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Frank wakes up from a very pleasant dream indeed involving someone else's hand on his dick to find that it wasn't a dream at all - Mikeyway really does have his hand wrapped around Frank's dick, stroking slick and steady and awesome. Frank's grunt of surprise turns into a low groan when Mikey does this awesome little twist on the upstroke, and Mikey looks up, then smirks when he sees that Frank is awake. He doesn't say anything though, just speeds up until Frank spills over his hand with a moan. Mikey wipes off his hand on the sheets (which, ugh, now Frank's gonna have to find a laundromat again) and leans up to press his mouth against Frank's ear. "Happy birthday, Frankie," he murmurs before getting out of the bunk and wandering off to the front of the bus. Frank stretches luxuriously, still a little sleepy and now also ridiculously relaxed, and contemplates lying around in bed for a little longer. Birthday wakeup handjobs are possibly the best thing ever.

Eventually, though, his growling stomach wins out over his laziness, and he rolls out of bed, trying to make as much noise as possible just in case Bob isn't up yet, and goes to the kitchen to find something edible to eat. Gerard and Mikey are sitting at the table, having an intense discussion about - something, Frank has no idea. Probably something to do with comics. Mikey smiles at him and Gerard says, "Oh hey Frank! Happy birthday!"

"Thanks!" Frank says, grinning so wide he thinks his face might split in two. Seriously, morning sex? Best. Thing. Ever.


Nothing much happens until after soundcheck. They're done ridiculously early because they've played in this venue before and their sound people are geniuses with scarily accurate memories, so they still have something like two hours before the show. Frank's full of pent-up energy, he can't wait to go onstage tonight, and consequently he's maybe bouncing off the walls more than usual. He still doesn't expect Bob to grab him by his collar and drag him into a bathroom stall. "How classy," Frank snarks, "a bathroom st--"

"Shut up," Bob hisses.

Frank grins as obnoxiously as he can. "Don't wanna."

Bob growls and pins him against the stall door. "I said, Shut. Up."

Frank opens his mouth to say something annoying, he's not entirely sure yet what, but Bob clamps one big hand down firmly over his mouth and unzips Frank's jeans with the other.

Frank's breath hitches when Bob starts jacking him, and he realizes he can't really breathe properly with the way Bob still has his hand pressed firmly over Frank's mouth. His dick gets even harder at the thought, and fuck, Frank won't last long like this, not when Bob's hand is preventing him from breathing and his other hand is moving on his dick just like that, jesusfuck. Frank wants to groan, but all that comes out is a muffled noise at the back of his throat. "I said quiet," Bob pants and sinks his teeth into Frank's earlobe. Frank jerks up into Bob's hands and comes all over his t-shirt.

Bob releases him and Frank sags against the door, panting in huge gulps of air. Bob grabs a wad of toilet paper and cleans off Frank's t-shirt as much as possible. "Better?" he asks.

Frank takes another huge breath and grins. "Fuck yeah."

"Good. Come on then," Bob says as he unlocks the door behind Frank and crowds him out of the stall. "Let's get back to the others."

Bob doesn't let go of Frank's wrist the entire way back. As they walk into the green room, Bob releases his wrist in favor of ruffling his hair and saying lowly, "Happy birthday."

Frank grins and plants a sopping wet kiss on Bob's cheek, then runs off to hide behind Ray before Bob can make a grab for him.


The show is amazing, Frank feels like he's turned up to 180%, and the audience is great, they're reflecting everything back threefold. Gerard seems equally taken up by the energy, he's constantly in Frank's space, licking his ear, grabbing his ass, and Frank's only too happy to go along with it. He's half-hard already by their second song, but hey, at least he can hide it behind his guitar, unlike Gerard, exhibitionist fucker that he is.

There's a pause between two songs as Frank switches guitars and and fiddles around with the tuning. "So you guys know Frankie, right?" Gerard shouts into the mic, to screams of the audience. "Well, this gorgeous motherfucker has a birthday tonight, so how about we all sing for him?" More screams from the audience. "Alright, I'm gonna conduct you, are you ready?" Gerard shouts, and when the fans scream their affirmation, Gerard lifts up his hands and launches them into a raucous, enthusiastic rendition of "Happy Birthday". Frank can't help but smile stupidly at Gerard. Fuck, he loves his band.

After the show Gerard seems almost more turned on than during, if that's even possible. "We'll be needing the room just for little bit!" he calls behind him to Mikey, Bob and Ray as he pulls Frank behind him to the dressing room.

"Wow, that was really subtle," Frank says.

"Fuck subtle," Gerard replies, pushing Frank down to lie on the couch, pinning his hands above his head. "I've had to stop myself from doing this all evening. Fuck, Frank, your hands, your mouth, your neck, they make me so..." He mouths along Frank's jawline, nips at his earlobe, licks his neck. "Fuck, you taste so good," he moans.

Frank giggles breathlessly. "You have some kind of weird fetish for sweat, don't you?" he teases, and grinds his hips up, hoping Gerard will get the message.

"Shut up," Gerard mumbles against Frank's skin, "I'm enjoying myself here." He snakes hand down between them and fumbles open Frank's jeans. He doesn't bother with finesse, just sticks his hand in Frank's boxers and starts jerking him off like it's a contest or something. He's still licking and biting at Frank's neck, and thrusting against his thigh like he just can't help himself. He looks so fucking good like this, and fuck, Frank wants to touch so badly, but Gerard is holding down his wrists with a firm grip, so Frank contents himself with arching up against him and moaning like he's getting paid for it. Gerard groans in response and sneaks his fingers behind Frank's balls, just for a second, but it's enough for Frank, and he comes into Gerard's hand.

They lie there for a moment, trying to catch their breath. Eventually Gerard gets up, absently wiping his hand on his jeans. Fucking filthy fucker, Frank thinks fondly. "What about you?" he asks. "D'you want me to -"

Gerard laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, too late, man. And anyway, it's your birthday today." Then he leans his head out of the door and shouts, "Yuou can come in now, guys!"

"You motherfucking - " Frank splutters. "I've still got my junk hanging out, you asshole!"

Gerard turns and smirks. "Nothing they haven't seen before."

Frank rolls his eyes at that incredibly lame comeback, and does up his jeans before the other guys really do come in.


Even though it's fairly late by the time they get back to the bus, no-one is ready to go to bed yet, so Frank brings out his Living Dead DVDs (the originals, of course, fuck that remake shit) and demands that everyone watches them since it's "Halloween, motherfuckers!" The guys willingly comply (but then who wouldn't, zombies are awesome). They all squeeze onto the couch in front of the tv, and Frank ends up sprawled across everyone else. His head is is resting on Ray's thighs, and as the movies progress Ray starts absentmindedly petting Frank's hair. Frank leans into it and resists the urge to purr. He has the best life ever.

By the end of the third movie they're all starting to feel the exhaustion of touring settling in again. Gerard and Bob both go back to their bunks pretty quickly, and Mikey follows suit after a round or rapid texts to - whoever, Frank isn't sure. Ray has gone back into the studio to finish something - seriously, he is such a workaholic, sometimes it scares Frank a little - but Frank doesn't really feel like sleeping yet. It's motherfucking Halloween, and he feels the urge to - he doesn't know, maybe run through forests and howl at the moon, or something. But they're on the road, the bus rumbling underneath their feet, so Frank can't really do anything but pace back and forth like a caged tiger.

He's not sure how long he's been pacing when a pair of muscular arms wrap around him and pull him back against a strong chest. "Still on edge?" Ray murmurs into his hair.

Frank leans his head back against Ray's shoulder and closes his eyes. "Yeah," he admits. "I don't really know why, it's just -" he gestures expansively. "Halloween, you know? I feel like a fucking werewolf or something."

Ray hums and strokes his hands soothingly down Frank's arms. They stay like that for a while, Frank getting progressively more relaxed, before Ray's hands start to trail lower, brushing over the front of Frank's jeans, and Frank's dick decides to take an interest in the proceedings.

He's in no hurry, though, so he just enjoys the feel of Ray's hands stroking down his thighs, up his sides, over his stomach, until Ray finally unbuttons Frank's jeans and slips a hand inside. Frank gasps and turns his head to press his face into Ray's neck, breathing in Ray's smell. He feels entirely enveloped by Ray's smell, Ray's body, and god he wants to touch, he can't wait any longer. He places a hand on Ray's arm to catch his attention, then twists around so he can finally, finally pull Ray down into a kiss. "Come on," he mumbles against Ray's lips as he tries to maneuver them back towards the couch, "I want - come on, Ray, I wanna touch you."

Ray finally gets with the program and sits down on the couch, pulling Frank down to straddle his lap and wrapping his hand back around Frank's dick. Frank continues kissing him, trying to undo Ray's pants at the same time. Eventually he manages to open them enough to get his hand around Ray's cock, and fuck, he'll never get used to just how fucking huge Ray is.

He gets into a kind of zone, kissing and jerking off Ray, so his orgasm takes him completely by surprise. He arches back as he comes, breaking the kiss for a moment and groaning, "Fuck, Ray". For a long moment, he thinks of nothing except how mind-blowingly good it is. Then he comes down a bit and focuses on Ray again, deepening the kiss and speeding up his hand.

"Yeah, come on," Frank mutters, and Ray comes a second later, shuddering through it and spilling hot over Frank's hand. Frank glances around for tissues, and, finding none, shrugs and licks the come off his fingers.

Ray's still not entirely present, so Frank takes his hand and licks it clean, too. Whatever, he likes the taste, it's not a big deal. That doesn't stop him from making a show of it, though, swirling his tongue around, sucking on Ray's fingers, until Ray groans, "Fuck, Frank, I swear, if I hadn't just come..."

Frank grins and licks Ray's palm one last time before pulling at his arm. "Come on. Sleep. Now."

"But I still wanted to finish that bridge - " Ray protests.

"You can do that tomorrow," Frank interrupts. "Right now, you're coming to bed with me."

"Fine," Ray says with a sigh and follows Frank into the back. Through some intent maneuvering they actually manage to fit into one bunk, Ray curled around Frank. Frank threads their fingers together and closes his eyes. The last thing he hears before he drifts off is a tender "Happy birthday, Frankie," whispered into his ear.