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The Dazzling Lances of Our Love

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Frank wasn’t afraid of his emotions or anything. He laughed when he was happy and he yelled when he was mad. He said ‘I love you’ when it was true, and he hugged when he felt like it, and he still got all choked up when Gerard sang Cancer live and he didn’t care what anybody thought about it.

And, okay, he knew that it happened. He’d read it in books, and seen it in movies, and had even, during drunken confession time with various people over the years, heard one or two personal accounts. But it had always seemed like the kind of thing that would never happen to him, like winning the lottery, or being murdered.

But Frank was, generally, very happy to be having sex. There were times when he was exhausted and didn’t exactly give it his best performance, and other times when he found himself holding up both ends of the bargain, so to speak, but in general he was someone who thought the best sex was the messy, noisy, hilarious kind. Intense was good, and sometimes – rarely, in Frank’s case, but still – gentle was what you wanted. But even then, Frank had never gone in for enforced staring into somebody’s eyes and embracing a spiritual connection through his dick, or whatever. If he wanted to have sex with a person, he wanted to have sex with that person, and not some heavy-breathing, stern-mouthed version of them that wouldn’t talk to him except to tell him how close they felt to him right now.

It had happened to Gerard, of course. It had even happened to Gerard while Frank was the one having sex with him. Once when Gerard was still drinking, but that was a memory Frank pretty much kept locked in a tiny box marked ‘DON’T!’ that had been relegated to the darkest corner of his brain, and surrounded by mental barbed wire. And then once after Gerard stopped drinking, which was still kind of awkward, but Frank could understand it. It wasn’t embarrassing exactly, because Gerard didn’t get embarrassed about it himself. It was just…it was a lot, to see somebody cry, and it was a lot to see them naked, and it was a lot to see them having an orgasm, and to see someone combining all three was like the vulnerability hat-trick. And then there was Gerard not caring that Frank was there to see it, which was like, a level of trust Frank had no experience with.

Frank remembered being propped up on his elbows and feeling fiercely protective, and also like he might laugh because it was ridiculous, and really needing to have an orgasm himself, and also kind of wanting to get off Gerard and go and write down exactly how he was feeling in that moment because he thought it would make an awesome poem.

“If you get off me and go and write down how you’re feeling in this moment because you think it’ll make for some awesome lyrics,” he said now, “I will headbutt you in the balls.”

“What?” said Gerard, staring down at him. He shook his head. “Frank, you’re crying.”

“I know that,” Frank said irritably, unwrapping his arms from around Gerard’s neck so he could wipe roughly at his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Gerard was still staring, like staring, with his stupid mouth hanging open and his eyes the size of hubcaps. “But why?”

Frank thought about it. It was partly because he was fucking tired, he supposed, and partly because he’d been home sick again and he was so happy to be back with his band he could…well, cry, apparently. And partly because his back hurt from the plane ride and Gerard had him folded up in a way that meant every time he pushed his cock into Frank it made Frank’s spine curl, and that felt fucking good, as good as Gerard’s lips on his throat, his familiar weight, his belly rubbing against Frank’s cock every time he moved.

He was moving now, just rocking his hips a little bit, as if he thought he ought to be sensitive and wait for Frank to finish having his moment or whatever, but it felt too good to stop completely.

“Frank?” he said, leaning down to kiss him quickly, hitching Frank’s leg a little higher around his waist. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. We can talk about something else. Or I can cry too, if that’ll make you feel better.”

Frank dug his heels into Gerard’s ass, pulling him in closer. If Gerard just got on with the fucking, Frank would get over himself, he was sure. “You can cry on command?”

Gerard shrugged, and started fucking Frank again in earnest. “I can give it a shot,” he groaned, his eyes sliding shut. “Fuck, Frankie, fuck you, fucking missed you, motherfucker.”

“I missed you too,” Frank tried to say, but it came out as a garbled squeak because there he went again, crying while he was getting fucked in the ass. “For fuck’s sake.”

Gerard didn’t bother to stop, this time, but he did lift his head up from Frank’s shoulder and rub his cheek against Frank’s wet face. “I’ve seen you cry before,” he said breathlessly, rolling his hips in a way that made them both catch their breath and clutch at each other. “But never when my dick was in your ass.”

“I think that partly I’m crying because your dick’s in my ass,” Frank told him in a stupid wobbly voice, and Gerard moaned and kissed him again, deep and with a lot of tongue, this time.

“That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” he gasped against Frank’s mouth, which made Frank laugh, which made his body shake, which made Gerard go, “Oh, fuck, oh,” and shove his hand down between them to wrap his hand around Frank’s cock.

Frank put his arms back around Gerard’s neck and just let Gerard do all the goddam work for once; let him fuck Frank as hard as he wanted, let him stroke Frank’s cock not-quite in time with the rapid, uneven thrust of his hips, let him ramble on in Frank’s ear about – Frank tuned in for a second – trust and societal expectations and…clams, for some reason. It didn’t matter what he was saying, really, just that it was his voice and his skin and his arms and his stupid, perfect face all scrunched up and red, and that right before he came he smiled at Frank, just a happy little smile like he was pleased to see him, then leaned down and touched his lips to the corner of Frank’s eye.

Frank turned his head and kissed him so he could keep all of Gerard’s orgasm noises for himself. He tasted salt, and Gerard ran his warm palm over the slick head of Frank’s cock and Frank came too, all over both of their stomachs and Gerard’s hand.

After they’d cleaned up, and Gerard was lying with his head on Frank’s chest, smoking most of Frank’s cigarette because he was an asshole, Frank said, “That has never happened to me before.”

“Good,” said Gerard, passing the cigarette back. “Most guys wouldn’t deal with it so sensitively. Really, you’re lucky to have me.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “You dealt with it by staring and talking about shellfish. You’re lucky to have me, since apparently weepy sex turns you on.”

“It’s not the tears,” Gerard said thoughtfully, “It’s the emotion behind them. You laugh when we’re having sex all the time, but I choose to believe that it’s because you’re happy and relaxed, not because my naked body is amusing to you.”

“It certainly keeps me amused,” Frank said, squirming when Gerard pinched him.

“So like, if someone cries while they’re having sex, it’s because they’re feeling a lot,” Gerard said, waving his hand in the air. “And that’s pretty sexy. It’s not like someone crying because they’re sad. If someone did sad-crying while you were fucking them, that would suck.”

“It really, really would,” Frank agreed, mentally shoving the ‘DON’T!’ box even further into its corner. He offered Gerard the cigarette again.

Gerard took it and inhaled happily. “I don’t think I would like someone to yell at me while I was having sex with them, though. Laughing and crying I can deal with, but yelling would be like…jarring.”

“I’ll try to keep it down,” Frank said. He wrapped a piece of Gerard’s hair around his finger. It needed washing. So did his finger, actually.

“I’m trying to think what you’ve missed,” Gerard said. He leaned over Frank to stub the cigarette out. “I have a whole new bit I do about bears.”

Frank grinned at the ceiling. “I know, I saw it on YouTube.”

Gerard sat up and pulled Frank up too, so he could hug him. “I’m really glad you’re home.”

“Me, too,” said Frank. He blew a raspberry under Gerard’s ear.

Gerard giggled, then said, “You’re not going to start crying again, are you?”

“Fuck you,” said Frank, shoving Gerard away. “See if I ever cry in front of you again.”

Gerard lolled on the bed, apparently unconcerned. “Where are you going?”

“To shower,” said Frank. “And cry. My tears will mingle with the water and swirl away down the drain of my soul.”

“Hot,” said Gerard.

Frank gave him the finger and closed the bathroom door. After a minute, Gerard knocked on it and called anxiously, “I can write lyrics about it now we’ve finished, right?”

“Oh my God,” said Frank, and turned the water on so he couldn’t hear him anymore.