Fic: "Gathered Here to Witness" (Part II)
Title: Gathered Here to Witness
( Part I)
Part II.
He chickens out between the dance floor and Frank's table, and ends up cutting a path through the chairs to get to the door. He nails himself in the hip with one, then while he's staggering around in pain, catches his foot on another, and by this point, he's just hoping to get out alive and have a smoke in peaceful humiliation outside. Amazing that only a minute ago, he was thinking of asking Frank to dance, for fuck's sake. Mikey's more graceful than this.
It's dark out now, and the garden is strewn with tiny lights that hide in bushes and trees and light up the fountain. He's down to three smokes, but that's all right, because he's got two more packs in his duffel before he has to switch back to domestic.
He's just flicked the cigarette into life and pushed hair out of his face with the palm of his hand when he feels the air shift around him. He doesn't look until the last possible minute, playing it cool and nonchalant, kicking at the gravel by the wall. But he's never actually been cool, nor has he ever succeeded at nonchalant, so when Frank's shoes shuffle into view and park less than a foot away from his own, Gerard looks up and just stares at him.
"How's your hip?" Frank asks, lips quirked, hand already making grabby fingers at Gerard's jacket pocket.
"Fuck you," is the best Gerard can come up with as he fumbles for the pack and tosses it at Frank. "By the way, that's, what, four you owe me?"
Frank skims a smoke from the pack one-handed and stuffs it into Gerard's pocket. "Three."
Gerard counts up mentally. "I've lost too many to count to needy bastards today."
Frank lights the cherry and squints through the smoke. "Oh, yeah? Who else have you been giving them up to today?"
Gerard's flush creeps up the back of his neck and flutters up his scalp with tickling fingers. "Hmm, other short jerks who never carry their own and fall into fountains?" Or Mom, he remembers. Sorry, Mom.
"Hey, now," Frank says. "There's water in that fountain. You got a hankering for wet smokes?"
"Point," Gerard admits. "Doesn't mean you don't owe me."
And because he's the slowest person on Earth, Gerard doesn't realize they're deep into flirting territory until Frank says, as he reaches into his pockets, "So I owe you. But hey, I am no longer empty-handed. Here, catch."
Gerard catches whatever the hell Frank's just tossed at him only because there is a God out there who loves un-athletic fags. He opens up his hand. "A Lindt truffle?"
"There's a whole display of them on the side of the room that doesn't, you know, have a door leading outside."
Huh. "Busted."
"You know you're supposed to mingle at these things, right?" Frank is outright laughing at Gerard, and seriously.
"I've mingled!" he argues, unwrapping the truffle. It's dark chocolate. He loves dark chocolate. "I've totally mingled."
"You're mingling with the garden," Frank points out. "And you've mingled with people directly related to you."
"I'm mingling with you," Gerard counters. "And I've never met you."
"True," Frank concedes with a nod. "Totally flattered, by the way."
"I'm sure. I know you’re only out here for the smokes."
Frank takes a drag and half-squints at Gerard as he exhales and doesn't answer. Gerard catches sight of his pink tongue curling around the escaped smoke and licks his lips. He's crazy. He's wired and loopy and jetlagged. He needs to leave. He needs to sleep. He needs to leave.
"You're not eating your truffle," Frank breaks the silence with a nod at Gerard's hand.
Gerard says, "Huh?" and then looks down. "Oh." The chocolate is melting slightly in his grip and he pops it in his mouth without thinking. The flavor blooms on his tongue and he brings his hand up and licks up the remnants from his palm. He doesn't realize he's sucking on his own thumb until he catches Frank's gaze on him.
"Uh." Gerard's frozen with his thumb in his mouth, cigarette smoldering down to the quick between his fingers. He must look idiotic and he wonders what he can possibly do to escape and go die by himself. Yelling things like fire! or timber! is pretty tempting, but he's still got his thumb in his mouth.
Right.
He slips it out with a quiet pop and seriously, if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole, he'd be totally okay with that. Where the fuck are you, oh God of Un-athletic Fags?
"Jesus Christ," Frank mutters and tosses aside his cigarette and Gerard watches, unmoving, as Frank takes the small step it takes to bring them within an inch of each other. Gerard’s heart is hammering. Somewhere inside his head, a soundtrack starts up, but it's not the right soundtrack, because no one's there to save the day, he's pretty sure, but -
But Frank is right there, and Gerard wonders wildly if his teeth are covered in chocolate, which would mean he can't even open his mouth and say anything, and oh, Jesus, he's crazy, this is Mikey's wedding, this is Mikey's boss -
Frank's lips move around Gerard's name in a whispered question. Gerard only knows this because he's watching them and then he flicks his gaze up at Frank's eyes. Frank is so close, Gerard can see even in the dark how long his eyelashes are. He licks his teeth, then his lips. He says, "Frank?" and his voice catches.
The next moment is a gravitational pull that happens before each first kiss. He knows it has to happen, knows it like he knows the axis tilt, but it doesn't add up until Frank's lips are on his own.
It's not a soundtrack anymore; it's fucking thunder.
Before Gerard can even so much as lift a hand, Frank's opened up his mouth and invited Gerard in. Gerard deepens the kiss immediately, and when he does move, he moves until Frank's enveloped in his arms, chests and knees lined up, tongues touching. His back is to the wall the next second. Frank is gasping into his mouth, cigarette smoke mingling with Gerard's chocolate, the chocolate that Frank had given him as penance for taking half his pack.
It's crazy, but so is he, so are they, apparently, because Gerard can't stop. He hears the gravel crunch under their feet, and the rough brick wall isn't exactly pleasant pressed up against his skull, but. Frank's hands are fluttering all down his front, across his chest, beneath his jacket and around his waist, then his belly, then back to his waist. Gerard keeps realizing he's tensing his back, or his shoulders, and he keeps trying to relax, but he can't.
He can't, he can't, Frank feels amazing against him. He's whimpering into Gerard's mouth and gasping like he can't get enough air. Gerard gives him all the air he wants, sucks on his tongue, bites his lips. They're necking like teenagers, and he almost laughs when his brain catches on long enough to notice he's hard as a fucking rock.
"What," Frank mumbles and Gerard figures he really must have laughed. Fucking crazy.
"Sorry," he gasps, and pulls back just enough to look at Frank. "I don't know why I'm apologizing," he admits. He's cupped his hands around Frank's jaw.
"Then don't," Frank whispers and his gaze is on Gerard's lips, and Gerard can feel his breath on the tip of his nose.
"Okay," he nods and goes in for another crazy-making kiss, because fucking hell. Jesus. What's even better now is being able to feel Frank's jaw moving under his hands, it's dirty, knowing Frank's working for it as hard as Gerard. Gerard moans and slides his hands enough to grab Frank's hair, feel the precise shape of his skull.
When his fingers catch and pull Frank's hair, Frank gasps into his mouth. Gerard does it again and gets the same result, and Jesus.
"Fuck. Really?" he mumbles around Frank's tongue and Frank doesn't even bother to use words, just nods and dives back in.
Gerard grabs his hair tighter and smiles into Frank's groan, just as Frank's hips stutter up against his own and oh, Gerard thinks, giddy with it, yeah, that's it. When he grabs Frank's hips and pulls them against his own, they both hiss.
Frank breaks off the kiss and buries his head in the crook of Gerard's neck. Gerard's eyes flutter closed. "Fucking hell."
"I know." Gerard licks his lips. "Hey, so I guess we've met now, huh," he says and feels kind of stupid until Frank pulls back enough to laugh gently.
"Thank God."
"Yeah?" Gerard feels the slow spread of his smile.
Frank nods and looks smug and satisfied and Gerard desperately wants to get him naked. "Fuck, yeah."
*
Frank doesn't have a room at the B&B, hence, apparently, his wet retreat home and back after the whole fountain debacle. This much they figure out in the five minutes it takes them to calm the fuck down and assess the situation without the hazy cloud of lust around them.
"You have a room, don't you?" Frank asks, hands tugging on Gerard's t-shirt. Gerard blinks.
"I don't know?"
"What - how can you not know?" Frank demands.
"Uh -" So, Gerard is not really a planner. At least he kept the rings safe. "I was running really late, right off the plane, so I just - got ready in Mikey's room." He has no idea where he's staying tonight. He had vaguely thought he'd be hitching a ride back with Mom and Dad. They've always been good for that. "What?"
Frank is looking at him like he's crazy. "Mikey's room," he says.
"Yes?"
"Which. Presumably he won't be using," Frank explains slowly, over-enunciating. Gerard doesn't get it until he does. He smiles in answer.
"Oh," he says.
"Yeah," Frank nods and quirks his lips. "I thought you were smart, artist man," he adds, backing Gerard up against the wall. Gerard spreads out his arms in defeat.
"Don't need to be smart to be an artist, just talented."
Frank bounces up and kisses him quick and sure on the lips, lingers. He pulls back, licks his lips and whispers, "At least you've got that going for you."
Gerard feels the prickle of his breath run all across his skin. "Yeah?"
"That and you're fucking beautiful," Frank says and even in the dark, Gerard can see him color. His stomach whoops and he draws in a shaky breath before he can speak.
"Am I?"
Frank rolls his eyes and then nudges Gerard's chin with his nose. "Like you don't fucking know."
Gerard kind of does, but it's better hearing it from Frank than anybody else. He leans down. They've already gotten the first kiss over with, and the next hundred, but it still catches him by surprise that he can do this. He can't resist the pause at the moment before their lips connect and simply breathe the air between them. When he does close the distance, he tastes their mingled breath.
*
"Hey, Mikey."
"Gee?" Mikey whips around. "Where've you been?"
Gerard notices the moment it clicks for Mikey - the kiss-bitten lips, messed-up hair, and he'll bet his entire Doom Patrol collection that he's got some stubble burn going on already. "Gerard."
"Mikey."
Mikey seems a little too tipsy and happy to muster up any kind of resentment, but Gerard can see him trying. "What have you been doing."
"Smoking."
Mikey crosses his arms over his chest and lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. "With your tongue?"
"That's gross," Gerard points out.
"So is you macking on my boss," Mikey counters, and okay, that's just weird.
"How the fuck would you even -"
"He's standing right there with beard burn, you fucking asshole," Mikey sighs and Gerard can't help whipping around, and yep. Stubble burn. He turns back to Mikey. "Fuck me."
"That's your wife's job," Gerard points out, because hey. He's the older brother here. It is already supremely unfair that Mikey has found the love of his life and married her, and Gerard has not.
"Shut the hell up, Gee." Mikey sighs again. "What do you want."
Gerard tries for casual. "The room key. I don't have one."
Mikey's eyes grow marginally wide for a split second. "Oh, hell fucking no."
"Mikey!"
"Gee, please don't have sex with my boss on my wedding night. Or, like, ever." He's pinching the bridge of his nose, the big drama queen.
Gerard rolls his eyes and tries again. "Mikey."
"Saying my name won't convince me that I'm okay with this." He pauses. "Gerard, I am not okay with this."
"Mikey. I don't care right now." He's doing his best older brother stance, which is pretty difficult when your entire body is vibrating with now now now and all he has to do is just think about Frank, and his dick stirs in his pants. He only has so much left in him to wait. He switches tacks. "Mikey, please. I just. I've - It's -"
And he finds he has no words for this. He has no idea what he's doing, but he'd rather not tell Mikey that while he's begging a room key off of him. He just. He wants.
But Mikey hasn't been his brother for twenty nine years for nothing. He doesn't look happy when he hands the key over, but he does squeeze Gerard's fingers when it's done. "Just. I don't know. Be careful, all right?" he says and Gerard can't hide the confusion on his face. "I mean. Frank isn't just anyone. You know what you're doing?"
Gerard softens. "Honestly, not really. But - I know, okay?" He does.
"Well, fine. Go forth and forni - aw, hell, I'm not saying that."
Gerard laughs and on an impulse captures Mikey in a hard hug. He mumbles his thanks it into his shoulder.
"You're fucking welcome," Mikey mumbles back and pushes him away. "I'm going to go where my brother isn't getting naked with my boss, okay? Okay."
Gerard gives him a salute and turns on his heel. Frank is lounging in the doorway, watching. He has the look of a man who's been undressing somebody slowly with his eyes. Gerard gets the thrill of knowing he's the someone somewhere deep in his belly.
He's shaking by the time he reaches Frank. "Hi."
Frank grabs his hand and pulls him in, looks him in the eye. "Hi."
*
Once they're through the door, Gerard is done waiting. He's been watching Frank, this guy he's just met, on and off all day, and if he's been kidding himself about appreciating beautiful things, he'd done now. He grabs Frank before he's even kicked the door shut, and it only catches on the lock once Frank's back hits it.
"Fuck," Frank groans and tips his head back, panting. Gerard really agrees and presses his entire body up against Frank, where he's hard and warm and fucking alive. Gerard mouths at his throat, sucks at a spot behind Frank's ear that apparently makes Frank actually shudder against him, and his head fucking spins.
"Jesus," he pants and grabs Frank's shoulders, pulls him away from the door. Frank follows willingly, even when Gerard pushes him down onto the bed with no warning. Frank bounces on top of the covers and grins at him.
He's about to say something when Gerard knees his way up over him and interrupts, "if you ask me if I see something I like, I'm out the door."
Frank laughs, high and sudden. "You wouldn't."
"No," Gerard admits and kisses him. "I wouldn't."
There are elbows and knees in the way, but when he unbuttons Frank's shirt and slides it off, and then tugs down his pants, he has to pause and look.
He is covered in ink. Sprawling, winding drawings all over his skin - down his arms, hugging his chest, words and pictures and Gerard can barely make them out in the dark, but he can't stop looking. "Holy shit," he says and hears Frank's quiet laughter while he's battling with Frank's shoes and pantlegs.
Once all Frank is wearing are his boxer briefs, Gerard's hands flutter immediately to his hips. "These are -" He stops and just breathes as he leans down and makes out the lines, details coming out like smoke out of air. Two birds on either hip, with an "And" right below the belly button. He watches Frank's belly rise and fall rapidly under his scrutiny, but Frank is silent.
Gerard sits back and rolls Frank over so he can see, what else, what else does he have?
"The Stooges? Seriously?" His fingers are hovering over the "arch" and "roy" inked around the small of Frank's back.
"You know it," Frank answers, and it comes out tight.
"Fuck." Gerard runs a hand through his hair, and he has no idea where to start, what to even do. Frank is beautiful. He can't even imagine drawing him because he's already art, with the ink and the sheen of sweat prickling up all over his skin, and the crazy beat of his pulse under Gerard's fingers.
Mindlessly, Gerard tugs on Frank's underwear, urges his hips up, slides his hands under the waistband and tugs them off. Frank is panting and the sound is all Gerard can hear in the moment Frank's entire body is revealed to him, splotches of ink on his shoulders, back, thighs.
"God, you're gorgeous," Gerard says and is barely even aware of it until Frank says,
"Gerard, please, please -"
And - yeah, he's been a little side-tracked, Gerard realizes.
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
He fumbles out of his own shirt, then swears when he realizes he just can't take his pants off without getting up, and as he's shoving them and his underwear off, Frank catches his gaze over his shoulder. They look at each other silently for a long moment. Gerard's skin feels like it's going to burn right off, he's buzzing, he's crazy.
He crawls up the bed not breaking Frank's gaze, and when Frank looks like he's about to turn over, Gerard catches and stills his hips. "No, stay."
Frank licks his lips and nods. "All right."
Gerard crawls up behind him and leans down. He can't help it, he has to. He touches his tongue to the tips of the guns at the small of Frank's back and licks down. Down and down until Frank sighs beneath him and then begins to shake. Gerard clutches his hips, and goes further down still, until he licks for permission to continue and Frank gasps and groans out, "Yes, yeah, fucking yes."
Gerard loves the taste, loves the texture, and Frank feels amazing against his tongue, shivery and mesmerizing and God, so hot. Gerard licks all around, flutters his tongue, feels Frank's voice crescendo into breaking. He rims him until Frank is crying out beneath him, and then he rims him until Frank fumbles his hand under his belly and starts to jerk off, fast and hard. Gerard moans against him, forces himself to stop, and rolls Frank over. He bats Frank's hand away and fuck, fuck, he loves this taste, too, loves the taste of Frank's cock leaking in his mouth.
"Fucking - Christ." Frank's voice is rough and fucking loud and Gerard spares a thought as to who might be listening, but then realizes he doesn't give a damn. He sucks Frank's dick deep into his mouth, then slides almost all the way off, then sucks him in again. He shifts onto his elbow and then - yeah, now he can go down deeper, so deep, Frank's cock hits the back of his throat and Gerard's eyes water. He breathes through it.
His scalp stings where Frank's grabbed handful of his hair, and his arm aches where he's leaning on his elbow, and Frank's thighs shaking around him feels fucking perfect, Jesus, he loves giving blowjobs.
Frank is swearing above him, cursing high and low and it's the hottest thing Gerard has ever heard. He wants to tell him that, but his mouth and tongue are busy, so he stores it up, he'll tell Frank later, later, when Frank isn't busy himself -
"Gerard, I'm gonna - Gerard -"
Gerard squeezes Frank's hip, do it, you can, and Frank does, coming down Gerard's throat the next moment, and shudders beneath him into stillness.
Once he's pulled off and taken a couple of gulping breaths, Gerard says, "You're so fucking hot like that."
Frank barks a kind of a shocked laugh and grabs Gerard's shoulders, urges him up. "Me? Jesus, you just -"
Gerard lands a bit hard on Frank, but Frank doesn't seem to mind, because he's kissing him, hard and rough and Gerard loses every sense besides taste and smell, like, he doesn't even have peripheral vision anymore. He's shorting out, and he only notices that he's rubbing himself on Frank's leg when Frank slides his hand down and stills him. Gerard pulls away.
"Sorry, sorry, just - "
Frank is watching him with half-hooded eyes, and Gerard can't not watch him back. He licks his lips just as Frank asks, "What do you want?"
Desperately, more than anything, Gerard wants to fuck Frank, but he thinks maybe that's not something you ask on a first date. He bites his lips and goes for the universal, "You," and lets Frank interpret that in any that he chooses. He's pretty sure Frank doing anything to him will be what he wants. He isn't lying.
He isn't wrong, either. Frank pushes at him until Gerard's rolled over onto his back and makes his downward path obvious, even as he meanders from throat to nipple to belly. Everywhere his mouth touches Gerard is like breathing through fire, Gerard can barely take it. By the time Frank reaches his dick and gives it a preemptive squeeze, Gerard is ready to crawl out of his skin. "Frank -"
Frank doesn't wait for him, and that's good, too. He doesn't tease, either, and oh, Christ, Gerard had suspected his mouth was made for sucking cock, but it's good to have proof. Gerard gets loud, almost embarrassingly so. Restless, too, like he's lost his motor function control along with his peripheral vision, and his feet have no idea where to be, and his hands are lost between his hair and chest and the covers.
Frank pulls off enough to smirk at him and slide down the bed. "Put your legs on my shoulders," he orders, and Gerard obeys immediately, glad of the command. Frank watches him for a minute, his breath so close to Gerard's dick, Gerard whines. "God, you're fucking hot," Frank whispers and before Gerard can even think of anything to say to that, he sucks him back in.
Gerard feels everything tighten, narrow, and God, he must have left his stamina back in Grenoble, because he knows he won't last. He tries to warn Frank, but his hands have gone numb and he has no idea how to even find them. He gasps out Frank's name instead, and Frank gets it and begins to pull off, only - doesn't, keeping the head of Gerard's dick in his mouth, pumping him with one hand.
Right before Gerard comes, Frank opens his eyes and looks up at him, and Gerard shudders and that's it, he's done, he's coming, watching Frank's mouth and hand working his dick in tandem. Jesus.
He can see Frank's throat working as he swallows. Gerard gulps for air and falls back, having just realized that he'd propped himself up on his elbows. "You - wow," he tells the ceiling.
Frank shifts and gently drops Gerard's thighs onto the bed. They burn a little, and he shakes life back into them, slides his feet up and down. Frank slides up the bed, curls in, and props himself on his hand, watches Gerard's face. "I fucking love the taste," he says, and his voice is low and raspy. Dirty. Gerard makes his hand move enough to grab his face and pull him in for a kiss.
"I do, too," he confesses once he's licked it off Frank's tongue.
Frank grins. "So, are you one of those guys who pass out right after they get off?"
Gerard laughs. "Opposite, actually."
"Seriously?"
Gerard nods and sighs. "Brain's too overworked. Can't sleep."
Frank smiles and shifts until he's resting on his elbows, looking down at Gerard's face. "Brain overworked? What the hell do you think about while you're getting off?"
Gerard chews on the inside of his cheek and considers. "If it's good, I think about the person doing the getting me off part. Like. What can I do to them next, what will they like. Stuff like that."
"What else?" Frank demands and Gerard smiles and starts to trace a pattern over Frank's shoulder, one of the spots where there's no ink at all, just virgin skin.
"What they look like while they're getting me off. How they feel."
Frank gives him a tiny smile. "What did I look like?"
"Incredible," Gerard confesses. Frank ducks his head and grins.
"So, you're not gonna pass out on me?"
Gerard isn't.
*
The room is non-smoking, and Gerard feels a little bad, but not as bad as he wants a cigarette. He’s glad that the bed’s right by the window; they've maneuvered the screen open enough for them to be able to dangle their hands into the open air.
Frank is perched on the window sill stark naked, knobby knees inches away from Gerard's face, feet planted on a pillow. They'd kicked the covers off, and Gerard is lounging on the bed, bent knees tucked under the sheets where it's warm. The wind rustles his hair, washes over his face. The hand holding the cigarette out the window is about ten degrees colder than the rest of him.
"You're such a pussy," Frank informs him.
"Pardon?"
"Hiding your delicate ass under the sheets. It's May, you know."
Gerard raises his eyebrow and takes a drag. "I like being comfortable, sue me. It's early May in Jersey."
"Like I said. Pussy."
Gerard bites Frank's knee and drops the cigarette outside.
*
He fucks Frank up against the open window, their voices carrying all across the garden. Frank is braced against one side of the frame, squirming against him, gasping, biting his forearm in an effort to muffle his voice. It doesn't work. Gerard fucks him hard and fast and the breeze feels fucking amazing on his overheated skin, raises all the hair on his arms.
"Frank, oh, fuck -" he's chanting, and he is no longer in control of himself at all, his hips dictating where he goes, as deep into Frank as he can, as hard as he can, and Frank takes it, begs for more between gulping breaths. Gerard gives it to him, he can't not, and he breathes in the scent of Frank’s hair, some kind of spring bloom mixing in with his skin and faint shampoo, and whines low in his chest, can't even take a breath, he can't do anything but keeping fucking Frank until they're both shaking and crying out and falling apart.
*
The alarm clock on the bed flickers over into 03:28. Gerard watches Frank, half-lying on his side, one arm out the window once more. He knows that they should sleep, but he can't. He can't stop touching Frank. His hand reaches out all on its own to trace the shadow of Frank's collarbone, the soft dip below his throat.
"You tired yet?" Frank asks with a lazy smile.
Gerard shakes his head. "More like delirious."
Frank snickers and maneuvers himself back onto the window sill and takes a drag. "Yeah, sounds about right."
Gerard watches him, too lazy to light himself another cigarette, even though he kind of wants one. "I should be passed out by now. It's, like, morning in Grenoble."
"It's morning here," Frank points out.
"No, I know, but like - coffee and croissants kind of morning, not just staggering home drunk kind of morning."
"Done that a lot?" Frank asks quietly, and Gerard wonders what Mikey's told him. He treads gently.
"Too much, I guess. A while back," he says and watches Frank for a reaction. He's looking out the window, nodding along to the smoke escaping his mouth.
"Yeah, that happens. But this is better."
Gerard smiles and stretches out his legs, his arms, pops his back. "Much," he agrees.
"I haven't seen this side of the sunrise in a while," Frank tells him quietly, and Gerard has to remind him the sun won't be up for at least two hours. "I know that. I just think." Frank pauses and ducks his head, looking a little sheepish. "I think we should see it."
Gerard blinks. "The sunrise?"
"Yeah. We've come this far, right?" Frank's voice is quiet in the dark, colored in shadow.
Gerard's whole body is exhausted, running on adrenaline and the hum of his skin. He considers that for a moment before agreeing, "Yeah. Okay."
"Yeah?"
Gerard smiles. "Let's do it."
Frank smiles back, and looks out the window again.
"Does it feel like we've met before?" he asks after a long moment.
Gerard watches his profile, the perk of his nose, the pout of his lips. He shakes his head. "No."
Frank's face falls visibly before Gerard can catch himself. "What it feels like is -" A line he's read somewhere comes to him, and he says, "Like we have known each other all our lives, and then we met."
Frank grins and glances at him. "Yeah. I guess that's the way to put it."
*
Frank maps Gerard's entire body with his tongue, flickers it against Gerard's hips, along his lower back; he slides it down Gerard's thighs, bites the back of his calves; he spreads him open and Gerard shakes the bed, coming apart against Frank's tongue.
He kisses him afterwards, lingering and slow and lazy and aching, and Gerard thinks about the week ahead, and he thinks about the curves of the plane, the wing he knows he'll see out the window of seat 25A. He winds his fingers in Frank's hair and brings him closer. Frank gets there first.
*
"Frank, Frankie," Gerard whispers and Frank mumbles into his shoulder, curls into him. Gerard breathes out a laugh. "C'mon, sunrise, you wanted to see it."
Frank stirs and when his fingers land on Gerard's waist, they're awake and intent. "Mmmf."
"Frank?"
"'M up, totally, sunrise, gorgeous…"
Gerard succeeds in maneuvering them sideways on the bed. They blink blearily as the horizon beyond the screen mellows into yellow and blue out of pink streaks. When Gerard turns his head, Frank's eyes are lit up, eyelashes stuck with sleep. He's watching Gerard back.
"This is one of those moments," he whispers and Gerard tightens his hold on Frank's warm shoulder. His throat is tight.
"It is." He can manage a whisper, but his full voice has been eaten up by the mass of whirling feeling deep down in his belly. He's a mess for their tangle of elbows and knees and sheets and sweat. The room probably reeks of it all.
When Frank tilts his chin up, Gerard meets him awkwardly halfway, lips catching. Gone is the taste of cigarettes. They're an equal measure of night breath and come and sweat. Gerard slowly turns until he's pinning Frank into the sheets, anchors him on the bed.
They fuck slow and lingering and Gerard takes the moments when he isn't feeling blindingly, mindlessly turned on, to feel Frank's skin beneath his fingers and taste his shaky breath.
He breaks apart into a million shards of skin and light, made new by the hazy rays filling the open windows. Frank's eyes are open, watching, grin slow and heady, and Gerard drops his head and gasps against Frank's neck, feels it moving beneath him. Frank's slippery hands are sweating into his skin.
"Fuck," Gerard pants, breath dissipating around Frank's chest.
"No fucking kidding," Frank whispers in his ear.
*
"So, the language is beautiful, huh?" Frank says at 7:34, and his voice is wrecked, too loud in the bright sunlight. Gerard is hiding his face in Frank's belly, and he hears it in stereo of voice and rumble.
He has to sift through the debris of what used to be a pretty functioning brain to figure out what Frank is saying. "Yeah," he finally mumbles, and moans again. "Why are there no shades on these windows?"
Frank pokes him in the shoulder and cackles. "Because it's morning. Time to rise and shine."
"Fuck you, how are you even awake," Gerard complains, because, seriously. He's aching all over, he feels like he's run a marathon puffing on a carton-full of cigarettes.
"I'm young," Frank informs him, then overrides Gerard's whining before he can even start. "No, seriously. France, worth a look?"
"Huh? Yeah, I guess - why - oh." Gerard's brain finally switches into gear and it's like a rolodex sifting through the contacts. Oh.
Frank is still beneath him, waiting. Gerard struggles to lift himself up in a way that won't put his entire weight onto Frank's stomach. It takes a few tries, but finally he's upright enough to be able to look Frank in the eye. "What, you want a look?"
Frank watches him back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Maybe. You a good tour guide?"
Gerard nods as he says, "I'm a shitty tour guide. All you'll see are coffee shops, art supply stores, and museums."
"What, no Eiffel Tower?"
"Tourist."
"Snob."
"Frank."
"Yeah?"
Frank's hair is crazy, possibly crazier than Gerard's. One side is flat, the other is standing on end, and in the back, there's an amazing sort of curlicue that Gerard had no idea could exist in a natural state free of product. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's got a tiny smile playing on his lips. He looks perfect.
"I could be a crazy person," Gerard warns him. It's only fair.
"I could be a snorer," Frank counters.
"I'm messy. And I don't like to shower."
Frank scrunches up his nose. "I'll make you take baths." Then he adds, "I fall into fountains and my job takes up about seventy percent of my time and brainpower. Also, I’m vegan."
"I'll make you take a vacation. And I'll eat all the cheese." Gerard draws in a breath. "I'm a space cadet who forgets to turn on the coffee maker, or turn off the stove."
"I'll keep you away from the kitchen," Frank shrugs.
Gerard stills. For some reason, his voice comes out a lot less hesitant than he's feeling. "You want to see my gallery opening?"
"In Grenoble?"
"Paris."
Frank chews on his lip, and when he's done, it's shiny and pink. Gerard has to stop himself from reaching out and taking it between his lips.
"Okay," Frank says.
Gerard's head reels. He's hallucinating, he thinks, because he barely knew that Frank existed less than twenty four hours ago. This is what delirium feels like. "Frank."
"Gerard," Frank says and lifts one eyebrow. He's laughing.
"You're fucking crazy," Gerard whispers and throws an arm over Frank's body, brings them closer. "What about Skeleton?"
"Ray's been begging me to take a break."
"Frank."
"That's my name, you want it in writing?"
And Gerard thinks he really kind of does, because this can't be real, but then Frank reaches out and pulls him bodily in and they meet somewhere in the middle, Frank's thigh digging into Gerard's hip, and Gerard leaving an elbow-shaped imprint on Frank's belly.
"This is crazy," he mumbles in between kisses, and Frank answers, "I fucking know," and Gerard laughs against him and wonders if he'll be able to see the wing of the plane from the aisle.
~end~
( Part I)
Part II.
He chickens out between the dance floor and Frank's table, and ends up cutting a path through the chairs to get to the door. He nails himself in the hip with one, then while he's staggering around in pain, catches his foot on another, and by this point, he's just hoping to get out alive and have a smoke in peaceful humiliation outside. Amazing that only a minute ago, he was thinking of asking Frank to dance, for fuck's sake. Mikey's more graceful than this.
It's dark out now, and the garden is strewn with tiny lights that hide in bushes and trees and light up the fountain. He's down to three smokes, but that's all right, because he's got two more packs in his duffel before he has to switch back to domestic.
He's just flicked the cigarette into life and pushed hair out of his face with the palm of his hand when he feels the air shift around him. He doesn't look until the last possible minute, playing it cool and nonchalant, kicking at the gravel by the wall. But he's never actually been cool, nor has he ever succeeded at nonchalant, so when Frank's shoes shuffle into view and park less than a foot away from his own, Gerard looks up and just stares at him.
"How's your hip?" Frank asks, lips quirked, hand already making grabby fingers at Gerard's jacket pocket.
"Fuck you," is the best Gerard can come up with as he fumbles for the pack and tosses it at Frank. "By the way, that's, what, four you owe me?"
Frank skims a smoke from the pack one-handed and stuffs it into Gerard's pocket. "Three."
Gerard counts up mentally. "I've lost too many to count to needy bastards today."
Frank lights the cherry and squints through the smoke. "Oh, yeah? Who else have you been giving them up to today?"
Gerard's flush creeps up the back of his neck and flutters up his scalp with tickling fingers. "Hmm, other short jerks who never carry their own and fall into fountains?" Or Mom, he remembers. Sorry, Mom.
"Hey, now," Frank says. "There's water in that fountain. You got a hankering for wet smokes?"
"Point," Gerard admits. "Doesn't mean you don't owe me."
And because he's the slowest person on Earth, Gerard doesn't realize they're deep into flirting territory until Frank says, as he reaches into his pockets, "So I owe you. But hey, I am no longer empty-handed. Here, catch."
Gerard catches whatever the hell Frank's just tossed at him only because there is a God out there who loves un-athletic fags. He opens up his hand. "A Lindt truffle?"
"There's a whole display of them on the side of the room that doesn't, you know, have a door leading outside."
Huh. "Busted."
"You know you're supposed to mingle at these things, right?" Frank is outright laughing at Gerard, and seriously.
"I've mingled!" he argues, unwrapping the truffle. It's dark chocolate. He loves dark chocolate. "I've totally mingled."
"You're mingling with the garden," Frank points out. "And you've mingled with people directly related to you."
"I'm mingling with you," Gerard counters. "And I've never met you."
"True," Frank concedes with a nod. "Totally flattered, by the way."
"I'm sure. I know you’re only out here for the smokes."
Frank takes a drag and half-squints at Gerard as he exhales and doesn't answer. Gerard catches sight of his pink tongue curling around the escaped smoke and licks his lips. He's crazy. He's wired and loopy and jetlagged. He needs to leave. He needs to sleep. He needs to leave.
"You're not eating your truffle," Frank breaks the silence with a nod at Gerard's hand.
Gerard says, "Huh?" and then looks down. "Oh." The chocolate is melting slightly in his grip and he pops it in his mouth without thinking. The flavor blooms on his tongue and he brings his hand up and licks up the remnants from his palm. He doesn't realize he's sucking on his own thumb until he catches Frank's gaze on him.
"Uh." Gerard's frozen with his thumb in his mouth, cigarette smoldering down to the quick between his fingers. He must look idiotic and he wonders what he can possibly do to escape and go die by himself. Yelling things like fire! or timber! is pretty tempting, but he's still got his thumb in his mouth.
Right.
He slips it out with a quiet pop and seriously, if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole, he'd be totally okay with that. Where the fuck are you, oh God of Un-athletic Fags?
"Jesus Christ," Frank mutters and tosses aside his cigarette and Gerard watches, unmoving, as Frank takes the small step it takes to bring them within an inch of each other. Gerard’s heart is hammering. Somewhere inside his head, a soundtrack starts up, but it's not the right soundtrack, because no one's there to save the day, he's pretty sure, but -
But Frank is right there, and Gerard wonders wildly if his teeth are covered in chocolate, which would mean he can't even open his mouth and say anything, and oh, Jesus, he's crazy, this is Mikey's wedding, this is Mikey's boss -
Frank's lips move around Gerard's name in a whispered question. Gerard only knows this because he's watching them and then he flicks his gaze up at Frank's eyes. Frank is so close, Gerard can see even in the dark how long his eyelashes are. He licks his teeth, then his lips. He says, "Frank?" and his voice catches.
The next moment is a gravitational pull that happens before each first kiss. He knows it has to happen, knows it like he knows the axis tilt, but it doesn't add up until Frank's lips are on his own.
It's not a soundtrack anymore; it's fucking thunder.
Before Gerard can even so much as lift a hand, Frank's opened up his mouth and invited Gerard in. Gerard deepens the kiss immediately, and when he does move, he moves until Frank's enveloped in his arms, chests and knees lined up, tongues touching. His back is to the wall the next second. Frank is gasping into his mouth, cigarette smoke mingling with Gerard's chocolate, the chocolate that Frank had given him as penance for taking half his pack.
It's crazy, but so is he, so are they, apparently, because Gerard can't stop. He hears the gravel crunch under their feet, and the rough brick wall isn't exactly pleasant pressed up against his skull, but. Frank's hands are fluttering all down his front, across his chest, beneath his jacket and around his waist, then his belly, then back to his waist. Gerard keeps realizing he's tensing his back, or his shoulders, and he keeps trying to relax, but he can't.
He can't, he can't, Frank feels amazing against him. He's whimpering into Gerard's mouth and gasping like he can't get enough air. Gerard gives him all the air he wants, sucks on his tongue, bites his lips. They're necking like teenagers, and he almost laughs when his brain catches on long enough to notice he's hard as a fucking rock.
"What," Frank mumbles and Gerard figures he really must have laughed. Fucking crazy.
"Sorry," he gasps, and pulls back just enough to look at Frank. "I don't know why I'm apologizing," he admits. He's cupped his hands around Frank's jaw.
"Then don't," Frank whispers and his gaze is on Gerard's lips, and Gerard can feel his breath on the tip of his nose.
"Okay," he nods and goes in for another crazy-making kiss, because fucking hell. Jesus. What's even better now is being able to feel Frank's jaw moving under his hands, it's dirty, knowing Frank's working for it as hard as Gerard. Gerard moans and slides his hands enough to grab Frank's hair, feel the precise shape of his skull.
When his fingers catch and pull Frank's hair, Frank gasps into his mouth. Gerard does it again and gets the same result, and Jesus.
"Fuck. Really?" he mumbles around Frank's tongue and Frank doesn't even bother to use words, just nods and dives back in.
Gerard grabs his hair tighter and smiles into Frank's groan, just as Frank's hips stutter up against his own and oh, Gerard thinks, giddy with it, yeah, that's it. When he grabs Frank's hips and pulls them against his own, they both hiss.
Frank breaks off the kiss and buries his head in the crook of Gerard's neck. Gerard's eyes flutter closed. "Fucking hell."
"I know." Gerard licks his lips. "Hey, so I guess we've met now, huh," he says and feels kind of stupid until Frank pulls back enough to laugh gently.
"Thank God."
"Yeah?" Gerard feels the slow spread of his smile.
Frank nods and looks smug and satisfied and Gerard desperately wants to get him naked. "Fuck, yeah."
*
Frank doesn't have a room at the B&B, hence, apparently, his wet retreat home and back after the whole fountain debacle. This much they figure out in the five minutes it takes them to calm the fuck down and assess the situation without the hazy cloud of lust around them.
"You have a room, don't you?" Frank asks, hands tugging on Gerard's t-shirt. Gerard blinks.
"I don't know?"
"What - how can you not know?" Frank demands.
"Uh -" So, Gerard is not really a planner. At least he kept the rings safe. "I was running really late, right off the plane, so I just - got ready in Mikey's room." He has no idea where he's staying tonight. He had vaguely thought he'd be hitching a ride back with Mom and Dad. They've always been good for that. "What?"
Frank is looking at him like he's crazy. "Mikey's room," he says.
"Yes?"
"Which. Presumably he won't be using," Frank explains slowly, over-enunciating. Gerard doesn't get it until he does. He smiles in answer.
"Oh," he says.
"Yeah," Frank nods and quirks his lips. "I thought you were smart, artist man," he adds, backing Gerard up against the wall. Gerard spreads out his arms in defeat.
"Don't need to be smart to be an artist, just talented."
Frank bounces up and kisses him quick and sure on the lips, lingers. He pulls back, licks his lips and whispers, "At least you've got that going for you."
Gerard feels the prickle of his breath run all across his skin. "Yeah?"
"That and you're fucking beautiful," Frank says and even in the dark, Gerard can see him color. His stomach whoops and he draws in a shaky breath before he can speak.
"Am I?"
Frank rolls his eyes and then nudges Gerard's chin with his nose. "Like you don't fucking know."
Gerard kind of does, but it's better hearing it from Frank than anybody else. He leans down. They've already gotten the first kiss over with, and the next hundred, but it still catches him by surprise that he can do this. He can't resist the pause at the moment before their lips connect and simply breathe the air between them. When he does close the distance, he tastes their mingled breath.
*
"Hey, Mikey."
"Gee?" Mikey whips around. "Where've you been?"
Gerard notices the moment it clicks for Mikey - the kiss-bitten lips, messed-up hair, and he'll bet his entire Doom Patrol collection that he's got some stubble burn going on already. "Gerard."
"Mikey."
Mikey seems a little too tipsy and happy to muster up any kind of resentment, but Gerard can see him trying. "What have you been doing."
"Smoking."
Mikey crosses his arms over his chest and lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. "With your tongue?"
"That's gross," Gerard points out.
"So is you macking on my boss," Mikey counters, and okay, that's just weird.
"How the fuck would you even -"
"He's standing right there with beard burn, you fucking asshole," Mikey sighs and Gerard can't help whipping around, and yep. Stubble burn. He turns back to Mikey. "Fuck me."
"That's your wife's job," Gerard points out, because hey. He's the older brother here. It is already supremely unfair that Mikey has found the love of his life and married her, and Gerard has not.
"Shut the hell up, Gee." Mikey sighs again. "What do you want."
Gerard tries for casual. "The room key. I don't have one."
Mikey's eyes grow marginally wide for a split second. "Oh, hell fucking no."
"Mikey!"
"Gee, please don't have sex with my boss on my wedding night. Or, like, ever." He's pinching the bridge of his nose, the big drama queen.
Gerard rolls his eyes and tries again. "Mikey."
"Saying my name won't convince me that I'm okay with this." He pauses. "Gerard, I am not okay with this."
"Mikey. I don't care right now." He's doing his best older brother stance, which is pretty difficult when your entire body is vibrating with now now now and all he has to do is just think about Frank, and his dick stirs in his pants. He only has so much left in him to wait. He switches tacks. "Mikey, please. I just. I've - It's -"
And he finds he has no words for this. He has no idea what he's doing, but he'd rather not tell Mikey that while he's begging a room key off of him. He just. He wants.
But Mikey hasn't been his brother for twenty nine years for nothing. He doesn't look happy when he hands the key over, but he does squeeze Gerard's fingers when it's done. "Just. I don't know. Be careful, all right?" he says and Gerard can't hide the confusion on his face. "I mean. Frank isn't just anyone. You know what you're doing?"
Gerard softens. "Honestly, not really. But - I know, okay?" He does.
"Well, fine. Go forth and forni - aw, hell, I'm not saying that."
Gerard laughs and on an impulse captures Mikey in a hard hug. He mumbles his thanks it into his shoulder.
"You're fucking welcome," Mikey mumbles back and pushes him away. "I'm going to go where my brother isn't getting naked with my boss, okay? Okay."
Gerard gives him a salute and turns on his heel. Frank is lounging in the doorway, watching. He has the look of a man who's been undressing somebody slowly with his eyes. Gerard gets the thrill of knowing he's the someone somewhere deep in his belly.
He's shaking by the time he reaches Frank. "Hi."
Frank grabs his hand and pulls him in, looks him in the eye. "Hi."
*
Once they're through the door, Gerard is done waiting. He's been watching Frank, this guy he's just met, on and off all day, and if he's been kidding himself about appreciating beautiful things, he'd done now. He grabs Frank before he's even kicked the door shut, and it only catches on the lock once Frank's back hits it.
"Fuck," Frank groans and tips his head back, panting. Gerard really agrees and presses his entire body up against Frank, where he's hard and warm and fucking alive. Gerard mouths at his throat, sucks at a spot behind Frank's ear that apparently makes Frank actually shudder against him, and his head fucking spins.
"Jesus," he pants and grabs Frank's shoulders, pulls him away from the door. Frank follows willingly, even when Gerard pushes him down onto the bed with no warning. Frank bounces on top of the covers and grins at him.
He's about to say something when Gerard knees his way up over him and interrupts, "if you ask me if I see something I like, I'm out the door."
Frank laughs, high and sudden. "You wouldn't."
"No," Gerard admits and kisses him. "I wouldn't."
There are elbows and knees in the way, but when he unbuttons Frank's shirt and slides it off, and then tugs down his pants, he has to pause and look.
He is covered in ink. Sprawling, winding drawings all over his skin - down his arms, hugging his chest, words and pictures and Gerard can barely make them out in the dark, but he can't stop looking. "Holy shit," he says and hears Frank's quiet laughter while he's battling with Frank's shoes and pantlegs.
Once all Frank is wearing are his boxer briefs, Gerard's hands flutter immediately to his hips. "These are -" He stops and just breathes as he leans down and makes out the lines, details coming out like smoke out of air. Two birds on either hip, with an "And" right below the belly button. He watches Frank's belly rise and fall rapidly under his scrutiny, but Frank is silent.
Gerard sits back and rolls Frank over so he can see, what else, what else does he have?
"The Stooges? Seriously?" His fingers are hovering over the "arch" and "roy" inked around the small of Frank's back.
"You know it," Frank answers, and it comes out tight.
"Fuck." Gerard runs a hand through his hair, and he has no idea where to start, what to even do. Frank is beautiful. He can't even imagine drawing him because he's already art, with the ink and the sheen of sweat prickling up all over his skin, and the crazy beat of his pulse under Gerard's fingers.
Mindlessly, Gerard tugs on Frank's underwear, urges his hips up, slides his hands under the waistband and tugs them off. Frank is panting and the sound is all Gerard can hear in the moment Frank's entire body is revealed to him, splotches of ink on his shoulders, back, thighs.
"God, you're gorgeous," Gerard says and is barely even aware of it until Frank says,
"Gerard, please, please -"
And - yeah, he's been a little side-tracked, Gerard realizes.
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
He fumbles out of his own shirt, then swears when he realizes he just can't take his pants off without getting up, and as he's shoving them and his underwear off, Frank catches his gaze over his shoulder. They look at each other silently for a long moment. Gerard's skin feels like it's going to burn right off, he's buzzing, he's crazy.
He crawls up the bed not breaking Frank's gaze, and when Frank looks like he's about to turn over, Gerard catches and stills his hips. "No, stay."
Frank licks his lips and nods. "All right."
Gerard crawls up behind him and leans down. He can't help it, he has to. He touches his tongue to the tips of the guns at the small of Frank's back and licks down. Down and down until Frank sighs beneath him and then begins to shake. Gerard clutches his hips, and goes further down still, until he licks for permission to continue and Frank gasps and groans out, "Yes, yeah, fucking yes."
Gerard loves the taste, loves the texture, and Frank feels amazing against his tongue, shivery and mesmerizing and God, so hot. Gerard licks all around, flutters his tongue, feels Frank's voice crescendo into breaking. He rims him until Frank is crying out beneath him, and then he rims him until Frank fumbles his hand under his belly and starts to jerk off, fast and hard. Gerard moans against him, forces himself to stop, and rolls Frank over. He bats Frank's hand away and fuck, fuck, he loves this taste, too, loves the taste of Frank's cock leaking in his mouth.
"Fucking - Christ." Frank's voice is rough and fucking loud and Gerard spares a thought as to who might be listening, but then realizes he doesn't give a damn. He sucks Frank's dick deep into his mouth, then slides almost all the way off, then sucks him in again. He shifts onto his elbow and then - yeah, now he can go down deeper, so deep, Frank's cock hits the back of his throat and Gerard's eyes water. He breathes through it.
His scalp stings where Frank's grabbed handful of his hair, and his arm aches where he's leaning on his elbow, and Frank's thighs shaking around him feels fucking perfect, Jesus, he loves giving blowjobs.
Frank is swearing above him, cursing high and low and it's the hottest thing Gerard has ever heard. He wants to tell him that, but his mouth and tongue are busy, so he stores it up, he'll tell Frank later, later, when Frank isn't busy himself -
"Gerard, I'm gonna - Gerard -"
Gerard squeezes Frank's hip, do it, you can, and Frank does, coming down Gerard's throat the next moment, and shudders beneath him into stillness.
Once he's pulled off and taken a couple of gulping breaths, Gerard says, "You're so fucking hot like that."
Frank barks a kind of a shocked laugh and grabs Gerard's shoulders, urges him up. "Me? Jesus, you just -"
Gerard lands a bit hard on Frank, but Frank doesn't seem to mind, because he's kissing him, hard and rough and Gerard loses every sense besides taste and smell, like, he doesn't even have peripheral vision anymore. He's shorting out, and he only notices that he's rubbing himself on Frank's leg when Frank slides his hand down and stills him. Gerard pulls away.
"Sorry, sorry, just - "
Frank is watching him with half-hooded eyes, and Gerard can't not watch him back. He licks his lips just as Frank asks, "What do you want?"
Desperately, more than anything, Gerard wants to fuck Frank, but he thinks maybe that's not something you ask on a first date. He bites his lips and goes for the universal, "You," and lets Frank interpret that in any that he chooses. He's pretty sure Frank doing anything to him will be what he wants. He isn't lying.
He isn't wrong, either. Frank pushes at him until Gerard's rolled over onto his back and makes his downward path obvious, even as he meanders from throat to nipple to belly. Everywhere his mouth touches Gerard is like breathing through fire, Gerard can barely take it. By the time Frank reaches his dick and gives it a preemptive squeeze, Gerard is ready to crawl out of his skin. "Frank -"
Frank doesn't wait for him, and that's good, too. He doesn't tease, either, and oh, Christ, Gerard had suspected his mouth was made for sucking cock, but it's good to have proof. Gerard gets loud, almost embarrassingly so. Restless, too, like he's lost his motor function control along with his peripheral vision, and his feet have no idea where to be, and his hands are lost between his hair and chest and the covers.
Frank pulls off enough to smirk at him and slide down the bed. "Put your legs on my shoulders," he orders, and Gerard obeys immediately, glad of the command. Frank watches him for a minute, his breath so close to Gerard's dick, Gerard whines. "God, you're fucking hot," Frank whispers and before Gerard can even think of anything to say to that, he sucks him back in.
Gerard feels everything tighten, narrow, and God, he must have left his stamina back in Grenoble, because he knows he won't last. He tries to warn Frank, but his hands have gone numb and he has no idea how to even find them. He gasps out Frank's name instead, and Frank gets it and begins to pull off, only - doesn't, keeping the head of Gerard's dick in his mouth, pumping him with one hand.
Right before Gerard comes, Frank opens his eyes and looks up at him, and Gerard shudders and that's it, he's done, he's coming, watching Frank's mouth and hand working his dick in tandem. Jesus.
He can see Frank's throat working as he swallows. Gerard gulps for air and falls back, having just realized that he'd propped himself up on his elbows. "You - wow," he tells the ceiling.
Frank shifts and gently drops Gerard's thighs onto the bed. They burn a little, and he shakes life back into them, slides his feet up and down. Frank slides up the bed, curls in, and props himself on his hand, watches Gerard's face. "I fucking love the taste," he says, and his voice is low and raspy. Dirty. Gerard makes his hand move enough to grab his face and pull him in for a kiss.
"I do, too," he confesses once he's licked it off Frank's tongue.
Frank grins. "So, are you one of those guys who pass out right after they get off?"
Gerard laughs. "Opposite, actually."
"Seriously?"
Gerard nods and sighs. "Brain's too overworked. Can't sleep."
Frank smiles and shifts until he's resting on his elbows, looking down at Gerard's face. "Brain overworked? What the hell do you think about while you're getting off?"
Gerard chews on the inside of his cheek and considers. "If it's good, I think about the person doing the getting me off part. Like. What can I do to them next, what will they like. Stuff like that."
"What else?" Frank demands and Gerard smiles and starts to trace a pattern over Frank's shoulder, one of the spots where there's no ink at all, just virgin skin.
"What they look like while they're getting me off. How they feel."
Frank gives him a tiny smile. "What did I look like?"
"Incredible," Gerard confesses. Frank ducks his head and grins.
"So, you're not gonna pass out on me?"
Gerard isn't.
*
The room is non-smoking, and Gerard feels a little bad, but not as bad as he wants a cigarette. He’s glad that the bed’s right by the window; they've maneuvered the screen open enough for them to be able to dangle their hands into the open air.
Frank is perched on the window sill stark naked, knobby knees inches away from Gerard's face, feet planted on a pillow. They'd kicked the covers off, and Gerard is lounging on the bed, bent knees tucked under the sheets where it's warm. The wind rustles his hair, washes over his face. The hand holding the cigarette out the window is about ten degrees colder than the rest of him.
"You're such a pussy," Frank informs him.
"Pardon?"
"Hiding your delicate ass under the sheets. It's May, you know."
Gerard raises his eyebrow and takes a drag. "I like being comfortable, sue me. It's early May in Jersey."
"Like I said. Pussy."
Gerard bites Frank's knee and drops the cigarette outside.
*
He fucks Frank up against the open window, their voices carrying all across the garden. Frank is braced against one side of the frame, squirming against him, gasping, biting his forearm in an effort to muffle his voice. It doesn't work. Gerard fucks him hard and fast and the breeze feels fucking amazing on his overheated skin, raises all the hair on his arms.
"Frank, oh, fuck -" he's chanting, and he is no longer in control of himself at all, his hips dictating where he goes, as deep into Frank as he can, as hard as he can, and Frank takes it, begs for more between gulping breaths. Gerard gives it to him, he can't not, and he breathes in the scent of Frank’s hair, some kind of spring bloom mixing in with his skin and faint shampoo, and whines low in his chest, can't even take a breath, he can't do anything but keeping fucking Frank until they're both shaking and crying out and falling apart.
*
The alarm clock on the bed flickers over into 03:28. Gerard watches Frank, half-lying on his side, one arm out the window once more. He knows that they should sleep, but he can't. He can't stop touching Frank. His hand reaches out all on its own to trace the shadow of Frank's collarbone, the soft dip below his throat.
"You tired yet?" Frank asks with a lazy smile.
Gerard shakes his head. "More like delirious."
Frank snickers and maneuvers himself back onto the window sill and takes a drag. "Yeah, sounds about right."
Gerard watches him, too lazy to light himself another cigarette, even though he kind of wants one. "I should be passed out by now. It's, like, morning in Grenoble."
"It's morning here," Frank points out.
"No, I know, but like - coffee and croissants kind of morning, not just staggering home drunk kind of morning."
"Done that a lot?" Frank asks quietly, and Gerard wonders what Mikey's told him. He treads gently.
"Too much, I guess. A while back," he says and watches Frank for a reaction. He's looking out the window, nodding along to the smoke escaping his mouth.
"Yeah, that happens. But this is better."
Gerard smiles and stretches out his legs, his arms, pops his back. "Much," he agrees.
"I haven't seen this side of the sunrise in a while," Frank tells him quietly, and Gerard has to remind him the sun won't be up for at least two hours. "I know that. I just think." Frank pauses and ducks his head, looking a little sheepish. "I think we should see it."
Gerard blinks. "The sunrise?"
"Yeah. We've come this far, right?" Frank's voice is quiet in the dark, colored in shadow.
Gerard's whole body is exhausted, running on adrenaline and the hum of his skin. He considers that for a moment before agreeing, "Yeah. Okay."
"Yeah?"
Gerard smiles. "Let's do it."
Frank smiles back, and looks out the window again.
"Does it feel like we've met before?" he asks after a long moment.
Gerard watches his profile, the perk of his nose, the pout of his lips. He shakes his head. "No."
Frank's face falls visibly before Gerard can catch himself. "What it feels like is -" A line he's read somewhere comes to him, and he says, "Like we have known each other all our lives, and then we met."
Frank grins and glances at him. "Yeah. I guess that's the way to put it."
*
Frank maps Gerard's entire body with his tongue, flickers it against Gerard's hips, along his lower back; he slides it down Gerard's thighs, bites the back of his calves; he spreads him open and Gerard shakes the bed, coming apart against Frank's tongue.
He kisses him afterwards, lingering and slow and lazy and aching, and Gerard thinks about the week ahead, and he thinks about the curves of the plane, the wing he knows he'll see out the window of seat 25A. He winds his fingers in Frank's hair and brings him closer. Frank gets there first.
*
"Frank, Frankie," Gerard whispers and Frank mumbles into his shoulder, curls into him. Gerard breathes out a laugh. "C'mon, sunrise, you wanted to see it."
Frank stirs and when his fingers land on Gerard's waist, they're awake and intent. "Mmmf."
"Frank?"
"'M up, totally, sunrise, gorgeous…"
Gerard succeeds in maneuvering them sideways on the bed. They blink blearily as the horizon beyond the screen mellows into yellow and blue out of pink streaks. When Gerard turns his head, Frank's eyes are lit up, eyelashes stuck with sleep. He's watching Gerard back.
"This is one of those moments," he whispers and Gerard tightens his hold on Frank's warm shoulder. His throat is tight.
"It is." He can manage a whisper, but his full voice has been eaten up by the mass of whirling feeling deep down in his belly. He's a mess for their tangle of elbows and knees and sheets and sweat. The room probably reeks of it all.
When Frank tilts his chin up, Gerard meets him awkwardly halfway, lips catching. Gone is the taste of cigarettes. They're an equal measure of night breath and come and sweat. Gerard slowly turns until he's pinning Frank into the sheets, anchors him on the bed.
They fuck slow and lingering and Gerard takes the moments when he isn't feeling blindingly, mindlessly turned on, to feel Frank's skin beneath his fingers and taste his shaky breath.
He breaks apart into a million shards of skin and light, made new by the hazy rays filling the open windows. Frank's eyes are open, watching, grin slow and heady, and Gerard drops his head and gasps against Frank's neck, feels it moving beneath him. Frank's slippery hands are sweating into his skin.
"Fuck," Gerard pants, breath dissipating around Frank's chest.
"No fucking kidding," Frank whispers in his ear.
*
"So, the language is beautiful, huh?" Frank says at 7:34, and his voice is wrecked, too loud in the bright sunlight. Gerard is hiding his face in Frank's belly, and he hears it in stereo of voice and rumble.
He has to sift through the debris of what used to be a pretty functioning brain to figure out what Frank is saying. "Yeah," he finally mumbles, and moans again. "Why are there no shades on these windows?"
Frank pokes him in the shoulder and cackles. "Because it's morning. Time to rise and shine."
"Fuck you, how are you even awake," Gerard complains, because, seriously. He's aching all over, he feels like he's run a marathon puffing on a carton-full of cigarettes.
"I'm young," Frank informs him, then overrides Gerard's whining before he can even start. "No, seriously. France, worth a look?"
"Huh? Yeah, I guess - why - oh." Gerard's brain finally switches into gear and it's like a rolodex sifting through the contacts. Oh.
Frank is still beneath him, waiting. Gerard struggles to lift himself up in a way that won't put his entire weight onto Frank's stomach. It takes a few tries, but finally he's upright enough to be able to look Frank in the eye. "What, you want a look?"
Frank watches him back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Maybe. You a good tour guide?"
Gerard nods as he says, "I'm a shitty tour guide. All you'll see are coffee shops, art supply stores, and museums."
"What, no Eiffel Tower?"
"Tourist."
"Snob."
"Frank."
"Yeah?"
Frank's hair is crazy, possibly crazier than Gerard's. One side is flat, the other is standing on end, and in the back, there's an amazing sort of curlicue that Gerard had no idea could exist in a natural state free of product. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's got a tiny smile playing on his lips. He looks perfect.
"I could be a crazy person," Gerard warns him. It's only fair.
"I could be a snorer," Frank counters.
"I'm messy. And I don't like to shower."
Frank scrunches up his nose. "I'll make you take baths." Then he adds, "I fall into fountains and my job takes up about seventy percent of my time and brainpower. Also, I’m vegan."
"I'll make you take a vacation. And I'll eat all the cheese." Gerard draws in a breath. "I'm a space cadet who forgets to turn on the coffee maker, or turn off the stove."
"I'll keep you away from the kitchen," Frank shrugs.
Gerard stills. For some reason, his voice comes out a lot less hesitant than he's feeling. "You want to see my gallery opening?"
"In Grenoble?"
"Paris."
Frank chews on his lip, and when he's done, it's shiny and pink. Gerard has to stop himself from reaching out and taking it between his lips.
"Okay," Frank says.
Gerard's head reels. He's hallucinating, he thinks, because he barely knew that Frank existed less than twenty four hours ago. This is what delirium feels like. "Frank."
"Gerard," Frank says and lifts one eyebrow. He's laughing.
"You're fucking crazy," Gerard whispers and throws an arm over Frank's body, brings them closer. "What about Skeleton?"
"Ray's been begging me to take a break."
"Frank."
"That's my name, you want it in writing?"
And Gerard thinks he really kind of does, because this can't be real, but then Frank reaches out and pulls him bodily in and they meet somewhere in the middle, Frank's thigh digging into Gerard's hip, and Gerard leaving an elbow-shaped imprint on Frank's belly.
"This is crazy," he mumbles in between kisses, and Frank answers, "I fucking know," and Gerard laughs against him and wonders if he'll be able to see the wing of the plane from the aisle.
~end~