(no subject)
Layover
Gerard Way/Jon Walker
R, 715 words
~
He finds Jon standing at baggage claim wearing a t-shirt with a kitten silk-screened on it, and a look a mild terror. Makes Gerard want to push the hair out of his face with both hands.
He goes and stands next to him until Jon turns around and jumps out of his skin. "JESUS." He clutches at his chest like an old lady, the kitten all crinkled up in his fist. "Fuck, man. Warn a guy!"
"Nobody ever expects the element of surprise," he says mildly, then yanks Jon closer by the wrist and stamps a kiss on his mouth, lame and loud.
Jon is grinning when Gerard pulls back. He's also pushing his own hair out of his eyes, and squinting. "What's with the get-up?"
Gerard leers, the effect somewhat lost behind his shades. "This is my hood. Gotta go incognito when I go around making out with dudes in public."
"Ashamed of me, I see how it is." He looks over as the carrousel shudders into motion, wheeling around noisily. Luggage begins to tumble out of the chute. "Your airport sucks, G-Way."
"You need a haircut, J-Walk."
"Seriously, was the hat necessary?"
Gerard nods gravely. "This way I can still indulge but retain plausible deniability if it ends up on someone's camera phone. You, on the other hand, are fucked, my friend."
Jon's grin is more of a smirk, and he leans in to press a not-so-playful one to Gerard's mouth, tongue and all. "Fucked," he says, thumbs the corner of Gerard's smile when he pulls back. "Definitely."
Then he goes to chase his suitcase around the carrousel.
It kinda sucks to be sitting again after a five-hour flight, but Gerard's ridiculously tiny hybrid has surprising leg room. He's put some band Jon's never heard of on the stereo and is drumming rhythmlessly on the steering wheel, waiting for their turn at the parking booth. The thirty-second trip through the lot reminded Jon why he never lets Gerard drive if he can help it. .
Jon stifles a yawn, slumping down in his seat until his knees bang the glove compartment. "How much caffeine have you had today?"
"All the caffeine in the world." Gerard enthuses, then adds more reasonably, "You took a while to get here."
Jon kinda wishes he had his hoodie on, just to have somewhere to put his hands that isn't Gerard's lap. The traffic on I-95 is terrifying enough as it is. "You weren't the one crammed between a smelly James Lipton look-alike and, I swear to god, something on the wing."
Gerard grins at the ass of the tanker truck trudging along in front of them. His mouth curls right up, dimpling his cheeks, and Jon can easily fill in the blanks between where Gerard's smile disappears behind his shades then reappear somewhere around his eyebrows.
When they get to Gerard's place, Mikey's sitting on his couch, sucking at the straw of an iced coffee, his knees askew like he's got too many of them.
"Hey," he says mildly, waves.
Gerard drops Jon's duffel right there on the doormat. "What the hell, Mikey?"
Mikey's getting up, unfolding like something collapsible. Twenty-six years and Gerard always expects Mikey to be taller once he's done standing. "Jon texted me from O'Hare. Hey, man." He and Jon slap knuckles easily, bump shoulders.
Gerard shrugs out of his coat and curls his fingers around the back of Jon's belt. "Very manly. Now leave so I can blow him before Lindsey comes home."
"Lindsey's in Portland," Mikey says unhelpfully, but zips up his hoodie one-handed, chasing the last of his coffee around the bottom of the plastic cup with the tip of his straw.
Gerard puts both hands on Mikey's shoulder blades and steers him out the door. He gets him to leave by agreeing to brunch tomorrow. Fucking brunch. Like they're real grown-ups or something.
"Lindsey's in Portland?" Jon says once the door is closed again. His tone is carefully neutral but his shoulders betray him, hanging around too close to his ears.
Gerard grabs him by the belt again, walking him backwards towards the couch. "Yup. She says hi. And to mind the goods."
Jon's brow smoothes over and his smile goes all the way to his eyes when he reaches for Gerard's fly.