(no subject)
Title: Infected With The Past
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1182
Summary: Frank got sick so many times as a child that as an adult being sick just makes him feel scared and out of control.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
The way that Frank likes to explain it is that when some people get scared, or sad, they want to crawl under a table, or inside a closet, or between a couch and a wall. Something about the confined space pings safe to them. Frank just takes it one step further. Maybe it’s from being in a bed and the IV lines making him better holding him in place, or maybe it’s not that simple. Whatever the reason, the truth is when he’s sick, when he’s so sick it scares him, Frank likes to be tied up. For him that’s what pings safe.
The last week he’s felt awful, culminating in having to perform with an oxygen mask. Frank’s done it once before. He had kind of a meltdown afterwards, but he felt like he owed to the fans. He feels the same way now. So they rearrange the set a bit, seeing as Destroya isn’t really going to work without back up vocals, and they make it work.
Later he has no idea how well he did, how good -or not- he sounded. He can’t remember almost the whole performance, not to mention the time before and after. Every time he even starts to think about it, Frank starts to have a panic attack. It's so stupid, but he can't control it.
When he can’t take it any more he approaches Gerard. “You need to help me. Restrain me. Otherwise I’m going to go off the deep end.”
Gerard looks at him for just a minute. He doesn’t ask for details. They’ve been dating since Gerard got sober, messing around since long before that. It would be insane to think Gerard doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking for.
“Put your hands in your back pockets,” he replies. Frank does. “Go lean against the wall. Trap your hands between the wall and your body. Stay there until I come back.”
Frank backs up until he’s leaning against the stained drywall. The dressing room is particularly crappy, in a way that reminds him of all the shows they did in the van days. Ones without stages, or sound crew. The only person in the room with him is Mikey -Ray and James off somewhere, possibly comparing the thickness of their super manly thighs- and between the book and the headphones he’s in his own universe.
Gerard comes back five minutes later with a scarf. A long knitted winter thing, never mind that it’s only September. Frank has no idea where he got it, and doesn’t much care when Gee’s wrapping it as tightly as he can around his wrists. It’s not a cure, but it’s a balm, and Frank will take what he can get. Gee doesn’t unwrap the scarf until the minute before they’re on stage, and even that’s with a whispered promise of something better -longer- later. Frank tucks the words away and does his best to appear confident and healthy on stage. That’s what the fans need to see.
He doesn’t realise until they’re offstage what Gerard means by it. A flourish of guilt floats through Frank and he attempts to explain. “I didn’t ask because it was a hotel night. I asked because-”
“Because you have a nice case of illness P.T.S.D and this’ll help. If it wasn’t a hotel night I’d kick Ray out of the studio and do something there.” His tone is so perfectly Gerardy, like he wants to roll his eyes but is unwilling to hurt the feelings of the person saying stupid things.
Frank tries to smirk through the anxiety. “That would make Ray happy.”
“Ray’s my best friend, not my boyfriend. Different rules.”
The hotel’s floor is heavily waxed, a few yellow signs warning for it across the expanse of the lobby. Frank nearly falls over on the stupid slippery floor twice on the way to their room. His anticipation is burning hot under his skin, his anxiety like a fast growing crust forming on top of him. Together it makes it hard to focus on mundane things like putting one foot after another in an orderly fashion.
Gerard dumps his duffel on the bed by the window and begins unpacking haphazardly, spreading unwashed t-shirts and crumpled magazines over the bland hotel duvet.
"I got some stuff for kinky fun-times, I thought we could try maybe-. But it’ll definitely work for this too. I just need to-” Gerard cuts himself off with a proud grunt, unearthing what he was looking for. As he tugs a stuffed pillowcase out of his bag a cascade of the things packed on top of it nearly explodes out. "Look!"
Frank takes the lumpy pillowcase and gives it a bemused once-over. When he upends it a tangled mess of nylon straps spills out.
"It got a bit tangled because I couldn't keep it in the box. It was basically vacuum packed, and it never went in again once I took it out to check it out. But it totally works for any bed without posts, you just have to slide them under the mattress. That look good?”
Frank nods. It looks like everything he could need to calm down.
Gerard says. "How do you want to do this?"
It very, very much does not matter to Frank how they do this as long as they do it. He explains as much to Gerard.
Gerard gets a sort of scary little smile in the corners of his mouth. "In that case, I'll decide."
Frank wants to say that that’s what he'd been angling at, but there’s only so much of a smartass he wants to be when Gee is doing this for him. Instead he just helps set up the bed in near silent anticipation. He lets Gerard tug off his jeans and underwear and arrange his limbs to his satisfaction when everything's ready. Gerard snaps the restraints onto his wrists and ankles in a classic spread eagle position. Somehow it lets Frank breathe. He can’t move, but he can breathe without overthinking each inhale. It’s so good to not be scared.
“It’s okay if you get hard. I won’t” Gerard pauses, then tries again. “I know this isn’t really about that, and I promise not to do anything unless you tell me to. Just because it’s ended in sex before doesn’t mean it will now.”
“It won’t.” Or at least Frank is pretty sure. This is like therapy bondage, comfort bondage, not gonna ride your dick until you scream because you can’t touch me bondage. They’ve done that, more than a handful of times, and it’s always fun, but this isn’t that.
Frank doesn’t keep track of how long he stays in the cuffs. At some point Gerard gets a book from his pile of stuff on the other bed before returning to his spot by Frank’s knee. Frank remembers Books On Wheels at the hospital he spent a decent amount of his childhood in. No one ever read to him, but he was allowed to borrow any book he wanted. Gerard would read out loud, if Frank asked. Frank’s pretty lucky, crapstick body or not.