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homesick at space camp

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Okay so the thing is, it's not like when bands hang out on tour it's all shop talk and discussing the craft or whatever. (Discussing The Craft, sure, but that's different.) In fact a lot of the time they'd really rather talk about any other fucking thing, or just … get very drunk, actually.

But sometimes they do talk about what they do. Sometimes someone wants to know what pedals someone else is using, or trash talk them for ripping off Baba O'Riley, or bum some tea. There's an underground vocalist-only tea-acquisition ring that's considerably more Byzantine in its dealings and its network of favours and trades than the nudge-nudge-wink-wink methods of acquiring considerably less legal substances on tour.

Gabe comes round a corner one night, trying to decide which he needs more - tea so his throat stops hurting or a buzz so he doesn't care - and trips over a huddle comprised of Gerard Way and Patrick Stump. Or rather, he trips over a huddle comprised of a lot of mismatched black and a weird hat, which eventually resolves itself into Gerard Way and Patrick Stump.

'Ow,' says Gerard, reproachfully, craning his neck to look Gabe in the eye.

Patrick just kicks Gabe back, although not very hard. 'Watch where you're going,' he says. There's something furtive about him that Gabe's gonna take as a hint to keep moving, because Patrick's fun when he wants to be fun but he's not good to mess with too much. Gabe's not an idiot. He's seen Pete's bruises. He keeps walking.

'Oh, hey, I bet Gabe knows,' says Gerard, though, and Gabe stops two steps past them.

'Gabe knows everything, darling,' says Gabe, and turns around. 'What do I know specifically, though?'

'Don't, Gerard,' says Patrick, and a blush starts to round that delicate, pale, lake-monster complexion, and oh, okay, Gabe's interested now.

'Do, Gerard,' he says, and comes back to lean against the wall beside the both of them. 'What's up, kids?'

'Gerard -' Patrick says warningly, and this close, Gabe can't actually see his face because of the aforementioned stupid hat, but if the blush has gone away, Gabe will be very surprised.

'It's fine,' says Gerard earnestly to Patrick. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, dude, I don't even know what you're worried about, you do a great job.'

Patrick makes this noise, dismissive, and then says, 'I just. Can't do it like you - you guys do, that's all, and I just. Fuck. Whatever, it doesn't matter,' and oh, okay. Gabe can guess what this is. He's caught Patrick side-stage for an awful lot of MCR's sets lately.

'No-one does it like Gerard does,' Gabe points out, curling his mouth around the words a little salaciously. Neither of them says anything for a moment, but Gerard, who knows exactly what Gabe's implying, starts to go a little pink too. 'C'mon guys, if you don't fill me in here I'm gonna just start guessing.'

Gerard stiffens.

'We're talking stage moves, right?'

Gerard relaxes again.

Gabe smirks. 'Patrick, I guarantee you that if you go all Gerard on Pete, he'll have an aneurysm on stage.'

Patrick, or at least the bits of him Gabe can see (the penumbra of his hat occludes a surprising amount of him when your vantage point is two feet above his head), colours violently.

'I don't want to "go all Gerard" on Pete, Jesus,' he says.

That's … a very specific denial. It leaves a lot of things open. It does nothing to refute the evidence of Gabe's eyes re; Patrick's spectating from the sidelines. That's okay. Gabe can definitely work out this situation this to everyone's satisfaction.

'I think we need to run a stagecraft tutorial,' says Gabe. 'In my hotel room tonight.'

Gerard rolls his eyes, but really, he's just lucky Gabe didn't say 'in my bed'. Or 'now'.


Patrick gets carried off basically bodily by a search party comprised of Joe Trohman and a guitar tech, and Gabe looks like he's gonna just saunter off, having ordered Patrick and Gerard to meet him afterwards backstage, and fucking no, actually. Gerard and Gabe need to have a motherfucking talk.

Gerard grabs for Gabe's wrist before he can leave, and squeezes. 'Saporta,' he says, quietly but as seriously as he possibly can.

Gabe's eyes widen like Bambi's in the most unconvincing innocent expression Gerard has ever seen, and he frequently rooms with a) his brother and b) Frank Iero, both international heavyweight champions of the strategic puppy-dog expression.

'What?' Saporta asks, drawing the vowel out.

Gerard rolls his eyes. 'What the fuck are you trying to do?'

'Help Patrick out,' Gabe says innocently.

'Bullshit. You're looking to hook up.' Gerard crosses his arms. 'I hate to tell you this, but he's as straight as a fucking arrow. He's also a kid.' Gerard hates feeling like the adult in any given situation but he kind of has to be one here, mostly because Gabe refuses to be.

Gabe snorts like a horse. 'Please. He's nineteen, and he's been living out of a van with Pete and Hurley for years. I guarantee you, there's nothing he hasn't seen.'

'He came to me for advice.'

'No, he came to you because he finally nutted up enough to make like, one sixteenth of a move on the guy he's been crushing on all tour. He's been watching you push your rhythm guitarist to his knees every night for a fortnight. Trust me, it isn't stagecraft he's after lessons on, it's dick. Your dick.'

Gerard makes a face.

'C'mon, tell me one time that knowing how to suck a dick didn't help you out, Way.'

Gerard blurts 'I'm not teaching him to suck dick!' before he can stop himself, and Saporta grins a shit-eating grin at him.

'I'm not saying you have to, I'm just saying, wake up and smell the homoeroticism. He's cute, right? You guys were standing awfully close before - did he do the thing where he looks up at you under his eyelashes?'

Gerard wavers. Because yeah, he did. And yeah, it was cute, and also yeah, maybe on almost anyone else Gerard would have read that as a come-on, but ...

'He's just a kid,' Gerard says again, but Gabe's clearly smelling blood. He leans closer.

'No, he's just short. He's as legal as you or me.'

'He's straight,' Gerard tries again, even though he's pretty sure no-one in the scene is totally, really straight. He should probably stop saying that out loud in public if he wants to use someone's straightness as a defence in moments like this.

Gabe laughs derisively. 'Are you sure? Because what I know is, he spends every night on stage with Pete 'definitely not bisexual ha ha' Wentz slobbering all over him, and that's enough to make anyone act a little defensive, but he keeps letting it happen. I also know that he does come and watch you every fucking night.' Gabe holds his hands out and starts to wheedle. 'C'mon, Gerard, he's into you. Even if you don't wanna go there, or whatever, it's your solemn duty to at least coach him to his fucking epiphany, or whatever. He asked for your help.'

'You're not going to let go of this, are you.'


Gerard sighs. 'Fine. I'll walk him through some stage moves. That's what he asked for and that's all I'm committing to.'

'I'll help,' Gabe says, instantly. 'He wants to see how you work your magic? You can push me around and he can watch and … I dunno, take notes. If he wants to take it further … I can help with that too.' He flutters his eyelashes at Gerard. 'And if he doesn't, well. You and I always seem to have fun.'

Gerard has really got to stop hooking up with other vocalists. They always get him into trouble.


Sitting on the foot of a shitty motel bed and watching Gabe Saporta leer at Gerard Way is not where Patrick saw his post-set evening going, to be completely honest.

By this point in his life he's stayed in so many cheap motel rooms they've ceased being even slightly a novelty. They're usually just slightly larger enclosed spaces to be mildly beaten up, burrito-gassed, made to listen to Andy's fucking awful taste in thrash metal, or occasionally sleep in, different from the van only by virtue of the fact that they don't move and belch diesel fumes. They're just part of the routine of touring. He shouldn't be sitting here feeling this weird about a motel room that's the same as all the other motel rooms he's ever been in.

Except this is Saporta's room, with Gerard Way in it, standing hipshot like he does on stage, but with a weird expression on his face. Gabe's as relaxed as always, alternating smiling at Patrick with an annoyingly knowing look in his eyes, and batting his eyelashes at Gerard, who's barely paying attention to him. Because all of his attention seems to be on Patrick.

Well, Patrick did ask for some pointers. He guesses this makes sense. Admittedly he didn't expect a physical demonstration, but maybe it'll make it easier to understand. He sure as hell doesn't know how Gerard does it actually on stage.

He's so … sexy? Deliberately sexy, like, even Patrick can tell that's what he's trying for, and normally he's just this kind of sweet shy dude, and awkward as fuck. Patrick wants to know what his secret is, because it can't be the stage, because when Patrick goes out on stage he's still just as awkward as fuck, he doesn't metamorphose the way Gerard does.

There has to be some trick to it that he's just not getting. He just wants to know, that's all.

Gerard smiles crookedly at him, and takes a breath like he's decided … something, and snaps his hand out sideways.

Gabe's clearly not expecting it when Gerard fists his shirt and drags him down, but he rolls with it. 'So, like, lesson one I guess is; this only works if the guy you're riffing off wants to play,' Gerard says to Patrick, one hand on his hip and the other on Saporta. 'Frank's always down for it, he loves tearing up the stage, so it works? As an act? If the other person won't roll with it it's just gonna look awkward though, so. Pick your copilot. Maybe also talk to them first. The element of surprise isn't always your friend.'

'Works for me,' says Gabe, from his knees, and Gerard shakes him a little bit.

'Please. You've been angling for this since the tour started,' he says. 'Don't play, Saporta.'

Gabe grins up at him. His face is about at Gerard's hip-height.

'It's just acting,' says Gerard. He's intent on Patrick's face, like he's trying to get something important across and Patrick isn't clicking what it is yet. 'This isn't me, man - you know me, am I really like this? No. It's just stage shit. I think your issue is that … I dunno, you're too afraid of putting yourself out there, but it doesn't have to be you, y'know?'

'So you're saying I need to fake it til I make it?' Patrick says. Fuck, his voice is really raspy. He hopes they think it's from singing.

Gerard smiles like sunshine, a million lightyears away from the foxy smirk he pulls on stage. 'Exactly,' he says. 'You're just playing a character when you sing anyway, aren't you? Play it … more.'

Then he pushes Gabe away and steps towards Patrick and Patrick thinks maybe he was going to say something along the lines of 'but I can't -' but his voice dries up in his throat. Gerard's staring him down. You'd think Patrick would be immune to the powers of smudged eyeliner by now but ...

Patrick squirms. Pushes his thighs together, because Jesus.

He's getting hard.

Oh my god.

If he crosses his legs right now that will be so obvious and also really fucking uncomfortable.

'Yeah but,' he starts, trying to work some moisture into his mouth. 'Like. I'm mostly trying to play the character of Pete, and he's -' He waves his hand at Gerard, not sure if he's trying to say 'not like this' or just to ward Gerard off, but Gerard won't stop coming and Patrick really doesn't want him to, even if he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do.

Gerard gets so close Patrick can see the whites of his eyes and he's considering shouting 'look! A tiger!' and trying to escape the room before it becomes really apparent what he's thinking, but Gerard smiles this tiny little smile at him, and waits him out. 'It's only as real as you wanna make it,' he says. 'It's your call,' and … he's gotta still be talking about stagecraft, right?

Definitely stagecraft.

Definitely too late for Patrick to haul a pillow into his lap.


Saporta's long fingers curl gently around Patrick's kneecap, and Patrick flinches, but only out of startlement, because honestly he was busy with the whole Gerard situation, and the boner, and all of sudden here's Gabe too; pretty and a little intimidating still but mostly a big goof who's been very sweet over this tour, so very sweet, which isn't something Patrick would normally say about another dude but it's true.

And now Gabe, very sweetly, is touching him while Gerard watches.

Patrick doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know where to look, he just wants it to keep happening.

Gabe's fingertips stroke up the seam that runs parallel up the inside of Patrick's thigh, but not very far, not far enough to be too far to stop. 'So. Wanna play?' he asks.

'I … uh -'

The moment hangs in time.

Patrick's never actually been into a guy before this whole tour, this whole … sudden awareness of Gerard Way. He's always been theoretically open to it, but it's always been totally academic, right? Because he wasn't into any guys, so he never really got into a situation where he could try it, like … like would you like to go to the moon, Patrick? Well, sure, theoretically, but that's never going to happen, is it.

But all of a sudden, Patrick Stump is an astronaut.

Or … it's only a hand on his thigh, okay, so maybe more like he's been admitted to the space program. Who knows, he might not even pass the written exam, let alone make it into orbit.

The moment hangs - and Gabe's fingers twitch like he's going to pull away, and ... Patrick isn't ready to be grounded again before he's even felt lift-off. He slithers off the chair onto his knees, which puts him half into Gabe's arms and way closer to Gerard than he realised it was going to.

Gabe reaches down and slides his fingers to intertwine with Patrick's. He picks Patrick's hand up and leads him to stroke softly down the front of Gerard's jeans. 'See? Nothing to be afraid of.'


Patrick bites his lip in an entirely characteristic expression of determination, and Gerard's stomach swoops, his dick twitches, and his brain says hey no wait a minute in that order.

'Patrick,' he says, reaching down and catching that hand before Gabe can do anything else with it. 'Patrick, hey. Look at me.'

Patrick looks up at him.

This kid's mouth Jesus fucking Christ. Gerard is of the strongly held belief that you can always stop. There's no such thing as a point of no return. In a lot of things, but particularly in this. And you don't get some kind of gold star for being a decent fucking human, okay. But. God. 'You've … had sex before, right?' he says as carefully, and non-pushily as he can, because fuck knows he doesn't want Patrick to lie, or to think Gerard's the kind of creep who'd prefer that.

Patrick blushes a bright scarlet, immediate and catastrophic. 'Yes,' he mutters ferociously, resentfully. Gerard gives his hand a tiny squeeze, his gut unwinding thankfully. 'Like. I hook up,' Patrick continues, glaring. 'I'm not a fucking virgin or anything.'

Gerard could honestly kiss him, and not just for the obvious reasons. It's just that Patrick so badly wants to be taken seriously, and that's such a familiar feeling it almost aches. But Gerard doesn't want to come across condescending, so he doesn't kiss him. He stays standing and lets his thumb sweep over Patrick's knuckles.

Gabe does, though - presses a lingering smooch to Patrick's cheek, one long arm hooked around his waist. Patrick leans into him unconsciously. 'You just want to expand your horizons,' Gabe murmurs. 'That's natural.'

Patrick nudges himself back upright and sets his jaw like he's determined which is...both cute and funny. He pulls his hand free and puts it back on Gerard's hip, where he can sort of twitch his fingers at the waistband of Gerard's jeans.

Gerard may lose some of his higher brain function soon. Gabe kisses Patrick again, closer to the edge of his pretty mouth. 'You're taking this way too seriously,' he stage-whispers. 'Sex is supposed to be fun, remember?'

'Excuse me for not wanting to suck at this,' Patrick bites back sarcastically, and Gabe crows with laughter.

'Oh, Patrick, sweetness. Trust me, there is sucking involved.'

Patrick snorts, and the tension clears like mist, and when Gerard pets at his cheek gently, he smiles. A proper smile.

'I hope so,' he says, cutting his eyes back to Gabe. 'I should get on with that, huh?' That determined face is back. And like, kudos to him in the extreme, he doesn't dance around it, he leans right in - and the brim of his hat bumps against Gerard's hip and stops him getting any closer.

'You … might wanna lose the hat,' Gerard suggests carefully, and Patrick actually giggles.

'It's not attached,' he says. 'It does come off, for important things.'

He demonstrates, dropping it by his side, and Gerard feels a little frisson of fondness. His gingery-blond hair is all mussed up, and it looks soft. Gerard can't resist the urge to stroke at it, just a little. It is soft.

'Sexy,' says Gabe, pulling Patrick a little sideways to kiss the crown of his head. 'I'm seeing parts of you I never saw before, Stump.'

Patrick blushes again, but not in a bad way this time. His mouth is a tiny bit open already when he touches his cheek to Gerard's hip, not brave enough to go straight to dick-nuzzling apparently, but his eyes are closed and his lips are parted. He rubs his face against the denim, takes a breath, and there, the tiniest hint of a pink tongue wetting his lips.

Gerard might die before this is over.

Gabe kisses Patrick's neck, and Patrick makes the tiniest moan, and scratch that, Gerard is definitely going to die before this is over. Gabe kisses his way up along Patrick's jaw, finds his mouth, and he's not shy about rolling his face against Gerard's dick, nor about kissing Patrick all pushy, biting, pulling away and coming back til Patrick chases him of his own volition and they're making out right against Gerard's fly. Gabe pulls back fully then, a little breathless, and says in a studiedly casual voice, 'ever opened someone's fly with your teeth before?'

Patrick ducks his third blush away from Gabe's grin - against Gerard again. Gerard would like a medal for managing to remain standing this long. Gabe runs his teeth down the outside of Patrick's ear. 'That's a start,' he says a little wickedly. 'Now get the button. Don't go rushing for the zipper like a bull at a gate, if you do that you lose all your structural integrity. Grab the edge of the buttonhole - '

Welcome, everyone, to Slutting Things Up On Tour 101 with Gabe Saporta.

Patrick really does look like he's taking notes and preparing for class discussion later. Gerard is disturbingly into the little brow furrow of concentration, and the way Patrick makes little noises as he tries to follow Gabe's increasingly unhelpful instructions, murmured against the sweaty skin of his throat.

He doesn't actually manage to get Gerard's pants open, mostly because Gerard is only human and there's only so much of two hot guys nuzzling his dick through his jeans he can take before his knees give way. Gabe catches him - they both, do, actually, and Gabe smirks at him. 'Let's get you to bed,' he says. 'Patrick, I got some tricks to show you that work better when he's not gonna fall on you.'

Gerard extricates himself from them and ditches his jeans with no little relief - they're tight even when he's not hard enough to pound nails. He flops onto the bed expecting to get company immediately - and Gabe's already stark naked and settling in next to him, sure, but Patrick still hasn't quite joined them. He's hovering at the edge of the bed, close enough that Gerard could grab for him, but not taking that last step.

'C'mon Stump, pants off,' says Gabe, beating Gerard to it. Gerard was probably going to word it differently though.

Patrick is pink again, a beautiful cerise, and he lets Gabe reach over Gerard to snick the zipper of his fly down and help him get out of his trousers, but when he reaches for Patrick's shirt, Patrick makes a noise that isn't shy confusion, or arousal.

Gabe quirks his head, and tries again. 'Hey. Leave it,' says Gerard, tapping him on the wrist. Gabe drops his hands back to Gerard, and Gerard twitches his fingers at Patrick. 'C'mere,' he says. 'Ignore Saporta for a sec, c'mere and kiss me.'

The shirt stays. Gerard knows what it's like to be self-conscious about your body, to not want to be scrutinised - understands exactly the anxiety about taking your shirt off even in private, even when you make your living demanding people look at you. He still has his shirt on too, and Gabe knows not to mess with it. He'll understand about Patrick too.

Patrick's kisses are soft, wet without being slobbery, and he's good at it, at the give and take, at reading when Gerard likes what he's doing. Gerard sprawls back on the bed a little, rolling against the lean, hot bulk of Gabe, makes space between his knees for Patrick to come close. Closer would be better, though.

Gabe's teeth against Gerard's neck - a delicate scrape, never a bite, and Gerard can't resist hitching his arms under Patrick's ass and pulling him up. The weight of him in Gerard's lap is so good, he keeps pulling, laying back til he's stretched out and Patrick's on top of him, looking kissed-drunk and rumpled. 'Can I - I won't take it off, but can I touch you?' Gerard asks, fingering the hem of Patrick's shirt. He can't resist, can respect shyness but not the temptation of touch, of the potential heat of skin under his palms.

"Yeah," says Patrick a little shivery.

The mattress dips, and Gerard feels Gabe crawling up to lie down next to him, even as he works his hands up under Patrick's shirt and starts stroking him; long, firm, almost massage-y stripes down his back. Gerard knows about tour back-pain, knows about vans and bad beds, and knows enough second-hand about heavy guitars, that it doesn't surprise him when Patrick moans in a way that's nothing about sex. He had a hunch that would go down well.


Patrick's sprawled over Gerard and purring at the back massage, when Gabe's hand finds his thigh, and he murmurs into Patrick's ear, 'you wanna give blowing him another shot?'

Gerard's dick is very warm under him, and Patrick's been trying not to put his full weight on him, sort of propping himself up weakly with his arms, but there's no mistaking the feel of it. He's been kind of fixating on it. The long, deep, pulling strokes of Gerard's palms over his back are rocking him against it, and that feels really good, and ...

Yeah, he does want to give it another shot. He wants to figure it out, wants to be good at it. More than that, he doesn't want to be the centre of attention anymore, to have their hands on him and not do anything in return, that's uncomfortable, even if those hands feel nice.

So he starts to wriggle down, and Gerard's hands have to come out from under his shirt, but they move to his hair instead, which he should hate but kind of doesn't. It's hard to hate something that's telling you you're doing things right, and Gerard isn't being grabby - he's petting, that's all, like he likes the feel of Patrick against him.

Gabe slides down too, and it's weird, having three of them in the bed but Gabe's a reassuring presence. Everything feels a little bit out of control but in a good way. A Gabe kind of a way. Like it's a party. He presses a kiss to the corner of Patrick's mouth, and Patrick can't help turning into it, chasing it, the warm bite of it and the way Gabe smiles into him.

Gerard's dick, which is ... God, right there ... jumps a little when Gabe kisses Patrick for real. Patrick like - he knows that happens! He has a dick himself, he's familiar with how it reacts to things, but somehow it's kind of different when it's not your own? God, he hates feeling like a clueless beginner.

Gabe twines his fingers into Patrick's, and reaches both their hands up to touch Gerard's dick. 'You can hold it steady,' he says, breaking the kiss. 'While you - y'know. Helps you keep a bit more control.' He smirks. 'We all know you like a bit of control.'

He guides Patrick's fingers around the base of it. Gerard makes a hot little noise, and now Patrick can feel when it twitches, and fuck, that feels familiar, feels good. He doesn't wait for Saporta to give him more instructions, he knows the next part - stick it in your mouth. Right?


Gabe makes a soft noise when Patrick tries and can't quite get the angle. He's not laughing, just ... that noise people make when they think they know a better way but aren't sure how to tell you, or don't want to interrupt.

Patrick kind of wishes he would, though. He could use some hints - but neither of them say anything. This didn't seem like it would be this tricky when he was on his knees. Like, the angle or whatever was better. Now Patrick sort of - he pulls back and thinks, and then lies his head down on Gerard's belly and tries from that vantage point, and that works better.

He has to open his mouth wider than he thought he would, and he's seriously worried about his teeth, and he's such a mess, he knows he is, all kind of sweaty and still wearing a shirt, and Gerard has messed up his hair something awful by this point. But Gerard starts to make these ... breathy sounds, his stomach hitching under Patrick's cheek. And fuck. That's so hot.

And it tastes … kind of nice? Or at least. Not 'good', not like, delicious, but this weird, strong taste that's kind of overwhelming but he doesn't want to stop tasting it, doesn't want to stop stretching his mouth around it, or stop hearing the hungry, hiccupping sounds Gerard's making. He could stay here a long time, even with the ache in his jaw that's starting up. He thinks about it, just doing this, bobbing his head and working his tongue a little bit and letting Gerard pet him, for as long as it takes, and a moan of his own escapes him.

'Oh, fuck,' Gerard gasps.

Suddenly Gabe's spooned up behind him, and - God, he's so hard, pushing Patrick closer up against Gerard, til Patrick's own dick is rubbing on Gerard's leg, and Gabe's is tucked tight against the big muscle of his thigh.

Patrick's heartbeat upticks again, his lizard brain worried he'll be trapped, but he's not - Gabe isn't covering him, isn't holding him - if he just sat up, he'd be free, he could pull away easy. If anything, it's Patrick trapping Gerard, all half-sprawled all over his belly, but Gerard seems like he's pretty far from panicking.

Gabe strokes Patrick's back, through the shirt, and oh, that feels so nice. 'You're a natural, Stump,' he murmurs. 'So, tell me. How do you wanna get off? You're being very sweet to Gerard, but what do you want?'

Patrick, with his mouth full of cock and with another one riding the crease of his thigh to his ass, has no fucking clue. He screws his eyes shut and pushes his mouth further down Gerard's dick to meet the twist of his fingers, and tries to think.

Gerard croaks, 'it's his first time, at least give him some fucking suggestions, asshole,'

Patrick kind of laughs, as much as he can with his mouth full. Gerard swears, breathy and not upset, and Gabe … Gabe smiles against the nape of Patrick's neck. 'I don't know what you're into,' he says, which? Neither does Patrick, yet. 'But. If you wanna just rub off on each other, that's cool. Or one of us could blow you.'

That's - that's a no. Not that Patrick doesnt think it would feel good? But being the centre of attention like that and having no way to give back? No. He … he thinks it would be like taking his shirt off, only worse.

'Or I could stroke you off while you keep doing what you're doing.' With the first curl of .. not hesitation but maybe more like tact, he also adds, 'or if you want to fuck me, or be fucked. We can make that happen too.' He drapes his arm over Patrick's waist and lazily thumbs at his leaking, aching dick. 'Whatever you want, Patrick. Dealer's choice.'

Patrick's head spins a little at the idea of fucking them, of them fucking him. That's too much, for sure, that's the advanced class, and Patrick isn't there yet.

(He might be bad at it. That's too much pressure. Too much for right now.)

He finds Gabe's hand where it's teasing him, that ginormous fucking hand, that makes a P bass look like a Stratocaster and makes Patrick green with professional envy, and closes it properly around his dick. He's hoping he can manage this whole exchange without having to speak, and Gabe goes willingly, biting gently at Patrick's earlobe and wrapping his fingers tight. The first stroke makes Patrick whine, which makes Gerard swear under his breath.

Gabe's cock bumps up against Patrick's hip, though, untouched, and Patrick feels like he isn't doing this right. He's leaving someone out here. He pulls back off Gerard just enough to mumble, 'wait, what about you?' to Gabe, keeping his cheek against Gerard's dick, the slick of it rubbing against his skin and feeling shivery and perfect.

Gabe nudges him back towards Gerard. 'I'm good,' he says, adjusting himself behind Patrick, tucking in close. His dick rides the crease of Patrick's ass for a hot, tantalising second and then pushes lower. 'Hold your thighs together for me,' he murmurs into Patrick's ear. 'Yeah, like that.'

Oh, fuck, that feels so nice, that gentle rocking friction. Patrick takes Gerard in again and then there's so much going on - so much of wet mouths and sweat-slick skin, so much rubbing off all spooned up together, warm and tight, and no-one is really looking at anyone but they're all making each other feel good. It's so … Patrick can relax into it, eased by the pleasure-sounds they're both making, like he's doing this right, making it good for them even though he's a beginner.

It's just … a serene sort of feeling, somehow. That's the one way so far that going down on a guy feels, to Patrick, something like going down on a girl - it gets meditative, once you get the hang of it. And he really, really likes that.

'Fucking Christ,' Gerard's saying, breathlessly. Patrick only notices Gerard's even talking because his hips have started to twitch up, a phantom of the rhythm of fucking, and that's jolting Patrick out of his reverie. 'Oh, oh my - fuck, Patrick, hey, oh -'

Now his hands are pushing, not pulling, and Gabe's pulling too, a little, to get Patrick to disengage. He goes along with it, but he can't help making a little bit of a disappointed noise as Gerard's dick slips out of his mouth.

Patrick keeps his hand moving and Gabe lays his palm over the top, their fingers intertonguing as they stroke Gerard together. He keens and thrusts his hips hard against them, thrashing a little. Patrick's own dick is twitching, wrapped up in Gabe's other hand, warm and firm, anchoring him to reality while he keeps his cheek pillowed on Gerard's body and watches, kind of fascinated, as he comes.

He's never seen it from this angle before. Well, like, obviously he hasn't, but .... Jesus. He hasn't seen it, how it pulses and releases, and makes this oddly predictable and yet completely chaotic mess. Before he can stop himself, when Gerard seems to be done, he leans in and kisses the sticky, wet head of his dick, and then mouths at said mess. Gerard whines into the arm he has sprawled over his face. Patrick just ... wanted to know what it was like? To taste?

He.... kind of would have let Gerard come in his mouth.

Like he wouldn't have pulled off, if they hadn't made him.

Gabe makes a little growling noise behind him, still bunny-fucking between Patrick's slick thighs. 'I want a taste,' he says, and Patrick twists enough to kiss him when he pulls.

He licks his lips and thinks, rolls the taste around, while Gabe nips at him, and it's...weird...but he doesn't, he decides, dislike it. The taste. He definitely likes Gabe kissing it off him, the way he wants it, the way he takes it. Patrick's twisted round like a mobius strip, gasping, and Gabe's hand is speeding up, pulling him along on a tide of friction.

He has to wrench out of the kiss because his spine is protesting, but that just means he can lean into Gerard again, panting, a fish out of water that's gasping and loving it. Gerard, doe-eyed and sated, scritches at his hair. 'That was so good,' he breathes. 'You did so good.'

Patrick, overwhelmed by the praise and the soft, good touches, whines into Gerard's wet belly and Gabe speeds his hand again and again, fucks between Patrick's thighs even though Patrick can barely manage to keep himself together, and surely that can't feel that good, can it? But he's reacting like it does.

God, Patrick's so close.

All of a sudden Gabe stills against him, and his hand changes grip, goes at this perfect silken pace, like he's just concentrating on Patrick now. Patrick's face is hidden and like the proverbial ostrich, if he can't see them then surely they can't see him. He knows what he looks like, he's red, and sweaty, he knows, but he can't help it, all he can do is hide and let it happen.

The orgasm surprises the shit out of him, really - he's hit that plateau where you just feel really good like, forever? - and then Gabe twists his wrist somehow and kisses the back of Patrick's neck, and he's gone. Patrick's gone. Gerard's fingers are tight tight tight in his hair and he feels like maybe he's biting down but it's all lost in the hot wash of sensation, the rhythm of his stuttering hips, the mess he's making -

His vision goes white for a second.

When he gets his head back on straight it's to the shivery realisation that Gabe's riding his ass, dick between his thighs, right up tight close, all over him, and that he's going to get even more mess all over him and he's kind of ... into it. He feels buzzed and sloppy and a little bit high on warmth and skin. It's so good. It's been what feels like too long since he got laid this good.

Then Gabe gasps against his neck, in the soft hair that brushes below his hat normally, and oh, no, Patrick's very into this. This is like the opposite of feeling watched and unuseful - Gabe is just taking what he needs from Patrick's body even though Patrick is too blissed out to help, and it feels so. Good? Trusting. Warming.

Gabe bites obscenity against the knob of bone at the base of Patrick's neck and then everything that was sticky with friction is flooded wet, sticky, and Patrick …


Patrick sort of drifts. For the first time in this whole tour, everything in him unwinds.


When Gabe wakes up in the morning, Gerard and Patrick are still out cold. Those boys could sleep for America at the Olympics, honest to God. Gabe gets a blissful five minutes luxuriating in having a warm bed full of hot dudes before everyone's bus-call alarms start simultaneously going off.

'Ugh what the fuck,' Patrick growls, and then looks startled and alarmed at the timbre of his own voice.

It is. Uh. Extremely obvious that he was doing something that involved his throat last night.

Gabe smacks Gerard, who's still determinedly comatose. 'Dude. Dude, wake up. Your protege needs some of that professional-vocalist advice you promised to give him.'

Gerard smacks Gabe back and then fishes around for his phone. When he's killed the shrilling alarm, he peels one eye open and says, 'Patrick? Punch Gabe til he tells you where he keeps his tea.'