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Only Moving by Remote Control

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"I have," Gerard paused, as if searching for the right word. "A thing," he finally decided on.

"I know," Frank said cheerfully. "It looks like a flower."

"Your face looks like a flower," said Gerard, which wasn't even funny, but Frank laughed anyway.

"You have a thing?" he prompted. "A what? A concern? A present? A deep emotion that must be expressed through song and interpretive dance?"

"I have a…" Gerard wrinkled up his face and sighed. "A thing, Frankie."

"Is it a good thing? Will I like it?"

Gerard turned faintly red, and Frank blinked. "Oh," he said, "I will like it." Gerard got redder, and Frank beamed at him. "Is it a thing for now?" he demanded. "Or do I have to wait til we get offstage for it?" He frowned deeply at Gerard. "The correct answer, in case you were wondering, is that it's a thing for now."

Gerard opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again, looking at Frank quietly, like he was considering him. "Okay," he agreed eventually. "Okay, yeah, it's a thing for now," and his hands were on Frank's shoulders, pushing him towards the back lounge of the bus, through the bunks, ignoring Toro and his comics and Mikey and his Sidekick and Cortez and his porn. When the door clicked shut behind them, his hands were at Frank's neck, pulling off his tie, and Frank squirmed away.

"Hey, I just got that tied for the show," he complained, but Gerard followed him, pushing him down onto the couch and straddling his lap.

"You can do it again later," Gerard told him firmly, and then the tie was sliding around Frank's eyes, and oh, okay, yeah, this was a much better use for it.

He reached for Gerard's hips, grinning, but then Gerard was sliding away, climbing off him, leaving him alone on the couch. Frank let out a protesting noise as he listened to Gerard shuffling through bags, and then the couch creaked as he settled down next to Frank, his hands on him again, turning him, moving him, getting him stretched out face down on the couch, then reaching between him and the cushions to undo his pants. Frank shifted against his hand, trying to get Gerard to touch his cock, but Gerard was all business, pulling down his pants and underwear, leaving him naked but for his buttondown shirt, which rode up in the back as Gerard slid his hands over Frank's tattoos.

"I was going to take my time with this," he said, calm, steady, like they were having a conversation about changing the guitar part to one of their songs or something. "I was going to wait until tonight, when we had a hotel room and I could stretch you out on the bed and just…" his hands were cool as they slid down towards Frank's ass, and Frank shivered, pressing his face into the couch.

"Gee," he said, a little shakily, tilting his hips up, and Gerard's fingers tightened, just for a moment, just enough to make Frank roll his hips down against the couch.

"Just," Gerard said, one hand moving around to grip Frank's hip. "I'm just going to," and then there was a finger, slick, cool, touching but not sliding in, not yet, just…teasing him, making Frank push back against it, bite the sleeve of his shirt where it was tucked under his face so he didn't make some embarrassing noise.

"Gee," he said finally, "Gee, for fuck's sake – "and then cut off with a gasp as Gerard slid the finger in, smooth and fast and maybe it'd be too much at any other time, but right now it wasn't nearly enough. Frank was tilting his hips up further, trying to get more, and Gerard didn't wait long at all before there was a second finger sliding in, pressure and heat and movement and then he was twisting his fingers just the right way and Frank was burying his face in his arm, maybe not being entirely successful at keeping quiet.

"I have," Gerard reminded him, "a thing," and even though he said it, when he slid his fingers out and something else – something different pressed against Frank, he still jerked in surprise.

"Oh," he breathed out, and thought about the way Gerard looked him over before dragging him back here, considering, and he could feel his face get hot, his cock getting impossibly harder. "Jesus, Gerard."

"You asked," Gerard reminded him. "You told me what the answer was," and then it was sliding into him – not big, smaller than the one Gerard had, the one he'd had Frank use on him before, but Frank could still feel it, there, stretching him, and he shifted a little, testing out how it felt when he moved. It was strange, a little, but he could feel Gerard watching him, could hear the way his breath had gone all slow and ragged, and it was pressing against him in just the right ways, and Gerard couldn't possibly be thinking that he was going to – "You're going to wear this," Gerard told him, cutting off that thought right there, and Frank groaned, hiding his face in his arm until Gerard continued. "You're going to wear it until I can take it out of you, at the hotel."

"You have been watching way, way too much of Cortez's porn," Frank told him, voice muffled, and Gerard just laughed, rubbed a hand soothingly over Frank's ass, then picked up his jeans and threw them at him.

"We're on soon," he reminded him. Frank sat up and turned his head pointedly towards Gerard until Gerard huffed out a laugh and knelt onto the couch next to him to take the tie from around his eyes. "You have your hands free, you know," Gerard reminded him, and Frank lifted his head, letting Gerard tie the tie back into place. It was a little lopsided, and Frank considered fixing it, but he left it instead. He shifted against the couch a little, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting slightly as he tried to get used to the sensation, and he thought about getting off right there. He did have his hands free, after all.

"After," Gerard told him as he saw his movement, and knelt down in front of Frank, leaning his face dangerously close. "After, I'll do anything you want."

Frank shivered. "I don't think I’m going to make it to after," he admitted.

Gerard smiled up at him, bracing his hands against Frank's legs. "You will," he said, and left Frank there in the lounge with his jeans on his lap and a plug in his ass.

"My life has never been classier," Frank said aloud to the empty room, and Toro called back "What?" from the bunks.

"Your mom likes it in the ass, dear!" Frank replied, louder, and heard Gerard snort with laughter in the kitchen.

Moving was a process, it turned out. Getting dressed was interesting, and walking was kind of a challenge, but with a little practice, moving around the lounge, Frank managed what he thought was a pretty decent approximation of what he usually looked like. His face was maybe a few shades redder, and his breathing was doing this unfortunate hitching thing that he couldn't seem to control all that much, and he was really glad that all of his guitars hung at such a convenient height, but he was pretty sure he wasn't entirely unfit to go out in public anymore.

It was only Bob who noticed anything, walking towards backstage with him, when he glanced over at Frank and clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and broad and making him stop short, which maybe used some muscles that Frank possibly shouldn't be calling attention to at the moment. "Did you break yourself?" Bob asked.

Frank tried to make his face the picture of denial. "What?" he managed.

"Did you hurt something?" Bob insisted.

"No," Frank said quickly, and Bob looked skeptical.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking at Frank seriously.

"Bob," Frank said. "How long have you known me?"

Bob's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I don't know, six or seven years?"

"And in that time, have I ever had a sickness or an injury that I wasn't whining about to anyone who would listen?"

Bob thought about this for a moment. "Point," he conceded.

"Face it, B.C. Bryar, I live to terrorize your drums another day," Frank told him, and tried very hard to keep his steps steady as they made their way towards the rest of the band. When they got there, Gerard looked at Frank in the reflection of the mirror he was using to fix his makeup, and Frank had to bite his lip and turn away, his gaze was so fucking intense.

"You've got to stop that," Frank said, pressing up against Gerard's back just before they go onstage, so that Gerard could feel him painfully hard against his back. Just the moment of friction made Frank want to just rut against him right there, get himself off against Gerard's back, his ass, the feeling of their bodies sliding together, but then Gerard was stepping away, turning back to grin at him, backlit by the brilliant lights of the stage.

"Not a chance," he said, and burst out onto the stage to the screams of thousands of fans.

Frank didn't die during their set.

He didn't die, and he didn't come, but he thought that the fact that neither one happened was nothing short of a miracle. Gerard kept fucking rubbing against him, coming up and humping Frank's leg, grabbing his hair, licking his face, and then there was that time when Frank had fucking had enough, and he dropped to his knees in front of Gerard, feeling the jolt in every inch of his body, completely unable to tell if the flash he saw on his eyelids was from the pleasurepainamazing of it or from the lights of the stage. His fingers stayed sure against the strings, but his head dropped forward, kneeling there between Gerard's legs, with Gerard's fingers tangled into his hair, and they finished the song like that, Gerard flinging himself to his knees beside him on the last note.

Frank couldn't hear him in the roar of the crowd, and he could barely see him after the lights dimmed, but he could feel Gerard's mouth, pressing to the side of his face, mouthing three more songs, and that was the only thing that could get Frank to his feet. He stumbled up, grabbed one of Mikey's water bottles because they were closest, and dumped it over his head, shaking like a dog as the lights came up and he splashed water everywhere, all over Gerard and Mikey, falling and shining under the lights.

That was the last thing about the set he could remember. He sleepwalked through the last songs, only crashing back to himself as they staggered offstage, Frank's feet unsteady under him, Gerard's arm draped around his shoulder.

" – you okay?" Gerard was saying loudly. "I think you might be coming down with something." His hand pressed stage-sweaty to Frank's forehead, and Frank squirmed away, but then Gerard's hands were closing around his forearms, steering him ahead. "Brian!" he called, ducking around Frank, letting their momentum carry him forward until he was alongside Brian, "I'm taking Frank back to the hotel, I think he should rest. We don't want him getting sick again," and then he was digging in Brian's pockets for a room key until Brian swatted his hands away and produced one for him.

He paused and pulled Frank towards him. "You do look flushed," he said. "Of course, that could just be from being a little shit onstage for an hour and a half." He pushed Frank towards Gerard. "Go ahead, then." He tossed another key at Worm, and nodded towards them, and then they were setting off towards the hotel, Gerard draped over Frank's back, Worm a quiet shadow behind them.

It wasn't until they were in their room, the door firmly shut behind them, that Frank let himself touch Gerard, grabbing him and shoving him hard up against the door, knocking the breath out of him. "You fucking suck," he said, "oh god, you suck so hard, I don't even have words for it," and then he was leaning in, kissing Gerard desperately, hard and biting and demanding, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and bodily dragging him to the bed.

"You're going to fuck me now," he said, sitting carefully, then tipping back and sprawling out, "you're going to come up here and take this fucking thing out, and you are going to get me off like you have never gotten me off before, because you fucking suck. Did I mention?"

"You want me to fuck you?" Gerard asked. "You're not too – " his hands were quick on Frank's pants, ripping them off him, and Frank groaned out loud as his cock was released from his underwear, so hard he couldn't even think.

"No," Frank said shortly, "I'm not too anything, just," and then Gerard's hands were folding his legs up and back, and oh, that was an angle. That was an angle that was interesting and kind of amazing, and Frank could maybe do this for a long time, except that Gerard's fingers were touching him, careful and slow and then they were closing around the toy, twisting it, pulling at it, and Frank closed his eyes and let out a series of embarrassing noises as he pulled it from him.

"Oh," he said quietly, when it was out, sinking back into the bed a little, feeling every muscle that had been tensed up relaxing. He felt…empty. "Gerard," he said helplessly, "I need, I have to," and god, all he wanted in the world right now was to come.

"I know," Gerard told him, soothingly, "I know, just let me," and Frank kept his eyes closed, listening, waiting for Gerard to kneel up over him, slide his cock in. Instead, there was the press of fingers, faster now than before, sliding in with little warning and making Frank's eyes snap open.

"Gee," he said, "what," but Gerard crawled forward, kissed him.

"Trust me?" he said, and it wasn't entirely a question, but it was enough that Frank had to grab Gerard's hair, kiss him intently for a few minutes, moaning into his mouth when his fingers twisted just the right way.

"Of course," he replied, and then Gerard was smiling like Frank had just given him the greatest thing in the world, sliding down the bed, and working another finger into him.

"Oh, um," Frank said, and Gerard peered up, instantly changed, worried.

"Too much?" he asked, and moved as if to pull out, so Frank shook his head quickly.

"No. No, just," he lay back down, looked at the ceiling instead of at Gerard's intense expression. "Slow."

"Of course," Gerard repeated his words, and Frank lost himself in the feeling for a long time, the stretch of Gerard's fingers filling him, but better this time, warm and alive and real and Gerard, and then Gerard was saying, "I'm just, I'm going to," and there was this pressure, and it was too much, for a second, a moment, stretching out, holding still, figuring out how breathing worked again, steadying himself by the way Gerard was breathing over him, and then something shifted and he cried out, and he was coming, all over himself, Gerard, the bed, his hips rocking up, and Gerard's hand – his hand – was inside of him, and Frank couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do anything but writhe on the bed and come harder than he'd ever come in his life, clenching around Gerard's hand, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the bedframe they ached.

He came down slowly, in stages, Gerard careful as he pulled out of him, gentle as he climbed up the bed to press himself along Frank's body, and Frank just melted against him, shaking, trying to figure out how words happened.

"Fuck," was the first one that came back, and it sounded appropriate, so he used it a few more times, with varying inflections.

Gerard chuckled next to him, pressing his face to Frank's neck. "I guess it was a thing you liked," he said.

Frank nodded weakly. "Guess so," he agreed. Then he rolled over, carefully, slowly. "And if you ever have me wear that thing onstage again, I'm going to fucking kill you, oh my god."

"You asked," Gerard insisted, the picture of innocence, so Frank had to kiss him until his lips were red and used looking, his hair rumpled, eyes dazed.

He slipped down the bed, then, and Gerard reached down, tangled his fingers into Frank's hair. "You don't have to – " he said, but Frank was already taking Gerard's cock into his mouth, sucking slow and steady and licking just right over the head. He was so hard, so ready, and Frank wondered if he had been through the whole show, if he'd search for pictures online the next morning and find them of Gerard hard in his pants, humping Frank in front of an audience. Probably, and the thought made him suck harder, twist his hand around the base, until Gerard was shoving his hips up into Frank's mouth, making these gorgeous sounds that got caught in his throat as he came.

They didn't even bother getting under the covers, just sprawled there, wrapped up in each other, too worn out to even think about moving, and Frank pressed his face to Gerard's neck, shifting, trying to feel how sore he'd be in the morning. Gerard smoothed a hand over his ass like an apology, and Frank laughed into his neck.

"Better kiss it and make it better tomorrow," he said, which got him nothing but a light smack. He smirked, leaning up so his face was pressed close to Gerard's ear. "Next time," he said, "it's your turn," and the way Gerard caught his breath and pressed his hips up towards Frank told him exactly what he thought about that.