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First of the new batch of ficlets. For dazzling_britt, who asked for 'Camping. Frank/Gerard.' 864 words
"So this is your idea of a mid-life crisis?"
Most people buy flashy sports cars or motorcycles. If they're really hurting, they find a young, pretty thing to hang off their arm, but not Gerard. Oh, no.
Gerard practices being a hermit.
"Shut up, Frank," Gerard mutters, staring at the mess he's made of the tent. "This shouldn't be that hard."
Frank's no expert, but he definitely thinks Gerard has a point. People shouldn't need an engineering degree to set up a stupid tent, since it's vital for survival in the great outdoors and everything.
Gerard puts his hands on his hips, like that will actually help, and stomps around the pathetic pile of tent in the center of the clearing. Frank tugs on the drawstrings of his hoodie and tries to find a spot to sit without having rocks digging into his ass.
"Not to be a voice of doom or anything," Frank says when Gerard continues to glare at the tent, "but it's getting dark, and I really don't want to go out by being eaten by a bear or a flock of rabid mooses."
"Meese," Gerard corrects absently. He's smiling a little though, eyes flicking up to meet Frank's for a moment. "And fuck you, I'm not having a mid-life crisis. I just. I never really did the camping thing before."
Yeah, okay. Frank's really not sure what the plural of moose is, but it isn't as important as trying to figure out why the hell Gerard has to pick now, of all times, to indulge his desire to become one with nature. Well, that and trying to figure out why he'd felt the need to drag Frank along with him.
Gerard had shown up at Frank's place earlier that day with Starbucks and that look on his face that was a mix of earnest, dorky, and lame, and asked Frank is he had any plans for the weekend.
It might have been a lapse in judgment, or the fact that Frank was still half-asleep, but somehow he found himself agreeing that yeah, hey, nature was really fucking awesome and it would be a terrific idea to go explore its many wonders right the hell now.
Almost half a day later and he's watching Gerard fighting with a tent on the side of a godforsaken mountain with no real idea what he's doing there.
Except.
He's watching Gerard fighting with a tent and thinks it's not only hilarious, but also a tiny bit -
“What the hell?”
“I know,” Gerard says, kneeling next to the tent-thing and poking it with a stick he found somewhere. “I think it's a lost cause. Maybe we should call Bob or something. He probably knows how to put a tent up.”
It's a little hilarious the way Gerard and Mikey seem to think Bob is the expert on manly things because he's the only one in the band who can grow respectable facial hair.
“No.” Frank puts too much emphasis on it because it brings Gerard around to stare at him in confusion.
“No,” Gerard says slowly, pointing at the tent. The asshole's moving carefully, trying not to startle Frank like he's a wild animal or something. “I'm pretty sure it's dead.”
Rolling his eyes, Frank pushes himself to his knees and makes his way over to Gerard. “You're such an asshole.”
“Okay,” Gerard says, frowning. “I. What?”
The thing about Gerard is that he has all these brilliant ideas - he's really fucking amazing in general - but he fails miserably at having recognizable social skills.
“I kind of want to kick your ass.” Frank really does.
Gerard shuffles back a little.
“Asshole.”
Gerard shrugs.
Frank rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Come here, fucker.”
Gerard cocks his head to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Smooth.”
And, yeah, okay.
“No, really,” Frank says, grabbing the front of Gerard's shirt to yank him closer. “Come here.”
Gerard flails for balance, arms windmilling until Frank lets go of his shirt and places his hands on Gerard's hips to steady him. After a moment, Gerard's hands settle uncertainly on Frank's shoulders.
“So.” Gerard laughs a little nervously. “It's great out here, huh?”
“You should probably know,” Frank says seriously, making sure Gerard's eyes are on him, “it would break Bob's heart if you became a hermit.”
Gerard stares at him.
“Not to mention Brian. He'd probably cry.”
Frank doesn't think Brian will mind the lie. Partial lie. Whatever. He knows Brian would cry, even if they'd be tears of frustration.
Gerard snorts, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of Frank's shirt. “I'd send postcards.”
He would too, the dumbass.
“I know.” Frank squeezes Gerard's hip, eyebrows going up when Gerard goes really, really still.
Mouth curving into a faint smile, Frank inches closer. He can feel how still Gerard's holding himself, barely breathing. He's watching Frank with this look on his face Frank's never really been able to figure out until now.
“Um.”
Frank fans his fingers out, sneaking his thumb under the layers of flannel Gerard's wearing to get to warm skin. “Shhh,” he whispers, smile widening as he leans in, “I'm exploring.”
"So this is your idea of a mid-life crisis?"
Most people buy flashy sports cars or motorcycles. If they're really hurting, they find a young, pretty thing to hang off their arm, but not Gerard. Oh, no.
Gerard practices being a hermit.
"Shut up, Frank," Gerard mutters, staring at the mess he's made of the tent. "This shouldn't be that hard."
Frank's no expert, but he definitely thinks Gerard has a point. People shouldn't need an engineering degree to set up a stupid tent, since it's vital for survival in the great outdoors and everything.
Gerard puts his hands on his hips, like that will actually help, and stomps around the pathetic pile of tent in the center of the clearing. Frank tugs on the drawstrings of his hoodie and tries to find a spot to sit without having rocks digging into his ass.
"Not to be a voice of doom or anything," Frank says when Gerard continues to glare at the tent, "but it's getting dark, and I really don't want to go out by being eaten by a bear or a flock of rabid mooses."
"Meese," Gerard corrects absently. He's smiling a little though, eyes flicking up to meet Frank's for a moment. "And fuck you, I'm not having a mid-life crisis. I just. I never really did the camping thing before."
Yeah, okay. Frank's really not sure what the plural of moose is, but it isn't as important as trying to figure out why the hell Gerard has to pick now, of all times, to indulge his desire to become one with nature. Well, that and trying to figure out why he'd felt the need to drag Frank along with him.
Gerard had shown up at Frank's place earlier that day with Starbucks and that look on his face that was a mix of earnest, dorky, and lame, and asked Frank is he had any plans for the weekend.
It might have been a lapse in judgment, or the fact that Frank was still half-asleep, but somehow he found himself agreeing that yeah, hey, nature was really fucking awesome and it would be a terrific idea to go explore its many wonders right the hell now.
Almost half a day later and he's watching Gerard fighting with a tent on the side of a godforsaken mountain with no real idea what he's doing there.
Except.
He's watching Gerard fighting with a tent and thinks it's not only hilarious, but also a tiny bit -
“What the hell?”
“I know,” Gerard says, kneeling next to the tent-thing and poking it with a stick he found somewhere. “I think it's a lost cause. Maybe we should call Bob or something. He probably knows how to put a tent up.”
It's a little hilarious the way Gerard and Mikey seem to think Bob is the expert on manly things because he's the only one in the band who can grow respectable facial hair.
“No.” Frank puts too much emphasis on it because it brings Gerard around to stare at him in confusion.
“No,” Gerard says slowly, pointing at the tent. The asshole's moving carefully, trying not to startle Frank like he's a wild animal or something. “I'm pretty sure it's dead.”
Rolling his eyes, Frank pushes himself to his knees and makes his way over to Gerard. “You're such an asshole.”
“Okay,” Gerard says, frowning. “I. What?”
The thing about Gerard is that he has all these brilliant ideas - he's really fucking amazing in general - but he fails miserably at having recognizable social skills.
“I kind of want to kick your ass.” Frank really does.
Gerard shuffles back a little.
“Asshole.”
Gerard shrugs.
Frank rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Come here, fucker.”
Gerard cocks his head to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Smooth.”
And, yeah, okay.
“No, really,” Frank says, grabbing the front of Gerard's shirt to yank him closer. “Come here.”
Gerard flails for balance, arms windmilling until Frank lets go of his shirt and places his hands on Gerard's hips to steady him. After a moment, Gerard's hands settle uncertainly on Frank's shoulders.
“So.” Gerard laughs a little nervously. “It's great out here, huh?”
“You should probably know,” Frank says seriously, making sure Gerard's eyes are on him, “it would break Bob's heart if you became a hermit.”
Gerard stares at him.
“Not to mention Brian. He'd probably cry.”
Frank doesn't think Brian will mind the lie. Partial lie. Whatever. He knows Brian would cry, even if they'd be tears of frustration.
Gerard snorts, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of Frank's shirt. “I'd send postcards.”
He would too, the dumbass.
“I know.” Frank squeezes Gerard's hip, eyebrows going up when Gerard goes really, really still.
Mouth curving into a faint smile, Frank inches closer. He can feel how still Gerard's holding himself, barely breathing. He's watching Frank with this look on his face Frank's never really been able to figure out until now.
“Um.”
Frank fans his fingers out, sneaking his thumb under the layers of flannel Gerard's wearing to get to warm skin. “Shhh,” he whispers, smile widening as he leans in, “I'm exploring.”