to deny it.” 

“You can say you’re pretty,” Gerard teases, touching his chin. “I like hearing it.”

Frank says the words with full confidence, heart racing when Gerard’s thumb drags across his lower lip as if to make them tangible.

“I’m fine with anyone touching you. I can’t be the only one doing all the work. I like a little show too, remember? I want to watch them spoil you just the way you deserve.” Gerard’s fingertips graze the outer side of Frank’s thigh, lashes a sweeping silhouette in the night. 

He looks so much like the night he first appeared to Frank, even if the slip beneath his red coat is a champagne color and the stockings cutting off at mid-thigh keep his legs from being entirely bare. It’s the expression in the eyes, the soft set of his lips, the masterful way of choreographing every blink and flicker of expression on his face that pulls at Frank’s nostalgia and feeds the growing river of tenderness formed in his heart. Frank hasn’t known a single taste of desire that runs rich across his tongue the way his desire for Gerard does, going beyond the hunger for skin-on-skin. 

His anticipation crackles as a result and it makes him practically tear the seatbelt away from him so he can cup Gerard’s face and kiss him deep, tongue teasing his lower lip to taste the artificial apple flavor of his gloss. He grins impishly at the stunned look on Gerard’s face as he springs out of the car into the cool night. 

Gerard joins him a moment after, a backpack with their spare clothes and other belongings slung across his shoulder. His smile slides like honey across his pretty mouth as he comes up to Frank, finding his hand to lace their fingers together. 

“Back to the castle we go, yeah?” Gerard murmurs.

Frank grins bright and beaming enough to rival the sun and pulls Gerard to him. “Make sure not to lose your glass slipper this time.” 

Notes:

and they all lived happily ever after. i'm afraid i got a bit cheesy with this fic, but it's like a breath of fresh air to write things like this once in a while and it's even more of a pleasure getting to do it for someone who truly deserves it! please let me know your thoughts if you have any, i always love hearing from you guys. if you'd like to keep up with my writing, i have an ongoing big fic and i plan on releasing more oneshots and things of the sort in the future, if you're interested! so much love to you, and once more, happy birthday michela, even though it's not your birthday anymore i'm still celebrating <3

Notes:

Part two should be coming soon! i'm not sure if it's going to end up being split into 3 parts, most likely not, but keep the possibility in mind just in case. i hope you liked this so far! let me know your thoughts and questions and everything else you may want to share. and happy birthday, michela, you are the magical pixie dust which enlivens my writing and my heart <3