Warmth
Title: Warmth
Pairing: Gerard/Quinn
POV: Third person
Rating: R
Length: 700 words
Author's Note: For normalhumanbein because she's been waiting far too long for this. It's not good enough for you but but but Quinn!
Disclaimer: Fiction, yes.
Gerard checks his watch (it’s quarter past five) and glances toward the door in time to see Quinn enter through it. Quinn searches the room, spots Gerard, and makes his way over.
“You’re late,” Gerard isn’t rude but he sometimes sounds like he might be.
“Nice to see you, too,” Quinn says as he slides into the booth. “Tell me again why we’re meeting in a Denny’s?”
“They’ve got these fried, these bacon-cheese fries that are pretty much heavenly when you pour ranch dressing on them. They, oh fuck, they are so good.”
A tired-looking waitress deposits the fries on the table between them. It’s nothing but a heart attack in a basket and, for some reason that Quinn cannot discern, Gerard is actually eating them. He’s pouring the little container of ranch over them and all Quinn can think is that the fries are swimming in liquid heart failure.
Quinn makes a face. “Those things are actually going to kill you.”
Gerard stuffs a few fries in his mouth. “Sweet, delicious death,” and he grins. Quinn just shakes his head.
“So,” he asks. “How’s life?”
Gerard swallows before he answers. “Dude, all this stuff with the new album is just...amazing.” He waves his hand and, consequently, a french fry, through the air, leaving drops of ranch on the table. Quinn decides to leave the questions until Gerard finishes eating.
“Hey,” Gerard pushes the empty basket to the end of the table. “You wanna see my apartment?”
Quinn raises an eyebrow.
“No, it’s, like, decorated and stuff now! Not like last time.”
So Gerard pays the check and they talk about nothing and life while wandering down the streets in the general direction of Gerard’s place.
Which, for some ungodly reason, has temporarily taken on an oven-like state. It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s 103 degrees outside and the air conditioning is broken or something because it sure is doing fuck-all to cool the place down. Gerard is opening every window that isn’t painted shut and praying for a breeze while Quinn lies on the tile floor of the kitchen in a futile attempt to stay cool.
“Christ, Gerard,” Quinn calls out. “Next time I come visit you, it had better be snowing. At least the Denny’s had air conditioning.” Gerard laughs.
“Pansy,” he teases as he forces the last window open and then lies down next to Quinn. The tile isn’t as cold as he’d been hoping but it is colder than the air and he’ll take what he can get.
There is a rustling sound and Gerard turns his head to see Quinn pulling off his shirt.
“I’m dying, man,” Quinn explains as he tosses the shirt toward the kitchen table. “I mean, I’m fucking melting here.”
Gerard moves to his side so he can face Quinn. “What, it doesn’t get hot in Utah?” he says and gives Quinn a little shove.
“You leave Utah out of this,” Quinn shoves back. The laziest fight breaks out between them - a slap fight of miniscule proportions - and it ends with the two of them laughing so hard they can barely breathe and Quinn sitting on Gerard’s stomach.
“We are so stupid, you know that?” It takes Gerard a few seconds to realize that Quinn has stopped laughing, and that the palms of Quinn’s hands are placed in the hollows below his cheekbones. Without even thinking, Gerard closes his eyes and waits until Quinn’s lips meet his.
Quinn can feel Gerard smiling into the kiss, feel fingers undoing his belt, and it isn’t long before they are skin on skin on tile. They move against each other, Quinn positioning himself on Gerard, riding slowly until a rhythm emerges. Gerard is pushing into Quinn, whose hands are pulling on Gerard to make him push a little harder. Everything is sweet and smooth, like they are slow dancing in a burning room.
After they both come, Quinn slides off of Gerard and lies beside him. There is silence for a moment and then Quinn starts to chuckle.
“Fuck, man. Now it’s even hotter in here.”
Gerard just punches him in the arm and tells him to shut up.
Pairing: Gerard/Quinn
POV: Third person
Rating: R
Length: 700 words
Author's Note: For normalhumanbein because she's been waiting far too long for this. It's not good enough for you but but but Quinn!
Disclaimer: Fiction, yes.
Gerard checks his watch (it’s quarter past five) and glances toward the door in time to see Quinn enter through it. Quinn searches the room, spots Gerard, and makes his way over.
“You’re late,” Gerard isn’t rude but he sometimes sounds like he might be.
“Nice to see you, too,” Quinn says as he slides into the booth. “Tell me again why we’re meeting in a Denny’s?”
“They’ve got these fried, these bacon-cheese fries that are pretty much heavenly when you pour ranch dressing on them. They, oh fuck, they are so good.”
A tired-looking waitress deposits the fries on the table between them. It’s nothing but a heart attack in a basket and, for some reason that Quinn cannot discern, Gerard is actually eating them. He’s pouring the little container of ranch over them and all Quinn can think is that the fries are swimming in liquid heart failure.
Quinn makes a face. “Those things are actually going to kill you.”
Gerard stuffs a few fries in his mouth. “Sweet, delicious death,” and he grins. Quinn just shakes his head.
“So,” he asks. “How’s life?”
Gerard swallows before he answers. “Dude, all this stuff with the new album is just...amazing.” He waves his hand and, consequently, a french fry, through the air, leaving drops of ranch on the table. Quinn decides to leave the questions until Gerard finishes eating.
“Hey,” Gerard pushes the empty basket to the end of the table. “You wanna see my apartment?”
Quinn raises an eyebrow.
“No, it’s, like, decorated and stuff now! Not like last time.”
So Gerard pays the check and they talk about nothing and life while wandering down the streets in the general direction of Gerard’s place.
Which, for some ungodly reason, has temporarily taken on an oven-like state. It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s 103 degrees outside and the air conditioning is broken or something because it sure is doing fuck-all to cool the place down. Gerard is opening every window that isn’t painted shut and praying for a breeze while Quinn lies on the tile floor of the kitchen in a futile attempt to stay cool.
“Christ, Gerard,” Quinn calls out. “Next time I come visit you, it had better be snowing. At least the Denny’s had air conditioning.” Gerard laughs.
“Pansy,” he teases as he forces the last window open and then lies down next to Quinn. The tile isn’t as cold as he’d been hoping but it is colder than the air and he’ll take what he can get.
There is a rustling sound and Gerard turns his head to see Quinn pulling off his shirt.
“I’m dying, man,” Quinn explains as he tosses the shirt toward the kitchen table. “I mean, I’m fucking melting here.”
Gerard moves to his side so he can face Quinn. “What, it doesn’t get hot in Utah?” he says and gives Quinn a little shove.
“You leave Utah out of this,” Quinn shoves back. The laziest fight breaks out between them - a slap fight of miniscule proportions - and it ends with the two of them laughing so hard they can barely breathe and Quinn sitting on Gerard’s stomach.
“We are so stupid, you know that?” It takes Gerard a few seconds to realize that Quinn has stopped laughing, and that the palms of Quinn’s hands are placed in the hollows below his cheekbones. Without even thinking, Gerard closes his eyes and waits until Quinn’s lips meet his.
Quinn can feel Gerard smiling into the kiss, feel fingers undoing his belt, and it isn’t long before they are skin on skin on tile. They move against each other, Quinn positioning himself on Gerard, riding slowly until a rhythm emerges. Gerard is pushing into Quinn, whose hands are pulling on Gerard to make him push a little harder. Everything is sweet and smooth, like they are slow dancing in a burning room.
After they both come, Quinn slides off of Gerard and lies beside him. There is silence for a moment and then Quinn starts to chuckle.
“Fuck, man. Now it’s even hotter in here.”
Gerard just punches him in the arm and tells him to shut up.