Work Text:
me: what are you wearing right now?
gee: seriously. you're 44
Frank bites his lower lip, a grin melting on his face. He shouldn’t be on his phone. He should be sitting out front, where he can see the road and won’t get nauseous. But he’s a little tired, and a lot homesick, and Gerard’s been on his mind.
To be honest, Gerard has never left his mind. But there’s so much to do and so much to see and so much screaming to do on stage, that when they can finally slow down and spend a day sleeping on the bus as they travel from one city to another, it crashes down on him. He's been sleeping badly, unused to not having Gerard’s heat along his back, or against his front. He's exhausted, so he sleeps anyway, but there's a difference between waking up to the band chattering somewhere in the bus and waking up to Gerard making breakfast in their kitchen, or talking to themselves as they get ready for work, or just existing somewhere in Frank’s proximity.
So he lays in his bunk, his curtain drawn closed, and he’s got a thing for being a nuisance.
He doesn’t even have dirty intentions. He just likes to picture Gerard, working from home and smiling fondly down at their phone at Frank’s notification. He just likes to be their stupid boyfriend, and if a little nausea is the price to pay to let Gerard know that he’s thinking about them, and that he’s just as stupid as he was when they kissed goodbye ten days ago, then Frank will take one for the team.
me: 44 and bored
me: and i miss you
me: how's it going over there?
Gerard is fast to answer, meaning they’re bored, or already done with work. Frank checks the time. It’s 5pm.
gee: bored. missing my stupid husband
Bingo.
Frank blushes, feels like kicking his legs like a schoolgirl. His phone vibrates again in his hand, and Gerard has sent another, longer text.
gee: saw a video of him almost breaking his head on stage last night so slightly worried, more on the verge of murdering him
me: yeah talk dirty to me
gee: if you die while you're on tour im going to divorce you
gee: im gonna be so pissed
me: ur so romantic <3
gee: why are you having this much phone time anyway
gee: aren't you supposed to be doing something to put your life at risk?
me: we're on the bus :( for like another two hours. going to columbus
Gerard takes a little longer to answer. Frank considers dozing off, but having their reply to look forward to makes him too alert for that. It’s stupid how stupid Gerard makes him feel. How Gerard can still have his attention like this, between one text and another. How they make Frank feel giddy.
gee: nauseous?
me: no im fine! i think the meds are working
gee: just bored, then?
me: yeah :/
gee: you know it's so cool that you're going all the way to columbus
gee: im so proud of you
gee: you're doing so well
Frank stares at the texts with a feeling like shame in his tummy. Because Gerard is just proud of what's becoming Frank’s music career, and Frank is thinking about letting his throat open around Gerard’s dick.
He swallows, and his eyes fall to the sliver of green he can see though the window on the side of his bunk. The little curtain is drawn almost all the way, and the bus is going kind of fast, so he can only guess they’re still travelling through fields, like they always seem to be.
me: it's cool, yeah
me: they let me pick the setlist for tonite
gee: are the others around?
me: kinda? pretty sure everyones sleeping
me: y?
gee: so they would know it if you touched yourself?
Relief fills his stomach. There’s tension, there, too. But it’s always nice to know his desire doesn’t go unappreciated, or unmatched.
He’s been so busy these past ten days he’s managed to jerk off like—twice. Not that he misses it, he doesn’t really have the energy for it, or the time to think about it. But now, with some time on his hands and everyone fast asleep around him, and Gerard flirting with him through the screen, he can feel his cock twitch alive inside in jeans.
me: gerard
gee: i know you're thinking about it, puppy
Frank closes his eyes and thanks the gods above for Gerard Way. Curses them a little, too, because he’s not sure he should be considering shoving his hand down his pants somewhere so dangerously public.
me: there are three men in the room right now
me: and one of them is fucking tucker
gee: omg who is fucking tucker
gee: is it travis? i bet it's travis
me: you're so stupid
And then, like they do, Gerard sends a picture.
It's been taken in front of their full length mirror, in their bedroom, where Frank hasn't been for ten fucking days. Gerard is on their knees, the phone covering their face, thighs spread apart, dark red tights covering their legs up to where the skirt of their dress is falling, midtigh. Frank can't really see the dress, but it looks new, blueish and short.
The quality isn’t great, a dark shadow falling between Gerard’s legs. But it’s more than enough. Gerard could be wearing anything, it doesn’t matter. It’s the way their knees are far apart from each other. The way the hand not holding the phone is tucked behind their back, like they don’t want it to get in the way, like they want to open up pretty and proper for Frank.
His dick swells up so fast he gets dizzy. He thinks about Gerard on their knees, looking up at him with their thighs spread like that, their big, pretty eyes. Thinks about smearing come on their lips. Sinking his fingers inside until he’s gagging around him, lips closing around his tattooed knuckles.
gee: you don't leave a girl hanging when she sends you photos like these, frankie ://
Frank curses, fumbles with his phone. It falls out of his hand, and he has to pick it up again to text back. His hands are sweaty.
me: sprry
gee: ok. typo is telling enough. you're forgiven
me: is it new?
gee: yeah. you like it?
me: fuck yes
me: can you send more?
gee: that's more like it
The next picture is less suggestive, but it’s even hotter like that. Because Gerard knows that Frank doesn’t need them to be overtly sexy. Frank will slobber over a sliver of naked skin, if it’s from them.
Gerard is standing up. The dress must be made of denim, the shoulder straps are wide, and it looks so fucking good on their hips, tight enough to show the way their waist tapers in. Frank wants to ask if Gerard is going to wear it outside, too, but that makes his jealousy flare up, and he doesn't want to feel that, right now.
Their hand is still stuck behind their back, but he can see a fraction of their face. A lock of their hair, greying, curls around their cheekbone, and there’s a hint of a smile. The corner of their mouth, touched rouge, makes Frank feel like he should stop the bus entirely and run back home.
me: you're so fucking beautiful
He can’t come up with anything smart to say.
gee: thank you, baby
gee: your turn, now?
Frank looks down to where he’s laying on his makeshift bed. For the first time, being short is coming in handy. He’s the one that can’t complain about the bunks length. But the light is low and nothing about his predicament is sexy.
me: im just laying in my bunk
Gerard replies immediately.
gee: so? take a pic for me
me: you can't really see anything from this angle
me: and it's kinda dark
gee: frank you're seriously killing my boner
Frank is sweating. Okay, fuck it. He takes a pic, and it's horrible. Just a frame of his hand palming his cock through his jeans, barely lit, the hem of his shirt riding up a little to show the pale skin of his hips, the dark ink on it, the hairs trailing down from his bellybutton into his pants.
He sends it anyway, because he’s never not done what Gerard has asked of him, and he’s certainly not going to start now, his cock hard and his heart aching with nostalgia.
gee: fuck
gee: so good
gee: i like that your tattoo only says hopeless when its only that one hand
gee: cause you are hopeless, aren't you?
me: yes
geeee: you're so fun to play with
gee: touching yourself when anyone could open your curtain and see you
gee: slut
It’s not true. They’re all adults enough that no one will try and interrupt Frank’s alone time in his bunk without asking first. But fuck, Frank is just a little bit of an exhibitionist. Gerard is worse, but Frank is the one touching himself in a moving vehicle filled with men.
me: plwase3
gee: what is my puppy thinking about?
Easy.
me: you
It’s easy to picture Gerard’s lazy smile.
gee: do better
gee: what about me?
Frank closes his eyes and aims for the stars. He thinks of what he wishes the most he could be doing to Gee if he had all the time in the world and no band members around. And he sees himself pushing Gerard’s dress up to their hips, rolling their tights down, and, yeah—
me: wnanna eatyou out
gee: yeah
gee: would love that, baby
gee: let you put your head under my skirt and eat me
gee: you eat me so well
gee: such a sloppy mouth
gee: always gets me so wet
Frank does. There's probably nothing he loves more than eating them out, and the noises they make when he's sucking at their rim, tonguing inside. Frank ruts up against the bottom of his palm, and he's fully hard, throbbing, and he wants more, he wants to wrap his hand around his shaft and stroke.
gee: are you still touching over your jeans?
me: yes
gee: you can take it out, baby
gee: wanna see you like that
gee: let me see how hard it makes you
Frank is shy about dick pics. It's douchey.
He's sent a couple, before, all to Gerard when they were being like this, needy and pushy and demanding, because that way he doesn't feel like he's sending unsolicited dick pics — more like Gerard knows how much this makes him feel dirty and clumsy and wants to test his patience. So he sends one anyway, because Gerard asked. Takes his cock out, thinks about leaving it there, but it looks plain ugly, so he wraps a hand around the base, the hopeless one again for Gee’s amusement. Sends it like that.
Waiting for Gerard’s reply makes his stomach feel weird, this time around. Because Gerard could praise him, or humiliate him. Compliment him. Call him small. Frank’s not even sure which one would be worse, which would would make his head spin ever faster.
gee: such a pretty cock
gee: spit on your hand and fuck your fist for me
Jesus Christ. Frank spits on his trembling hand and brings it down again, wet and sticky, to smear his thick spit over his cock. It's warm and filthy, and for a second he lets himself think about Gerard’s mouth, the spongy spot at the back of their throat, the way they beg for Frank to go until they're gagging, throat convulsing around his cockhead. Eyes begging him to push deeper anyway, to ruin him.
me: whatsre you doifnn?
And the pic Gerard sends is not what he was expecting.
Because Gerard is sitting on cock.
Their skirt is bunched up to the tops of their now naked thighs, and their hole is stretched around a familiar pink dildo, suction cup stuck to the ground. Frank has no fucking idea how Gerard took the picture — must’ve used a fucking professional tripod or something, who the fuck knows — but he knows he almost comes on the spot. Thankfully, Gerard knows him well.
gee: don't come
gee: i come first
me: yesms
gee: miss your cock so much
gee: miss feeling it all the way inside
gee: up to my guts
Frank is not that big. But it sounds so fucking dirty. He strokes himself nice and slow, wishing desperately it was Gerard touching him instead, their fingers softer and perfect around him. Wishing Gerard was whispering straight into his ear instead of writing.
He knows he's not making any noise, and he knows — because he can hear them storing — that everyone else is sleeping, except for Tim, who's listening to his music so loudly Frank can hear it through his earphones and two sets of curtains.
Honestly, as much as he enjoys the teasing, he would rather die than have one of his friends find him like this, cock squeezed in his right hand, phone in his sweaty left.
gee: miss your cum
gee: miss your stupid whimeprs when i let you come in my pussy
Frank has to squeeze his fist around his base and hold it there, on the wrong side of too tight, not to lose it.
gee: nexr tiem im gonna plug myselfnup so it canstay inside
gee: or let yoy eatyour come out
gee: sloppy
gee: youre such a sloppy puppy
me: gee
gee: are youwgonna think about me on stage?
That's a no brainer.
me: always
gee: when ypu come back
gee: im gonna be stretched out and on my kneesbforyou
gee: want youto use me
gee: fuck me on theground
gee: mskeme take ir
gee: wanna take it
me: pleasew
gee: please what
Fuck it.
me: please mommy can i come
A minute passes, then two. Through the haze, Frank grins to himself, a little proud. He keeps his hand around his cock, but doesn’t dare move it, too close to do anything without Gerard’s permission.
When the phone buzzes in his hand, it's insisting. Not a text. Gerard is calling him. Frank takes the call with his heart in his throat.
“You don't have to talk.” Gerard says as soon as he picks up. Frank bites his lip. Sometimes, Gerard will gag him, or simply tell him to shut the fuck up, voice tinted with humiliating intentions, and it makes Frank see stars. The fact that Gerard could take control over every aspect of his life, even his words, and the (worse) fact that Frank would let them, it makes him dizzy. It makes his cock throb in his hand.
He hears Gerard’s breathing through the speakers, and it's wet.
“Stop touching your cock.” Gerard says. A small whine leaves Frank’s mouth. Nothing the others would hear, but Gerard still does. They laugh.
“Want you belly down.” they add, then, “Want you to hump the bed ‘till you're there. Don't make noise. Put something under you so you don't get everything dirty, mutt.”
Frank obeys, grabbing a random shirt he discarded to the edge of the bed, and he turns belly down, face conveniently buried into his pillow. He puts his phone to his ear again just in time to hear Gerard speak again.
“You're gonna come humping the bed, okay? Like a desperate little bitch. That's what you are.”
Frank bites into the pillow, and his eyes roll back. He thinks about rutting against any part of Gerard’s body — their perfect tight ass, the small of their back, their soft tummy. He stifles a groan into the pillow and comes, long and drawn out, cock pushing into a used t-shirt, teeth closed around the pillow like the mutt Gerard says he is. He’s whatever Gerard says he is.
Gerard talks him through it, voice softer and honeyed through the phone. Frank squeezes his eyes shut and pictures them there, a hand on Frank’s lower back, their mouth moving along the shell of his ear.
“Good boy, Frankie. Made mommy come so hard, you deserve to milk yourself like a good bitch.”
Gerard whispers filthy praises and lovely words until Frank is sane enough to open his eyes again and groan at the wetness under his abdomen. Gerard giggles, probably knowing exactly what's going on right now.
“Wait, wait.” There’s a smile in their voice, and Frank wishes he could see it, too. “This won’t do if you can’t talk. Gonna text, okay?”
The call ends abruptly. Frank forces his fingers to work again.
me: that was fuvkibgcrazt
gee: you're so hot
gee: i half blacked out on your last twist, there
gee: anyone hear you?
There’s a wet spot on his pillow where he’s drooled. Frank grimaces, moves a little.
me: dobt knowm
me: whotgefuck carws
gee: don't be rude
me: miss you so mucj
gee: i miss you too, puppy
gee: but you're coming home soon
gee: five days!
gee: and you're doing so well on stage
me: the dress is really pretty
me: can i get another pic?
me: just a regular one?
me: if my dick gets hard again i will die
gee: so polite, baby
gee: [picture]