Work Header


Work Text:

"Fuck." It comes out slurred, and Frank swallows, tries to get his brain to focus. "Fuck, Gee, you gotta -" He isn't even sure what he needs Gerard to do. They're taking advantage of the empty tour bus, but they have no fucking clue how long before the guys come back. They're crammed together in Frank's bunk, and even with the a/c pumped up high, Frank's still sweating. He's got Gerard pinned down, kind of, Frank's leg slung up over Gerard's thighs.

"What?" Gerard says it tightly, like he's about as on edge as Frank. "Frankie -" He trails off, his eyes focusing in on fuck if Frank knows what - last time it was his lip ring; time before that, the way Frank's hair was growing out, flopping down over his face. "Fuck." Gerard's hair is damp along the hairline, and he has his teeth dug into his bottom lip as he shifts underneath Frank.

Frank presses down just a little harder, his thigh sort of snug up underneath Gerard's balls. "Jesus fuck, Gee, you're so fucking hard."

"I know," Gerard gasps out, shifting again, his erection pressed up against the front of his jeans. "Frank -" He has to stop again, his eyes fluttering shut as Frank moves against him. Frank's got his own jeans open at least, his dick leaking through his briefs as he moves it against Gerard's hips.

Being on tour can be like being in high school - all stolen moments, no real privacy, desperate hard-ons, and too-small beds.

"I want -" Frank moves again. Jesus. "Fuck, I want more room."

Gerard huffs out a laugh, but his hand is against Frank's back, dragging him down, closer.

Frank wants to fuck him, real bad. His breath gets tight in his throat when he even thinks about it, thinks about having enough room to roll Gerard over, drag him up on his knees by digging his fingers into the flesh of his hips, press his dick inside. Fuck, fuck, he wants to do that, wants to do that now.

"I want to fuck you, and that's not - that's not even my thing." Frank's babbling, half-laughing, because Gerard brings that out in him, that dizzy, stupid, sharing state of being. Because that's what Gerard is like, pretty much always - spilling out his thoughts without really thinking them through, telling Frank things that you would think would be embarrassing, things people don't usually tell each other.

But when Gerard says shit like that, Frank just wants to listen, and spill everything out right back at him.

"It's not?" Gerard sounds sharper, more focused. Interested. "What's your - what's your thing?"

Frank kind of giggles helplessly against Gerard's shoulder. Of course Gerard wants to have a conversation about this, right now. "It's -" Frank can't keep still, Jesus, he's so fucking hard, so turned on, he wants it, he wants all of it. He drags his hand down Gerard's chest, where his t-shirt is sweaty, stuck to him in spots. He pauses when he gets to Gerard's jeans, pushes the shirt up just a little, just enough that he can run his fingers along the damp edge of the denim where it cuts in to Gerard's stomach, leaving sweaty lines and creases that Frank just wants to press his face against.

"Frank," Gerard says, tight and high, and Frank thinks he's going to start begging for Frank to touch him. "Tell me. Tell me what it is that you -"

Frank grins. Of course Gerard just wants to know. Frank lets his hand run further down, his fingers tracing the length of Gerard's cock over the denim, where it's pressed up so tight, he knows it has to be aching.

"Usually," Frank says, trying for conversational, but it comes out too fucking turned on for that. "It's me." He's pressing his dick against Gerard's hip, rhythmically, he can't stop. "Me," he says again. "I'm the one who -"

"What," Gerard gasps out, then makes a low noise in his throat when Frank manages to flip open the top button of his jeans.

"Who wants to get fucked." Frank cups Gerard's dick through the denim - fuck, it's bigger than his hand. "Usually, I'd be fucking all over that, and -"

He has to stop, fuck, he can't get a breath. The air in the bunk is thick and smells like them, like sweat and sex and dirt and smoke. "And," he manages. "I do want that. I want you to fuck me, Gee, I do, don't get me fucking wrong…"

Gerard whimpers, shifting desperately under him, like if he could find room, get an angle, he'd be going for it now.

"But what I really want," Frank says, and Jesus fucking God in heaven, he's got to get his dick out. "What I really - really - want -" He moans, high in his throat, as he fumbles with his jeans, inches them down his hips in the close, sweaty space of the bunk. "I want to put it in you, Gee." He says it with his lips moving up against the dampness of Gerard's neck.

"Fuck, yeah." Gerard's voice is broken, and he's not even trying to get his own dick out - instead, he's reaching for Frank's. "I want you to, Frankie, I want you to fucking just -"

He's struggled over onto his side in the bunk, and his hand is wrapping damply around Frank's cock. Frank knows he should be going for Gerard's, getting him off, too. Fuck, he wants to watch as Gerard loses it and comes all over him, he really fucking does - but he can't do anything, can't move, can barely breathe, can only clutch at the sides of Gerard's shoulders, hanging on as Gerard jerks him off. He's doing it fast, so fucking fast, Frank can't even catch a breath, can only gulp for air that just isn't fucking there, biting his moans into the fabric of Gerard's t-shirt as he jerks against him and - oh Christ, oh fuck, oh yeah - comes hot and hard, Jesus fuck that's so fucking good - and Gerard strokes him through it.

When he comes down from it and manages to stop rolling his head against Gerard's shoulder, spitting his mouthful of Gerard's t-shirt out of his mouth, Gerard still isn't touching himself. He's watching Frank's face in this sort of creepy way, like he's getting off on just that, just looking.

Frank breathes out a laugh, sinks his fingers into Gerard's hair, right against the stupid blotch of blonde dye on the crown. Frank's been making fun of it since the first time Gerard showed up, newly dyed and pleased with himself, but he sort of can't keep his hands off of it. He drags Gerard's face to his, and kisses him, sloppy.

"What about you, Gee?" He rests his hand on Gerard's hip. "What do you want?"

"I don't know," Gerard says it soft and thoughtful, like he really doesn't. Like put your hand on my dick isn't anything he'd ever thought about asking for.

"How about -" Frank says, starting to bring his hand down, but then, huh. He looks at Gerard again, and Gerard's just waiting, apparently to see what Frank's going to come up with.


"How about you wait for it?" Frank's not sure where that comes from, but now that he's said it, he really wants it.

Gerard nods, then scrunches up his face. "Wait. What do you mean?"

Frank's warming to this. Maybe it's the orgasm, maybe it's how hot and close the bunk still is, maybe it's how Gerard's mouth goes slack when Frank lets his fingers trace over the outline of his dick in his jeans again. "I mean," Frank says. "I want you to wait for it. You're so fuckin' hard right now, I can feel how much you want it."

Gerard, still watching him curiously, makes a soft sound in his throat when Frank presses his hand down, just a little.

"The guys will be back soon, I bet." Frank watches Gerard's eyes in the dimness of the bunk. "I'm gonna go. Don't touch yourself." It sounds so fucking dirty when he says it out loud. He has to swallow before he can say, "I'm gonna leave you here like this, and I want you to just…wait."

Gerard bites his lip. "Until when?"

"Next time," Frank says. "Next time we have a chance."

"Okay," Gerard says, after a moment. "I can do that."

"Good." Frank's heart is beating pretty fast, just thinking about it, and when he rolls over to tuck his dick away, it's half-hard again already. He gets his jeans zipped shut carefully, presses his palm against himself for a second before he rolls out of the bunk.

Gerard is lying on his side, hand tucked under his cheek, watching Frank as he runs his hand through his hair. Gerard's hair is weirdly not a mess - just sticking up some in the back, but mostly he looks just a little rumpled. His cheeks are pretty flushed, and he's still giving Frank this curious look.

"I think we'd have an easier time keeping this on the down low if you weren't in my bunk when the guys got back," Frank points out.

Gerard shrugs a little bit and stays put. "I'd crawl into your bunk even if we weren't fucking." He yawns.

Frank watches him for a second, knowing he's right.

"Okay." He thinks about saying something else, a warning to not do anything, to hold off, that Frank would know. But Gerard's actually pretty good at keeping himself in line, and he's already clearly drifting off to sleep, so Frank just heads off to the front lounge, trying to figure out when, exactly, "next time" will be. Private times are sort of really fucking scarce at Warped.


Frank spends the rest of the day really distracted. He sits in the bus lounge for a while, trying to enjoy the air conditioning, but of course this is the one time the guys don't come back right away.

Frank's antsy, thinking about how he and Gee wasted this time when they could have been fucking, in peace and quiet. Then he's thinking about fucking Gerard, and then he's thinking about Gerard napping back there, probably sound asleep, but maybe with a boner, still. Frank wonders if having a wet dream counts as breaking a deal like this, and then he thinks he should maybe have looked a little more into how this sort of thing works, like, maybe there should have been a safe word? Is this a safe word situation? He doesn't know. He doesn't think so. But maybe -

Fuck. He gets off the couch and heads off into the scorching air of the Warped parking lot before he breaks and starts googling this shit.

He doesn't see Gerard until sound check that afternoon, and Gerard just looks a little sleepy, but not like he's suffering or anything, so that's good. He guesses.

Frank, however, is a different story. His dick gets hard the second he spots Gerard, and fucking stays hard, all through sound check. He's happy for his guitar, granting him some semblance of dignity or whatever, but it's really fucking distracting to have it pressed up against his boner that whole time.

The show is great that afternoon - hot as fuck with the afternoon sun beating down on them, but still great. Gerard swings around at the end of their set, and Frank has this fucking moment as he looks at him. Gerard's soaked with sweat - his hair, his face, his fucking black jacket soaked through, t-shirt sticking to his chest. His face is still glowing, and sort of - not shut down, but he's clearly still focused inwards, like a preacher, like someone with a connection right to God or whatever higher fucking power there may or may not be. He looks sure of himself, in that way where you know yourself, and it's not just contentment, it's a fierce sort of security that just makes him look like someone you'd follow out of a Knights of Columbus basement to a stage in the scorching sun.

Also he looks like he's hard in his jeans.

Which proves to be true when Frank finally manages to haul him out of the crowd clustered side-stage and drag him away from the techs and roadies and guys from other bands milling around outside the tent. Frank's got his hand hooked in Gerard's jacket, pulling him along behind him, Gerard stumbling a little, sending up puffs of dirt from the dry, patchy grass underfoot.

When Frank finally gets him to the back of a food truck, he lets go and just stands there, his hands loose and useless in front of him. Because of course they're still not alone, they're still fucking surrounded, in clear view of kids, photographers, bands, every-fucking-one. There is no fucking privacy, not at Warped.

Frank's just standing there looking at Gerard, his hands drawing into inexplicable fists down by his sides.

"Frankie," Gerard says, his face lit-up even though he's not smiling, just sweating and glowing, still. "How great was that? I need some water. Those kids out there, fucking awesome, man. What's wrong with your face?"

"Your dick is what's wrong with my face," Frank says.

Gerard blinks, then frowns. "Uh."

"Did you jerk off?" They're standing there, an appropriate distance from one another, like they're just chatting, like this is nothing at all.

"Oh." Gerard's face softens immediately, his I get it look. "No, Frankie, you asked me not to."

"Told you not to," Frank corrects him. His face gets hot all at once - a different sort of hot from the sweaty blast of heat from the sun onstage. It's all mixed up inside - Gerard not jerking off, because Frank said not to, and Gerard talking about it so easy, here in the middle of Warped, surrounded by sound and music, where anyone could hear.

Gerard opens his mouth, then shuts it, and nods. "You told me not to," he repeats, so softly Frank almost doesn't hear it.

"Don't," Frank says. "Still don't. I want you to wait. Can you wait?"

Gerard nods again, still with that soft, open expression on his face, sort of like he's enjoying this, enjoying Frank telling him what to do. Or what not to do. "I can wait."

"Good." Frank's heart is beating kind of wildly, but he's still standing there, at ease, like this is a normal conversation.

Gerard pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and starts patting himself down, looking for a lighter. Frank's got one in his jeans pocket, but it takes him a minute to dig it out, he's so fucking hard in his jeans, Jesus Christ. He tosses it to Gerard, who lights his cigarette, and then fucking hands it over to Frank like he's his girlfriend, before lighting another one for himself.

Frank rolls his eyes at Gerard, but sucks in the smoke, watching Gerard. "Hotel night on Friday." That's three days from now. "Think you can wait that long?"

Gerard pauses with his cigarette in front of his mouth, smoke curling up around his face like he's in a scene from a black and white movie. "Yeah," he says, after a moment. "I can wait."

"Good." Frank's has to go. He has to get out of here. He's got, like, heat stroke, he thinks. The shade of the truck doesn't help with the temperature out here. He's gonna go back to the bus, lie down with a cold cloth over his face. Maybe another one over his dick. "Good," he says again, and it comes out sounding more sure of himself than he feels. "Friday. Okay."

He stumbles as he turns around, his feet getting in his way for no reason, but when he glances back at Gerard, Gerard's not laughing, he's just watching Frank with his bottom lip caught in his teeth, his cigarette still poised up by his face, like he's forgotten it.

Jesus Christ. It's gonna be a long three days.


Frank's been lying in the cool darkness of his bunk since leaving Gerard in the shade of the food truck. He's jerked off twice - once when he got back, when the bus was empty, the cool air almost a shock against his hot face, and his dick so fucking hard that he came with a handful of good, hard strokes. His orgasm hit him hard, and it was punch-in-the-gut good, leaving him curled over on himself and gasping in his bunk.

It wasn't anywhere near enough, though, and when he wakes up hard - he doesn't even know how much later it is - he jerks off again, not caring that the band is clearly back, that he can hear Mikey watching movies in the lounge, and that Bob is snoring in his bunk.

Frank just rolls over, shoving his hand into his shorts and humping it up against the bed, biting against the pillow to keep quiet. His eyes are shut so tight he's seeing stars, and he comes in about a minute and a half, thinking about Gerard's fingers shoved into his mouth, Gerard's hand around his own dick.

He's starting to think he's not going to make it until Friday.

Mikey is the Way brother who comes peeking in at Frank a while later. Frank's lying there with his arm slung over his face, the sheets tangled up over him. He's not sleeping, he's just trying to think of nothing at all. Trying for zen.

He's never been very good at zen.

"Hey." Mikey shakes the curtain before he slides it back an inch, peering in at Frank.

"Hey." Frank doesn't take his arm away from his face.

"What, uh, are you doing?" Mikey sounds actually curious, like he's trying to figure it out.

"Being zen." Maybe if Frank says it out loud, it will make it real.

Mikey laughs. "Right," he says. "How's that going for you?"

Frank lifts his other hand where it's resting on his chest, in order to raise his middle finger at Mikey.

Mikey's quiet for long enough that Frank shifts his arm away from his eyes to blink up at him.

"You sick?" Mikey asks.

Frank huffs out a laugh. "No."

"I can get your bag," Mikey says, ignoring his denial. "It's warm out, so if it hasn't hit your chest, yet, you'll probably be -"

"I'm not sick." Frank rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes tiredly. "I swear."

"Yeah, but you don't look good," Mikey says doubtfully. "Kinda - peaked."

Frank rolls over on his side, leaning up on one elbow and scraping his hand through his hair. "Peaked. Who says peaked."

Mikey grins. "I do. And you are. You look all - worn out, or something."

He pokes at Frank's face, and Frank bats his hand aside.

"Shut up." Frank's about to roll out of bed, prove Mikey wrong, but he realizes he's got no pants on, and his shorts are full of gross, dried jizz. Fuck his life. The only shower options involve lukewarm water drizzled out of a bag in a cordoned-off corner of a parking lot.

Sometimes Frank has the worst plans known to man. His teachers in high school used to say the same thing. Doesn't always think things through. How little you knew, Mr. Sadowski.

"Maybe you should sleep some more." Mikey looks actually worried, which is kind of weird. "We're on in the morning tomorrow, and then we're driving all night to get to Tulsa."

"I hate Tulsa," Frank grumbles.

"You don't hate Tulsa," Mikey says, sounding surprised. "You love Tulsa. They have corn dogs."

"Okay. I hate this bus, then," Frank says.

"We all hate this bus," Mikey says matter-of-factly. "It smells real bad. Ray says he's gonna make them, like, hose it down from the inside out the next time we get a hotel night."

"Friday," Frank mumbles without thinking about it.

"Gerard," Mikey says slowly.

Frank's heart kicks up a beat, because, fuck, Gerard told Mikey? Fuck, of course Gerard told Mikey.

"Gerard's worried, too," Mikey finishes finally. "He's all, you know -" He makes an awkward gesture with both hands, which Frank takes to mean wound up and twitchy. "So maybe you should sleep."

Frank lets himself sag back on the bed. Mikey doesn't know. Gerard's keeping this a secret from Mikey.

Frank is definitely not going to be able to make it until Friday.

"Okay," he says finally. "But I'm not sick, I swear. It's just the fucking heat, Mikey. It's wearing me out."

It’s not entirely untrue - sometimes he thinks about the bracing, gray cold of a Jersey winter, wind so sharp and frigid, it rips the air right out of your lungs. Frank almost always gets sick when he goes out in weather like that, but sometimes, in the middle of a summer like this, he thinks it's what his lungs need: a blast of cold to tear out this dripping, logy heat. Something to cut through the sogginess that sinks into your chest and lungs and brain after weeks of sweating through the days, heat prickling your skin every fucking night.

Mikey nods slowly, scratching his nose as he looks at Frank. "Yeah," he says, like he doesn't believe him. "Sleep, though, okay, Frankie?"

"Okay." Frank watches as Mikey pushes his glasses up his face with the back of his hand, and climbs to his feet awkwardly. He leaves Frank's curtain open, and Frank doesn't have the energy to close it. He lies there limply. He needs to get up and fucking hose himself down. He needs to jerk off again. He needs a fucking hotel night.


Frank makes it to their second night in Tulsa before he loses it.

He's sweaty after the show, and grabs two bottles of water from the table side-stage, dumps one directly over his head before taking measured swallows from the other one, trying to quench his thirst without making himself sick.

Gerard's hugging Mikey, running his hand through the back of Mikey's hair like Mikey's a little kid. Frank can see Gerard's hand shaking a little bit from here, leftover adrenaline, or not enough. Gerard's got on way too many layers - dark t-shirt soaked through all over, long-sleeved dark jacket over that, dark jeans, what looks like two different belts, which are only kind of holding the jeans up. His boots are new, he bought them right before the tour started, spent too much money and not enough time breaking them in. The toes of them are scuffed already, and Frank's not sure why that's what his eyes get caught on as he watches Gerard stepping back from Mikey, pushing his sunglasses onto his face, and lighting a cigarette.

Gerard's feet are planted on the ground, and he's still catching his breath. The cigarette trembling just a little in his hand is probably not helping him with that, but Frank gets it, he does. He gets how the catch of smoke in your lungs can sometimes steady you, bring you down more solidly to earth than simple oxygen can.

Frank is leaning unsteadily against the side of a picnic table, a bottle of water clutched in his hand, and he's really not sure how long he's been standing there. Someone calls his name, says it again like it's not the first time, and he comes to himself with a start, dumbly hands over his guitar that's he's been clutching this whole time to the tech.

Gerard's the one who gets it moving. He's walking towards Frank, after Frank gets his guitar handed off. His sunglasses are huge, covering half his face. He doesn't even really pause as he goes by, just the smallest hesitation in his step, but Frank pushes himself off the table and follows after him.

The sun hitting them on the stage was blazing hot, but nothing compares to the heat rising off of the sunburned field under their feet. Frank's not even sure where they're going. He needs a shower. He needs a bed. He needs Gerard's dick.

He needs a fucking lobotomy, maybe.

Gerard stops, suddenly, by one of the buildings that line the sides of the gates to the fairground. They're not quite in plain sight - they're just around the corner from the gates, and it's the height of the day, the headliners going on in a couple of hours, so the crowds are thin up here. Gerard's fumbling with something in his hands, and when he unlocks the door in front of them, Frank's brain is so slow, he doesn't even get it at first.

He's sunblind and stumbling when Gerard tugs him inside, and he's saying, "Wait, hang on -" just as Gerard shoves the door shut behind them. The lock catches, and Gerard slides a bolt, too, and it's so dark in there, Frank can't see a fucking thing, has no clue where they are.

Gerard pressed up against him, hard, and shoves him against the wall, like he's some sort of tough guy. It should be funny, or silly, but instead Frank clutches at Gerard's shoulders and breathes in these tight gasps. He's so fucking hard, and if he thinks about it, he's been that way probably since they came off-stage.

Gerard knows it. Gerard noticed it, because Gerard's pressed right up against him. "Jeez, you're so hard, Frankie," he breathes out against Frank's cheek.

Frank's still sweating like an animal, he's soaked with it, and so is Gerard. It's sliding down his temple as Gerard kisses him, open-mouthed and slow. Frank realizes he's making these whimpering noises in his throat, tries to quiet it down, tries to stop, but he can't, he fucking can't.

"Gee." He's got his hands dug into Gerard's shoulders, just hanging on so fucking tightly. "Fuck - just - Gee."

Gerard's kisses are desperate, deep, and he's breathing so hard, and his hands are braced on the wall behind Frank.

"Touch me, fucking - touch me -" Frank babbles, his mouth is forging forward without his brain. Gerard smells like sweat, like dirt, like four days past a good shower, and Frank just wants that all fucking over him.

Gerard groans, dropping his head against Frank's shoulder. His hair - filthy, soaked with sweat, God, it's so gross and Frank doesn't mind, because Frank has gone crazy - is against Frank's face.

"Fuck," Gerard says thickly. "Frank."

"What?" Frank can't catch his breath, can't fucking think. Gerard's pretty much pinning him to the wall, but it's not enough, and it's not where Frank needs it. His hips are canted away, his hands still pressed against the wall to either side of Frank's shoulders. "What, fuck, Gerard, I need - I need -"

Gerard sucks in air through his nose, and fumbles for Frank's hand. He drags it down and Frank's fuck-dumb and slow, so fucking slow, because when Gerard presses Frank's hand up against the massive fucking boner Gerard's got in his jeans, Frank's pulse kicks up so fast and frantic in surprise that he thinks he might pass out.

"I -" He hadn't known. Gerard had been so chill about this whole thing that Frank had sort of forgotten that the point of all of this was - "Fuck, holy shit, you're -"

"So hard, Frankie." Gerard's moved his face up, and he pants against Frank's cheek. "So hard, so hard."

Frank cups his hand around Gerard's dick through his jeans, and Gerard muffles a groan, his teeth digging into Frank's shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"You want to?" Frank can't think, can't fucking breathe. "Gee, you want - you want to -" He's got his hands fumbling at the front of Gerard's jeans. He doesn't care, he wants to see it, wants Gerard to fucking rub his dick all over him, wants him to come all over his face.

Gerard bites him, harder, and then he pushes himself back. His grin is sharp and bright in the shadows of the room, and he gets on his knees, slowly, working around the boner in his pants.

Frank makes a really embarrassing high-pitched noise as Gerard opens Frank's jeans.

Gerard pants out a laugh. "Haven't even touched you yet."

Frank just rocks his head back and forth against the wall. His breath is so tight in his chest, he can't talk.

"So fucking hard," Gerard says again, soft and thick, and Frank doesn't know if he's talking about himself or Frank, thinks they're caught in an endless feedback loop of hard-ons. "So fucking -"

Then Gerard's mouth is fucking full, and he can't talk, can't tease, isn't teasing at all. He's got his hands anchored on Frank's hips, Frank's jeans shoved down his thighs, and Frank's dick in his mouth. Frank wants to thrust forward, but he can't, Gerard has him pinned so hard. Frank groans, his hands twisting in the sweaty mess of Gerard's hair, dragging his head forward.

Gerard goes, willingly, and just opens the fuck up, his mouth wide and hot and taking Frank all the way in, all the fucking way in - like, he sort of takes a breath and tilts his head a little, his eyes shut tight, and then Frank's in his fucking throat. Only for like a second or two but Jesus fucking Goddamn Christ, it's so Goddamn good, like nothing else.

Gerard chokes a little and lets him slide all the way back out, long and slow. Frank's writhing against the wall, making way too much noise, shoving a fist into his mouth as Gerard wraps one sweaty hand around Frank's dick, jerking him off while he rubs the head of it against his lips, mouths at it like this is a porn movie.

It's fucking obscene - Gerard's face is pale and flushed, his eyelashes damp against his cheeks, and his mouth is wet and his lips are red and Frank's dick up against them looks like something Frank's gonna be jerking off to for a long, long time.

Frank's hand is still wrapped tight in Gerard's hair, hanging on. Gerard's other hand is still on Frank's hip, holding him there, and Frank can't do anything but take it. Every shift of Frank's hips forward, Gerard pulls back a little, and it's just the head of Frank's dick against his hot lips. It's the best thing in the fucking world, and nowhere near enough.

"Please," Frank's panting. "Please, fucking - please, you - please."

Gerard jacks him roughly, then takes him in, sucking him hard and steady. Oh Christ, oh fuck, this isn't going to take very long at all. Jesus, fuck, Gerard's going at it like it's his job. He digs his fingers into Frank's hip, and twists his hand on the base of Frank's dick, and Frank gasps and comes. He's shaking so fucking hard against the wall, and his dick is pressing into Gerard's mouth, probably too deep, too hard, but Gerard's taking it so easy Frank can't even handle it.

Frank's brain shorts out completely - all he can do is clutch at Gerard's head and tremble as Gerard slowly lets Frank's dick slip out of his mouth.

Gerard sits back on his heels, panting up at him as Frank slumps back against the wall. Frank's hand is shaking as he reaches up to wipe the sweat off of his face where it's running into his eyes.

"I think maybe we've got this backwards," Frank says unsteadily. "I think you're the one who's supposed to be begging for it."

Gerard has his hands resting on his own thighs. His jeans are stretched tight over his dick, obvious and hard in his pants, but he's not going for it, he's just gazing up at Frank, his his lips a little swollen, fucking dirty. "I'm not ready to beg," he says softly. "Not yet. I -" He stops, bites his bottom lip. His eyes look fucking huge in the dim room, pupils blown like they used to be when he was fucked up. "I'm still - I mean - I like it, and -"

Oh God. Frank's dick gives a twitch. His sweaty jeans are still stuck halfway down his thighs, his ass is against this grimy wall, and even though he just came his fucking brains out, he swears to fucking God, he could get it up again in a hot second if Gerard keeps talking about how he's into this. Like, Frank knew, he sort of knew, Gerard wouldn't have gone along with it if he wasn't at least curious, but knowing that Gerard likes it, likes being hard and turned on and just riding the edge of it -

"Jesus, your face, Frank," Gerard says, his voice tight.

Frank swallows, shuts his eyes for a second just to get his act together. He hauls his jeans up carefully, tucking himself away - God, he's covered in sweat and spit and dirt. He smoothes his t-shirt when he's done, looking down at where Gerard is still on his knees in front of him. He sort of expected Gerard to at least have his hand pressed against his dick or something, but Gerard's hands are still just curled loosely against his thighs and he's looking up at Frank with a mixture of, like, patience and heat.

"C'mere," Frank says, making it an order, because he's pretty sure his knees would give out if he pushed away from the wall.

Gerard gets to his feet easier than Frank would have been able to with a boner like that in his pants, and curls around Frank immediately, opening his mouth to Frank's kiss, intense and dirty. Frank digs his fingers into Gerard's sides, soft and sweaty through his t-shirt.

Gerard pulls back a little. "Do you want me to beg?" His voice is breathlessly curious, his dick pushed hard up against Frank's hip.

He's clearly waiting for Frank's answer, like he'd beg, but only if Frank wanted him to, not because he's ready to. Frank definitely thinks he's gotten this whole thing going backwards.

"Not yet." He's going for firm, but it comes out kind of like Frank's the one who's holding on by a thread. "Not yet."

"Hotel night," Gerard says. "Tomorrow."

Frank nods shakily in the dark.

"Will you fuck me?" Gerard's tone is still curious.

Frank is going to die, probably, before that happens.

"I want you to," Gerard says. "I think I can hold on through that. I wanna try." His tone is almost conversational.

Frank is clearly out of his fucking league when it comes to this stuff. "Maybe," he says tightly. He hooks his fingers in the loops of Gerard's jeans, gives a sharp tug that makes Gerard gasp before he bites it back. "Will you beg then?"

Gerard's eyes are closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks, as he says, softly, "Maybe."


Frank jerks off when he gets back to the bus, locking himself in the tiny bathroom and watching his own sweaty, wrecked face in the mirror as he sucks in air and comes all over his own hand.

He showers in the parking lot afterward, not caring about the lukewarm water coming from the hoses, the complete lack of privacy, despite the makeshift canvas group shower stall set up, like a scene from a really fucking low-budget porno. He's wrung-out and distracted, scrubbing himself down, having to do it twice before he feels like he's got all the dried sweat and ground-in dirt off.

He hangs his head under the stream of water, watching the soap bubbles swirl around his bare feet on the cement. It feels like it should be late by now, dark, fucking bedtime, but the late afternoon sun is still bright overhead, too much - he can feel it through his closed eyelids when he tilts his face up into the sluggish stream.

He crawls into his bunk when he gets back to the bus. It's only - fuck, he actually doesn't know what fucking time it is. Around five, he thinks, maybe, but it could be later. Gerard's across the way, in his own bunk, Frank's pretty sure - the curtain was pulled tight when Frank went by.

He falls asleep to the quiet sounds of Ray and Bob talking in the front of the bus, to the hum of the air conditioning, to the far-off echo of the band on the main stage right now.


Frank sleeps through 'til fucking morning. He doesn’t know how he misses Mikey coming back, the whole evening in Tulsa, the rumble of the bus starting and heading out, but he does.

He only wakes up when there's the familiar pat-pat-pat against the wall near the head of his bunk, Ray's wake-up call as he makes his way to the lounge. "Kansas City," Ray's voice announces, right near Frank's head. "Sound check in a couple of hours."

His curtain moves a little, and Frank rolls over and tugs it back.

"You feeling okay?" Ray's crouched next to his bunk, his eyes sleepy, like he's just woken up himself.

"I'm good," Frank says, yawning.

Ray frowns a little.

"Promise," Frank says, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"You slept for -" Ray glances up at the clock at the far end of the bunk area. "Fifteen hours."

"Whoa," Frank says.

"Whoa," Ray agrees, worriedly, and reaches for his forehead.

Frank allows it, with a stony look, and Ray frowns, but looks a little relieved. Frank gets a fever at the drop of a fucking hat. If he's sick, he's hot, guaranteed. And right now, he feels just fine. Fit. Fifteen hours of unconsciousness was apparently just what he needed.

"Okay," Ray says dropping his hand. "You're fine." He stands up next to Frank's bunk. "Which means it's your turn to make the fucking coffee."

All Frank can see are Ray's thighs, looking stern in his jeans. "Fine," he says, rolling out of the bunk. He's still in his shorts and t-shirt from yesterday, dried wrinkled and sticking against him.

"Coffee?" Gerard's sleep-fogged voice comes from the depths of his bunk, and his curtain rustles.

Frank turns in time to see his messed-up hair, the blond part in the back rucked up. Gerard's eyes are sleepy and hopeful as he peers hazily out of the bunk.

"Coffee." Frank heads determinedly to the kitchenette in the lounge, ignoring the instant fucking boner in his shorts.

Kansas City. Hotel night. He can do this.


They're going at it in the backseat of a Dodge Caravan in the back of a crowded Target parking lot, two hours before show time. Frank's not even sure how they got there, just that when Gerard said, "Coffee run?" Frank said, "Hell yes."

There's apparently a Starbucks inside this Target. How Gerard knows that, Frank has no idea.

"Whose car is this, even?" Frank gasps against Gerard's mouth. They haven't gotten very far - all their clothes are still on, but Gerard's hands are up under Frank's shirt as Frank grinds down against him.

"Danny's," Gerard says.

"…my guitar tech drives a Dodge Caravan?" Frank groans as Gerard shifts his hips up.

"His mom does." Gerard digs his fingers into Frank's sides above his belt. "She loaned it to him. Oh God, Frankie, fuck."

"Jesus." Frank's heart is beating so goddamn fast. "Oh God." Being with Gerard is like being back in high school sometimes. His mom's car. "Gee," he says, and moves again, pressing his dick down against Gerard. It's not enough, it's not even close. "Fuck, I just -"

"Yeah." Gerard's squirming under him, making him fucking crazy. "Frank. I -"

Gerard's cheeks are apple-red and his eyes are hot. Frank can feel his heartbeat throbbing in the pulse of his dick against Gerard's thigh.

"I want -" Frank says, and then gets lost in kissing Gerard, again. Gerard kisses with his whole body, angling himself up, hooking one booted foot around Frank's calf, dragging him closer in the sweaty closeness of the backseat of Danny's mom's car. "I want - Gerard, I fucking -"

Frank's thrusting his hips down, humping Gerard against the seat, and Jesus, it's so fucking good.

Gerard's gasping under him, his head pressed back against the door. His eyes are closed and his dick is so hard against Frank's hip, Frank can't fucking take it.

"Jesus," Frank pants. "Your face, Gee."

"Hang on," Gerard says, clutching at his hips. "I - oh God, fuck, Frank."

Frank can't stop, Jesus, it feels so good.

"Just," Gerard can barely get the word out. "Just - hang on, stop, you gotta -"

Frank tries, he really fucking does. He freezes right there, his shoulders aching from holding himself up over Gerard. They're pressed together, chests and hips and dicks. "What," Frank pants, trying to sound solicitous. He cares, he does, but oh God, he doesn't want to stop. "Gee, what?"

"Don't move, just - gimme a second, I -" Gerard's eyes are shut tight, his breath coming fast and choked.

Frank's holding still, he is, he's trying so hard.

"Stop," Gerard orders sharply, blinking his eyes open, sounding fucking desperate.

Frank hadn't even realized he'd been shifting his hips. They're doing it of their own accord. He can't stop.

"Don’t," Gerard says again, desperately. "Don't, don't, if you do, I'm gonna -" He has to stop, swallow. "I'm gonna, and I don't want to, I -"

He gulps in air again, and oh Jesus Christ, Frank can't take this. "Fuck," he grinds out. His dick is snug up against Gerard, and Gerard's breathless and flushed, about to come in his fucking pants if Frank moves so much as an inch.

"Frank." Gerard's got his hands clenched really fucking hard against Frank's back. "You've got to - listen, I can't -" He takes a deep breath. "Fuck. Fuck. Listen. Back off. Slow."

Frank's not sure if he can. Frank's dick feels so fucking hard that it's like it's weighing him down. Frank's pretty sure he's gonna come if he moves so much as an inch. "Okay," he manages. "Okay." He drops his head to Gerard's shoulder, breathing hard, gearing himself up, then pulls back and away, carefully, sitting down with his back against the far door. His dick is so hard it's painful, and he's gotta - he really fucking has to -

Gerard pushes himself to sitting, wincing, carefully rearranging his junk in his pants. He's sporting enormous fucking wood, and Frank keeps flicking his glance between Gerard's dick trying to drill a hole through his jeans, and Gerard's face, looking tortured and fucked up and so hot, Frank wants to come all over it.

"I'm gonna come if I do anything at all." Gerard says it almost conversationally. "Like, if I even blow you, I think I might cream my pants."

Frank makes a completely unintentional moaning sound in his throat.

"So I can't help," Gerard says. He's biting his lip hard, taking in these measured breaths, like he's trying to dial himself back, get himself under control. "I want to, Frankie, fucking trust me on that, but -"

"You're helping," Frank says, fumbling his jeans open. Jesus, the pressure easing up against his dick is almost enough to make him come all over his own stomach, right there. "You are fucking helping, your fucking face is helping, fuck, Gee, I'm -" He bites his lip as he strokes his dick. His hands are shaking, he can't catch his breath, and the air in the car is close and damp, catching in his throat, beading on his skin. "So fucking close, Jesus, gonna come, you're making me lose it."

"You're making me lose it," Gerard says softly, almost like a warning. He's tense, sitting across from Frank, watching him with hot eyes, his mouth wet and open just a little. Like he's holding himself back with his whole body. "Tell me," he says, licking his lips. "Tell me when you're there, when you're -"

Frank's holding back by the skin of his teeth. His dick is hard and swollen and he's leaking like a motherfucker, making everything so slick and easy and he just - he's gotta - he's gonna - "Can't," he says, staring at Gerard. "Gonna come, gonna fucking -" He does, and the force of it jerks him back on the seat, his whole body shaking, his hand still moving on his dick as he comes all over his fist. Some of it gets on his shirt, his thighs, making a huge fucking mess, but his brain has sparked out, he can't control it, or care.

He's slumped down, the side of his head pressed painfully against the window, when he finally finishes. His spent dick is clutched in his fist, and he's not ready to let it go.

Gerard is staring at him, his eyes wide, the window behind him completely fucking steamed over - the whole car has steamed over, and it smells like a brothel in here, and Frank has no fucking clue how they'll air it out enough that Danny's mom won't be looking at her son questionably for days.

It takes Frank way too long to get his breath back, to let go of his dick and wipe his hand off on his already-ruined t-shirt. He gets himself tucked away, straightened out as best he can. When he looks over, Gerard's still sitting where he was, but his eyes are shut, and he seems to be taking measured breaths - in through the nose, out through the mouth.

"You okay?" Frank asks.

Gerard nods. "Yes. I'm - yes." His hands are in fists on his thighs. "Show," he says. "We have to get back. Brian's gonna kill us."

"Right." Show. Right. They gotta do this.

"Then hotel." Gerard looks at him. "After the show." He says it like a promise. He presses one hand to the front of his jeans, then takes it carefully away, making sure Frank is looking.

"Right," Frank says again. Tonight.

Gerard runs his hands through his fucked-up hair, and opens the door, getting out carefully, and shutting it behind him. Frank watches his blurry form through the steamy windows as he makes his way to the front seat.

Tonight. Thank fuck.


That afternoon is one of those shows that makes Frank want to leap into the pit, makes him want to throw himself at the kids the same way they're throwing themselves at them - heart and soul and with their whole bodies. The pit's too far away at this venue, though, and security here is unrelenting.

Gerard stays away from Frank, and Frank is grateful. He's focused here, they both are - the show is everything, and what comes after, waits until after.

Frank closes his eyes as he plays the last chords of the closer, breathes in deep, smelling sweat and dirt and hot summer air. He only opens his eyes when Mikey wraps one arm around his shoulders, squeezing him close. Frank walks offstage with his arm around Mikey's waist, thinking that they have the best job in the whole damn world.

The energy switches immediately when they hit side-stage. They get one hotel night - they're on the road again tomorrow afternoon, and that means less than twenty-four hours for real showers and real beds and real fucking privacy. Brian's herding them all like they're fucking preschoolers who need to be hanging onto a leash, but nobody fucking cares - everyone is perfectly willing to move, move, move.

"Hand off your instruments, get your bags, get in the fucking car, let's go."

Frank bites his lip hard when he sees the Dodge Caravan with all the doors open. The bus is staying here, and the hotel's only a few miles away. Brian must have coughed up some dough or some favors or maybe both to get Danny to schlep them over. Frank ends up half in Ray's lap for the ride, crammed in the back with Gerard on the far side of Mikey from him, which is probably - definitely - a good thing.

"Does the hotel have laundry?" Ray calls up to Brian in the front seat.

Brian has his cell phone pressed against his ear, and he makes an annoyed waving motion back at Ray. "Do you think we can afford a pay-per-item fucking hotel laundry bill?" he says irritably. "There's a laundromat down the street from the venue tomorrow night."

"Laundromats suck," Mikey says gloomily, texting from where he's crammed between Ray and Gerard, so little room that his arms are high and close together like a T-Rex.

"You suck," Brian says, and sighs like he realizes that he has, in fact, reached the bottom of the comeback barrel. He scrubs his hands over his face. "Just be happy for the chance of a shower, okay? And you get your own fucking rooms tonight, so say fucking thank you."

"Thank you, Brian," they all chorus from the backseat. It has definitely been a fucking while since the last hotel night.

Brian hands out keycards in the lobby. His face is stern and exhausted, and Frank watches as Gerard takes his keycard out of Brian's hand, then hugs him for a handful of seconds. Brian's face over Gerard's shoulder is priceless - he's not even surprised, just sort of disconcerted. He pats Gerard's shoulder awkwardly, and Gerard lets him go with one final squeeze. "Okay," he says, sounding slightly less like a band manager on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "We got extended check-out for tomorrow. Be down in the lobby with all your crap by 1PM. Bus leaves at two on the dot and I will very happily leave you all behind."

"Bullshit," says Gerard fondly, but then holds up his hands, nodding several times in promise as Brian herds them all to the band of elevators.

Separate rooms are an almost-unheard-of luxury. Everyone in the elevator looks pumped, and Frank's pretty sure his entire band is going to be jerking off, loudly and without fear of discovery or reprisal, inside of twenty minutes.

Frank feels Gerard slip his hand into Frank's and squeeze his fingers. Frank hangs on, and thinks about dragging Gerard off the elevator behind him, and just not giving a fuck what the guys think. The floor chime goes off and they all burst forth from the elevator.

Frank pauses in front of his door, glances down the hall where Gerard is turning his key card over and over with a puzzled look on his face, dubiously inserting it and looking completely unsurprised when the door fails to open. He sighs and goes back to flipping the key card over, like it's a puzzle he has to solve. Frank bites back a giggle, and shoves his own key card in, lined up correctly.

The lock stays a stubborn red. "Fuck you," Frank mutters, and does it again, breathing a sigh of relief when the light flips to green and the lock gives.

It's early - maybe five - and the hotel room is blissfully fucking silent. Frank feels grimy. He strips off his clothes, leaves them in a damp crumpled heap in the corner. Laundry tomorrow, which means he gets to dig out the clean jeans and t-shirt he's rolled up into the corner of his duffle for occasions just such as this. He's pretty sure he's got clean sleep-pants in there, too. He digs them out and heads to the bathroom, stark naked and wildly happy.

The water is hot, the shower pressure gorgeous. He stays in there until he's scrubbed himself down twice, using two face cloths and all of the shower gel provided. He washes his hair, scrubbing his scalp, and conditions, too, and then just stands there with his face tilted up into the hot spray, reveling.

After, he wraps the hotel towel around his waist, and wipes down the steamed-over mirror. He looks - clean. His face is pinked up and his hair is standing up wildly, and he could just cry, he's so happy. He brushes his teeth gleefully, making faces at himself in the mirror.

When he pads out into the bedroom, his phone is buzzing angrily on the dresser. He picks it up, and sees Gerard's name on the screen, and instead of clicking on the messages, he goes to peek through the peephole on the door. Gerard's slumped against the wall across the way, texting furiously.

Frank opens his door.

"Is this part of it?" Gerard says, sounding wound-up, as he pushes in past Frank. Frank glances down the hall, but no one's there, and he shuts the door quickly.

Gerard is standing there, still clutching his phone with the keyboard pushed out. "Is it?" he demands.

"Is it what?" Frank asks.

Gerard is in a big black t-shirt and plaid pajama pants with a hole worn through one knee. His hair is damp, and his eye makeup mostly gone, just smeared a little grey around his eyes. He looks pissed-off, and Frank hasn't been thinking about the plan for tonight, concentrating on shower and space and quiet, but now that Gerard's here, smelling like hotel soap and radiating fierce, angry vibes, Frank's, like, immediately turned on.

Gerard waves his hand around angrily. "Part of this thing," he says, scrubbing one hand through his clean - clean! - hair. "Are you doing this on purpose? Do I need a safe word? I might need a safe word."

Frank giggles - he can't help it. "What would your safe word be?" he asks.

Gerard glares at him, and opens his mouth, then stops, like he's really thinking about it. "Huh," he says, frowning. "Maybe - huh. I don't know. It has to be something I wouldn't say a lot, and that's - hard."

"You think about it," Frank says. "I'm just gonna -" He advances on Gerard, pushing him back up against the wall. Gerard still looks vague and distracted, but he's definitely hard when Frank pushes forward with his hips. Frank grins again, ducking his face against Gerard's hair to hide it. The idea of Gerard angrily texting from the hall, with pajama pants and a boner, is just too fucking awesome.

"Is it, though?" Gerard's voice is muffled against Frank's neck, and he's got his hands tight on Frank's waist, digging in above the towel. "Part of it? Because I'm going fucking nuts, Frankie. You gotta - you've really gotta let me -"

"Soon," Frank says, thinking, maybe. "Not yet, though, right?" He has his hand on Gerard's dick, pressed against him through the pajama pants, and Gerard's whimpering just a little bit against Frank's hair. "Okay?"

Gerard jerks his head in a nod against Frank's shoulder. When he pulls back, his face is flushed, and his jaw is set. He looks determined. "Let's go," he says.

Frank's heart starts beating faster.

Gerard's got his hands planted on Frank's shoulders now, and he's pushing him backwards, step by step. Frank's not exactly fighting it, but he's not rolling with it either. He wants to feel it, see how hard Gerard can push him. He's into the pressure of Gerard's fingers digging into his shoulders, and he's even more into the look in Gerard's eyes: needy, and focused.

Frank's towel had been securely tucked around his waist, but Gerard's fingers are hooked in it, sliding it off of him before his ass hits the bed. Frank's not entirely sure what he was expecting - Gerard's the one who hasn't come in four days; Gerard's the one who should be about twelve seconds from losing it. Frank thinks he sort of figured they'd get right to the fucking.

Instead, Gerard's turning him over on the bed, going for him tongue-first. "Wait," Frank pants. "Hang on, wait."

Gerard pauses with his hands on Frank's hips, looking wounded. "You're asking me to wait? Right now? Seriously?"

Frank's laughing even as he's clawing his way up the bed. "I read an article," he says, trying to yank the bedspread down. "Hotel bedspreads are gross, let me just get to the -"

He's got his back turned, which is the only reason Gerard manages to get him pinned against the headboard. "No, uh-uh, no more waiting, fuck that." He says it soft against Frank's ear, not frantic, just determined.

Frank's pulse kicks up another few notches.

Gerard's got a hand planted on the small of Frank's back and he's ducking down, and that's his finger running down between Frank's ass-cheeks. He's teasing over the hole before he breathes, "Frankie," and ducks down further. Frank's fingers are tight against the headboard where it's attached to the wall. It's not enough to hold onto, not with Gerard rimming him and fucking moaning down there like Frank's the best thing he's ever tasted.

Gerard's hair is brushing up against his ass as he eats him out. Frank's got his cheek pressed against the rough hotel room wallpaper and his hand wrapped around his own dick. "Gee," he's panting. "Fuck, you're fucking -"

He feels like he might come, like he might fucking blow just from a couple of minutes of Gerard's tongue against his ass. He's jerked off more in the past few days than he has since his hit puberty, and he's so on fucking edge his pulse is thrumming in his dick.

Gerard just digs his fingers in to Frank's hips, and pushes, presses, God, that's his fucking tongue going in. Frank cries out and bangs his head against the wall, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, but he doesn't come. He hangs on. He is a superhero.

Gerard giggles a little bit against his ass, as Frank curses frantically. He pulls away, pressing sloppy kisses against Frank's hips, his back, his neck. When Frank glances back, Gerard's busy shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, and his dick is standing out, so fucking hard.

"What, Frankie?" he asks softly, his hard-on not just pressed up against Frank, but sliding into the slick space Gerard just made between his ass-cheeks. "Do you need to come or something? Is that it?"

He's humping up against Frank, slow and controlled, but his voice is tight, and Frank huffs out a laugh. "What do you want, Gee?"

"You said you were going to fuck me." Gerard says it slowly, and Frank's breath catches. "I know you're more into bottoming, but -" He stops, swallows tightly. "I don't think I can do it without coming." He moves against Frank again, huffing out a laugh. "I feel like I could lose it right here, just from - this." He pants a little, and moves away.

Fuck. Frank's not sure he can do it without coming. He has to bang his head against the wall again, hard, before he can even turn around. Maybe he's okay, though - from the look on Gerard's face, he's not gonna need Frank to go very long. He won't be able to take it.

"I do," Frank says. "I want to fuck you. Come on. Come on." He's controlled, he is, but he gets Gerard naked really fucking fast, even with Gerard moving awkward and slow, his eyes hazy, like all he can focus on is his dick. Frank fumbles the lube from the bedside table, he's fucking ready. Just call him a boy scout with a hard-on.

"How -" Frank's down to one-syllable words. "How do you -" He knows - he knows - that Gerard's the one that hasn't come in days and days, but Frank feels breathless, desperate.

"Like this," Gerard says, pushing Frank down on his back, and straddling him. "Is that okay? I just - I don't think - I need to take it slow, okay, and -"

Frank's nodding frantically, because God, yeah, fuck, yeah, this is okay.

Gerard reaches for the lube. "Don't -" He's braced with one hand on Frank's chest, and his face is flushed, his mouth open and wet. "Don't touch me, okay? I just - let me -"

He's got his fingers slicked up, messy, dripping down his wrist, and he's reaching back behind him. Fuck, it should be funny, how awkward it looks, but Gerard's hand is so firm on Frank's chest, and his eyes are shut, like he's concentrating, like he needs to just focus here, as he slicks himself up.

Frank can't even see it, from where he's lying with the sheets already a mess under him, the pillow half under his head. All he can do is feel the tension of Gerard's body, the swallowed groans he gives as he shifts again, leaning forward.

Frank's so turned on, his dick is leaking onto his stomach.

"I can't -" Gerard's having problems getting the words out. "Frank, fuck, I gotta -" He bites his lip hard and pulls his fingers out, wiping them off all messy on the sheets. "Can you -"

Frank fumbles a condom on, taking way too long, and grabs the lube from where Gerard dropped it, gets his dick slick.

Gerard's panting, watching him impatiently, and grabs Frank's dick as soon as Frank lets it go. Frank groans, his head dropping back. Jesus Christ, Gerard wanting to get on his dick that bad is just -

"Okay," Gerard pants out. "I'm going to -" He shifts up onto his knees, and starts to ease himself down. Frank feels his eyes roll back in his head.

"Don't," Gerard pants, bracing himself with both hands on Frank's belly now. "Don't move, just - don't move, hang on, hang on, hang on -" He's chanting it, and easing down, slow, so fucking slow.

Frank can't move. He's got his hands on Gerard's waist, diggin in there where the lines from his jeans this afternoon are still fading away. He thinks he's holding himself very still, but Gerard shakes his head hard, his eyes still shut tight, slamming his hands downward to pin Frank's hips down harder.

"Don't move, Frankie." His voice is high and tight. "Don't, if you do, I'm gonna - I need to just take it - slow, I -"

He's taking his fucking time with it, sinking down by centimeters. Frank's fucking losing it here, his breath coming out hard and fast, little ah, ah, ahs on every exhale.

"Oh fuck." Gerard sinks down the last inch all at once, and his eyes fly open, his fingers digging in to Frank's hips hard enough to hurt. "Oh fuck, yeah, Jesus Christ."

Frank is balls-deep inside Gerard, and Gerard is just holding there, doing this rocking thing, shifting his hips, keeping Frank in all the fucking way. It's too much - this grinding, deep shifting that has Frank gasping for breath and moaning. He wants to move, he wants to fuck, but Gerard has him pinned. "So good, fuck, yeah, I can -" Gerard's hands are shaking as he slides them up Frank's chest, shifts a little so Frank sinks deeper in, how, how, oh God.

"Gee." Frank grits it out, his throat raw with moaning. "I - can I - I gotta move, I -"

"Can't," Gerard pants out, grinding down. "I'll - if you do, I'll -"

Frank knows exactly what he'll do. Gerard's dick is leaking, dripping down onto Frank's stomach, looking red and so hard it's fucking throbbing. It looks like it's gonna explode if anything so much as brushes up against it.

"Yeah," Frank says, gulping in air and moving his hips up the tiniest bit, as much as he can with Gerard pinning him down.

Gerard moans helplessly, his head falling back. "I'm -"

"Yeah," Frank says again, and his hands are on Gerard's hips, Gerard's easing up a little, and Frank just fucks up into him, Jesus Christ, so fucking tight and wet and good. Frank can't stop once he's started, he can't. Gerard is making so much noise, panting loud and saying, "I'm - Frank, Jesus, I've got to - I have to - I have to -"

"Yeah," Frank says again, and thrust up, inside, deep.

Gerard fucking yells like the soul's being torn out of him, and shoves his hand over his dick, coming in thick spurts all over Frank's stomach, his chest, fuck, some of it hits his chin.

Frank's hips just go up, and up, and he can't stop fucking even as he comes, thrusting in hard again, fuck, Jesus, fuck, and again, coming so hard he can feel it in his eyeballs.

Gerard's shaking and his breath is coming in sobs, and he can't seem to stop coming, working his dick with his shaky hand and panting over and over again, "Oh God, Frankie, oh God, oh my fucking -"

They're both a fucking mess when it's finally over. Frank's dick feels sore like it's run a sex marathon. Gerard makes a shocked, upset noise when Frank slides out, like he did it on purpose, and then topples over next to him in this uncontrolled fall that has Frank scrambling over onto his side to make sure Gerard's not going to tumble off the bed.

Gerard is sprawled beside Frank, panting, his eyes open wide.

"Oh my God," Frank says.

"Postscript," Gerard says.

"What?" Frank stares at Gerard.

"My safe word," Gerard mumbles against the pillow. "Can be postscript." He reaches over and draws his fingers unsteadily down Frank's chest. He's smeared with Gerard's come, covered in it.

"Right." Okay.

Gerard nods against the pillow, his mouth open as he catches his breath. Frank thinks he might be drooling a little. "For next time."

Next time. Frank's dick gives a meager twitch.

Gerard blinks his eyes open. "Not that I needed one this time," he says, sleepy but insistent. "You were good. You were on it. But just -" He yawns widely. "Just to be safe."

He's half-smiling against the pillow.

Frank's heart is still pounding in his chest. He's fucked out, limbs tingling. He can't move. And he's disgusting, all the good work of the shower completely undone. "Gonna need another shower." His voice comes out hoarse.

Gerard presses his smile against the pillow, and doesn't open his eyes. "Check-out's not 'til one," he mumbles. "And I have, like, a week's worth of orgasms to catch up on."

Frank blinks up at the ceiling. "Maybe I'll hold off on the shower."

Gerard reaches out to pat at his arm clumsily. "Good thought. Get some rest. I need, like, -" He waves his hand in the air. "An hour, and I'll be good to go again."

Frank wiggles a little, testing. His whole body hurts. "Three hours," he says, rubbing his hands over his face.

Gerard cracks open one eye. "Two," he counters.

"Okay," Frank says after a moment. "I can do two."

Gerard's eye slides shut again.

Frank thinks he maybe should have thought this whole thing out a little more, maybe. Had a plan, or, like, stretched or worked out in the lead-up. Something.


Gerard fucks Frank when he wakes up, sliding up behind him with a boner the size of Texas and pressing him down against the bed as he fingers him open. He doesn't last very long - he goes at it hard and fast, moaning desperately and biting against Frank's shoulder. Frank's half-asleep and bleary, but he's got the pillow clenched in his fists, and his dick rocking down against the bed as Gerard fucks him.

Gerard comes with a shout, grinding deep into Frank for a handful of seconds afterward before pulling out.

Frank groans, still frantically hard, and Gerard breathes out, "Sorry, sorry."

He tugs Frank back against him and presses his fingers into him almost immediately, fucking him with them as he whispers against his ear, "Touch yourself, Frankie, get yourself off again, I want to see, wanna watch, you were so hot in Danny's mom's car. Fuck, yeah, do it."

Frank's doing it, because Gerard's got his fingers in deep and he's not holding back at all. Gerard fucking him almost felt like a tease, it was over so soon, and Gerard's fingers may not fill Frank up as much as his cock, but he's crooking them just right and he sure as hell has the rhythm down.

Frank jerks himself off, pushing himself back against Gerard's hand, and spilling all over his own fist with a groan, as Gerard peers forward interestedly over his shoulder. "Love that, Frankie." He bites Frank's shoulder a little with a satisfied sound. "Want to see you do it again."

Frank groans as Gerard slides his fingers out. "I need a while," he says. "I need, like, a day, Jesus."

"I could go again." Gerard rolls onto his back and looks down at his dick, which is still mostly soft, resting against his thigh, but definitely showing signs of coming back to life. "In a while." He rests his hand against his dick experimentally. "Not long, I don't think."

Frank turns his face into his pillow and whimpers.

Gerard giggles behind him. "You've created a monster," he says, sounding delighted.

"Oh God," Frank says into the pillow.

"Maybe you could suck me off?" Gerard suggests. "You could just lie there! I could fuck your face." He says it in this comforting way, like it's a favor.

Frank thinks about it. "I - okay." He presses his face against the pillow. "Yes. In a couple of hours. And after a shower."

"Aw." Gerard sounds put out.

"It was just in my ass," Frank points out.

"I had a condom on!" Gerard protests.

"It was in my ass," Frank repeats.

"So was my tongue," Gerard says haughtily. "And you didn't complain about that."

"That was different!" Frank sometimes can't believe the arguments they have to have. "We'll both shower, you'll fuck my mouth, it will be great, stop giving me a hard time!"

Gerard stares at him for a second before breaking down into laughter, dropping his face against the pillow and laughing so hard he has tears coming out of the corners of his eyes.

Frank can't help but join in, because seriously, this is what they've come to.

"All right," Gerard says weakly, still giggling. "All right, you win."

"Damn right I do." Frank's pretty sure he's just won an argument to get his face fucked. He's kind of okay with that.

"C'mere." Gerard scoots closer to him on the bed and curls up around him. He's the only dude Frank knows who can cuddle so adorably right after saying and doing really raunchy things.

Frank wraps his arm around Gerard and closes his eyes. Clearly he needs to rest up while he can.


They're not late for check out the next day, but that's only because Mikey comes knocking on Frank's door at some ungodly hour.

"It's noon," Mikey says, blinking at him and pushing his glasses up his nose. "We need time to get coffee. There's a Starbucks in the lobby!" He sounds excited, for Mikey.

"Starbucks?" Gerard pipes up from the bed, where he's still sprawled naked under the covers.

Frank bangs his head against the doorframe, where he'd been subtly trying to keep it mostly closed. "So much for discretion," he mutters, wincing and looking at Mikey guiltily. "Uh, he just came over this morning to borrow my, uh -"

Gerard shuffles up behind Frank, wrapped in a sheet and waving over his shoulder at Mikey. "I need five minutes to put some clothes on," he says. "Don't go without me."

"I won't," Mikey promises.

Gerard disappears into the bathroom, and Mikey glances at Frank. "Dude," he says. "Come on. I knew."

"You did not." Frank frowns at him. No way.

Mikey rolls his eyes, his mouth twitching.

"Fuck you." Frank hates Mikey's smug face, dammit. "And wait here. I'm gonna go wrestle your brother into the shower. We need ten minutes. Don't go anywhere."

"I won't." Mikey slouches against the wall next to the room and slides his phone open.

Frank shuts the door and sighs, scrubbing his hand through his hair. Fuckin' Ways. He goes to blockade Gerard in the bathroom until the showering is complete.


"Coffee." Gerard buries his face in his cup and sighs in happiness.

"Mmm," Mikey mumbles in agreement next to him.

Orgasms, is what Frank is thinking. Orgasms are what are awesome. Also: showers, big beds, and after all of that, comes coffee.

"Pick up your bags," Brian orders as he strides across the lobby toward them. "Pick up your bags, pick up your coffee, pick up your feet, let's go." He stops for a second, gazing at the group of them gathered in the seating area of the lobby, bags strewn all around them. His lips move a little bit as he swivels on one heel, counting. "Are you all here? I don't have to drag anyone down? What happened? What world is this? How do I make it happen again?"

"Starbucks," Gerard says, sounding way too awake. "Mikey found it."

"There is a Starbucks in every city," Brian points out flatly.

"I'm usually late because I'm in line," Gerard says. "That's the only reason."

Mikey is nodding his agreement. Bob and Ray already have their bags on their shoulders, ready to go. Frank's still slumped down in his chair, thinking about blowjobs.

"Is he sick again?" Brian demands.

"No," Frank groans. "Fuck off."

"No," Gerard agrees thoughtfully. "I think he just didn't get enough sleep or something."

Frank glares at him.

Gerard looks back at him like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Brian scrubs his hands over his face. "Pick up your bags," he repeats. "Pick up your coffee. Let's go."

Frank gets to his feet and heaves his bag over his shoulder. They all straggle after Brian, and Gerard slips up beside Frank, squeezes his hand.

"That was fun," he says softly. "We should do it again."

Frank groans the tiniest bit. "Postscript," he says.

Gerard blinks at him, and giggles. "You gotta come up with your own safe word, Frankie," he says. "That's how it works. I googled."

Frank shuts his eyes for a second, and stumbles over his own feet immediately. "Of course you did."

Gerard squeezes Frank's fingers again and lets him go.

Mikey grins at him from the other side of Gerard, and salutes him with his Starbucks cup.

Frank shoves his sunglasses over his face, and follows his band out the door.