Preaching to Sinners on the End of the World (5/?) Part 2
Title: Preaching to Sinners on the End of the World (5/?) Part 2
Author: lalaljay
Pairing: outcast!self-conscious!Frank/popular!Gerard
Rating: Mature/NC-17ish
Warning: Language (if that even counts), Brief conversation about suicide (don't worry I don't kill anyone off), the things NC-17 would have you assume
Disclaimer: I've never bought a group of people because slavery is bad
******
If someone were running a poll on Worst Ways To Be Woken Up, Gerard’s mode of operating would be at the top of the list for successfully making Frank think he was being kidnapped, which would have been ironic, had irony been able to shine in between the HOLY SHIT NO, NOT ME-internal dialogue. There was a gasping moment of fear, and Frank knocked the (thankfully closed) tub of ice cream to the ground in midst of his panic.
Gerard’s hands pulled away from where they were tight on Frank’s shoulders, the cold of his overheated palms still stung on through his shirt.
“Hey, Frank?” His whisper was harsh with the obvious smell of alcohol.
Frank batted away at Gerard’s hands and tried to open his eyes against the bright lights. “What do you want?” Rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyelids, Frank got tiny glimpses of Mikey on the couch, passed out in front of the TV, the controller still clutched in his fist. Abrupt panic over, all Frank could see was Gerard and his flushed face perched above him.
Without even first solving the riddle as to what he wanted, Gerard and his over eagerness kissed Frank, and the first wave of bitter alcohol punched Frank awake. “Wanted to say thank you.” He swayed forward and propped his arm against the seat so he wouldn’t fall. “So… thank you.”
All Frank knew of people when they were drunk was from watching his relatives at Christmas time, and they were loud and overly touchy - always somehow remembering how much they absolutely had to hug Frank; but Gerard was just…Gerard, in slow motion.
“That’s really awesome, look, I’m going to go back to sleep now.”
“Wait, I want to talk.” In a seemingly counterproductive effort, Gerard rid the already lacking space between Frank’s mouth and his, subduing Frank’s senses in the taste of a toppled liquor cabinet. Gerard’s clammy hands stayed digging into the chair, and he not so elegantly pushed Frank’s mouth open with his. Even though his hands were frozen from the outside temperature, his lips were warm, kind of chapped, but still comforting. The fact that Mikey was asleep four or five feet away didn’t register until Frank consciously thought about how much he didn’t care that Mikey was asleep four or five feet away. After that, and only when it came to the point where Frank wasn’t quite so sure he could breathe anymore, he pulled backwards. Gerard, huffing out of breath, continued, “Can’t do that when you’re asleep, you know?”
Talking was also impossible when he was excavating Frank’s tonsils, but, hey, at least even when tipsy, Gerard had the general grip on critical thinking skills.
“That’s true, but I’m really tired.” Frank then took his jacket off and wrapped it into a makeshift pillow for his head.
Gerard laughed way too loudly for having his little brother lying right there next to them. “I know but-.” He swayed. “-I drove all the way home, and since you’re here, you can’t just go to sleep now.”
Now, if Frank had been a public service announcement or the “guiding mentor” he told Mikey that he was, this would be the point in which he would stand up, chest puffed out, and preach the dangers of drunk driving while In the Arms Of An Angel serenaded him in the background. During the story, he would have chastised Gerard for a bit, maybe even stick in a metaphor about slippery slopes and other bullshit that didn’t really effect after the fact. The hero would be made, and the credits would roll. Despite that want though, Frank was not that PSA, and he’d just have to save Sarah McLachlan for another day.
Gerard seemed readily expecting the entire scene, though. “Don’t worry, I’m not - I’m not, not drunk. I’m not drunk.” Nothing said complete clear headedness like constantly stuttering over oneself to repeat the claim. “I’m just happy.”
“Fantastic.” Frank muttered as he closed his eyes.
It seemed there was a greater prophecy out there for Frank that entailed that, in no way was he allowed to go back to sleep, and thank the heavens that Gerard was there to shake Frank every fucking time he dared go against the planned route. “The party was really, really nice. Wish you were there. But you’re here, so that’s fine too.”
There had to be some unwritten rule that a person couldn’t hurt someone who was inebriated, and so Frank abided by that, despite how easily it’d be and how badly he wanted to kick Gerard in the throat.
“That’s totally, fucking awesome,” Frank spat a bit too loudly, and Mikey twitched in his state of near catatonia. “Really, like, that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ow, ow, look at all that passive aggression hidden around the corners.
Gerard put his forehead against Frank’s. “You mad at me?” and of course he’d sound like a kicked puppy that wanted nothing more than acceptance from its adoptive owner. Bastard.
“No-.” Because Frank wasn’t. “-You’re just an annoying drunk.”
He shook his head, which wasn’t something Frank would have preferred when their faces were inches from each other, but he didn’t exactly mind - more of that exception to the rule stuff.
“Not drunk, remember? I’m as drunk as you are awake.” Gerard laughed, and Frank decided he was going to have to have a serious discussion with himself about why he liked his stupid laugh so much.
“Exactly, that’s why I’m going to go back to bed.” Well, couch. Frank was going to go back to couch and pray that, when Mikey slept, he was as light a sleeper as a lead anchor in calm seas. Take that, Gerard, Frank too could do relative, analogical games.
Gerard lowered his eyes and didn’t try to hide the small smile growing across the side of his mouth. “Then… come to my bed.”
Frank was about to kick Gerard away again, because why would Frank want to relocate? Honestly, that seemed useless. No, he did not want to move from his place. But then, Frank started thinking for a brief moment or two, and his throat kind of closed up.
Breathing. Breathing slid into spot #1 on the list of things Frank had clearly forgotten how to operate without round the clock, medical assistance. Breathing was tricky. Frank was willing to focus entirely on the efforts of his respiratory system for as long as was needed all in order to pretend he wasn’t being… fuck. What word to use? He didn’t want to say “propositioned” because, despite previous slip ups - Gerard was actually not a prostitute, and Frank wanted to keep the two thoughts as separate things in his mind. The bleeding together of those ideas became iffy when Frank was alone in his room at night. Still, unless this was the invitation to some young-adult sleepover, Frank would have to be deaf, dumb, and some other third thing that was escaping him at the moment, - he’d have to be all that to pretend that Gerard meant anything other than he said. Speaking of which, who actually said stuff like that? Frank looked around, trying to see if possibly there was some sign that said, reasonably, Gerard should practice his oh-so convincing attempts to get laid. Really, the only way Gerard could have been any more obvious would be if he painted SO WE SHOULD DO IT across the windshield of his car and then promptly ran Frank over.
Frank swallowed. The whole “Do I say okay,” shit may have flown fine when it was just kissing Gerard (respectfully, at the time, that also seemed like a blatant offer for the most awesome thing in the world), but he kind thought that when and if this happened, it would be in the moment, not…whatever this was.
Not that he was against the idea, though.
His lungs managed to function for a short second and puff out the general tone arrangement of the word “Sure,” and really, Frank was two for two on his goals of supreme sexual prowess.
Successfully having survived with the world record of most seconds past with actually believing he became paraplegic, Frank moved like a rag doll along with Gerard’s pull off the couch.
“Just follow me.” Gerard took Frank’s hand and walked with him through the room at a leisurely pace - probably to favor Gerard’s minor inability to follow straight lines.
Frank took a deep gasping breath before he suddenly died.
See, the thing as it was, was that Frank hadn’t exactly blinded himself from the possibility of having sex with Gerard. Actually, Frank really enjoyed the possibility, and had been wondering if there was a way for him to see just how in his favor the statistics were stacked for the possibility happening. The glorious difference between reality versus fantasy was that in the fictional land of Frank’s thoughts: it just happened. There wasn’t any lead up -in Frank’s mind, sex was off, and then sex was on, wham bam fireworks and the like. It never registered in Frank’s mind that there was a strong possibility that, when it did happen, they’d actually have to make progress from not having sex into the opposite. It also never registered that when it happened, Frank would be dressed like a homeless, teen runaway, struggling to move because his insides were being dismantled by the pipe bomb of Holy Shit It’s Actually Happening. There’d been other times where Frank was pretty sure that it’d been “actually happening” more than once, but then, for one reason or another, it would fall through. Frank usually guessed it was because of his nerves, but the nerves weren’t there this time, and that’s probably what made him agree the most.
Gerard turned around, hand still on Frank’s, and gave a small smile. “Are you okay?”
Unless, possibly, the nerves were written all over his face instead of in his body.
“I think I’m getting car sick.” On his feet. Clearly, Frank was the motion sickness connoisseur, carrying his talents from the automobile and onto pedestrian laden land.
Carsickness usually led to nausea, but Gerard took the risk and pulled Frank towards him, lightly pressing their lips together. How nice. “It’s going to be alright, don’t worry.”
If ever asked, Frank would probably shrug if someone questioned whether there was some deep, inner pondering as to why now was the time for Now. Did anyone think of it like that, anyway? Were there people out there that had it mapped out to a T when they wanted to push that final barrier with someone else? That seemed stupid, if Frank were honest. It put too much pressure, he was already filled with regret for dressing like a snowed out for the season drug dealer, he didn’t want to have a running thought for 24 hours that on the X day of the X month he’d sleep with someone. You have sex with people you like, right? Frank liked Gerard. And Gerard, well, hmm, that wasn’t important; it was complicated. No time for questions - Frank could and would be spontaneous. So there wasn’t any specific reason as to why he decided that, at probably 12am, with Gerard being the way he was and all that mess, that he wanted to go ahead and jump the gun. Or, like, the dick, if he were trying to be funny and not partially hyperventilating in the most unsexy way he could manage. But, besides, any specifics Frank could form on an imitation Pros/Cons list would fall apart when he remembered that not-touching Gerard was a con all its own, and then they’d start kissing again, and it’d all go to hell. Don’t think, just do; Frank grinned a little, because that task was so easy when Gerard was running around existing looking as good as he did.
One thing that Frank quickly grasped was that making out with someone on a staircase when he had to stand on his toes and Gerard stumbled with every backwards movement was as difficult in execution as it sounded in theory - so if anyone ever says the only lessons learned are in classrooms, they can promptly go fuck themselves.
Once the apparent 20 additional flights of stairs that had been added overnight were conquered and Frank stopped biting too harshly on Gerard’s lip every time “Why are there so many square fucking edges” happened, finally Gerard’s bedroom door decided to make its starring appearance. There was a battle over which would gain monopoly - the side of Frank that was his stomach bottoming out, and the side that wanted to undress Gerard in the doorway and get it over with already. The moonlight came in through the parted blinds and gave tiny glimpses of Gerard’s ever so recognizable room strewn with clothes, and it was just the needed amount of normality to keep Frank aware he was still on solid ground, not floating through a dream.
He swallowed the clump of spit that was building in his throat. “Can we sit?” Not only an active push of momentum, but also some solace for Frank, who was thudding against the closed bedroom door each time he rutted forward and Gerard’s hands on his hips pushed him back. The whole grinding up and gasping out each time Gerard’s hands tightened on his hips situation was too much of a subliminal message for Frank’s fragile, I Refuse to Come in My Pants This Early resolution.
Gerard nodded, or said something, or barked - all things Frank wouldn’t have noticed as they waded through the whirlpool of clothes on the ground that joined in a conspiratorial effort to assure Frank never got laid ever.
A very, very intense conspiracy, that apparently enlisted the work of Frank’s foot getting caught around a pair of pants and a hanger, sending him plummeting into the mattress.
“Son of a bitch!” Was the profound, masculine statement Frank gave to make up for his face that felt like it was turning red enough to be noticed in darkness. Saving face by rolling over wasn’t helped by Gerard crawling over him and laughing that chipper, rose colored glasses and teletubbies type laugh. “Shut up.” Frank was very sensitive about his face plants.
Gerard put his hand over his mouth. “It was funny, I laugh at funny things.”
Frank narrowly escaped a concussion, probably, and if Gerard wasn’t going to give a helpful medical analysis, he didn’t want to hear it. To enforce this, his hand clasped Gerard’s collar and brought him closer. There was a brief moment where Gerard almost toppled over on Frank, and Gerard blindly searched for something to grab, so Frank offered up his other hand that was hanging by his head. Frank didn’t understand why people didn’t hold hands all the time and go entirely through life with hands interlocked with another person’s. The idea of anything otherwise seemed insane to him.
He tightened his grip, not on purpose; it was more of a subconscious want.
Doing anything besides being exactly where he was right then, where he kissed slowly, Gerard kissed fully, and everything made sense, just seemed otherworldly. He moved forward, Gerard moved back; he moved up, Gerard moved down, and the song of Gerard’s low breathing seemed the perfectly placed theme to Frank’s racing thoughts.
Frank loosened the needing pull that was stretching out Gerard’s shirt collar, softened it to run his fingertips down the side of his neck and the skin that heated up the pads of Frank’s fingers with every square inch he moved down. The kiss was going to shit, Frank knew it, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“You’re so gorgeous.” Though there wasn’t any light, Frank could feel Gerard staring directly into his eyes as he said it. Though there wasn’t any light…Frank just knew.
Frank bit his lip and looked away before he said something, too much of something, and wouldn’t be able to take it back. “You can barely see anything right now,” he spoke to the ceiling.
There was a moment of unmoving quiet, and it was filled with Gerard’s unsteady hand dancing along with Frank’s, them lying there against each other, and Gerard, thankfully, broke the moment before Frank could start overthinking. His mouth moved down from Frank’s cheek in airy motions, then trailed down the side of his neck before catching in the skin by his shirt collar. Really, Frank would have been fine with that, and his falling in ice-water gasping attempts for air showed that, but what he wasn’t particularly riveted by was the progressive rise of his tee shirt from where it was covering his torso.
The thing was, Frank wasn’t fat per say, however, his beach ready body was on vacation to a snow covered, 3rd World country, and in its absence, Frank showed his respects by not being torso-naked in front of other people. Gym class posed a hell of a competition to the attempts, but Frank prevailed. And would continue to prevail.
He pushed Gerard’s hands from where they were making the shirt ride up. “I - I’m fine with it on.” He was so stupid for not having guessed that not wearing his shirt would be a minor part of being naked, he was so fucking stupid, he couldn’t even see straight.
“But-.” Gerard would sound fucking crushed. “-I want to see you.”
That’s nice for him, Frank supposed.
“You can barely see anything right now,” Frank reaffirmed, this time less dazed and bashful.
Gerard’s dimly lit silhouette shrugged and eased forward. “Yeah, but, I can like… feel you, and that’s almost good enough. Bet you feel amazing.”
Scooting backwards on the bed, Frank had enough room to shuffle his knees to his chest. There were big differences between touch and sight, and Frank was so incredibly dumb for letting other people get to him to the point where he apparently couldn’t handle taking his goddamn shirt off. What did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t at all. Except for in the parts of his head that assumed it did. On his gravestone, they would have to inscribe “Loving son: eternal virgin and little bitch,” so all the ghosts knew what type of person Frank truly had been.
“Hey, hey don’t worry, I’m not - I just - I like you, Frank. You can trust me.”
Stupid, nervous, self-conscious awkwardness. Frank shook his head. He trusted Gerard…he was pretty sure, no, he was positive he did; he had to by now, at least. But still, he shook his head.
Gerard kneeled on the bed and worked his way forward over to Frank, and even though Frank was being whatever, he wasn’t going to carry his shyness over and cringe away from the soft way Gerard kissed his cheek. Frank’s hands around his knees loosened to go to Gerard’s hair and redirect his lips to more important territory - such as his mouth. In a déjà vu event, Gerard’s hands fluttered against the hem of Frank’s shitty, faded tee shirt, but only skimmed it. It didn’t matter to Frank, it didn’t matter to Gerard - it was over and done with. Maybe tomorrow, Frank would get to the bottom of his totally inopportune issues, but tomorrow wasn’t right now, and right now wasn’t about his fucking self-esteem. Right now, Frank was happy with Gerard, and that was that.
Having silently given up his cause, Gerard moved his hands down to Frank’s waistband, which Frank could deal with.
Though it might have been seen as minor hypocrisy, the reason that Frank was quick to go and unbutton Gerard’s shirt was because A. the amount of clothing obstructing Frank’s justice was at an all-time high, an B. Frank liked enough of Gerard that he wanted to see more. His hair, his smile, yeah, the more Gerard the better. It was enough of an end that Frank was fine with the means of fighting with Gerard’s tiny labyrinths of shirt buttons all in order to get it open. When Frank distractedly ran his hand on the rosary still around Gerard’s neck, Gerard completely skewed Frank’s plans and threw his hand down Frank’s baggy jeans without any just warning. Not that Frank was upset, or complaining, or doing anything besides actually biting on his hand in order to hide the fish-out-of-water faces he was making. At some point, Frank would need to find out what type of hand lotion or soap Gerard used; because when Frank jerked off, in no way did it feel as if angel feathers and lilac sheets came united for the single cause of stroking his dick and making his eyes roll backwards. He couldn’t exactly bring up the discussion on domestic goods at the moment, since he was having a hard time remembering that up was still a direction and that there might exist things more important than Gerard’s achingly perfect hand. The only thing Frank could configure as more important than the fact he was ruining his boxers was the point that his pants were still on. That needed to cease, like, a yesterday ago.
Frank’s face turned pink as he pushed away, but in the dark, he may not have appeared to resemble a tomato. “I just, I, uhm, my mom does my laundry.” Classy. Oh god, so, oh so classy.
Frank didn’t have enough muscle strength to do anything big such as move himself from where he had sprawled across the bed, but he acquired the adrenaline burst of sanity to shuffle side to side until pants…gone. Sanctity found. It wasn’t as graceful, or smooth, or quick as Frank implied, however, and he might of, possibly, kicked Gerard in the stomach while trying to jailbreak his immediate hell, and perchance, on a day of complete hypotheticals, Frank may have internally shouted “Hallelujah” once he was stripped down to his boxers.
“Fucking hell, Frank,” Gerard groaned as he careened over, because he was a pussy and couldn’t handle a light, little, flailing nudge. “Shut up,” he said to Frank’s giggle.
“It was funny,” Frank tried to match Gerard’s voice in order for him to see the truth of his prior ass-hattery. “I laugh at funny things, Gerard. Ha ha, ho ho, physical comedy.”
Bright side: Frank, in his own… special sort of way, gave the thumbs up for more nudity, and as much as Frank knew about sex (falling asleep in front of Cinemax by accident), or just what Frank knew about this, was that he was very, very, pro nudity. Maybe not from himself, exactly, but he was an avid endorser of all those that wished to partake in the event.
Gerard dropped his hands from where they were nursing himself and glided through the space that had grown from Frank’s rolling, flailing episode. Just as Frank was caught up in the thoughts of how despite being drunk, Gerard was like a smoothly rolling river of sex, or something, Frank’s mouth pressed out a surprised “Oh.” As in, oh, as his boxers found themselves amongst the other clothes on Gerard’s floor; Oh, so that’s what Frank’s dick looks like when in the presence of other parties. Oh, because Gerard was staring at him as if Frank was not just Frank, but also the Webster Definition of desirable. Most importantly, Oh, because what the hell was this, why was Frank being turned over.
There were so many options, one being: Frank could run. Frank could run and actually jump from the window, hard on and all, and try his luck at living in Canada. Canada was lovely this time of year; Canada was beautiful at all times, at least according to all those pop up ads that showed up between Youtube videos. Canada was exactly the best place that was not where Frank would be lying, pliant, with the full knowledge that there was a reason Gerard was rummaging through his side table.
“Uh,” because that’s how all sentences should be required to begin when the speaker’s bare ass is in the air. “We could totally not do exactly that.”
Fumble, fumble, fumble, brief muttering noise about his own poor balance and about his stuff hiding from him, and then Gerard jumped back into the real world. “Yeah,” but it wasn’t yeah. It was more of a “Yeah,” squeezed in between a barking laugh. “Yeah, no, have you ever done this before? Nope, nope, nope, it hurts like a bitch.”
Only then did it rumble in Frank’s tiny mind that Gerard was not just a not-virgin, but at one point he‘d actually had sex with another person, and that the someone else had put him in this position. Figurative position, not, fuck. Frank shook his head in hope to reclaim the part of him that wasn’t this narrowly dick oriented. Anyway, it was someone, and after that, maybe even someoneS, given that it was Gerard’s senior year and all. Oh, what was that, unneeded and undeserved jealousy? Aah yes, you can quiet down.
When Gerard got in place behind Frank, there was a tearing noise before a price tag fell by Frank’s hand ($4.95, cue the “L’Oreal -because you’re worth it”), and then Gerard took a slow breath.
“Don’t freak out, just, trust me.”
Wait, trust Gerard in general, or trust Gerard that freaking out would be a bad idea? Why were there so many loose ends; why didn’t Gerard talk in complete sentences and clauses? Frank fucking hated this, and he didn’t know why he’d gotten so worked up over all something so-.
Hmm.
That was different.
Frank closed his eyes and began a deep, analytical count backwards from 300 by 3s, and then when counting became impossible because of Gerard’s finger INSIDE OF HIS BODY, Frank’s eyes blew open and he began counting the panels made by the strips of light in the window. What exactly were they supposed to do during this fun intermission between Frank completely comfortable with getting off, and the actual sex part where sex happened? Were they supposed to have a conversation? Frank was kind of caught up in calming down so that his body didn’t reject Gerard’s mother fucking pointer finger like it was a bad kidney, and Gerard was also caught up in, well, someone had to own the aforementioned pointer finger. Even though Frank’s mind said that this was horribly uncomfortable, Frank’s dick was apparently light years forward into an alternative universe that construed this into enjoyment.
“Calm the fuck down.” Frank’s happy-happy-joy-joy penis made the statement come out panted and tortured, unlike panting out of fear from the torture of Gerard adding another finger into a body part that, clearly, was not designed for that. In a complete game change, when Gerard crooked back his finger and Frank was prepared to redirect them to the previous statement, Frank’s mind blacked out for a moment long enough to make him forget that he’d even been speaking.
Gerard laughed, and had Frank’s arms not been under his forehead from sheer embarrassment over his reaction to the borderline colonoscopy - he would have kicked him again. Maybe not even in the stomach. Maybe if Frank tried the absolute hardest that those elementary school participation medals in his closet implied, he could get a bull’s-eye on Gerard’s dick, and then they would be equal. The possibility of Gerard experiencing infertility was almost, if not equal, to Frank being leaned over like a suspicious flight passenger being searched for smuggled drugs. Except at the airport, Frank wasn’t grinding his teeth because he wasn’t sure if he was going to yell or moan, and he really wanted to be on board with one choice before he attempted anything. It didn’t hurt, but Frank wouldn’t put it on his top ten list of things to do. As if to mock him, Gerard curled his finger back again, and Frank heard a helium balloon deflating - oh wait, no, that sound came from his mouth.
“Can we, uh, like… progress past this part, please?” Preferably, before Frank’s mind turned inside out or whatever was being planned. He ducked his head low when an electric type buzz ran through his body.
Gerard made a low sound, and worked his opposite hand through the rippling in Frank’s shirt. “Mhm, just, hold on.”
Hold on was apparently code for seeing how long Frank could hold off, and though Frank thought it’d be inconsiderate to rub himself off on Gerard’s bed sheet -he felt he deserved it when Gerard was putting him through this exotic type of torture. Franklin I. was not going to come before actually having sex, so take that, Gerard. Except that idea was becoming very fleeting, so Frank reached back and tapped out on Gerard’s arm like this was WWE wrestling and not something, respectfully, about equally as gay.
Finally, Gerard bestowed mercy, and Frank, obviously, didn’t make a whining noise when Gerard pulled his fingers back - because that would be silly. There was a crinkling, foil sound that Frank didn’t care about; seriously, if the fucking world collapsed right then, Frank wouldn’t care, because his skin was crawling with heat but trapped in the cotton blend, polyester piece of shit he was still wearing for a reason he couldn’t remember anymore.
“Just relax-.”
Frank snapped, “I’m a fucking Buddha right now, I’m so relaxed.” Nerves were nice; Frank could never have enough nerves. Jesus, his dick was in actual, physical pain, right now. He’d appreciate if it could just choose a side already.
There wasn’t any more talking for a slight couple of seconds, instead, the moments passed with a grey film passing across Frank’s eyes in response to Gerard’s dick pressing inside of him. The feeling was…not pain, but definitely not the Six Flags ride he had expected. Frank couldn’t cover his face more if he tried, thank goodness he was turned around; this was, like, what the fuck was happening? Who decided this was a good idea, and why wasn’t Frank brought in as a counter witness to that terrible thought? He couldn’t tell if this was hilarious or tragically disappointing - both were great possibilities. Gerard let out a gasping breath, and Frank couldn’t help it, he could not fucking stop how hard he started laughing.
It was the type of laugh given during parent-teacher conferences when it turned out Frank got another C in math; it was the type of laugh that apparently worked when Frank didn’t know what he was supposed to do about having a dick in his ass. It was so not funny that it was hilarious.
Gerard stopped moving, and that made Frank laugh even harder, because if someone walked in, they would see Frank shuddering with laughter with Gerard draped over him. This was insane; Frank should have stayed home and knit a parka for rescue dogs - at least that would have seemed productive
“Why are you laughing?” he seemed startled, and why wouldn’t he be? Frank was actually giggling because of anal.
“I have no idea!” Frank would have tipped over laughing had Gerard not been keeping him up because his dick was inside of him. Frank was almost shaking, this was the most terrible, funniest moment ever - Frank really hoped that at his funeral, someone brought this up.
Right when Frank decided that this sex hoopla was stupid, and that he’d be better off joining a convent where he could preach the word of how terrible it was, Gerard moved in some mystical, unknown way that Frank didn’t know existed, and Frank shut up fast. So, so fast. His mouth was still hanging open, but for entirely different reasons, and he couldn’t understand why the room had become so much warmer unless they’d gravitated towards the sun.
Frank reached one hand out and grabbed at the sheets, - nope, they were still on the ground. He tightened his jaw and tried to compose what exactly happened without requesting it happen again, which proved to be extremely difficult when Gerard went ahead and did it anyway. It was such a, a - it was, uhm, shit, it definitely was something that Frank would remember at a later hour. The hair on his face and the air in the room all seemed too heavy, and Frank’s eyes were tightly shut. If he let himself believe, it was just them. He, Gerard - nothing and absolutely no one else existed.
Fuck, he couldn’t think straight.
Gerard was moving slowly, just rocking in and out at a pace that closely matched half of Frank’s current heartbeat, but Frank made himself kneel in a wider stance, as if covering more area would claim back the air he was unable to intake. There was the skittering of Gerard’s hands up from where they would clench in Frank’s shirt, traveling beneath the fabric shortly and then retreating, as if afraid that Frank would curl into a self-esteem lacking ball of tears in the corner, and then finally finding their place on Frank’s hipbones. Frank liked that; it felt more natural, if that made sense.
“Shit,” Frank coughed/wheezed/moaned. He worked his hand below himself and reached for the neglected case that was his dick before he died or passed out. Whatever prior epiphany Frank had about sex was so misinformed and incorrect that he almost didn’t know who the guy was that thought that up. His dreams of becoming a celibate priest were crushed - the second Frank turned 18, he was going to drop out of school, become a porn star, and do this all the time, because sex was the best thing to happen to this cruel world, and everyone should do it. Maybe when Frank became a porn star, he’d learn the tricks of the trade on what to do when he was beyond gone and needed to take care of the issue, because it was imminent that he was going to come, but where begged the question. Know what, screw Gerard’s bed; Gerard owned detergent and a working washer, he knew how to clean his sheets, Frank could feel sweat laying his hair across his forehead like a winter blanket -this was important. He rushed his hand faster, bucking backwards to get more room for his fist.
Unlike the time in the field, Frank did not sound like a giggling animal in the forest when he came, but then again he didn’t hear much, his head went blacker than he suspected possible in a mainly pitch black room, and the static noise of a television was all that filled his ears. The hand that was coated grabbed at the bed when Gerard sped up, and Frank couldn’t tell if this was all an elaborate ruse and he’d wake up, find out that none of this ever happened, he was actually dead, and was actually never born, the end. He’d be fine with that, he really would be.
After the surprise burst of movement, Gerard’s heavy breathing and low groaning slowed down to near stoicism, and then there was that passing time of silence again. It prolonged, lasted through the time for Gerard to pull out, and for Frank to turn over once he remembered he had full use of his legs, but it was the comfortable silence that Frank didn’t believe existed between most people. The light from outside was still peeking through the window, and it shined against Gerard’s body and his pushed back hair, and Frank found that there wasn’t much he could do except for be positively smitten.
“You should kiss me.” It was so juvenile and stupid, but in Frank’s still swirling head, coming from his chest that was still trying to calm down its breaths - it was the only thing that made sense.
“I should.” See, Frank had great ideas. Gerard stretched himself across Frank and slowly pressed his mouth against his, and Frank tried his absolute hardest not to smile again. He didn’t want to ruin it like that. Holding back on the impulse, his hands moved in slow swipes down Gerard’s body. The barrier of Frank’s tee shirt was obnoxious, but it was irrelevant when he ran his hand down Gerard’s collarbones and his chest, the small beading of the necklace rolling against his fingers. Even when Gerard rolled them over in the direction of the pillows on the bed, it took an immeasurably long seeming chunk of time for Frank to remotely remember that sleep existed and he couldn’t just kiss Gerard until the Jaws of Life ripped him away.
“I’m… I’m going to sleep here tonight, if that’s okay,” he had to ask - he was still a guest despite having done it with the host.
Gerard snorted a little, rolled his eyes.
“Do you not want me to?” Frank deserved to be a little offended, he had just done it with the host, after all.
“No, I just didn’t expect you to go anywhere else.”
Frank couldn’t tell if he wanted to hit him or kiss him again, so he kissed Gerard’s forehead and dropped himself off on one of the pillows. When he got comfortable, Frank found that his arm was across Gerard’s stomach, and since it didn’t seem to be a problem, he didn’t move it.
As time progressed and Gerard’s breathing got slower -probably fell asleep- Frank turned over and vase behind Gerard’s side table lamp caught his eye. Since he wasn’t tired, he thought it’d be more like a public service if he used the rest of his awake state to do Gerard a favor. It wasn’t difficult, just a quick pluck, pluck, pluck, and he dropped the petals of the carnations into Gerard’s drawer. It was a possible argument that that was one of the best parts of Frank’s night. It was a clearing feeling, a more solidifying feeling.
Slight insanity finished, Frank quietly scooted himself so that his hand could go back around Gerard’s waist and his head would be against the nape of his neck. He grabbed a kicked at sheet and threw it across them, then closed his eyes. Gerard was kind of sweaty, he sort of smelled like spilled cheap scotch, sex, and other words that probably began with S, but even in near pitch-blackness, Frank felt himself beaming.
(Next)
Author: lalaljay
Pairing: outcast!self-conscious!Frank/popular!Gerard
Rating: Mature/NC-17ish
Warning: Language (if that even counts), Brief conversation about suicide (don't worry I don't kill anyone off), the things NC-17 would have you assume
Disclaimer: I've never bought a group of people because slavery is bad
******
If someone were running a poll on Worst Ways To Be Woken Up, Gerard’s mode of operating would be at the top of the list for successfully making Frank think he was being kidnapped, which would have been ironic, had irony been able to shine in between the HOLY SHIT NO, NOT ME-internal dialogue. There was a gasping moment of fear, and Frank knocked the (thankfully closed) tub of ice cream to the ground in midst of his panic.
Gerard’s hands pulled away from where they were tight on Frank’s shoulders, the cold of his overheated palms still stung on through his shirt.
“Hey, Frank?” His whisper was harsh with the obvious smell of alcohol.
Frank batted away at Gerard’s hands and tried to open his eyes against the bright lights. “What do you want?” Rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyelids, Frank got tiny glimpses of Mikey on the couch, passed out in front of the TV, the controller still clutched in his fist. Abrupt panic over, all Frank could see was Gerard and his flushed face perched above him.
Without even first solving the riddle as to what he wanted, Gerard and his over eagerness kissed Frank, and the first wave of bitter alcohol punched Frank awake. “Wanted to say thank you.” He swayed forward and propped his arm against the seat so he wouldn’t fall. “So… thank you.”
All Frank knew of people when they were drunk was from watching his relatives at Christmas time, and they were loud and overly touchy - always somehow remembering how much they absolutely had to hug Frank; but Gerard was just…Gerard, in slow motion.
“That’s really awesome, look, I’m going to go back to sleep now.”
“Wait, I want to talk.” In a seemingly counterproductive effort, Gerard rid the already lacking space between Frank’s mouth and his, subduing Frank’s senses in the taste of a toppled liquor cabinet. Gerard’s clammy hands stayed digging into the chair, and he not so elegantly pushed Frank’s mouth open with his. Even though his hands were frozen from the outside temperature, his lips were warm, kind of chapped, but still comforting. The fact that Mikey was asleep four or five feet away didn’t register until Frank consciously thought about how much he didn’t care that Mikey was asleep four or five feet away. After that, and only when it came to the point where Frank wasn’t quite so sure he could breathe anymore, he pulled backwards. Gerard, huffing out of breath, continued, “Can’t do that when you’re asleep, you know?”
Talking was also impossible when he was excavating Frank’s tonsils, but, hey, at least even when tipsy, Gerard had the general grip on critical thinking skills.
“That’s true, but I’m really tired.” Frank then took his jacket off and wrapped it into a makeshift pillow for his head.
Gerard laughed way too loudly for having his little brother lying right there next to them. “I know but-.” He swayed. “-I drove all the way home, and since you’re here, you can’t just go to sleep now.”
Now, if Frank had been a public service announcement or the “guiding mentor” he told Mikey that he was, this would be the point in which he would stand up, chest puffed out, and preach the dangers of drunk driving while In the Arms Of An Angel serenaded him in the background. During the story, he would have chastised Gerard for a bit, maybe even stick in a metaphor about slippery slopes and other bullshit that didn’t really effect after the fact. The hero would be made, and the credits would roll. Despite that want though, Frank was not that PSA, and he’d just have to save Sarah McLachlan for another day.
Gerard seemed readily expecting the entire scene, though. “Don’t worry, I’m not - I’m not, not drunk. I’m not drunk.” Nothing said complete clear headedness like constantly stuttering over oneself to repeat the claim. “I’m just happy.”
“Fantastic.” Frank muttered as he closed his eyes.
It seemed there was a greater prophecy out there for Frank that entailed that, in no way was he allowed to go back to sleep, and thank the heavens that Gerard was there to shake Frank every fucking time he dared go against the planned route. “The party was really, really nice. Wish you were there. But you’re here, so that’s fine too.”
There had to be some unwritten rule that a person couldn’t hurt someone who was inebriated, and so Frank abided by that, despite how easily it’d be and how badly he wanted to kick Gerard in the throat.
“That’s totally, fucking awesome,” Frank spat a bit too loudly, and Mikey twitched in his state of near catatonia. “Really, like, that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ow, ow, look at all that passive aggression hidden around the corners.
Gerard put his forehead against Frank’s. “You mad at me?” and of course he’d sound like a kicked puppy that wanted nothing more than acceptance from its adoptive owner. Bastard.
“No-.” Because Frank wasn’t. “-You’re just an annoying drunk.”
He shook his head, which wasn’t something Frank would have preferred when their faces were inches from each other, but he didn’t exactly mind - more of that exception to the rule stuff.
“Not drunk, remember? I’m as drunk as you are awake.” Gerard laughed, and Frank decided he was going to have to have a serious discussion with himself about why he liked his stupid laugh so much.
“Exactly, that’s why I’m going to go back to bed.” Well, couch. Frank was going to go back to couch and pray that, when Mikey slept, he was as light a sleeper as a lead anchor in calm seas. Take that, Gerard, Frank too could do relative, analogical games.
Gerard lowered his eyes and didn’t try to hide the small smile growing across the side of his mouth. “Then… come to my bed.”
Frank was about to kick Gerard away again, because why would Frank want to relocate? Honestly, that seemed useless. No, he did not want to move from his place. But then, Frank started thinking for a brief moment or two, and his throat kind of closed up.
Breathing. Breathing slid into spot #1 on the list of things Frank had clearly forgotten how to operate without round the clock, medical assistance. Breathing was tricky. Frank was willing to focus entirely on the efforts of his respiratory system for as long as was needed all in order to pretend he wasn’t being… fuck. What word to use? He didn’t want to say “propositioned” because, despite previous slip ups - Gerard was actually not a prostitute, and Frank wanted to keep the two thoughts as separate things in his mind. The bleeding together of those ideas became iffy when Frank was alone in his room at night. Still, unless this was the invitation to some young-adult sleepover, Frank would have to be deaf, dumb, and some other third thing that was escaping him at the moment, - he’d have to be all that to pretend that Gerard meant anything other than he said. Speaking of which, who actually said stuff like that? Frank looked around, trying to see if possibly there was some sign that said, reasonably, Gerard should practice his oh-so convincing attempts to get laid. Really, the only way Gerard could have been any more obvious would be if he painted SO WE SHOULD DO IT across the windshield of his car and then promptly ran Frank over.
Frank swallowed. The whole “Do I say okay,” shit may have flown fine when it was just kissing Gerard (respectfully, at the time, that also seemed like a blatant offer for the most awesome thing in the world), but he kind thought that when and if this happened, it would be in the moment, not…whatever this was.
Not that he was against the idea, though.
His lungs managed to function for a short second and puff out the general tone arrangement of the word “Sure,” and really, Frank was two for two on his goals of supreme sexual prowess.
Successfully having survived with the world record of most seconds past with actually believing he became paraplegic, Frank moved like a rag doll along with Gerard’s pull off the couch.
“Just follow me.” Gerard took Frank’s hand and walked with him through the room at a leisurely pace - probably to favor Gerard’s minor inability to follow straight lines.
Frank took a deep gasping breath before he suddenly died.
See, the thing as it was, was that Frank hadn’t exactly blinded himself from the possibility of having sex with Gerard. Actually, Frank really enjoyed the possibility, and had been wondering if there was a way for him to see just how in his favor the statistics were stacked for the possibility happening. The glorious difference between reality versus fantasy was that in the fictional land of Frank’s thoughts: it just happened. There wasn’t any lead up -in Frank’s mind, sex was off, and then sex was on, wham bam fireworks and the like. It never registered in Frank’s mind that there was a strong possibility that, when it did happen, they’d actually have to make progress from not having sex into the opposite. It also never registered that when it happened, Frank would be dressed like a homeless, teen runaway, struggling to move because his insides were being dismantled by the pipe bomb of Holy Shit It’s Actually Happening. There’d been other times where Frank was pretty sure that it’d been “actually happening” more than once, but then, for one reason or another, it would fall through. Frank usually guessed it was because of his nerves, but the nerves weren’t there this time, and that’s probably what made him agree the most.
Gerard turned around, hand still on Frank’s, and gave a small smile. “Are you okay?”
Unless, possibly, the nerves were written all over his face instead of in his body.
“I think I’m getting car sick.” On his feet. Clearly, Frank was the motion sickness connoisseur, carrying his talents from the automobile and onto pedestrian laden land.
Carsickness usually led to nausea, but Gerard took the risk and pulled Frank towards him, lightly pressing their lips together. How nice. “It’s going to be alright, don’t worry.”
If ever asked, Frank would probably shrug if someone questioned whether there was some deep, inner pondering as to why now was the time for Now. Did anyone think of it like that, anyway? Were there people out there that had it mapped out to a T when they wanted to push that final barrier with someone else? That seemed stupid, if Frank were honest. It put too much pressure, he was already filled with regret for dressing like a snowed out for the season drug dealer, he didn’t want to have a running thought for 24 hours that on the X day of the X month he’d sleep with someone. You have sex with people you like, right? Frank liked Gerard. And Gerard, well, hmm, that wasn’t important; it was complicated. No time for questions - Frank could and would be spontaneous. So there wasn’t any specific reason as to why he decided that, at probably 12am, with Gerard being the way he was and all that mess, that he wanted to go ahead and jump the gun. Or, like, the dick, if he were trying to be funny and not partially hyperventilating in the most unsexy way he could manage. But, besides, any specifics Frank could form on an imitation Pros/Cons list would fall apart when he remembered that not-touching Gerard was a con all its own, and then they’d start kissing again, and it’d all go to hell. Don’t think, just do; Frank grinned a little, because that task was so easy when Gerard was running around existing looking as good as he did.
One thing that Frank quickly grasped was that making out with someone on a staircase when he had to stand on his toes and Gerard stumbled with every backwards movement was as difficult in execution as it sounded in theory - so if anyone ever says the only lessons learned are in classrooms, they can promptly go fuck themselves.
Once the apparent 20 additional flights of stairs that had been added overnight were conquered and Frank stopped biting too harshly on Gerard’s lip every time “Why are there so many square fucking edges” happened, finally Gerard’s bedroom door decided to make its starring appearance. There was a battle over which would gain monopoly - the side of Frank that was his stomach bottoming out, and the side that wanted to undress Gerard in the doorway and get it over with already. The moonlight came in through the parted blinds and gave tiny glimpses of Gerard’s ever so recognizable room strewn with clothes, and it was just the needed amount of normality to keep Frank aware he was still on solid ground, not floating through a dream.
He swallowed the clump of spit that was building in his throat. “Can we sit?” Not only an active push of momentum, but also some solace for Frank, who was thudding against the closed bedroom door each time he rutted forward and Gerard’s hands on his hips pushed him back. The whole grinding up and gasping out each time Gerard’s hands tightened on his hips situation was too much of a subliminal message for Frank’s fragile, I Refuse to Come in My Pants This Early resolution.
Gerard nodded, or said something, or barked - all things Frank wouldn’t have noticed as they waded through the whirlpool of clothes on the ground that joined in a conspiratorial effort to assure Frank never got laid ever.
A very, very intense conspiracy, that apparently enlisted the work of Frank’s foot getting caught around a pair of pants and a hanger, sending him plummeting into the mattress.
“Son of a bitch!” Was the profound, masculine statement Frank gave to make up for his face that felt like it was turning red enough to be noticed in darkness. Saving face by rolling over wasn’t helped by Gerard crawling over him and laughing that chipper, rose colored glasses and teletubbies type laugh. “Shut up.” Frank was very sensitive about his face plants.
Gerard put his hand over his mouth. “It was funny, I laugh at funny things.”
Frank narrowly escaped a concussion, probably, and if Gerard wasn’t going to give a helpful medical analysis, he didn’t want to hear it. To enforce this, his hand clasped Gerard’s collar and brought him closer. There was a brief moment where Gerard almost toppled over on Frank, and Gerard blindly searched for something to grab, so Frank offered up his other hand that was hanging by his head. Frank didn’t understand why people didn’t hold hands all the time and go entirely through life with hands interlocked with another person’s. The idea of anything otherwise seemed insane to him.
He tightened his grip, not on purpose; it was more of a subconscious want.
Doing anything besides being exactly where he was right then, where he kissed slowly, Gerard kissed fully, and everything made sense, just seemed otherworldly. He moved forward, Gerard moved back; he moved up, Gerard moved down, and the song of Gerard’s low breathing seemed the perfectly placed theme to Frank’s racing thoughts.
Frank loosened the needing pull that was stretching out Gerard’s shirt collar, softened it to run his fingertips down the side of his neck and the skin that heated up the pads of Frank’s fingers with every square inch he moved down. The kiss was going to shit, Frank knew it, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“You’re so gorgeous.” Though there wasn’t any light, Frank could feel Gerard staring directly into his eyes as he said it. Though there wasn’t any light…Frank just knew.
Frank bit his lip and looked away before he said something, too much of something, and wouldn’t be able to take it back. “You can barely see anything right now,” he spoke to the ceiling.
There was a moment of unmoving quiet, and it was filled with Gerard’s unsteady hand dancing along with Frank’s, them lying there against each other, and Gerard, thankfully, broke the moment before Frank could start overthinking. His mouth moved down from Frank’s cheek in airy motions, then trailed down the side of his neck before catching in the skin by his shirt collar. Really, Frank would have been fine with that, and his falling in ice-water gasping attempts for air showed that, but what he wasn’t particularly riveted by was the progressive rise of his tee shirt from where it was covering his torso.
The thing was, Frank wasn’t fat per say, however, his beach ready body was on vacation to a snow covered, 3rd World country, and in its absence, Frank showed his respects by not being torso-naked in front of other people. Gym class posed a hell of a competition to the attempts, but Frank prevailed. And would continue to prevail.
He pushed Gerard’s hands from where they were making the shirt ride up. “I - I’m fine with it on.” He was so stupid for not having guessed that not wearing his shirt would be a minor part of being naked, he was so fucking stupid, he couldn’t even see straight.
“But-.” Gerard would sound fucking crushed. “-I want to see you.”
That’s nice for him, Frank supposed.
“You can barely see anything right now,” Frank reaffirmed, this time less dazed and bashful.
Gerard’s dimly lit silhouette shrugged and eased forward. “Yeah, but, I can like… feel you, and that’s almost good enough. Bet you feel amazing.”
Scooting backwards on the bed, Frank had enough room to shuffle his knees to his chest. There were big differences between touch and sight, and Frank was so incredibly dumb for letting other people get to him to the point where he apparently couldn’t handle taking his goddamn shirt off. What did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t at all. Except for in the parts of his head that assumed it did. On his gravestone, they would have to inscribe “Loving son: eternal virgin and little bitch,” so all the ghosts knew what type of person Frank truly had been.
“Hey, hey don’t worry, I’m not - I just - I like you, Frank. You can trust me.”
Stupid, nervous, self-conscious awkwardness. Frank shook his head. He trusted Gerard…he was pretty sure, no, he was positive he did; he had to by now, at least. But still, he shook his head.
Gerard kneeled on the bed and worked his way forward over to Frank, and even though Frank was being whatever, he wasn’t going to carry his shyness over and cringe away from the soft way Gerard kissed his cheek. Frank’s hands around his knees loosened to go to Gerard’s hair and redirect his lips to more important territory - such as his mouth. In a déjà vu event, Gerard’s hands fluttered against the hem of Frank’s shitty, faded tee shirt, but only skimmed it. It didn’t matter to Frank, it didn’t matter to Gerard - it was over and done with. Maybe tomorrow, Frank would get to the bottom of his totally inopportune issues, but tomorrow wasn’t right now, and right now wasn’t about his fucking self-esteem. Right now, Frank was happy with Gerard, and that was that.
Having silently given up his cause, Gerard moved his hands down to Frank’s waistband, which Frank could deal with.
Though it might have been seen as minor hypocrisy, the reason that Frank was quick to go and unbutton Gerard’s shirt was because A. the amount of clothing obstructing Frank’s justice was at an all-time high, an B. Frank liked enough of Gerard that he wanted to see more. His hair, his smile, yeah, the more Gerard the better. It was enough of an end that Frank was fine with the means of fighting with Gerard’s tiny labyrinths of shirt buttons all in order to get it open. When Frank distractedly ran his hand on the rosary still around Gerard’s neck, Gerard completely skewed Frank’s plans and threw his hand down Frank’s baggy jeans without any just warning. Not that Frank was upset, or complaining, or doing anything besides actually biting on his hand in order to hide the fish-out-of-water faces he was making. At some point, Frank would need to find out what type of hand lotion or soap Gerard used; because when Frank jerked off, in no way did it feel as if angel feathers and lilac sheets came united for the single cause of stroking his dick and making his eyes roll backwards. He couldn’t exactly bring up the discussion on domestic goods at the moment, since he was having a hard time remembering that up was still a direction and that there might exist things more important than Gerard’s achingly perfect hand. The only thing Frank could configure as more important than the fact he was ruining his boxers was the point that his pants were still on. That needed to cease, like, a yesterday ago.
Frank’s face turned pink as he pushed away, but in the dark, he may not have appeared to resemble a tomato. “I just, I, uhm, my mom does my laundry.” Classy. Oh god, so, oh so classy.
Frank didn’t have enough muscle strength to do anything big such as move himself from where he had sprawled across the bed, but he acquired the adrenaline burst of sanity to shuffle side to side until pants…gone. Sanctity found. It wasn’t as graceful, or smooth, or quick as Frank implied, however, and he might of, possibly, kicked Gerard in the stomach while trying to jailbreak his immediate hell, and perchance, on a day of complete hypotheticals, Frank may have internally shouted “Hallelujah” once he was stripped down to his boxers.
“Fucking hell, Frank,” Gerard groaned as he careened over, because he was a pussy and couldn’t handle a light, little, flailing nudge. “Shut up,” he said to Frank’s giggle.
“It was funny,” Frank tried to match Gerard’s voice in order for him to see the truth of his prior ass-hattery. “I laugh at funny things, Gerard. Ha ha, ho ho, physical comedy.”
Bright side: Frank, in his own… special sort of way, gave the thumbs up for more nudity, and as much as Frank knew about sex (falling asleep in front of Cinemax by accident), or just what Frank knew about this, was that he was very, very, pro nudity. Maybe not from himself, exactly, but he was an avid endorser of all those that wished to partake in the event.
Gerard dropped his hands from where they were nursing himself and glided through the space that had grown from Frank’s rolling, flailing episode. Just as Frank was caught up in the thoughts of how despite being drunk, Gerard was like a smoothly rolling river of sex, or something, Frank’s mouth pressed out a surprised “Oh.” As in, oh, as his boxers found themselves amongst the other clothes on Gerard’s floor; Oh, so that’s what Frank’s dick looks like when in the presence of other parties. Oh, because Gerard was staring at him as if Frank was not just Frank, but also the Webster Definition of desirable. Most importantly, Oh, because what the hell was this, why was Frank being turned over.
There were so many options, one being: Frank could run. Frank could run and actually jump from the window, hard on and all, and try his luck at living in Canada. Canada was lovely this time of year; Canada was beautiful at all times, at least according to all those pop up ads that showed up between Youtube videos. Canada was exactly the best place that was not where Frank would be lying, pliant, with the full knowledge that there was a reason Gerard was rummaging through his side table.
“Uh,” because that’s how all sentences should be required to begin when the speaker’s bare ass is in the air. “We could totally not do exactly that.”
Fumble, fumble, fumble, brief muttering noise about his own poor balance and about his stuff hiding from him, and then Gerard jumped back into the real world. “Yeah,” but it wasn’t yeah. It was more of a “Yeah,” squeezed in between a barking laugh. “Yeah, no, have you ever done this before? Nope, nope, nope, it hurts like a bitch.”
Only then did it rumble in Frank’s tiny mind that Gerard was not just a not-virgin, but at one point he‘d actually had sex with another person, and that the someone else had put him in this position. Figurative position, not, fuck. Frank shook his head in hope to reclaim the part of him that wasn’t this narrowly dick oriented. Anyway, it was someone, and after that, maybe even someoneS, given that it was Gerard’s senior year and all. Oh, what was that, unneeded and undeserved jealousy? Aah yes, you can quiet down.
When Gerard got in place behind Frank, there was a tearing noise before a price tag fell by Frank’s hand ($4.95, cue the “L’Oreal -because you’re worth it”), and then Gerard took a slow breath.
“Don’t freak out, just, trust me.”
Wait, trust Gerard in general, or trust Gerard that freaking out would be a bad idea? Why were there so many loose ends; why didn’t Gerard talk in complete sentences and clauses? Frank fucking hated this, and he didn’t know why he’d gotten so worked up over all something so-.
Hmm.
That was different.
Frank closed his eyes and began a deep, analytical count backwards from 300 by 3s, and then when counting became impossible because of Gerard’s finger INSIDE OF HIS BODY, Frank’s eyes blew open and he began counting the panels made by the strips of light in the window. What exactly were they supposed to do during this fun intermission between Frank completely comfortable with getting off, and the actual sex part where sex happened? Were they supposed to have a conversation? Frank was kind of caught up in calming down so that his body didn’t reject Gerard’s mother fucking pointer finger like it was a bad kidney, and Gerard was also caught up in, well, someone had to own the aforementioned pointer finger. Even though Frank’s mind said that this was horribly uncomfortable, Frank’s dick was apparently light years forward into an alternative universe that construed this into enjoyment.
“Calm the fuck down.” Frank’s happy-happy-joy-joy penis made the statement come out panted and tortured, unlike panting out of fear from the torture of Gerard adding another finger into a body part that, clearly, was not designed for that. In a complete game change, when Gerard crooked back his finger and Frank was prepared to redirect them to the previous statement, Frank’s mind blacked out for a moment long enough to make him forget that he’d even been speaking.
Gerard laughed, and had Frank’s arms not been under his forehead from sheer embarrassment over his reaction to the borderline colonoscopy - he would have kicked him again. Maybe not even in the stomach. Maybe if Frank tried the absolute hardest that those elementary school participation medals in his closet implied, he could get a bull’s-eye on Gerard’s dick, and then they would be equal. The possibility of Gerard experiencing infertility was almost, if not equal, to Frank being leaned over like a suspicious flight passenger being searched for smuggled drugs. Except at the airport, Frank wasn’t grinding his teeth because he wasn’t sure if he was going to yell or moan, and he really wanted to be on board with one choice before he attempted anything. It didn’t hurt, but Frank wouldn’t put it on his top ten list of things to do. As if to mock him, Gerard curled his finger back again, and Frank heard a helium balloon deflating - oh wait, no, that sound came from his mouth.
“Can we, uh, like… progress past this part, please?” Preferably, before Frank’s mind turned inside out or whatever was being planned. He ducked his head low when an electric type buzz ran through his body.
Gerard made a low sound, and worked his opposite hand through the rippling in Frank’s shirt. “Mhm, just, hold on.”
Hold on was apparently code for seeing how long Frank could hold off, and though Frank thought it’d be inconsiderate to rub himself off on Gerard’s bed sheet -he felt he deserved it when Gerard was putting him through this exotic type of torture. Franklin I. was not going to come before actually having sex, so take that, Gerard. Except that idea was becoming very fleeting, so Frank reached back and tapped out on Gerard’s arm like this was WWE wrestling and not something, respectfully, about equally as gay.
Finally, Gerard bestowed mercy, and Frank, obviously, didn’t make a whining noise when Gerard pulled his fingers back - because that would be silly. There was a crinkling, foil sound that Frank didn’t care about; seriously, if the fucking world collapsed right then, Frank wouldn’t care, because his skin was crawling with heat but trapped in the cotton blend, polyester piece of shit he was still wearing for a reason he couldn’t remember anymore.
“Just relax-.”
Frank snapped, “I’m a fucking Buddha right now, I’m so relaxed.” Nerves were nice; Frank could never have enough nerves. Jesus, his dick was in actual, physical pain, right now. He’d appreciate if it could just choose a side already.
There wasn’t any more talking for a slight couple of seconds, instead, the moments passed with a grey film passing across Frank’s eyes in response to Gerard’s dick pressing inside of him. The feeling was…not pain, but definitely not the Six Flags ride he had expected. Frank couldn’t cover his face more if he tried, thank goodness he was turned around; this was, like, what the fuck was happening? Who decided this was a good idea, and why wasn’t Frank brought in as a counter witness to that terrible thought? He couldn’t tell if this was hilarious or tragically disappointing - both were great possibilities. Gerard let out a gasping breath, and Frank couldn’t help it, he could not fucking stop how hard he started laughing.
It was the type of laugh given during parent-teacher conferences when it turned out Frank got another C in math; it was the type of laugh that apparently worked when Frank didn’t know what he was supposed to do about having a dick in his ass. It was so not funny that it was hilarious.
Gerard stopped moving, and that made Frank laugh even harder, because if someone walked in, they would see Frank shuddering with laughter with Gerard draped over him. This was insane; Frank should have stayed home and knit a parka for rescue dogs - at least that would have seemed productive
“Why are you laughing?” he seemed startled, and why wouldn’t he be? Frank was actually giggling because of anal.
“I have no idea!” Frank would have tipped over laughing had Gerard not been keeping him up because his dick was inside of him. Frank was almost shaking, this was the most terrible, funniest moment ever - Frank really hoped that at his funeral, someone brought this up.
Right when Frank decided that this sex hoopla was stupid, and that he’d be better off joining a convent where he could preach the word of how terrible it was, Gerard moved in some mystical, unknown way that Frank didn’t know existed, and Frank shut up fast. So, so fast. His mouth was still hanging open, but for entirely different reasons, and he couldn’t understand why the room had become so much warmer unless they’d gravitated towards the sun.
Frank reached one hand out and grabbed at the sheets, - nope, they were still on the ground. He tightened his jaw and tried to compose what exactly happened without requesting it happen again, which proved to be extremely difficult when Gerard went ahead and did it anyway. It was such a, a - it was, uhm, shit, it definitely was something that Frank would remember at a later hour. The hair on his face and the air in the room all seemed too heavy, and Frank’s eyes were tightly shut. If he let himself believe, it was just them. He, Gerard - nothing and absolutely no one else existed.
Fuck, he couldn’t think straight.
Gerard was moving slowly, just rocking in and out at a pace that closely matched half of Frank’s current heartbeat, but Frank made himself kneel in a wider stance, as if covering more area would claim back the air he was unable to intake. There was the skittering of Gerard’s hands up from where they would clench in Frank’s shirt, traveling beneath the fabric shortly and then retreating, as if afraid that Frank would curl into a self-esteem lacking ball of tears in the corner, and then finally finding their place on Frank’s hipbones. Frank liked that; it felt more natural, if that made sense.
“Shit,” Frank coughed/wheezed/moaned. He worked his hand below himself and reached for the neglected case that was his dick before he died or passed out. Whatever prior epiphany Frank had about sex was so misinformed and incorrect that he almost didn’t know who the guy was that thought that up. His dreams of becoming a celibate priest were crushed - the second Frank turned 18, he was going to drop out of school, become a porn star, and do this all the time, because sex was the best thing to happen to this cruel world, and everyone should do it. Maybe when Frank became a porn star, he’d learn the tricks of the trade on what to do when he was beyond gone and needed to take care of the issue, because it was imminent that he was going to come, but where begged the question. Know what, screw Gerard’s bed; Gerard owned detergent and a working washer, he knew how to clean his sheets, Frank could feel sweat laying his hair across his forehead like a winter blanket -this was important. He rushed his hand faster, bucking backwards to get more room for his fist.
Unlike the time in the field, Frank did not sound like a giggling animal in the forest when he came, but then again he didn’t hear much, his head went blacker than he suspected possible in a mainly pitch black room, and the static noise of a television was all that filled his ears. The hand that was coated grabbed at the bed when Gerard sped up, and Frank couldn’t tell if this was all an elaborate ruse and he’d wake up, find out that none of this ever happened, he was actually dead, and was actually never born, the end. He’d be fine with that, he really would be.
After the surprise burst of movement, Gerard’s heavy breathing and low groaning slowed down to near stoicism, and then there was that passing time of silence again. It prolonged, lasted through the time for Gerard to pull out, and for Frank to turn over once he remembered he had full use of his legs, but it was the comfortable silence that Frank didn’t believe existed between most people. The light from outside was still peeking through the window, and it shined against Gerard’s body and his pushed back hair, and Frank found that there wasn’t much he could do except for be positively smitten.
“You should kiss me.” It was so juvenile and stupid, but in Frank’s still swirling head, coming from his chest that was still trying to calm down its breaths - it was the only thing that made sense.
“I should.” See, Frank had great ideas. Gerard stretched himself across Frank and slowly pressed his mouth against his, and Frank tried his absolute hardest not to smile again. He didn’t want to ruin it like that. Holding back on the impulse, his hands moved in slow swipes down Gerard’s body. The barrier of Frank’s tee shirt was obnoxious, but it was irrelevant when he ran his hand down Gerard’s collarbones and his chest, the small beading of the necklace rolling against his fingers. Even when Gerard rolled them over in the direction of the pillows on the bed, it took an immeasurably long seeming chunk of time for Frank to remotely remember that sleep existed and he couldn’t just kiss Gerard until the Jaws of Life ripped him away.
“I’m… I’m going to sleep here tonight, if that’s okay,” he had to ask - he was still a guest despite having done it with the host.
Gerard snorted a little, rolled his eyes.
“Do you not want me to?” Frank deserved to be a little offended, he had just done it with the host, after all.
“No, I just didn’t expect you to go anywhere else.”
Frank couldn’t tell if he wanted to hit him or kiss him again, so he kissed Gerard’s forehead and dropped himself off on one of the pillows. When he got comfortable, Frank found that his arm was across Gerard’s stomach, and since it didn’t seem to be a problem, he didn’t move it.
As time progressed and Gerard’s breathing got slower -probably fell asleep- Frank turned over and vase behind Gerard’s side table lamp caught his eye. Since he wasn’t tired, he thought it’d be more like a public service if he used the rest of his awake state to do Gerard a favor. It wasn’t difficult, just a quick pluck, pluck, pluck, and he dropped the petals of the carnations into Gerard’s drawer. It was a possible argument that that was one of the best parts of Frank’s night. It was a clearing feeling, a more solidifying feeling.
Slight insanity finished, Frank quietly scooted himself so that his hand could go back around Gerard’s waist and his head would be against the nape of his neck. He grabbed a kicked at sheet and threw it across them, then closed his eyes. Gerard was kind of sweaty, he sort of smelled like spilled cheap scotch, sex, and other words that probably began with S, but even in near pitch-blackness, Frank felt himself beaming.
(Next)