(no subject)
Title: The Favour
Pairing: Lyn-Z/Gerard/Frank
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gerard and Lyn-Z are newly married and head over heels in love. So why they feel the need to invite Frank over for a threeway is beyond him.
Disclaimer: Don't Google yourself.
Author's Note: I love how I wrote threesome fic and STILL couldn't bring the rating above PG-13. Also, this happens in a sad, sad universe where Jamia does not exist and Frank is a loser single.
Beta: redheaded_itch
Frank knows it's kind of a ridiculous, four-year-old type of reaction, but when Gerard calls him and tells him to come over for a chat his first thought is that he's in trouble. After all, it's not like he's ever heard Gerard use the word "chat" before.
He's not even sure if he wants to go over there. Not because he's afraid Gerard is going to scream at him or anything- that's happened exactly twice in all the years Frank's known him, and the first time doesn't count because he was drunk and hanging out with Bert. The second time...
Well, the second time doesn't really count either, because Frank was being really annoying and he knew that was Gerard's favourite shirt.
So it's not that he's afraid of what Gerard's going to say. If anything, he's afraid of Lyn-Z.
Frank likes Lyn. He does. She's funny and badass and kind of dorky, and she makes Gerard smile wider and laugh harder than he has in a long, long time. He's just always aware that somewhere deep inside she's making fun of pretty much everything he says, and seriously, how is a guy supposed to deal with that?
He's also always aware that she could kick his ass without breaking a sweat, which is why he shows up early.
There are still boxes everywhere from when they first started to move in- Gerard is one of those people who starts unpacking and then gets distracted by a crate full of old Justice League comics and has to sit down and read them all in order before continuing. Lyn, in contrast, is just messy; her clothes are strewn all over the carpet, and Frank is pretty sure that all the spare sandwich edges and greasy mugs on the living room table are hers. (The standalone cardboard cut-out of Gandalf in the corner might be, too. Frank was there for Lord of the Rings night, and Ray wasn't the only one sniffling when he fell down Khazad-dum.) Gerard and Lyn greet him warmly, even though Lyn has that snap in her eye that says she's keeping up a running commentary in her head on the many ways in which Frank is totally and completely ridiculous, and Gee makes coffee, and they sit down.
"So!" Gerard says brightly, setting his mug on the floor next to his chair. He reaches over to take Lyn's hand. "We're thinking about having a threesome."
***
They make him promise to think about it.
As Frank starts his car, he realizes that that's the part that weirds him out the most. And he agreed. He agreed to seriously consider having sex with one of his best friends and a woman who could kill him with her pinky.
"It's always been something I've wanted to do," Gerard had said, smiling blithely. Lyn smiled too, idly playing with his hair. "And I think it would be best if it was with someone who I really cared about and was comfortable with, you know? That way I'd be able to relax, they'd be able to relax, and everybody would have a lot more fun."
Frank looked at them both, speechless. As speechless as he ever got, anyway. "Isn't it more customary for newlyweds to have wild threesomes with, like, nymphomaniacal blonde eighteen-year-old girls?" he asked, and Lyn rolled her eyes.
"Please," she said. "After the last girl I slept with showed up on my doorstep at four in the morning with a shotgun and a gram of heroin, I kind of swore them off for a while." She grinned, showing all her teeth, and added, "Besides, Frank, you are an eighteen-year-old girl."
"And you were blonde once," Gerard added helpfully. Lyn swiveled around to look at him, apparently delighted.
"He was? Really?"
"Yup. He looked like a member of NSync," Gerard said. His wife cracked up.
"You two are really winning me over here," Frank muttered sourly, and Gerard reached over to take his hand. He was still holding Lyn's, as well, and Frank was just not going to think about what that meant.
"You don't have you say yes or no, Frankie. Not yet. Just think about it, please?"
And Frank was going to say no, but then Gerard had big eyes and twisty hands and sounded so fucking earnest that he. Jesus.
"I will. I promise."
And Gerard smiled, and Lyn smiled- okay, she smirked, really, but it could have been a smile- and Frank, in his car, thinks, I am so fucked.
***
"Your brother wants me to have a threeway with him," Frank says as soon as Mikey picks up the phone. Mikey chokes and sputters- it sounds like he was drinking something- then, when he recovers, gasps:
"Jesus Christ Iero do not ever start a conversation like that again. Ever. I will kill you."
The panic in his voice is somewhat gratifying, considering Mikey usually sounds sort of like a robot, but Frank is in no mood to appreciate it. "I'm serious!" he hisses, glancing around his house to make sure nobody is lurking in the shadows listening in on his end of the conversation, or possibly recording it to replay for his mother at the next family gathering. "He called me and was like 'We need to chat!' and when I got over there he was like, 'Oh, hey, Frankie, wanna bone me and my wife at the same time?'"
"Frank." Mikey sounds close to tears. "This is my big brother you are talking about. My brother. Do you have any idea-"
"And Lyn was just, just sitting there! All calm and, and evil and laughing and calm. Mikey, I cannot have sex with her. Ever. I am too afraid of her eating my face."
"Look, Frank, could you just-"
"And Gerard! He was all 'I need to do this with someone I care about,' and, you know, that's awesome, Gee, I love you too, but love does not necessitate my dick in your ass!"
"Seriously, Frank, I-"
"Oh, God, what if it's the other way around? What if he wants to put HIS dick in MY ass? I don't know if I can handle that, Mikey, I really don't."
"I am hanging up now. And possibly hanging myself. Just so you know."
"But Mikey-"
"Bye, Frank."
Frank listens to the dial tone and decides he needs new friends. Friends who won't hang up on him or invite him to threesomes.
***
Brian is ironing shirts when Frankie barges in. It makes him laugh a little, because who the fuck irons a cotton fucking Iron Maiden T-shirt? Brian fucking Schechter, that's who.
"Frank," Brian says without looking up, "there this thing called knocking that I think I should tell you about sometime."
"Whatever, man, not today." Frank pulls up a chair and watches Brian pressing the iron to a polo shirt. "Is that even yours?"
"It's Mikey's. Remember when he tried to iron that shirt for the Kerrang! awards and burnt it?" Frank nods. He remembers it very well, mostly because he was the one who had to coax Mikey out of the bathroom after he dissolved into tears and locked himself in. And that motherfucker hung up on him! "After that I started ironing things for him and when I unpacked after the tour I still had some of his shirts, so."
"Why don't you just send them to him?" Frank asks, tucking his feet under him and pulling his arms inside his hoodie. Something about Brian's kitchen always makes him want to curl up as small as possible and take a nap. It's homey, or something.
"And let him iron them himself? He ruins enough T-shirts as it is."
"Alicia could do it."
Brian fixes him with a Look. Frank has never been particularly susceptible to Brian's Looks- unlike Ray, whose knees turn to jelly if he even suspects someone is displeased with him- but this one makes him wince.
"Alicia," says Brian, enunciating as though Frank is a very stupid baby, "burns toast. Toast. What do you think she would do to a vintage Joy Division T-shirt?"
"Good point." Frank watches Brian iron for a little longer, then asks, trying to keep his voice casual, "So, Brian, do you think it's a terrible idea for two guys in a band to, you know, kind of bang each other?"
Brian's hands stop moving. He turns very, very slowly, his face contorting with some unpleasantly unreadable expression.
"'Cause I do," Frank adds hastily. "I know this guy who asked his friend to do him and his wife at the same time, and, whew! Bad idea, I said. Mess up the band, I said. Shouldn't do it. So he didn't. Thank God."
Brian's face relaxes a little, though he doesn't start ironing again. "Well," he says. "That's good." He takes a deep breath as if to steel himself for the worst and asks, "Frank, by 'this guy' do you mean 'you'?"
Frank looks away and coughs.
"Oh, Christ." Brian puts a hand to his temple as though anticipating a headache. Brian's headaches are pretty epic, and he seems to get them around Frank a lot. Frank's not sure why. "Look, I know you boys are close. And, well, more power to you. It means you'll probably be together for a long time. As a band. But please, please do not do it, no matter how hard Mikey and Alicia beg-"
"Wait, what?"
"- because Gerard will probably beat the living shit out of you."
It takes a few minutes to explain. Mostly because Frank is laughing so hard.
***
When Frank gets home that night he finds three messages on his answering machine. One is from his mom, one is from Ray, and the third one is Gerard asking him in a very concerned and sympathetic way if he has come to a decision yet. Frank deletes that one, but not until he's listened to it about twenty times.
He promised Gerard he'd think about it, so he does what he always does when he needs to think Serious Thoughts: puts on Batman Returns and curls up on the couch under his duvet.
It makes sense, in a weird way, that Gee asked him. Out of the four possible candidates- and Frank's pretty sure that Gee would only be comfortable asking one of the four of them- Mikey is his brother, Bob is possibly the most heterosexual guy Frank has ever met, and Ray would probably freak out and cry in the middle of things. Not that Frank has ruled out the possibility of freaking out himself.
Though he's pretty sure he wouldn't cry.
Well, not much.
He's just not sure he's ready to deal with the other side of this invitation. Gerard trusts him- that's obviously a Good Thing, there's no bad there. They've known each other long enough that trust is second-nature to them. He's just not sure how knowing each other Biblically fits into that equation.
And, okay, cock doesn't freak him out. It really doesn't. He's not one of those asshole guys who freaks out at the barest hint of attraction, or whatever. He's just... at a loss, is all, because this isn't some nameless guy on the soccer team or some drunk guy he'll kiss and forget or some hero worship crush he can dismiss out of hand. This is Gerard. This is important.
Frank sits up, fumbles for the remote, and flicks off the television. Sitting alone and mulling this over in the dark with Tim Burton won't do. He needs to talk to someone smart, someone decisive, someone ruthless.
He needs to find Bob Bryar.
***
It's damn near impossible to track down Bob when they aren't touring, because he has this dickweed tendency to turn off his cell phone and shut down his computer and wander around the city for hours on end. Frank tries all his old haunts- the burger joint that is now a vegan pizza parlour, the bowling alley he's been forcibly ejected from eleven and a half times (the half is for the time he managed to convince the manager that anyone could accidentally shatter a casement window with a ninepin), the record store he worked at as a kid. He eventually finds him bumming around outside a game rental place, smoking and wearing a knitted cap and looking generally homeless. Frank wonders when he last shaved. Bob tends to be a little bit more blasé about stuff like that than Gerard, especially now that Lyn-Z's around to coax him into the shower.
Silver lining: if he actually goes through with this, he can pretty much count on Gerard not giving him stubble burn.
"Hey, asshole," he says, stealing his cigarette and taking a long drag. Bob blinks morosely at him.
"Iero. I thought I'd finally gotten rid of you for a few days."
"Nope. I tracked you down, dude. I'm like a fucking ninja." He gives Bob his smoke back and leans against the wall next to him, breathing in the dirty city air. Fuck, he loves Chicago. Not as much as Jersey, but pretty damn close. "What've you been up to?"
"You mean in the five days since we've seen each other?"
"Hey, fuck you, man. Six. Six days since we've seen each other, and my heart has burned without you, Robert."
"Because without me whose bed are you going to short-sheet, right?"
Frank grins. That had been an awesome party, really. "Exactly."
"Thought so." Bob finishes his cigarette and immediately lights another. "I haven't been up to much. Saw Jepha and Bert the other day. Bought some shoes."
"Were they three hundred fucking dollars?"
Bob sighs. "Okay, Frank. One: You did not just say that. Two: I'm pretty sure you didn't come all the way to Chicago just to wander around 'til you found me and could say what you definitely did not just say, so get to the point. Three: Move to the left a little, the sun's in my eyes and I want you to block it for me."
"You're taller than me."
"Whatever, asswipe. Just say what you came here to say so we can go get some barbecue or something. I'm fat, I'm hungry, and I'm not feeling particularly fucking patient today."
Frank moves to the left, then takes a deep breath and asks, "What do you think about threesomes?"
Bob looks at him for a moment, his face going blank the way it does when he is contemplating something too horrific to be borne, and then he says slowly, "I really like you as a friend, Frank..."
"Oh, Jesus, don't flatter yourself."
He explains as quickly as he can, secretly kind of relishing the looks of confusion and disgust periodically flitting across Bob's face. When he's done, Bob just nods slowly, stroking his stubble.
"That move only works if you're got a beard," Frank tells him. "As opposed to, like, syphilitic growth all over your face."
"Shut up, I'm thinking." Bob finally nods, as though he's come to some big a-ha! kind of conclusion, and says, "Well, I can't say I'm totally surprised."
"You can't?"
"Not really. I mean, how many times exactly has he stuck his tongue down your throat?"
That's a good point. Frank tries to mentally add up all the times that's happened and realizes that they're kind of overshadowed by all the time's he stuck his tongue down Gerard's throat. Which he is definitely not going to say out loud, because he's relatively sure Bob would store that away in his Mental Bob File solely to use against him in the future.
"Not to mention the fact that he married somebody who looks almost exactly like you, but with tits. I mean, that was kind of a warning sign to me right away." Bob exhales meditatively into the sky, tapping ash onto the sidewalk.
"Lyn and I don't look alike."
"Whatever, dude. If you wore a schoolgirl outfit- and I'm not saying you should, Frank, Jesus Christ, Gerard is the one who wants to bone you, not me, so don't look so freaked out-"
"Who says he'll be boning me?"
Bob snorts. "Yeah, 'cause you, you're definitely butch enough to top."
"I'm butcher than Gerard!"
"I've met drag queens butcher than Gerard. Lots of them." That does make Frank laugh a little, because it's totally true. Bob grins back. "So you're going to do it, then?"
"Do what?"
"Gerard and Lyn-Z. Simultaneously."
"Oh." Frank looks at the ground, the clouds, the bank across the street, and realizes he has absolutely no fucking clue. He says as much, and Bob rolls his eyes.
"Look," he says, "stop being such a pussy. If you want to do it, do it; if you don't, call Gerard and tell him thanks but no thanks. Just don't overthink it."
"Don't you think this is a decision that maybe requires a little overthinking?"
"Nope. This is a decision that requires a pair of balls." Bob grins. "In both senses of the word."
"Jesus, you're totally getting off on this."
"Not as much as you'll get o- hey, don't fucking hit me, you fucking monkey! It's your own fault for making it so easy." Bob pulls away from him, looking at him seriously the way only Bob Bryar can. "Honestly, Frank, I'm not sure what to say to you other than that. Just go with your instinct. If you say no, I doubt their feelings will be hurt- how hard do you think it'd be for Gee and Lyn to find some other bicurious little twink to snuggle with? I mean, our entire fucking fan base, hello?"
"I am not a twink," Frank says, affronted. Bob ignores him.
"And if you do go through with it, maybe it'd even be good for you. For you and Gerard. I'm no expert, but I hear ass-fucking can really bring two guys together, you know?"
"Well, if Brokeback Mountain's taught us anything..."
Bob laughs, then pushes him away by the shoulder. "Anyway, what are you fucking bothering me for? You should be talking to Gerard about this, not me."
"I know." Frank shrugs. "I just needed, you know, an objective listener. And Brian couldn't be objective because he's thinking about whether or not this would affect the band, and Mikey can't be objective because Gerard's his fucking brother, and Ray-"
"- Would cry. Yeah."
Frank forgets sometimes that Bob was there for Lord of the Rings night. The unforgettable sight of Ray weeping over Sam and Frodo's epic love has burned itself into more than one mind.
***
When he gets home there are no messages waiting on his phone. That makes it a little easier, although when he punches in Gerard's number he almost misses the buttons because his fingers are shaking a little.
Stop being such a pussy, Iero.
He gets Gerard's machine, which makes him breathe a sigh of relief. He's not sure how he'd manage to say this to his face. He and Lyn have recorded one of those dorky couple's messages, you've reached Gee and Lyn-Z, leave your name, quest, and favourite colour and we'll get back to you as soon as possible!, and that makes Frank want to slam down the receiver suddenly because seriously, what is he doing?
But he holds on, and when he hears the dial tone he just takes a deep breath and fucking goes for it.
"Hey, Gee. It's Frank. I've, um, been thinking a lot about what you said, and, um. I want you to know that I think maybe it's a good idea. Or not a good idea, exactly, but. Um. I'm interested. That came out wrong. I mean the thing you were talking about- the threesome thing- I could be into that, if you still want me. Um. And I'm really sorry if you're listening to this in front of your mom or something, and, uh, hi, Mrs. Way, if you are, but. I just thought I should tell you, and we'll work out the details or, like, make a play or something. Like in football. Like I feint to the left and then you go right or..."
He's definitely babbling, and that needs to stop. He gets a grip on himself and says, "Okay, so, call me or email me or something," and then he hangs up before he can say anything else stupid.
Holy, holy shit.
***
They figure things out through email. It's Lyn's idea- every time they try a threeway calling conference Frank starts getting twitchy and babbles and seriously, who can deal with that while under the already considerable stress of planning a ménage a trois? So they go back and forth, with Gerard asking the steady, level-headed questions like Who should bring the lube? and Whose house should we go to? and Now I know somebody might end up getting jealous, that's totally natural, what should we do if that happens? Lyn mostly just interjects sarcastic comments (with the occasional smiley face). Frank reads the emails on one window and edits Pete Wentz's Wikipedia page on the other to keep himself from freaking out.
He's sure a thousand preteen girls will be happy to know that Pete's middle name is now "Nutsack McFacial."
Eventually the wrinkles are ironed out, on paper at least. Gerard and Lyn will host, because their bed is bigger. (Frank makes them promise to at least try to clean first. Maybe he is secretly an eighteen-year-old girl but, dammit, he wants his first threeway to be special.) Frank will bring the lube, since the guest should always bring something for the host and wine is obviously out. As for jealousy-
"We could always just take a break to watch cartoons," Lyn suggests dryly. "That always seems to make you guys feel better."
Frank is okay with that idea, really.
They don't plan everything. Frank still isn't exactly clear on who will be doing who or, and this is the vital question, who will be doing what to who. He tries bringing it up to Gerard, casually, but Gerard isn't having it.
"We can't plan everything," he says firmly. "It'd ruin it. Let's just let things happen the way they happen."
That sounds way too Yoda for Frank. It's weird, because usually he's the one who's more laissez faire about stuff and Gerard's the one freaking out. He feels as though everything's upside down, suddenly.
"Did you tell Ray about this?" he asks Gerard once, just out of curiousity. Gerard's eyes widen with horror.
"Are you kidding, Frank? Ray cried on Lord of the Rings night. How do you think he'd react to this?"
Frank decides not to tell Gerard about that panicked phone call to Mikey. Just, you know. In case.
***
On the morning of the day they decided on Frank wakes up with a churning, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. It doesn't go away when he gets in the shower, or when he eats his Cheerios, or when he jerks off twice in a row because going into a situation like this with a loaded gun could lead to some truly embarrassing situations. He doesn't really think about anyone while he does it- he tries not to, anyway.
The time they had decided on was two-thirty. Frank is in his car by a quarter to one, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and wondering whether or not it'd be okay to go already. It's not that he's eager, or anything. He's just... the clock is ticking really slowly in his kitchen and he doesn't want to just sit there and watch time go by, alright? Maybe if he gets there early they can all watch a movie first or something. Something classy, like Lost Highway. Or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Frank does not get there early, even though he pulls out of the driveway at half past one. He turns back exactly four times, and every time he ends up pulling over onto the side of the road and telling himself (for the thousandth time this week) not to be a pussy, because if there is one thing Frank Iero does not do it is back out of prearranged sexual agreements with his best friend and his best friend's wife. Then he pulls onto the road and the doubts start building up again and all in all it's a little past three by the time he walks through their front door.
They have cleaned up, he notices appreciatively as he makes his way to the bedroom. By the looks of things someone even vacuumed the carpet, and there's a nice lemony smell to the air. Frank wonders if after today he will always associate the smell of lemon floor cleaner with sex. He hopes not, since that could make visiting his mother kind of awkward.
Gerard is lying down on his bed, his feet up on the headboard. He starts when Frank comes in, shoving the comic book he was reading under the bed and sitting up.
"Frank! You're-"
"- late, I know, I'm sorry, look-"
"Late?" Gerard frowns, looking at the alarm clock next to the bed. By the looks of it, someone unplugged it weeks ago. "What time is it? I was reading."
"Um. Around three. Where's Lyn?"
And Gerard gets this doe-eyed, embarrassed look that says he's done something... well... Gerard-y.
"Um," he says. "Well. I was reading this thing online about, um, romance and stuff-"
Frank groans softly. He can see where this is going.
"- and it said that it's really romantic to, like, scatter rose petals on the bed to make your lover- or lovers, I guess- feel... uh, sexy? Or something. So I asked Lyn to go get some roses."
"So you could scatter their petals across the bed." Frank sits down next to Gerard. "You realize it's winter, right?"
"Yeah."
"And also a Sunday."
"Is it?"
"How long has Lyn been gone, Gerard?"
"Um. A couple of hours, I think." Gerard looks at Frank sheepishly through his bangs. "I guess she's having a hard time finding them."
And Frank just fucking loses it at that, starts giggling like a motherfucker, and after a minute Gerard laughs too. They lean against each other and Frank can feel Gerard's shoulders heave and he thinks, Wow, maybe this will be okay. It's still Gerard, and they're still laughing together like a couple of enormous fucking dorks.
"I just," Gerard gasps, and he lets out one last chortle before finishing, "I just wanted this to be really special, you know? I mean, I know you're doing me a favour, and everything- I hate thinking about it like that, but I know that's what it is, and I want you to have a good time."
"It's not a favour." For a minute Frank wonders why he says that, until he realizes, hey. It's true. "I was shocked when you first asked me, but you know, I think I kind of get it. You wouldn't want just anybody for this, and I'm... actually, I'm really happy you chose me. Because I know you care about me and fuck, stop me if I sound like a teenage girl here, okay?"
And Gerard smiles that beautiful fucking simple smile and just says "Nope," and then he's reaching out and cupping Frank's face in his hands and then Frank feels Gerard's lips on his, his tongue in his mouth, their breath mingling in short, sharp gasps. Frank's eyes are closed before he realizes what's happening and he just feels it in every cell of his body, every nerve sparking with sudden electricity. Gerard makes this contented humming noise and shifts and suddenly Frank is almost in his lap, can feel his hands graze the hem of his shirt before he pulls away, flushed.
Oh, thinks Frank, in a dazed, dizzy sort of way, then, Okay, yeah. I'm really happy he chose me.
"Frank," Gerard whispers, his fingers tracing little circles on Frank's hips, making him shiver. "Did you remember to bring the lube?"
"Uhmm... yeah?"
Gerard smiles again, but this time there's a sly little curve to it, a sick quirk that suggests filthy thoughts. "It'll be a while before Lyn gets back," he murmurs against Frank's lips. "Want to surprise her?"
Pairing: Lyn-Z/Gerard/Frank
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gerard and Lyn-Z are newly married and head over heels in love. So why they feel the need to invite Frank over for a threeway is beyond him.
Disclaimer: Don't Google yourself.
Author's Note: I love how I wrote threesome fic and STILL couldn't bring the rating above PG-13. Also, this happens in a sad, sad universe where Jamia does not exist and Frank is a loser single.
Beta: redheaded_itch
Frank knows it's kind of a ridiculous, four-year-old type of reaction, but when Gerard calls him and tells him to come over for a chat his first thought is that he's in trouble. After all, it's not like he's ever heard Gerard use the word "chat" before.
He's not even sure if he wants to go over there. Not because he's afraid Gerard is going to scream at him or anything- that's happened exactly twice in all the years Frank's known him, and the first time doesn't count because he was drunk and hanging out with Bert. The second time...
Well, the second time doesn't really count either, because Frank was being really annoying and he knew that was Gerard's favourite shirt.
So it's not that he's afraid of what Gerard's going to say. If anything, he's afraid of Lyn-Z.
Frank likes Lyn. He does. She's funny and badass and kind of dorky, and she makes Gerard smile wider and laugh harder than he has in a long, long time. He's just always aware that somewhere deep inside she's making fun of pretty much everything he says, and seriously, how is a guy supposed to deal with that?
He's also always aware that she could kick his ass without breaking a sweat, which is why he shows up early.
There are still boxes everywhere from when they first started to move in- Gerard is one of those people who starts unpacking and then gets distracted by a crate full of old Justice League comics and has to sit down and read them all in order before continuing. Lyn, in contrast, is just messy; her clothes are strewn all over the carpet, and Frank is pretty sure that all the spare sandwich edges and greasy mugs on the living room table are hers. (The standalone cardboard cut-out of Gandalf in the corner might be, too. Frank was there for Lord of the Rings night, and Ray wasn't the only one sniffling when he fell down Khazad-dum.) Gerard and Lyn greet him warmly, even though Lyn has that snap in her eye that says she's keeping up a running commentary in her head on the many ways in which Frank is totally and completely ridiculous, and Gee makes coffee, and they sit down.
"So!" Gerard says brightly, setting his mug on the floor next to his chair. He reaches over to take Lyn's hand. "We're thinking about having a threesome."
***
They make him promise to think about it.
As Frank starts his car, he realizes that that's the part that weirds him out the most. And he agreed. He agreed to seriously consider having sex with one of his best friends and a woman who could kill him with her pinky.
"It's always been something I've wanted to do," Gerard had said, smiling blithely. Lyn smiled too, idly playing with his hair. "And I think it would be best if it was with someone who I really cared about and was comfortable with, you know? That way I'd be able to relax, they'd be able to relax, and everybody would have a lot more fun."
Frank looked at them both, speechless. As speechless as he ever got, anyway. "Isn't it more customary for newlyweds to have wild threesomes with, like, nymphomaniacal blonde eighteen-year-old girls?" he asked, and Lyn rolled her eyes.
"Please," she said. "After the last girl I slept with showed up on my doorstep at four in the morning with a shotgun and a gram of heroin, I kind of swore them off for a while." She grinned, showing all her teeth, and added, "Besides, Frank, you are an eighteen-year-old girl."
"And you were blonde once," Gerard added helpfully. Lyn swiveled around to look at him, apparently delighted.
"He was? Really?"
"Yup. He looked like a member of NSync," Gerard said. His wife cracked up.
"You two are really winning me over here," Frank muttered sourly, and Gerard reached over to take his hand. He was still holding Lyn's, as well, and Frank was just not going to think about what that meant.
"You don't have you say yes or no, Frankie. Not yet. Just think about it, please?"
And Frank was going to say no, but then Gerard had big eyes and twisty hands and sounded so fucking earnest that he. Jesus.
"I will. I promise."
And Gerard smiled, and Lyn smiled- okay, she smirked, really, but it could have been a smile- and Frank, in his car, thinks, I am so fucked.
***
"Your brother wants me to have a threeway with him," Frank says as soon as Mikey picks up the phone. Mikey chokes and sputters- it sounds like he was drinking something- then, when he recovers, gasps:
"Jesus Christ Iero do not ever start a conversation like that again. Ever. I will kill you."
The panic in his voice is somewhat gratifying, considering Mikey usually sounds sort of like a robot, but Frank is in no mood to appreciate it. "I'm serious!" he hisses, glancing around his house to make sure nobody is lurking in the shadows listening in on his end of the conversation, or possibly recording it to replay for his mother at the next family gathering. "He called me and was like 'We need to chat!' and when I got over there he was like, 'Oh, hey, Frankie, wanna bone me and my wife at the same time?'"
"Frank." Mikey sounds close to tears. "This is my big brother you are talking about. My brother. Do you have any idea-"
"And Lyn was just, just sitting there! All calm and, and evil and laughing and calm. Mikey, I cannot have sex with her. Ever. I am too afraid of her eating my face."
"Look, Frank, could you just-"
"And Gerard! He was all 'I need to do this with someone I care about,' and, you know, that's awesome, Gee, I love you too, but love does not necessitate my dick in your ass!"
"Seriously, Frank, I-"
"Oh, God, what if it's the other way around? What if he wants to put HIS dick in MY ass? I don't know if I can handle that, Mikey, I really don't."
"I am hanging up now. And possibly hanging myself. Just so you know."
"But Mikey-"
"Bye, Frank."
Frank listens to the dial tone and decides he needs new friends. Friends who won't hang up on him or invite him to threesomes.
***
Brian is ironing shirts when Frankie barges in. It makes him laugh a little, because who the fuck irons a cotton fucking Iron Maiden T-shirt? Brian fucking Schechter, that's who.
"Frank," Brian says without looking up, "there this thing called knocking that I think I should tell you about sometime."
"Whatever, man, not today." Frank pulls up a chair and watches Brian pressing the iron to a polo shirt. "Is that even yours?"
"It's Mikey's. Remember when he tried to iron that shirt for the Kerrang! awards and burnt it?" Frank nods. He remembers it very well, mostly because he was the one who had to coax Mikey out of the bathroom after he dissolved into tears and locked himself in. And that motherfucker hung up on him! "After that I started ironing things for him and when I unpacked after the tour I still had some of his shirts, so."
"Why don't you just send them to him?" Frank asks, tucking his feet under him and pulling his arms inside his hoodie. Something about Brian's kitchen always makes him want to curl up as small as possible and take a nap. It's homey, or something.
"And let him iron them himself? He ruins enough T-shirts as it is."
"Alicia could do it."
Brian fixes him with a Look. Frank has never been particularly susceptible to Brian's Looks- unlike Ray, whose knees turn to jelly if he even suspects someone is displeased with him- but this one makes him wince.
"Alicia," says Brian, enunciating as though Frank is a very stupid baby, "burns toast. Toast. What do you think she would do to a vintage Joy Division T-shirt?"
"Good point." Frank watches Brian iron for a little longer, then asks, trying to keep his voice casual, "So, Brian, do you think it's a terrible idea for two guys in a band to, you know, kind of bang each other?"
Brian's hands stop moving. He turns very, very slowly, his face contorting with some unpleasantly unreadable expression.
"'Cause I do," Frank adds hastily. "I know this guy who asked his friend to do him and his wife at the same time, and, whew! Bad idea, I said. Mess up the band, I said. Shouldn't do it. So he didn't. Thank God."
Brian's face relaxes a little, though he doesn't start ironing again. "Well," he says. "That's good." He takes a deep breath as if to steel himself for the worst and asks, "Frank, by 'this guy' do you mean 'you'?"
Frank looks away and coughs.
"Oh, Christ." Brian puts a hand to his temple as though anticipating a headache. Brian's headaches are pretty epic, and he seems to get them around Frank a lot. Frank's not sure why. "Look, I know you boys are close. And, well, more power to you. It means you'll probably be together for a long time. As a band. But please, please do not do it, no matter how hard Mikey and Alicia beg-"
"Wait, what?"
"- because Gerard will probably beat the living shit out of you."
It takes a few minutes to explain. Mostly because Frank is laughing so hard.
***
When Frank gets home that night he finds three messages on his answering machine. One is from his mom, one is from Ray, and the third one is Gerard asking him in a very concerned and sympathetic way if he has come to a decision yet. Frank deletes that one, but not until he's listened to it about twenty times.
He promised Gerard he'd think about it, so he does what he always does when he needs to think Serious Thoughts: puts on Batman Returns and curls up on the couch under his duvet.
It makes sense, in a weird way, that Gee asked him. Out of the four possible candidates- and Frank's pretty sure that Gee would only be comfortable asking one of the four of them- Mikey is his brother, Bob is possibly the most heterosexual guy Frank has ever met, and Ray would probably freak out and cry in the middle of things. Not that Frank has ruled out the possibility of freaking out himself.
Though he's pretty sure he wouldn't cry.
Well, not much.
He's just not sure he's ready to deal with the other side of this invitation. Gerard trusts him- that's obviously a Good Thing, there's no bad there. They've known each other long enough that trust is second-nature to them. He's just not sure how knowing each other Biblically fits into that equation.
And, okay, cock doesn't freak him out. It really doesn't. He's not one of those asshole guys who freaks out at the barest hint of attraction, or whatever. He's just... at a loss, is all, because this isn't some nameless guy on the soccer team or some drunk guy he'll kiss and forget or some hero worship crush he can dismiss out of hand. This is Gerard. This is important.
Frank sits up, fumbles for the remote, and flicks off the television. Sitting alone and mulling this over in the dark with Tim Burton won't do. He needs to talk to someone smart, someone decisive, someone ruthless.
He needs to find Bob Bryar.
***
It's damn near impossible to track down Bob when they aren't touring, because he has this dickweed tendency to turn off his cell phone and shut down his computer and wander around the city for hours on end. Frank tries all his old haunts- the burger joint that is now a vegan pizza parlour, the bowling alley he's been forcibly ejected from eleven and a half times (the half is for the time he managed to convince the manager that anyone could accidentally shatter a casement window with a ninepin), the record store he worked at as a kid. He eventually finds him bumming around outside a game rental place, smoking and wearing a knitted cap and looking generally homeless. Frank wonders when he last shaved. Bob tends to be a little bit more blasé about stuff like that than Gerard, especially now that Lyn-Z's around to coax him into the shower.
Silver lining: if he actually goes through with this, he can pretty much count on Gerard not giving him stubble burn.
"Hey, asshole," he says, stealing his cigarette and taking a long drag. Bob blinks morosely at him.
"Iero. I thought I'd finally gotten rid of you for a few days."
"Nope. I tracked you down, dude. I'm like a fucking ninja." He gives Bob his smoke back and leans against the wall next to him, breathing in the dirty city air. Fuck, he loves Chicago. Not as much as Jersey, but pretty damn close. "What've you been up to?"
"You mean in the five days since we've seen each other?"
"Hey, fuck you, man. Six. Six days since we've seen each other, and my heart has burned without you, Robert."
"Because without me whose bed are you going to short-sheet, right?"
Frank grins. That had been an awesome party, really. "Exactly."
"Thought so." Bob finishes his cigarette and immediately lights another. "I haven't been up to much. Saw Jepha and Bert the other day. Bought some shoes."
"Were they three hundred fucking dollars?"
Bob sighs. "Okay, Frank. One: You did not just say that. Two: I'm pretty sure you didn't come all the way to Chicago just to wander around 'til you found me and could say what you definitely did not just say, so get to the point. Three: Move to the left a little, the sun's in my eyes and I want you to block it for me."
"You're taller than me."
"Whatever, asswipe. Just say what you came here to say so we can go get some barbecue or something. I'm fat, I'm hungry, and I'm not feeling particularly fucking patient today."
Frank moves to the left, then takes a deep breath and asks, "What do you think about threesomes?"
Bob looks at him for a moment, his face going blank the way it does when he is contemplating something too horrific to be borne, and then he says slowly, "I really like you as a friend, Frank..."
"Oh, Jesus, don't flatter yourself."
He explains as quickly as he can, secretly kind of relishing the looks of confusion and disgust periodically flitting across Bob's face. When he's done, Bob just nods slowly, stroking his stubble.
"That move only works if you're got a beard," Frank tells him. "As opposed to, like, syphilitic growth all over your face."
"Shut up, I'm thinking." Bob finally nods, as though he's come to some big a-ha! kind of conclusion, and says, "Well, I can't say I'm totally surprised."
"You can't?"
"Not really. I mean, how many times exactly has he stuck his tongue down your throat?"
That's a good point. Frank tries to mentally add up all the times that's happened and realizes that they're kind of overshadowed by all the time's he stuck his tongue down Gerard's throat. Which he is definitely not going to say out loud, because he's relatively sure Bob would store that away in his Mental Bob File solely to use against him in the future.
"Not to mention the fact that he married somebody who looks almost exactly like you, but with tits. I mean, that was kind of a warning sign to me right away." Bob exhales meditatively into the sky, tapping ash onto the sidewalk.
"Lyn and I don't look alike."
"Whatever, dude. If you wore a schoolgirl outfit- and I'm not saying you should, Frank, Jesus Christ, Gerard is the one who wants to bone you, not me, so don't look so freaked out-"
"Who says he'll be boning me?"
Bob snorts. "Yeah, 'cause you, you're definitely butch enough to top."
"I'm butcher than Gerard!"
"I've met drag queens butcher than Gerard. Lots of them." That does make Frank laugh a little, because it's totally true. Bob grins back. "So you're going to do it, then?"
"Do what?"
"Gerard and Lyn-Z. Simultaneously."
"Oh." Frank looks at the ground, the clouds, the bank across the street, and realizes he has absolutely no fucking clue. He says as much, and Bob rolls his eyes.
"Look," he says, "stop being such a pussy. If you want to do it, do it; if you don't, call Gerard and tell him thanks but no thanks. Just don't overthink it."
"Don't you think this is a decision that maybe requires a little overthinking?"
"Nope. This is a decision that requires a pair of balls." Bob grins. "In both senses of the word."
"Jesus, you're totally getting off on this."
"Not as much as you'll get o- hey, don't fucking hit me, you fucking monkey! It's your own fault for making it so easy." Bob pulls away from him, looking at him seriously the way only Bob Bryar can. "Honestly, Frank, I'm not sure what to say to you other than that. Just go with your instinct. If you say no, I doubt their feelings will be hurt- how hard do you think it'd be for Gee and Lyn to find some other bicurious little twink to snuggle with? I mean, our entire fucking fan base, hello?"
"I am not a twink," Frank says, affronted. Bob ignores him.
"And if you do go through with it, maybe it'd even be good for you. For you and Gerard. I'm no expert, but I hear ass-fucking can really bring two guys together, you know?"
"Well, if Brokeback Mountain's taught us anything..."
Bob laughs, then pushes him away by the shoulder. "Anyway, what are you fucking bothering me for? You should be talking to Gerard about this, not me."
"I know." Frank shrugs. "I just needed, you know, an objective listener. And Brian couldn't be objective because he's thinking about whether or not this would affect the band, and Mikey can't be objective because Gerard's his fucking brother, and Ray-"
"- Would cry. Yeah."
Frank forgets sometimes that Bob was there for Lord of the Rings night. The unforgettable sight of Ray weeping over Sam and Frodo's epic love has burned itself into more than one mind.
***
When he gets home there are no messages waiting on his phone. That makes it a little easier, although when he punches in Gerard's number he almost misses the buttons because his fingers are shaking a little.
Stop being such a pussy, Iero.
He gets Gerard's machine, which makes him breathe a sigh of relief. He's not sure how he'd manage to say this to his face. He and Lyn have recorded one of those dorky couple's messages, you've reached Gee and Lyn-Z, leave your name, quest, and favourite colour and we'll get back to you as soon as possible!, and that makes Frank want to slam down the receiver suddenly because seriously, what is he doing?
But he holds on, and when he hears the dial tone he just takes a deep breath and fucking goes for it.
"Hey, Gee. It's Frank. I've, um, been thinking a lot about what you said, and, um. I want you to know that I think maybe it's a good idea. Or not a good idea, exactly, but. Um. I'm interested. That came out wrong. I mean the thing you were talking about- the threesome thing- I could be into that, if you still want me. Um. And I'm really sorry if you're listening to this in front of your mom or something, and, uh, hi, Mrs. Way, if you are, but. I just thought I should tell you, and we'll work out the details or, like, make a play or something. Like in football. Like I feint to the left and then you go right or..."
He's definitely babbling, and that needs to stop. He gets a grip on himself and says, "Okay, so, call me or email me or something," and then he hangs up before he can say anything else stupid.
Holy, holy shit.
***
They figure things out through email. It's Lyn's idea- every time they try a threeway calling conference Frank starts getting twitchy and babbles and seriously, who can deal with that while under the already considerable stress of planning a ménage a trois? So they go back and forth, with Gerard asking the steady, level-headed questions like Who should bring the lube? and Whose house should we go to? and Now I know somebody might end up getting jealous, that's totally natural, what should we do if that happens? Lyn mostly just interjects sarcastic comments (with the occasional smiley face). Frank reads the emails on one window and edits Pete Wentz's Wikipedia page on the other to keep himself from freaking out.
He's sure a thousand preteen girls will be happy to know that Pete's middle name is now "Nutsack McFacial."
Eventually the wrinkles are ironed out, on paper at least. Gerard and Lyn will host, because their bed is bigger. (Frank makes them promise to at least try to clean first. Maybe he is secretly an eighteen-year-old girl but, dammit, he wants his first threeway to be special.) Frank will bring the lube, since the guest should always bring something for the host and wine is obviously out. As for jealousy-
"We could always just take a break to watch cartoons," Lyn suggests dryly. "That always seems to make you guys feel better."
Frank is okay with that idea, really.
They don't plan everything. Frank still isn't exactly clear on who will be doing who or, and this is the vital question, who will be doing what to who. He tries bringing it up to Gerard, casually, but Gerard isn't having it.
"We can't plan everything," he says firmly. "It'd ruin it. Let's just let things happen the way they happen."
That sounds way too Yoda for Frank. It's weird, because usually he's the one who's more laissez faire about stuff and Gerard's the one freaking out. He feels as though everything's upside down, suddenly.
"Did you tell Ray about this?" he asks Gerard once, just out of curiousity. Gerard's eyes widen with horror.
"Are you kidding, Frank? Ray cried on Lord of the Rings night. How do you think he'd react to this?"
Frank decides not to tell Gerard about that panicked phone call to Mikey. Just, you know. In case.
***
On the morning of the day they decided on Frank wakes up with a churning, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. It doesn't go away when he gets in the shower, or when he eats his Cheerios, or when he jerks off twice in a row because going into a situation like this with a loaded gun could lead to some truly embarrassing situations. He doesn't really think about anyone while he does it- he tries not to, anyway.
The time they had decided on was two-thirty. Frank is in his car by a quarter to one, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and wondering whether or not it'd be okay to go already. It's not that he's eager, or anything. He's just... the clock is ticking really slowly in his kitchen and he doesn't want to just sit there and watch time go by, alright? Maybe if he gets there early they can all watch a movie first or something. Something classy, like Lost Highway. Or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Frank does not get there early, even though he pulls out of the driveway at half past one. He turns back exactly four times, and every time he ends up pulling over onto the side of the road and telling himself (for the thousandth time this week) not to be a pussy, because if there is one thing Frank Iero does not do it is back out of prearranged sexual agreements with his best friend and his best friend's wife. Then he pulls onto the road and the doubts start building up again and all in all it's a little past three by the time he walks through their front door.
They have cleaned up, he notices appreciatively as he makes his way to the bedroom. By the looks of things someone even vacuumed the carpet, and there's a nice lemony smell to the air. Frank wonders if after today he will always associate the smell of lemon floor cleaner with sex. He hopes not, since that could make visiting his mother kind of awkward.
Gerard is lying down on his bed, his feet up on the headboard. He starts when Frank comes in, shoving the comic book he was reading under the bed and sitting up.
"Frank! You're-"
"- late, I know, I'm sorry, look-"
"Late?" Gerard frowns, looking at the alarm clock next to the bed. By the looks of it, someone unplugged it weeks ago. "What time is it? I was reading."
"Um. Around three. Where's Lyn?"
And Gerard gets this doe-eyed, embarrassed look that says he's done something... well... Gerard-y.
"Um," he says. "Well. I was reading this thing online about, um, romance and stuff-"
Frank groans softly. He can see where this is going.
"- and it said that it's really romantic to, like, scatter rose petals on the bed to make your lover- or lovers, I guess- feel... uh, sexy? Or something. So I asked Lyn to go get some roses."
"So you could scatter their petals across the bed." Frank sits down next to Gerard. "You realize it's winter, right?"
"Yeah."
"And also a Sunday."
"Is it?"
"How long has Lyn been gone, Gerard?"
"Um. A couple of hours, I think." Gerard looks at Frank sheepishly through his bangs. "I guess she's having a hard time finding them."
And Frank just fucking loses it at that, starts giggling like a motherfucker, and after a minute Gerard laughs too. They lean against each other and Frank can feel Gerard's shoulders heave and he thinks, Wow, maybe this will be okay. It's still Gerard, and they're still laughing together like a couple of enormous fucking dorks.
"I just," Gerard gasps, and he lets out one last chortle before finishing, "I just wanted this to be really special, you know? I mean, I know you're doing me a favour, and everything- I hate thinking about it like that, but I know that's what it is, and I want you to have a good time."
"It's not a favour." For a minute Frank wonders why he says that, until he realizes, hey. It's true. "I was shocked when you first asked me, but you know, I think I kind of get it. You wouldn't want just anybody for this, and I'm... actually, I'm really happy you chose me. Because I know you care about me and fuck, stop me if I sound like a teenage girl here, okay?"
And Gerard smiles that beautiful fucking simple smile and just says "Nope," and then he's reaching out and cupping Frank's face in his hands and then Frank feels Gerard's lips on his, his tongue in his mouth, their breath mingling in short, sharp gasps. Frank's eyes are closed before he realizes what's happening and he just feels it in every cell of his body, every nerve sparking with sudden electricity. Gerard makes this contented humming noise and shifts and suddenly Frank is almost in his lap, can feel his hands graze the hem of his shirt before he pulls away, flushed.
Oh, thinks Frank, in a dazed, dizzy sort of way, then, Okay, yeah. I'm really happy he chose me.
"Frank," Gerard whispers, his fingers tracing little circles on Frank's hips, making him shiver. "Did you remember to bring the lube?"
"Uhmm... yeah?"
Gerard smiles again, but this time there's a sly little curve to it, a sick quirk that suggests filthy thoughts. "It'll be a while before Lyn gets back," he murmurs against Frank's lips. "Want to surprise her?"