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Head first for basements

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"Hey, Patrick, hey." Frank hissed. He could just see Patrick's shoes through the slats as he paused to look around.


"Shh! Down here, under the bleachers. Make it snappy."

Patrick's shoes moved back out of Frank's sight and then he was there, picking his way awkwardly over the struts and supports until he reached the open space in the middle. Above them, the crowd roared and Frank could hear the cheerleaders spelling out inane chants, probably also with their arms. He held up a flask and shook it invitingly as Patrick stepped carefully over Gerard and his sketch pad, touching him lightly on the shoulder in greeting as he passed.

"Hey." Patrick said, dropping to the ground next to Frank and taking the flask. "What are you doing under here?"

"Too much school spirit. Needed actual spirits to balance it out." Frank paused and reached out to nudge Gerard with his foot. "'sides, that fucker was already hiding."

Gerard snorted from behind his sketch pad. "Rah, rah, fucking rah."

Patrick passed the flask back over, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Pete's around, um, with Mikey. So, we'll probably see them later."

"Or, not at all." Frank said, watching Gerard carefully. Pete was nice enough, not enough of a jock that he felt he had to stuff Frank in a locker but not weird enough to get the shit beaten out of him like Gerard, but over the last semester, he and Mikey had got ...friendly. Frank actually thought it was cute, in a car crash sort of way and Gerard preferred to imagine that his brother and Pete were up all night talking about obscure Brit-rock bands and not swapping spit or doing any of the things that made him squawk and scrunch up his face when Frank suggested them. Besides, it kind of worked in Frank's favour because he got to spend more time with Patrick and it wasn't like that was a hardship.

Patrick coughed and fiddled with the brim of his hat. Gerard remained engrossed in his sketches but Frank thought he'd seen a slightly shudder. He considered his options: agitate Gerard for shits and giggles or try get Patrick drunk and jump him. They were both tempting and actually, Frank was loose enough from the alcohol that doing both at the same time was starting to sound like the best idea ever.

Something went clang at the side of the bleachers and they all jumped, Frank shoving the hip flasks under the pile of their uniform jackets as they froze.

"Shit, shit, sorry," A voice hissed and they all relaxed as Ray and his crazy Sideshow Bob hair weaved into view.

Frank waited till Ray was closer and then hissed, "What the fuck, fucker?" at him.

Ray waved his hand soothingly. "S'okay. Caught the dumpster with my bag. Everyone's still busy rah rah rahing."

"They better be!"

"Chill, Frank." Gerard extracted one of the flasks and shoved it at Ray as he clambered over them and they all shuffled around until everyone was comfortable again.

"I told Bryar where we'd be. He's cool though, so."

Frank grinned. Bryar was awesome, in the way where he let Frank clamber all over him and generally be a pest long after everyone else was threatening to leave his body scattered across the playing fields. Gerard just thought that Bob was saving up his rage and Ray just sighed a lot.

"Byrar?" Patrick asked, leaning up against Frank's shoulder curiously.

"New guy. Plays in the drum-line, built like a brick shit house, hasn't killed Frank. Yet." Gerard offered.

"Ohhhh, Bob! Yeah, he's awesome."

"How do you - oh, wait, yeah, I always forget your second home is, like, the band room." Frank shifted until he was practically draped against Patrick, cheerfully ignoring Gerard's smirk and Ray's eye roll. Patrick just absentmindedly petted him and Frank made a mental note to thank Pete for wearing down Patrick's personal space barriers. Maybe, like, with a cake or something.

Frank had managed to mostly work his way through two flasks and into Patrick's lap by the time Bob wedged his way under the bleachers, narrowly avoiding stepping on Frank, who was sprawled across the ground with his head on Patrick's thigh and his feet tucked against Gerard. Bob just grunted and pointed up at the bleachers above them. "They're almost done out there. And one of you fuckers better have left me some alcohol."

Ray shook one of the flasks and pulled a face. "Um, actually."

Frank hiccuped and pulled another flask out from under his jacket, waving it at Bob cheerfully. "Tada." Patrick's thigh was buzzing under his head - possibly the second flask had been a bad idea.

Patrick petted Frank's head and pulled his cellphone out. "Pete says that everyone's going to Denny's after."

"Oooh, pancakes. Ooh." Frank said, waving a hand in the air.

Ray snorted. "Voice of reason here, all in favour of going to Denny's with a drunk Frank, raise a hand." He looked around: the only hand in the air was, predictably, attached to Frank. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Gerard stretched, tucking his sketch pad back into his bag. "I have more booze back at mine."

Frank wiggled until he was leaning against Patrick's shoulder. "You going to come with?"

"Pete'll be at Denny's." Patrick said.

"Yeeaah, with Mikey. Being all PeteandMikey."

Frank could see Gerard twitching in the corner of his eye and Patrick hummed and nodded. "Good point."

"Anyway, there'll be booze!"


Frank loved Gerard's basement. It was always filled with weird shit and there was generally something new and geeky to find, even if it was filthy and often made Frank want a shower afterwards. Also it had alcohol. Frank was a fan of alcohol.

They were having a sequels marathon: Bill and Ted, Wayne's World - Ray even joined in for Bohemian Rhapsody, even though it made his hair even more insane than usual, which made Frank laugh so hard, he almost fell off the bed, saved only by Patrick slinging an arm around his waist and yanking him backwards.

Patrick's arm stayed there all the way through The Addams Family and through Bob getting up and muttering something about, "It's four in the morning and I have fucking band practice later," and then through Addams Family Values and Ray collecting all his shit, Sideshow Bob hair casting shadows around the room. Frank dozed off halfway through Ghostbusters, waking with a start when Gerard yanked on his foot.


Gerard face was freakishly close to Frank's and Frank burrowed further into Patrick's side. "I think Patrick wants his arm back."

"Noo, S'mine now. That okay, Patrick?"

Patrick snorted. "Do I have much say in this?"

Frank shrugged. "No, not really. We're crashing here, Gee."

"We are?" Patrick's arm loosened slightly and Frank grumbled, shoving Patrick until he rolled over onto his back and then flopped down next to him, pulling a pillow almost over his head.

"Yeah, now shut up and go to sleep."

Gerard tapped Frank's shoulder. "Hey, so you're kicking me out of my own bed?"

Frank slid the pillow back. "...Uh. Okay, yeah. Um."

Gerard snickered. "Nah, it's okay. You're totally not sober enough to go home. I'll crash in Mikey's."

"Good idea, seeing as he's out with Pete."

Gerard twitched. "...Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome! Sleeping now."


The basement was pitch black when Frank woke up again, uncomfortably hard and pretzelled up with Patrick. Patrick shifted and Frank hissed.

"Mrrghh, Pete?"

Frank froze. "...Er."

Patrick hummed for a moment. "...Frank. Um. Hi?"

"Hey, 'trick. Um."

Patrick shifted again, thigh pushing up against Frank. Frank squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to moan.


Frank squeezed his eyes tighter and cursed his teenage hair trigger. Sure, he'd woken up hard because of Patrick more than few times - that mouth! - but never when they were in the same bed. This was possibly the best and worst moment of Frank's life.

Patrick muttered something that sounded like, "Fuck it," and leaned closer, muffling Frank's yelp of surprise with a kiss. It was tentative and Frank groaned, sliding his hand around the back of Patrick's neck and tugging him closer. Patrick followed obligingly, his free hand coming to rest on the curve of Frank's hip as the kiss deepened.

If Frank was dreaming, he was pretty okay with that, because - hello, he hated to labour a point but Patrick's mouth. Patrick's thigh slid up again and Frank folded like it was Prom night, sliding his hands down Patrick's back and grinding down.

"Fuck", Patrick gasped, fingers twisted in Frank's hair. "Frank, fuck. Should we. Should we be doing this in Gerard's bed?"

Frank smirked, "Well, someone ought to and it's not going to be him. Anyway, it'll make him wash his sheets."

"Huh." Patrick paused and Frank whined, tugging Patrick back down against him.

"Can we not be talking now? Or wearing clothes?"


Frank was about this close to swearing off belts for the rest of his natural life by the time they managed to get their sleep-stupid fingers to work but then it was skin and okay, boxers but Frank didn't care because Patrick made this high pitched whimper when Frank managed to shove his jeans down and Frank just wanted to make him do that again.

Patrick growled, hands coming back up to clutch at Frank's shoulders and pulling him closer. "Oh, god."

"I know", Frank hissed, teeth sinking into his lip. This was already so much better than the time he managed to get his hand up Natalie's sweater before her mother had knocked on the door. Frank'd had to cycle back home in record time and it'd been at least another hour after that before he could actually jerk off without his mother noticing. This was Patrick and skin and no parents and oh, this was totally the best night of Frank's life.

"Fuck!" Patrick's jeans buzzed repeatedly and he scrabbled for the pocket. "Shit, shit."

Frank groaned. "Don't answer it!"

"Have to - it'll be Pete. He'll just keep ringing -- ahah!" Patrick yanked his phone out of the tangled fabric triumphantly. "Busy! Can't talk now, Pete. Bye!"

Frank snickered and reached for the phone, dropping it over the side of the bed carefully. "God, do you think Mik--fuck!" Frank flailed for a moment. Patrick's hand was in his boxers. Someone else was touching his dick for the first time in Frank's life and oh god, this was not going to last long.

Patrick grinned and shifted his hand. "Let's not finish that thought."

"Fuck. Okay. 'trick." Frank breathed, squirming around until he could slide his own hand into Patrick's boxers. "So not going to last much longer but I don't care."



Frank scrabbled at the sheets and cursed, tugging Patrick down into another kiss and whimpering as the angle changed. "Oh, Jesus. Fuck, fuck, Jesus, fuck." He'd felt that in his *toes*.

At any other time, Frank would have been embarrassed but Patrick's hand was still down his boxers, still kissing him and when Frank twisted his hand, Patrick let out stuttered groan and went limp, warmth seeping between Frank's fingers.

"Fuck." said Frank as Patrick carefully rolled off him. "Can we do that again now?"

Patrick grunted and wiped his hand on his t-shirt. "Fuck yeah. But, uh, give me ten minutes and maybe a nap. Jesus."

"Mmm, naaaap." Frank yawned as he rolled over.


"Yaargh!" Frank yelped and sat up quickly. Gerard sniggered and stopped poking his shoulder. Patrick grumbled and tried to burrow further into the bed.

"Do I want to know?"

Frank tried to look sheepish. "Er. No. But you probably want to actually do some laundry for once."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "...great."

"Hey, someone had to get some in this bed."

"Ppfbt. Anyway, your Ma rang. Something about lunch at Uncle Joe's? So."

"Great." Frank pulled his jeans back on and hopped around 'til he unearthed his shoes and located Patrick's phone. "Hey, 'trick. You have fifty missed calls and 32 voicemails."

Patrick groaned and wedged his glasses back on. "Pete. Probably."

"Heh. We can freak him out later, right? I mean, if you want." Frank said, nudging Patrick with his shoulder.

Patrick grinned slowly. "Yeah, I'd..I'd like that."

Gerard made a noise like a cat throwing up and cheerfully ignored the finger Frank gave him. "Get out of my basement, you two. It's disgusting."