Happy Holidays, clayeer!
To: clayeer
From: restriction
Title: Hibernation Habits of Penguins
Rating: R15+/Adult
Characters: My Chemical Romance, Frank/Gerard
Word Count: 6900+
Disclaimer: 100% fiction.
Summary: Even when Frank is sick, Gerard's not able to avoid his attraction. Beer, boys and a bonfire.
Hibernation Habits of Penguins
It's funny, you'd think they should all be used to Frank getting sick by now. He's been doing it regularly like clockwork ever since any of them first met him.
Gerard's pretty sure the reason they're not used to it is because no matter how sick he gets, and with what he gets sick with, it always happens so suddenly. One minute Frank's out there thrashing around and rocking out, jumping on everyone and bounding around like a squirrel on speed, and then the next thing anyone knows he's curled up in the back of the van, unable and unwilling to move an inch.
Now, it's not that Gerard's a hypochondriac, honest, it's just that he figures since he spends so much time with Frank he's bound to get sick himself, sooner or later.
When he wakes up curled up on the floor by the toilet in the bathroom of the motel room he's sharing with Mikey, he immediately assumes the worst. He has the plague. He has ebola. He has mad cow disease. He has everything. He doesn't remember getting there at all, so... oh god, he has amnesia, too!
He clutches at his head.
It's a few minutes later, once he's gained his bearings - some bathroom floor, some shitty motel, some town, somewhere - that Ray pops his fluffy head around the doorway and finds him there. 'Gerard? Are you okay? What's wrong?'
Gerard waves a hand limply at him. His head hurts. His stomach is churning. His mouth
tastes like old socks. He's sure he's running a temperature. 'I'm dying,' he says eloquently.
'You're not dying.'
'I am, oh god, I am.' Petulantly, Gerard feels that Ray is really not getting the gravity of the situation here.
'No really, what the hell is wrong with you?' Ray says with exasperation. Right, definitely not getting the gravity.
Gerard rubs his forehead. 'I don't know,' he says. 'Maybe I've got what Frank's got. I feel a little feverish.' He's feverish. He did catch it off Frank, the little fucker. If he dies from this he is totally going to haunt Frank through this life and into the next. He should have known all that close contact in the van would have ended up in him catching Frank's death bug too.
Ray crouches down beside him and presses his hand to Gerard's forehead. 'You don't feel hot,' he says sceptically.
Gerard throws Ray a shocked look. 'You don't believe me?'
'What I believe is... that you had a little too much to drink last night, Gerard. That's what I believe.'
The only reason why Gerard is scowling is because he's pretty sure Ray's probably, maybe right. He didn't mean to have that much to drink, it was just... they got to talking with the band they were supporting and the beer was there and Gerard wasn't paying for it and--
'C'mon,' Ray says, patting Gerard's knee. 'Have a glass of water and a couple of Advil. You'll be just fine.' He gives Gerard a curious look. 'What are you doing in there anyway? You don't look like you're gonna puke.'
Gerard sniffs. 'Questions, questions, Ray Toro. I am not nearly well enough for all these questions.' He takes the hand Ray extends and pulls himself to his feet. 'Oh shit...' The room immediately begins spinning and Gerard claps his hand to his forehead. Now he looks like he's going to puke. 'I think you're right...'
'Of course I am,' Ray says, slinging Gerard's arm around his shoulder. He holds Gerard steady until his head stops spinning. 'How can you of all people, not know when you're hungover, Gerard?' He tsks good-naturedly.
'I forgot.'
'You forg- wait, what? How can you forget what a hangover feels like?'
'Because...' Gerard pauses dramatically. 'I have amnesia!'
Ray rolls his eyes. 'Futurama marathon,' he says. 'I guess you watched it too?'
Once Gerard's managed to pack his shit up (and he does throw up, once, and almost immediately feels better for it) and headed out to the van, he finds Mikey's sitting on the tail gate smoking. He shoots Gerard an amused look. 'Dying again, are we?'
'Shut up,' Gerard mutters. 'Thanks for waking me up, anyway.'
'I tried. But you told me you were dying,' he says and hoots with glee when Gerard scowls.
'Argh! Shut up, Mikey!' Gerard claps his hands over his ears. 'No, really, shut up! Or I'll - I'll - I'll think of something really awful and hilarious to do to you next time you pass out in the bathroom!' This isn't really a viable threat; Mikey tends to do his passing out in more respectable places, like beds and living room floors.
Frank is already in the van when Gerard climbs in. He's curled up on the seat, asleep again already, his head cocked and an awkward angle, so Gerard slides his fingers under Frank's head, gently, tenderly lifting it off the pillow and sliding his leg beneath, stroking his fingers through Frank's greasy hair. Frank stirs a little before settling back into his exhausted sleep, snuffling against Gerard's thigh.
He doesn't stir even as Matt roars the van's engine to life.
'How is he doing?' Mikey asks softly, somewhere between one hour on the road and two, hanging over the back of the middle seat.
Gerard shrugs. 'Dunno. I hope he'll feel better after a bit of a rest, though.' He's pretty sure Frank only made it through the previous night's show on a wing and a prayer.
'He won't miss the show tomorrow night though, even if he's not feeling better.'
'Of course he won't, he's a fucking moron,' Gerard says, but with all the affection he can muster. He adores the shit out of Frank and his stupid ideas - they all do for some reason - but that doesn't mean he doesn't worry at Frank's stupid perseverance to keep on playing even when he's practically on his deathbed.
Later, when Matt pulls into a gas station so they can grab something to eat and Ray can swap out with him for the next stretch of driving, Gerard rouses Frank. 'Don' wanna,' Frank slurs, pulling over his head the jacket Gerard had slung over him earlier, when the heating in the van had made that burning smell and rattle that usually precluded it completely crapping out unless it was turned it back a little.
Gerard bends over him. 'You gotta get up and move around a bit,' he says encouragingly. 'You need to eat or you'll get worse.' They were given a laundry list of things to do when Frank got sick from his mother, before they'd left on their first tour. She'd pressed it into Mikey's hand when Frank was off loading the trailer with Ray, telling them - nothing they didn't already know - that Frank was a stubborn boy who always thought he knew better, but at least if they can try to do these things on the list they can stop him from getting any worse.
Because they all know by now how bad Frank can get. 'C'mon,' Gerard continues in his softly encouraging voice.
Frank grumbles some more but eventually he lets Gerard help him into a sitting position, and then out of the van. It's clear when Frank stands that he's definitely not well - he struggles into the jacket that was his pillow, swaying where he stands. 'Whoa, careful,' Gerard says when it looks like Frank's knees are about to buckle, and he slides his hands under Frank's elbows.
'I'm fine,' Frank snaps, jerking away from Gerard so hard he stumbles into the side of the van. Gerard silently hands him a scarf and one of Mikey's beanies, and Frank glowers at him. The whole effect is kind of ruined by the fact that by now he's shivering so much in the cold air his teeth chatter.
'Come on,' Gerard repeats and turns to head inside. He figures Frank will either follow or he won't. Gerard kind of hopes it'll be the former; he isn't looking forward to any of them trying to force feed Frank something, anything to keep his energy up.
Mikey's standing at the coffee machine when Gerard enters and he flicks him a grin. 'Plastic coffee?' he offers and Gerard groans. Anything with caffeine in it will do. Even fake diner coffee. He makes gimme hands at Mikey. 'Am I not the best brother you've got?'
'You're the only brother I've got,' Gerard says, but gladly takes the cup from Mikey's hands.
'Did I mention it's all you can drink, too?'
'Oh, no way.' Gerard hooks an arm around Mikey's neck, careful not to slosh either of their cups. 'You're seriously the bestest little baby brother anyone could want. Have I told you lately that I love you?'
Mikey just smiles at him.
When they sit down, Ray leans forward. 'Frank coming in?'
They all turn to look. He's standing next to the van door where Gerard left him, stamping his feet and chafing his hands together, a cigarette between his lips. They watch as he takes a drag and then almost doubles over from the force of his cough, the smoke obviously irritated his lungs. 'Dunno,' Gerard says. 'He's none too bright is he?'
'It's all that pot he smoked when he was younger,' Matt affirms. 'Killing brain cells all over the place.'
Ray snickers and says, 'Like you can talk,' and Matt elbows him, sliding out of the booth to make for the coffee machine.
Gerard watches Frank drop the cigarette and crush it out in the gravel with his heel, still chafing his hands together as he hurries towards the front door of the diner, his exhales of breath no longer smoke but the fog of warm breath on cold air, smothered when he covers his mouth to cough again. He's still shivering when he slides into the booth next to Gerard, the cold coming off him in waves. 'Here,' Matt places one of the paper cups down in front of Frank before sliding back into the seat next to Ray. 'Just how you like it, kiddo.'
Frank looks up at him gratefully, carefully folding his fingers around the cup, sighing (and Gerard can hear his breath rattling in his chest) as the warmth permeates his hands.
Mikey leans around Gerard. 'How you doing, Frank?'
Frank snuffles at him, deliberately making a disgusting, snotty noise as he inhales. 'Oh, yeah, just fine, Mikes, just dandy.'
Mikey pushes Gerard's menu from in front of Gerard to across in front of Frank. 'Here, pick something,' he says, 'you're gonna eat,' and as Gerard opens his mouth to protest that hey, that was his menu and he hadn't finished looking at it, Mikey continues with, 'Gerard can share my menu.'
He's torn between the two. Not between checking what's on them, because he knows they're going to be the same, but torn between checking out what he wants to eat, and checking out that Frank's actually looking at the bloody thing, and is actually going to make some kind of a choice. (He is looking at it vaguely. Gerard's pretty much sure that he's staring through it instead, and when he says brightly, 'What looks good to you?' Frank starts and says, 'oh! Oh, I don't know yet,' before blinking rapidly like he can't focus on the laminated cardboard.)
When the waitress comes over Ray places an order for Frank anyway, because he's slipped into a doze right there at the table, listing to the side against Gerard's arm like he doesn't even have the energy to sit upright.
Gerard doesn't mind.
'Come here,' Frank whines, holding his arms out to Gerard once they clamber back into the van after lunch.
The truth is... well, the truth is that Gerard's just not capable of staying away from Frank - a lesson learnt a long time ago - and he doesn't have any reason not to go to him anyway, when he asks like this, so... he does, climbing over into the back seat where Frank is huddled, looking twenty shades of miserable. Gerard's no sooner settled into the seat next to Frank before Frank's pushing and kneading and manipulating Gerard into a suitable pillow (and this time instead of just his head resting on Gerard's leg, Frank curls up against his chest and presses up against his side).
'Mikey would probably fit better with you back here,' Gerard says belatedly, even though he doesn't want Mikey back here with Frank. Besides, he's sitting up the front with Ray, and they're beginning what appears to be a rather enthusiastic sing-a-long to the what's probably going to be the entire back catalogue of Iron Maiden.
Frank grunts. 'He's all pointy bits. You're softer. You're more comfortable.'
Softer. More comfortable. That's Frank's polite way of saying that Gerard's fat means he's well padded, he guesses. 'Stop it,' Frank says crossly, thumping the heel of his hand against Gerard's side like somehow he knows what Gerard's thinking.
'Ow!'
'Then stop it.' Gerard feels Frank's fingers creep across his side to his hand, fingers wrapping around fingers, and he drags Gerard's hand down. Gerard doesn't know why (that's a lie, he does know), but his heart thuds just that bit harder when he feels Frank draw his hand down his side and then up under the edge of his shirt, over--Gerard's breath catches a little in his throat at the feel of soft skin under his skimming fingertips, and then--
Then Gerard understands, as Frank makes him pinch some of his own pudge between his fingertips. The moment Frank releases Gerard's hand he jerks it away.
'It's not the same,' Gerard says, because it isn't, and he drags the blanket Mikey had been using in the seat in front over Frank, busying himself tucking it in around Frank's body. The heater is making that ominous rattling sound (echoed in Frank's chest), and Frank is shivering anyway, pushing in tightly against Gerard's body.
'You're warm,' Frank mumbles.
'I've been told that before,' Gerard says dryly. 'Usually by you.'
Frank smiles a little, before yawning. It doesn't take him long to fall asleep again with Gerard rubbing his arm and his head tucked in against Gerard's chest.
Gerard doesn't realise he's fallen asleep too until the van hits a pothole - 'Sorry, sorry!' Ray calls back. 'This road if fucked!' - and he jolts awake. The sun has fallen down towards the horizon and his right arm is numb.
'Sorry, did I wake you?' Frank asks.
'Huh? What? Oh, no. No, it's - I didn't realise you were awake.'
Frank rests his chin on Gerard's chest and looks up at him. He looks a lot more alert than he had that morning. 'Didn't want to wake you.' Then he pulls a face.
'What's wrong?' Gerard says as Frank rummages around between his back and the back of the seat grunting as he produces a can of deodorant. 'Was it poking you in the back?' he asks sympathetically.
'Not really.' Frank presses it into Gerard hands and says with all seriousness, 'Gerard, I love you but you should really use this sometimes.'
Gerard gapes at him. That little shit--!
Frank starts to giggle helplessly. 'Oh shit, Gee, if you could see the look on your face right now!'
Gerard pokes him in the side. 'You're annoying, you know that?' He's annoyed, a little, because it's like some kind of running joke between Frank and Ray and Matt that he and Mikey have a body odour problem, but seriously, like they can fucking talk with their stinky socks and farting and dirty underpants left everywhere (because Gerard doesn't do any of that, no way, not at all, really). But he's amused too; he really is, because Frank looks like he thinks he's just so hilarious. That and it's actually kind of nice to see him laughing and looking perkier than his sick listlessness.
Up the front of the van Ray and Mikey have moved from Iron Maiden's back catalogue and on to the Smashing Pumpkins - or at least, from the noise Gerard assumes that's what Mikey's trying to make happen. 'Look, Mikes, it's not that I don't appreciate the finer qualities Billy Corgan's voice, it's just not dri- it's just not the right follow up to the majesty of Iron Maiden--'
Gerard knows that it doesn't matter what Ray says, he's going to capitulate to Mikey. He always does. He grins when he hears Ray say, 'Oh Mikey, but - Mikey, I - I don't - oh, okay. Okay then, we'll listen to this, but I get to pick what's next, okay?'
Frank's laughter gains Matt's attention, and this time it's his turn to hang over the back of the seat in front of them. 'Hey you,' he says. 'Laughing boy. How d'you feel?'
Frank nods. 'Better. Definitely better.'
'See? Told you food would make you feel better,' Gerard says with a grin.
'Food made me hibernate like a fucking penguin. I feel better because--'
'Penguins don't hibernate!' Ray calls back at him.
'They do too,' Frank protests. 'They make little snow caves and hibernate for the winter. I saw it on the nature channel one time.'
'You're delirious, Frank,' Ray says. 'They don't hibernate. They're birds.'
'They do so. Anyway, I feel better because I've had some decent sleep. That place we stayed at last night,' and he glowers at Matt, 'is the last time I share with you, you snoring motherfucker.'
'Oh. Oh hey - hey no, I'll be having none of that Frank,' Matt says and throws up his hands in protest. 'I wasn't the one who sounded like he was sawing down entire forests in his sleep--'
'I'm full of snot, of course I snored. When I wasn't being woken up by you rattling the windows.'
Gerard's glad he usually rooms with his brother or Ray, because he knows how loudly Matt snores, and Frank, when not curled up against his chest on the back of the van, is just as bad as Matt says he is when he's ill. 'We'll see if we can get you a separate room for tonight, Frankie,' Ray calls back. 'So you can get a good night sleep. I think it'll do you wonders.'
Gerard hears Matt say, 'But can we afford it?'
'The rest of us will just bunk together. Don't worry, Matty, it'll be fine. He'll be fine.'
Gerard's proud of the way Frank managed to get through the show with no more than a token nod towards being unwell - maybe a slightly longer pause between songs as he tried to catch his breath - and after they've played and packed up their shit and are kicking back in the band room while the main act is on the stage it's easy to be fooled that he's actually okay, that his flush is just from pleasure and life and the heater in the corner he's sitting in that's turned the small, smelly room into something of a sauna.
He settles on the couch next to Frank. 'How you feeling?'
Frank toasts him with a beer. 'I feel - I feel fucking fantastic, man. Fucking fantastic.'
Mikey leans over. He's got his legs crossed awkwardly, and his glasses keep sliding down his nose, but he smiles and says with all seriousness, 'That, Frank, is excellent to hear. I'm glad you're feeling better. Fantastic. Frank. Awesome.'
Next thing Gerard knows his baby brother is standing up on a chair leading them all in a toast to Frank's health. Bemused, he raises his can, just to have it knocked from his hand when Frank tries to clink their cans together too enthusiastically. The 'oh!' face Frank makes is so comical Gerard gets the giggles, as Frank dives for the can on the floor.
'Precious, precious beer,' he croons, presenting the can to Gerard with great ceremony and it just makes Gerard laugh all the harder, 'for my precious, precious Gerard...'
The can is wet from the spilt beer, but Gerard just wipes his fingers dry on the leg of Frank's jeans with a sly look. 'Hey, you spilt it,' he says defensively when Frank sets up a protest.
Let it be known that Frank is nothing if not reasonable, Gerard thinks, as Frank apologises profusely. 'So where are we off to after this?' he then asks brightly.
There is a couple of guys sitting across the room, and Gerard's not entirely sure, but he thinks they might be friends with the main act. 'We know where there's gonna be a great party,' one of them - a kid with the most awful haystack hair Gerard thinks he's ever seen, and it must be bad, because he sees his brother regularly - says. He jerks his thumb at one of the other guys. 'Danny here, his place. They've got a bonfire and shit so it doesn't matter that it's cold. Just bring along some beer.'
Beer they can manage. Finding someone who is relatively sober enough to drive there might be the problem.
Eventually they convince Ray - who has had exactly one can less than everyone else, to slide behind the wheel. 'Oh, I dunno guys,' he whines, 'I don't think this is a good idea.'
'Just - I dunno, just drive carefully. You'll be fine,' Mikey says encouragingly from the passenger seat. The van is full - Ray and Mikey and Frank and Gerard and a bunch of other kids that had somehow conned their way into a seat.
Gerard doesn't mind. He likes a good party and a good bonfire and there's guaranteed to be lots of beer and--
'We're here,' Frank says, his elbow digging into Gerard's side as he clambers out through the door. There's a two story house on a large property bordered on one side by the shadows of trees. An enormous bonfire lights up the middle of the yard, and they migrate to the warmth it radiates like moths.
Gerard's making his way back towards the bonfire - he can see Ray standing against the flames, his unmistakeable silhouette, and the knock-kneed silhouette of Mikey beside him. There's a third someone in their conversation, and Gerard heads his drunken lurch towards them. He's sure that's going to be some quality conversation right there; it helps that they're standing by the cooler full of fresh beers.
He doesn't get more than a few steps before he's crash tackled out of nowhere, a small body colliding with his and its a fucking miracle that he keeps his feet, his arms wrapping around Frank, because there's no mistaking that Frank-shaped cannonball.
Frank mashes his lips against Gerard's in a messy, wet kiss. 'I'm so fucking drunk,' he says, curling his arms around Gerard's neck. 'So drunk.'
Gerard figures he must be pretty drunk too, because when Frank kisses him square on the mouth like that, a drunken kiss that's just that bit longer than it should be for a friendly kiss probably because it's a drunken kiss, he feels like what he kind of wants to do is kiss Frank more and more until he's--
Frank teeters and Gerard catches him closer. He's giggling, that stupid high pitched giggle he has when he's really drunk. I could kiss him for that alone, Gerard thinks fuzzily. He's got his face pressed to Gerard's neck, but when Gerard tries to hustle him towards the fire - it's all well and good for them to be silly way out here between the trees and the bonfire, but it's cold, and Gerard figures after a couple more beers he wouldn't mind - his knees buckle and he becomes a dead weight in Gerard's arms. 'Noooo...'
'Frankie, c'mon, we gotta--'
'Nooo, kiss me.'
'What?' Gerard blinks down at him. Frank's eyes are closed, darkly shadowed from the firelight flickering on his face, blacked out like the hollow eyes of an empty skull.
Then he opens his eyes, and they reflect moonlight (cold versus the warmth of the fire's light). 'Kiss me,' he repeats.
'Now you're being a jerk,' Gerard says. 'Stand up.' He tries to help Frank stand up, but the other boy won't have a bar of it. Gerard sighs. 'I'll let you go. You'll fall.'
'I'm sick,' Frank retorts, his arms tightening around Gerard's shoulders. 'You can't drop me.' He forgot how much of a monkey grip Frank could have when he put his mind to it. He's pretty sure Frank is about five seconds from wrapping his legs around Gerard's waist. Then Gerard will never be able to get him to let go. They'd need a crowbar to pry him off.
'I can, and when I drop you, you'll be sick and on the ground. Now stand up.'
'Kiss me.'
'Stand up.'
'Kiss me.'
'Stand up.'
'Not until you kiss me.'
'Stand up and I'll kiss you,' Gerard says.
Frank stands up. Sometimes, Gerard thinks, he is just that predictable when he gets that one track mind of his on that one track. He tries to release Frank and step back from him, but then Frank is all up his face. 'Uh-uh. No way, Gerard, mister. You said you would kiss me if I stood up. I'm standing,' and then he does step away from Gerard, spinning around in a circle with his arms out ('Ooh, shouldn't have done that,' he says when he teeters and Gerard has to catch him again), 'and now you have to kiss me.'
Gerard groans. The problem here is that it's just a stupid game to Frank, whereas Gerard really does want to kiss him. Then: 'I want it to be a good one,' Frank adds. 'Kiss me like you mean it.' Oh, he would say that.
When Gerard sighs and shakes his head because he can't just go around kissing his band mates, no matter how much he desperately wants to (drunk or not), Frank scowls. He doesn't look particularly fearsome, not normally, but Gerard's not about to point out to him that the firelight really makes his scowl look plausible this time.
'Don't you want to kiss me?' Frank releases Gerard again, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. 'Sorry, I thought you did,' he says, and he's changed that quickly, from playful to... to... embarrassed? He laughs again, but it's not that happy, bubbling giggle, it's the kind of laugh that just feels awkward and uncomfortable and like maybe Gerard should be apologising. 'Guess I was wrong.'
Wrong? Jesus fuck, no. Wrong is the last thing Frank could possibly be with this, Gerard thinks, and the way Frank's talking about it makes it seem like he really actually wanted Gerard to kiss him too. How could that even be? This is Frank, right, and he's just - he's Frank, he's not interested in long periods of making out with Gerard by the bonfire (and yeah, Gerard has thought about it, more than once already this evening alone), he's drunk and fooling around and being stupid and.
And he couldn't really want it, could he?
Once Gerard's managed to pull his head out of his metaphorical arse he realises that Frank's gone. Just... disappeared like that, right out from under his nose, while he was too busy musing like some kind of fucking moron about why Frank would or would not want to kiss him.
'Frank?' Gerard says hesitantly. He can't see a new silhouette against the flames, and instead peers around into the darkness. Eventually he spots someone sitting over on the doorstep to the back door of the house. He'll ask them if they've seen--
Never mind. It's Frank, sitting there. His shoulders are slouched and he coughs softly, like all the life has gone out of him.
Surely he can't be so drunk that a rejected pass on his own band mate would make him look this down. Because Gerard would never reject him, not really, not if he knew Frank wasn't just fucking around with him. 'Anyone sitting here?' He points at the step next to Frank.
Frank rubs his nose with the back of his hand and shrugs eloquently.
Gerard sits down carefully. The wood of the doorstep is cold under his buttocks, seeping through warm, worn denim.
It's odd and awkward. Neither of them has a drink, so they can't even concentrate on a can or a glass in their hands, and eventually Frank huffs a soft laugh. 'Sorry about that,' he says sheepishly. 'I'm drunk.'
'It's okay,' Gerard says. 'So am I.'
Frank picks at the tear in his jeans, fraying cotton between his fingertips. There's another awkward pause, and then Gerard sighs. 'I would kiss you,' he says. Now where did that come from?
Frank looks at him questioningly. The light now comes mostly from the bulb hanging on a string in the porch behind them, and when Gerard looks out into the yard the rectangle of falling light is blocked out by their hunched shadows.
'What do you mean?'
Gerard rubs his knee nervously. 'I mean, I - if you wanted it. If you really wanted it, if you... well, if you meant it, I'd - I'd kiss you. I'd like to kiss you now.'
Frank still looks at him questioningly, now with a slight tilt to his head. 'You would?'
Gerard nods. He wants to look away from Frank's gaze, he really does, but he just can't.
'I'd like you to kiss me now,' Frank says.
'I can do that,' Gerard says, and he turns, reaching up to cup Frank's face in his hands. Frank's face is cold, but his fingers are colder, and he thinks - with surprising clarity for someone who has as much beer in him as he does - that if here was any way to keep this moment behind glass, this moment right now, with Frank looking at him, eyes wide, lips parted and expression expectant.
Gerard can't help but hesitate, to give Frank the chance to change his mind and pull away, but he doesn't, and Gerard closes the distance between his mouth and Frank's. It's not like any of the stage kisses - hot with adrenaline and enthusiasm - or like the messy way Frank had kissed him moments before.
It's not the best kiss Gerard's ever given, but nor is it the worst. It's just a kiss; it's him moistening his lips and pressing them (open-mouthed) to Frank's for a moment before he dares to flick forward with his tongue, against the softness of Frank's lower lip, the hardness of his teeth. Frank sits, hands still folded in his lap and lets Gerard kiss him, moving to meet and accept everything Gerard offers.
Gerard's a little breathless when he pulls back, and when he licks his lips he can still taste Frank on them. Frank sits with his eyes closed for a moment, before he opens them and looks at Gerard. 'That was nice,' he says with a hazy smile. 'That was really nice, Gerard.'
Just nice? Gerard is about to pout in protest when Frank leans forward, his hand sliding around to cup the back of Gerard's head and the next thing Gerard knows he's pressed up against the doorframe and Frank's practically in his lap, kissing him with all the drunken passion he can muster.
Gerard's only human; he can't help it when he gets turned on. Frank does that to him sometimes anyway - and god, he would not admit to that even under torture - and when he's got his tongue stuck halfway down Gerard's throat and one hand worming up under Gerard's shirt and jacket then it's some kind of a given that Gerard will feel the heat of it right down his spine and in the tightening of his balls.
Frank is gasping for breath when he breaks off the kiss.
'That was better,' Gerard says after a moment and Frank laughs. It's a laugh Gerard hasn't heard from him except for one or two times when he's accidentally come across Frank in an intimate moment, his voice husky and sensual and completely different from - from normal Frank.
'Let's go somewhere,' Frank says. He's still got his hand wedged up Gerard's shirt, splayed against his skin, and when he works it higher to brush his fingertips over Gerard's nipple, Gerard hisses an intake of breath.
All he can think of is yes.
The somewhere they go to is the van, where it's parked a small hike away from the party, amidst a few other vehicles. It's quiet and alone and the only sound is their breathing.
Frank fumbles with the keys in the van door, scrabbling with the handle before dragging it open. Gerard mouths at Frank's throat, up under the line of his jaw as he hustles Frank into the van. It's cold inside, icy cold air on overheated skin, but Gerard can't bring himself to give a fuck when Frank's burning up under his hands. Except this is Frank, and Gerard - god, he just doesn't know if Frank burning up under his hands is because he's turned on or because he's sick (yeah, and there's another problem, he's got designs on one of his best friends, his pretty - oh so pretty - damn sick best friend and there's something fucked up about that) and he gasps, 'It's cold, Frank, it's too cold, you might get sicker--'
'No,' and he can feel Frank's voice vibrating under his mouth, 'I won't - not, not this time, I won't.' It's a dirty trick Gerard will recognise later, when Frank slides a hand down and grips Gerard where he's hard, through the straining material of his pants. Like Gerard could think of anything else when Frank's squeezing and releasing him like that.
There's a half-crushed box of t-shirts against the far door, and the familiar mess of clothing and sleeping bags and blankets that makes up the stale cushion for their bodies. Gerard kneels and tugs the door shut behind him, and when the light above winks out the only light in the van is from the moonlight coming in the windows.
'C'mere,' Frank mutters, dragging Gerard back towards him (and Gerard goes willingly), mouth unerringly finding his in the moonlit darkness and Gerard groans, softly, when Frank licks at his tongue.
Frank tastes like beer and cigarettes and Gerard can't help but groan again and settle back on his heels as Frank shuffles forward on his knees so he's straddling Gerard's thighs, rolling his hips forward so Gerard can feel the heavy, hard weight of his restrained cock against his belly. Frank grins down at him. Gerard never expected Frank to be so forward, or so appreciative.
Jesus, he's hot.
Frank tips Gerard's mouth up to his as Gerard runs his hands up Frank's back, rucking up his shirts with his hands. Frank sways back a little so Gerard can tug it off over Frank's head and when Frank sways back in Gerard pressed his mouth to the dip of Frank's throat, his tongue flicking out to taste Frank's salty skin.
'Here, here,' Gerard says, pushing Frank down on his back on the cushion of the blankets, and when his hand goes straight to the fly on Frank's jeans.
Gerard wouldn't lie if Frank asked him - Frank's hardly the only guy Gerard's fooled around with, so he hasn't got any shame or hesitations about sliding his hand inside Frank's jeans and wrapping his fingers around Frank's cock. 'Oh Christ,' Frank says with sudden, surprised force. 'Gerard - fuck--'
'Mm-hmm,' Gerard hums, tugging Frank's pants off his hips and down so they're bunched up down past his knees. He curls his fingers around Frank's thigh and Frank makes a strange warbling noise, pushing his hips up like he does - like Gerard's seen him do - when he's on stage with his guitar. It's not nearly as obscene then as it is now, with Frank practically naked and his cock fat with need.
Frank's hands grip the front of Gerard's jacket and shirt and he pushes up against the thigh Gerard's got wedged between his; it's a little awkward, because of Frank's bunched up jeans, and because Gerard's still wearing his, and it' clear Frank's not happy with that when he tries to undo Gerard's fly as well as rub off against him. Gerard shifts so he can struggle out of his jacket and push down his own jeans (worn and aging and in good need of a wash) and the moment he's bare - the cold air kissing his cock in a way that makes a shiver run up his spine, and there's Frank, damn him, laying there like he can't even feel the cold - Frank's grabbing at him, pulling him down over him, pushing up with his hips at the same time so their cocks will rub together.
Gerard gasps. Holy shit. 'Holy shit,' he manages, and the moonlight lights up Frank's impossibly brilliant grin.
'You like that?'
Gerard shifts so he's laying fully over Frank, between his raised knees, his own legs bent awkwardly because of the limited space in the van, and braces himself up on his elbows. 'It's not so bad,' he says, and his breath catches when Frank shifts under him.
He can feel Frank's cock hard and silky nestled against his, and when he thrusts forward Frank makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. 'Some more of that'd be good,' he says. 'C'mon.'
Gerard dips his head and kisses Frank again, a sloppy kiss that is all tongue and teeth and gasping breaths as he thrusts his hips in against Frank's. Drunken sex always seems to go on longer than it really does and Gerard's feeling like he's some kind of epic master of the art of fucking when he comes maybe a minute later. Frank squeezes Gerard with his knees as Gerard comes, head thrown back and panting - the windows are steamed up, so the moonlight is just a luminous glow on his skin - and he manages to grunt out, 'If you fucking stop, I swear, I will never fucking touch you again.'
Gerard's practically boneless from his own orgasm (sticky wet and his arms tremble where he's propped up on his elbows so he doesn't crush Frank beneath him), but the thought of Frank not touching him - whether he means like this or not - is enough to spur him into movement, and he slides a hand between them so he can wrap his fingers around Frank and jerks him off. The closer Frank gets to his own orgasm the harder he squeezes Gerard with his knees, and Gerard fancies that he's probably going to have a helluva couple of bruises on his hips come morning.
Eventually Frank comes with a 'Holy fuck-!' and Gerard holds him in his fingers until he stops shaking and his iron grip on Gerard's body eases up.
'Better?'
'Mmm.'
'You'll touch me again?'
In response Frank twines his arms around Gerard's neck and kisses him.
Gerard grins down at him. 'Excellent,' he says in his best Monty Burns impersonation. It's poor, but it makes Frank laugh.
Gerard shamelessly picks up one of his brother's dirty t-shirts and wipes first himself and then Frank clean, before shoving the shirt into a plastic bag which he's sure is full of rubbish.
'Gerard!' Frank says, aghast. 'He's going to kill you for that.'
Gerard just flashes a cheeky smile at Frank and shrugs. 'What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he'd probably blame it on Matt.'
'That's just mean. True, but mean. But... would you tell me, Gerard... I - I didn't realise you liked me like that,' Frank says, yawning and pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. 'Like this. 'Til... before.'
'You didn't ask,' Gerard says, as he makes some play for modesty, wriggling around as he attempts to pull up first his trousers and then Frank's. 'Didn't want to get shot down and fuck things up.' He doesn't even think about how this could have fucked everything right up for them. He can't, not right now. 'You really should put your shirt back on. You'll get sicker.' And then Gerard feels guilty for getting Frank practically naked out here in the van just so he could have his wicked way with him, regardless of the fact that Frank started it. Clearly he was just having sick delusions, and Gerard was a terrible (and satisfied) person for taking advantage of him like that.
'I feel fine,' Frank protests, but he throws out a hand for his shirt, missing and instead grabbing one of Ray's hoodies. He bundles himself up in that instead. 'Better?'
'Mmm.'
Gerard knows they should go back to the party and the bonfire, and keep warm and then take up the offer of sleeping in what will undoubtedly be the warmer upstairs rooms at the house, but it's kind of nice curled up on the dubious mattress of the detritus of five boys living in one van.
By the sound of Frank's breathing - reedy, because he's still got that monster living in his chest - he's pretty much fallen asleep already, so Gerard curls around him ('You're warm,' Frank mumbles and Gerard retorts that he always says that), tugging over them a layer of blankets and sleeping bags until he's formed a warm, sheltered cocoon around their bodies.
We'll be fine here, Gerard thinks and tucks his face against the back of Frank's neck. He falls asleep in no time.
From: restriction
Title: Hibernation Habits of Penguins
Rating: R15+/Adult
Characters: My Chemical Romance, Frank/Gerard
Word Count: 6900+
Disclaimer: 100% fiction.
Summary: Even when Frank is sick, Gerard's not able to avoid his attraction. Beer, boys and a bonfire.
Hibernation Habits of Penguins
It's funny, you'd think they should all be used to Frank getting sick by now. He's been doing it regularly like clockwork ever since any of them first met him.
Gerard's pretty sure the reason they're not used to it is because no matter how sick he gets, and with what he gets sick with, it always happens so suddenly. One minute Frank's out there thrashing around and rocking out, jumping on everyone and bounding around like a squirrel on speed, and then the next thing anyone knows he's curled up in the back of the van, unable and unwilling to move an inch.
Now, it's not that Gerard's a hypochondriac, honest, it's just that he figures since he spends so much time with Frank he's bound to get sick himself, sooner or later.
When he wakes up curled up on the floor by the toilet in the bathroom of the motel room he's sharing with Mikey, he immediately assumes the worst. He has the plague. He has ebola. He has mad cow disease. He has everything. He doesn't remember getting there at all, so... oh god, he has amnesia, too!
He clutches at his head.
It's a few minutes later, once he's gained his bearings - some bathroom floor, some shitty motel, some town, somewhere - that Ray pops his fluffy head around the doorway and finds him there. 'Gerard? Are you okay? What's wrong?'
Gerard waves a hand limply at him. His head hurts. His stomach is churning. His mouth
tastes like old socks. He's sure he's running a temperature. 'I'm dying,' he says eloquently.
'You're not dying.'
'I am, oh god, I am.' Petulantly, Gerard feels that Ray is really not getting the gravity of the situation here.
'No really, what the hell is wrong with you?' Ray says with exasperation. Right, definitely not getting the gravity.
Gerard rubs his forehead. 'I don't know,' he says. 'Maybe I've got what Frank's got. I feel a little feverish.' He's feverish. He did catch it off Frank, the little fucker. If he dies from this he is totally going to haunt Frank through this life and into the next. He should have known all that close contact in the van would have ended up in him catching Frank's death bug too.
Ray crouches down beside him and presses his hand to Gerard's forehead. 'You don't feel hot,' he says sceptically.
Gerard throws Ray a shocked look. 'You don't believe me?'
'What I believe is... that you had a little too much to drink last night, Gerard. That's what I believe.'
The only reason why Gerard is scowling is because he's pretty sure Ray's probably, maybe right. He didn't mean to have that much to drink, it was just... they got to talking with the band they were supporting and the beer was there and Gerard wasn't paying for it and--
'C'mon,' Ray says, patting Gerard's knee. 'Have a glass of water and a couple of Advil. You'll be just fine.' He gives Gerard a curious look. 'What are you doing in there anyway? You don't look like you're gonna puke.'
Gerard sniffs. 'Questions, questions, Ray Toro. I am not nearly well enough for all these questions.' He takes the hand Ray extends and pulls himself to his feet. 'Oh shit...' The room immediately begins spinning and Gerard claps his hand to his forehead. Now he looks like he's going to puke. 'I think you're right...'
'Of course I am,' Ray says, slinging Gerard's arm around his shoulder. He holds Gerard steady until his head stops spinning. 'How can you of all people, not know when you're hungover, Gerard?' He tsks good-naturedly.
'I forgot.'
'You forg- wait, what? How can you forget what a hangover feels like?'
'Because...' Gerard pauses dramatically. 'I have amnesia!'
Ray rolls his eyes. 'Futurama marathon,' he says. 'I guess you watched it too?'
Once Gerard's managed to pack his shit up (and he does throw up, once, and almost immediately feels better for it) and headed out to the van, he finds Mikey's sitting on the tail gate smoking. He shoots Gerard an amused look. 'Dying again, are we?'
'Shut up,' Gerard mutters. 'Thanks for waking me up, anyway.'
'I tried. But you told me you were dying,' he says and hoots with glee when Gerard scowls.
'Argh! Shut up, Mikey!' Gerard claps his hands over his ears. 'No, really, shut up! Or I'll - I'll - I'll think of something really awful and hilarious to do to you next time you pass out in the bathroom!' This isn't really a viable threat; Mikey tends to do his passing out in more respectable places, like beds and living room floors.
Frank is already in the van when Gerard climbs in. He's curled up on the seat, asleep again already, his head cocked and an awkward angle, so Gerard slides his fingers under Frank's head, gently, tenderly lifting it off the pillow and sliding his leg beneath, stroking his fingers through Frank's greasy hair. Frank stirs a little before settling back into his exhausted sleep, snuffling against Gerard's thigh.
He doesn't stir even as Matt roars the van's engine to life.
'How is he doing?' Mikey asks softly, somewhere between one hour on the road and two, hanging over the back of the middle seat.
Gerard shrugs. 'Dunno. I hope he'll feel better after a bit of a rest, though.' He's pretty sure Frank only made it through the previous night's show on a wing and a prayer.
'He won't miss the show tomorrow night though, even if he's not feeling better.'
'Of course he won't, he's a fucking moron,' Gerard says, but with all the affection he can muster. He adores the shit out of Frank and his stupid ideas - they all do for some reason - but that doesn't mean he doesn't worry at Frank's stupid perseverance to keep on playing even when he's practically on his deathbed.
Later, when Matt pulls into a gas station so they can grab something to eat and Ray can swap out with him for the next stretch of driving, Gerard rouses Frank. 'Don' wanna,' Frank slurs, pulling over his head the jacket Gerard had slung over him earlier, when the heating in the van had made that burning smell and rattle that usually precluded it completely crapping out unless it was turned it back a little.
Gerard bends over him. 'You gotta get up and move around a bit,' he says encouragingly. 'You need to eat or you'll get worse.' They were given a laundry list of things to do when Frank got sick from his mother, before they'd left on their first tour. She'd pressed it into Mikey's hand when Frank was off loading the trailer with Ray, telling them - nothing they didn't already know - that Frank was a stubborn boy who always thought he knew better, but at least if they can try to do these things on the list they can stop him from getting any worse.
Because they all know by now how bad Frank can get. 'C'mon,' Gerard continues in his softly encouraging voice.
Frank grumbles some more but eventually he lets Gerard help him into a sitting position, and then out of the van. It's clear when Frank stands that he's definitely not well - he struggles into the jacket that was his pillow, swaying where he stands. 'Whoa, careful,' Gerard says when it looks like Frank's knees are about to buckle, and he slides his hands under Frank's elbows.
'I'm fine,' Frank snaps, jerking away from Gerard so hard he stumbles into the side of the van. Gerard silently hands him a scarf and one of Mikey's beanies, and Frank glowers at him. The whole effect is kind of ruined by the fact that by now he's shivering so much in the cold air his teeth chatter.
'Come on,' Gerard repeats and turns to head inside. He figures Frank will either follow or he won't. Gerard kind of hopes it'll be the former; he isn't looking forward to any of them trying to force feed Frank something, anything to keep his energy up.
Mikey's standing at the coffee machine when Gerard enters and he flicks him a grin. 'Plastic coffee?' he offers and Gerard groans. Anything with caffeine in it will do. Even fake diner coffee. He makes gimme hands at Mikey. 'Am I not the best brother you've got?'
'You're the only brother I've got,' Gerard says, but gladly takes the cup from Mikey's hands.
'Did I mention it's all you can drink, too?'
'Oh, no way.' Gerard hooks an arm around Mikey's neck, careful not to slosh either of their cups. 'You're seriously the bestest little baby brother anyone could want. Have I told you lately that I love you?'
Mikey just smiles at him.
When they sit down, Ray leans forward. 'Frank coming in?'
They all turn to look. He's standing next to the van door where Gerard left him, stamping his feet and chafing his hands together, a cigarette between his lips. They watch as he takes a drag and then almost doubles over from the force of his cough, the smoke obviously irritated his lungs. 'Dunno,' Gerard says. 'He's none too bright is he?'
'It's all that pot he smoked when he was younger,' Matt affirms. 'Killing brain cells all over the place.'
Ray snickers and says, 'Like you can talk,' and Matt elbows him, sliding out of the booth to make for the coffee machine.
Gerard watches Frank drop the cigarette and crush it out in the gravel with his heel, still chafing his hands together as he hurries towards the front door of the diner, his exhales of breath no longer smoke but the fog of warm breath on cold air, smothered when he covers his mouth to cough again. He's still shivering when he slides into the booth next to Gerard, the cold coming off him in waves. 'Here,' Matt places one of the paper cups down in front of Frank before sliding back into the seat next to Ray. 'Just how you like it, kiddo.'
Frank looks up at him gratefully, carefully folding his fingers around the cup, sighing (and Gerard can hear his breath rattling in his chest) as the warmth permeates his hands.
Mikey leans around Gerard. 'How you doing, Frank?'
Frank snuffles at him, deliberately making a disgusting, snotty noise as he inhales. 'Oh, yeah, just fine, Mikes, just dandy.'
Mikey pushes Gerard's menu from in front of Gerard to across in front of Frank. 'Here, pick something,' he says, 'you're gonna eat,' and as Gerard opens his mouth to protest that hey, that was his menu and he hadn't finished looking at it, Mikey continues with, 'Gerard can share my menu.'
He's torn between the two. Not between checking what's on them, because he knows they're going to be the same, but torn between checking out what he wants to eat, and checking out that Frank's actually looking at the bloody thing, and is actually going to make some kind of a choice. (He is looking at it vaguely. Gerard's pretty much sure that he's staring through it instead, and when he says brightly, 'What looks good to you?' Frank starts and says, 'oh! Oh, I don't know yet,' before blinking rapidly like he can't focus on the laminated cardboard.)
When the waitress comes over Ray places an order for Frank anyway, because he's slipped into a doze right there at the table, listing to the side against Gerard's arm like he doesn't even have the energy to sit upright.
Gerard doesn't mind.
'Come here,' Frank whines, holding his arms out to Gerard once they clamber back into the van after lunch.
The truth is... well, the truth is that Gerard's just not capable of staying away from Frank - a lesson learnt a long time ago - and he doesn't have any reason not to go to him anyway, when he asks like this, so... he does, climbing over into the back seat where Frank is huddled, looking twenty shades of miserable. Gerard's no sooner settled into the seat next to Frank before Frank's pushing and kneading and manipulating Gerard into a suitable pillow (and this time instead of just his head resting on Gerard's leg, Frank curls up against his chest and presses up against his side).
'Mikey would probably fit better with you back here,' Gerard says belatedly, even though he doesn't want Mikey back here with Frank. Besides, he's sitting up the front with Ray, and they're beginning what appears to be a rather enthusiastic sing-a-long to the what's probably going to be the entire back catalogue of Iron Maiden.
Frank grunts. 'He's all pointy bits. You're softer. You're more comfortable.'
Softer. More comfortable. That's Frank's polite way of saying that Gerard's fat means he's well padded, he guesses. 'Stop it,' Frank says crossly, thumping the heel of his hand against Gerard's side like somehow he knows what Gerard's thinking.
'Ow!'
'Then stop it.' Gerard feels Frank's fingers creep across his side to his hand, fingers wrapping around fingers, and he drags Gerard's hand down. Gerard doesn't know why (that's a lie, he does know), but his heart thuds just that bit harder when he feels Frank draw his hand down his side and then up under the edge of his shirt, over--Gerard's breath catches a little in his throat at the feel of soft skin under his skimming fingertips, and then--
Then Gerard understands, as Frank makes him pinch some of his own pudge between his fingertips. The moment Frank releases Gerard's hand he jerks it away.
'It's not the same,' Gerard says, because it isn't, and he drags the blanket Mikey had been using in the seat in front over Frank, busying himself tucking it in around Frank's body. The heater is making that ominous rattling sound (echoed in Frank's chest), and Frank is shivering anyway, pushing in tightly against Gerard's body.
'You're warm,' Frank mumbles.
'I've been told that before,' Gerard says dryly. 'Usually by you.'
Frank smiles a little, before yawning. It doesn't take him long to fall asleep again with Gerard rubbing his arm and his head tucked in against Gerard's chest.
Gerard doesn't realise he's fallen asleep too until the van hits a pothole - 'Sorry, sorry!' Ray calls back. 'This road if fucked!' - and he jolts awake. The sun has fallen down towards the horizon and his right arm is numb.
'Sorry, did I wake you?' Frank asks.
'Huh? What? Oh, no. No, it's - I didn't realise you were awake.'
Frank rests his chin on Gerard's chest and looks up at him. He looks a lot more alert than he had that morning. 'Didn't want to wake you.' Then he pulls a face.
'What's wrong?' Gerard says as Frank rummages around between his back and the back of the seat grunting as he produces a can of deodorant. 'Was it poking you in the back?' he asks sympathetically.
'Not really.' Frank presses it into Gerard hands and says with all seriousness, 'Gerard, I love you but you should really use this sometimes.'
Gerard gapes at him. That little shit--!
Frank starts to giggle helplessly. 'Oh shit, Gee, if you could see the look on your face right now!'
Gerard pokes him in the side. 'You're annoying, you know that?' He's annoyed, a little, because it's like some kind of running joke between Frank and Ray and Matt that he and Mikey have a body odour problem, but seriously, like they can fucking talk with their stinky socks and farting and dirty underpants left everywhere (because Gerard doesn't do any of that, no way, not at all, really). But he's amused too; he really is, because Frank looks like he thinks he's just so hilarious. That and it's actually kind of nice to see him laughing and looking perkier than his sick listlessness.
Up the front of the van Ray and Mikey have moved from Iron Maiden's back catalogue and on to the Smashing Pumpkins - or at least, from the noise Gerard assumes that's what Mikey's trying to make happen. 'Look, Mikes, it's not that I don't appreciate the finer qualities Billy Corgan's voice, it's just not dri- it's just not the right follow up to the majesty of Iron Maiden--'
Gerard knows that it doesn't matter what Ray says, he's going to capitulate to Mikey. He always does. He grins when he hears Ray say, 'Oh Mikey, but - Mikey, I - I don't - oh, okay. Okay then, we'll listen to this, but I get to pick what's next, okay?'
Frank's laughter gains Matt's attention, and this time it's his turn to hang over the back of the seat in front of them. 'Hey you,' he says. 'Laughing boy. How d'you feel?'
Frank nods. 'Better. Definitely better.'
'See? Told you food would make you feel better,' Gerard says with a grin.
'Food made me hibernate like a fucking penguin. I feel better because--'
'Penguins don't hibernate!' Ray calls back at him.
'They do too,' Frank protests. 'They make little snow caves and hibernate for the winter. I saw it on the nature channel one time.'
'You're delirious, Frank,' Ray says. 'They don't hibernate. They're birds.'
'They do so. Anyway, I feel better because I've had some decent sleep. That place we stayed at last night,' and he glowers at Matt, 'is the last time I share with you, you snoring motherfucker.'
'Oh. Oh hey - hey no, I'll be having none of that Frank,' Matt says and throws up his hands in protest. 'I wasn't the one who sounded like he was sawing down entire forests in his sleep--'
'I'm full of snot, of course I snored. When I wasn't being woken up by you rattling the windows.'
Gerard's glad he usually rooms with his brother or Ray, because he knows how loudly Matt snores, and Frank, when not curled up against his chest on the back of the van, is just as bad as Matt says he is when he's ill. 'We'll see if we can get you a separate room for tonight, Frankie,' Ray calls back. 'So you can get a good night sleep. I think it'll do you wonders.'
Gerard hears Matt say, 'But can we afford it?'
'The rest of us will just bunk together. Don't worry, Matty, it'll be fine. He'll be fine.'
Gerard's proud of the way Frank managed to get through the show with no more than a token nod towards being unwell - maybe a slightly longer pause between songs as he tried to catch his breath - and after they've played and packed up their shit and are kicking back in the band room while the main act is on the stage it's easy to be fooled that he's actually okay, that his flush is just from pleasure and life and the heater in the corner he's sitting in that's turned the small, smelly room into something of a sauna.
He settles on the couch next to Frank. 'How you feeling?'
Frank toasts him with a beer. 'I feel - I feel fucking fantastic, man. Fucking fantastic.'
Mikey leans over. He's got his legs crossed awkwardly, and his glasses keep sliding down his nose, but he smiles and says with all seriousness, 'That, Frank, is excellent to hear. I'm glad you're feeling better. Fantastic. Frank. Awesome.'
Next thing Gerard knows his baby brother is standing up on a chair leading them all in a toast to Frank's health. Bemused, he raises his can, just to have it knocked from his hand when Frank tries to clink their cans together too enthusiastically. The 'oh!' face Frank makes is so comical Gerard gets the giggles, as Frank dives for the can on the floor.
'Precious, precious beer,' he croons, presenting the can to Gerard with great ceremony and it just makes Gerard laugh all the harder, 'for my precious, precious Gerard...'
The can is wet from the spilt beer, but Gerard just wipes his fingers dry on the leg of Frank's jeans with a sly look. 'Hey, you spilt it,' he says defensively when Frank sets up a protest.
Let it be known that Frank is nothing if not reasonable, Gerard thinks, as Frank apologises profusely. 'So where are we off to after this?' he then asks brightly.
There is a couple of guys sitting across the room, and Gerard's not entirely sure, but he thinks they might be friends with the main act. 'We know where there's gonna be a great party,' one of them - a kid with the most awful haystack hair Gerard thinks he's ever seen, and it must be bad, because he sees his brother regularly - says. He jerks his thumb at one of the other guys. 'Danny here, his place. They've got a bonfire and shit so it doesn't matter that it's cold. Just bring along some beer.'
Beer they can manage. Finding someone who is relatively sober enough to drive there might be the problem.
Eventually they convince Ray - who has had exactly one can less than everyone else, to slide behind the wheel. 'Oh, I dunno guys,' he whines, 'I don't think this is a good idea.'
'Just - I dunno, just drive carefully. You'll be fine,' Mikey says encouragingly from the passenger seat. The van is full - Ray and Mikey and Frank and Gerard and a bunch of other kids that had somehow conned their way into a seat.
Gerard doesn't mind. He likes a good party and a good bonfire and there's guaranteed to be lots of beer and--
'We're here,' Frank says, his elbow digging into Gerard's side as he clambers out through the door. There's a two story house on a large property bordered on one side by the shadows of trees. An enormous bonfire lights up the middle of the yard, and they migrate to the warmth it radiates like moths.
Gerard's making his way back towards the bonfire - he can see Ray standing against the flames, his unmistakeable silhouette, and the knock-kneed silhouette of Mikey beside him. There's a third someone in their conversation, and Gerard heads his drunken lurch towards them. He's sure that's going to be some quality conversation right there; it helps that they're standing by the cooler full of fresh beers.
He doesn't get more than a few steps before he's crash tackled out of nowhere, a small body colliding with his and its a fucking miracle that he keeps his feet, his arms wrapping around Frank, because there's no mistaking that Frank-shaped cannonball.
Frank mashes his lips against Gerard's in a messy, wet kiss. 'I'm so fucking drunk,' he says, curling his arms around Gerard's neck. 'So drunk.'
Gerard figures he must be pretty drunk too, because when Frank kisses him square on the mouth like that, a drunken kiss that's just that bit longer than it should be for a friendly kiss probably because it's a drunken kiss, he feels like what he kind of wants to do is kiss Frank more and more until he's--
Frank teeters and Gerard catches him closer. He's giggling, that stupid high pitched giggle he has when he's really drunk. I could kiss him for that alone, Gerard thinks fuzzily. He's got his face pressed to Gerard's neck, but when Gerard tries to hustle him towards the fire - it's all well and good for them to be silly way out here between the trees and the bonfire, but it's cold, and Gerard figures after a couple more beers he wouldn't mind - his knees buckle and he becomes a dead weight in Gerard's arms. 'Noooo...'
'Frankie, c'mon, we gotta--'
'Nooo, kiss me.'
'What?' Gerard blinks down at him. Frank's eyes are closed, darkly shadowed from the firelight flickering on his face, blacked out like the hollow eyes of an empty skull.
Then he opens his eyes, and they reflect moonlight (cold versus the warmth of the fire's light). 'Kiss me,' he repeats.
'Now you're being a jerk,' Gerard says. 'Stand up.' He tries to help Frank stand up, but the other boy won't have a bar of it. Gerard sighs. 'I'll let you go. You'll fall.'
'I'm sick,' Frank retorts, his arms tightening around Gerard's shoulders. 'You can't drop me.' He forgot how much of a monkey grip Frank could have when he put his mind to it. He's pretty sure Frank is about five seconds from wrapping his legs around Gerard's waist. Then Gerard will never be able to get him to let go. They'd need a crowbar to pry him off.
'I can, and when I drop you, you'll be sick and on the ground. Now stand up.'
'Kiss me.'
'Stand up.'
'Kiss me.'
'Stand up.'
'Not until you kiss me.'
'Stand up and I'll kiss you,' Gerard says.
Frank stands up. Sometimes, Gerard thinks, he is just that predictable when he gets that one track mind of his on that one track. He tries to release Frank and step back from him, but then Frank is all up his face. 'Uh-uh. No way, Gerard, mister. You said you would kiss me if I stood up. I'm standing,' and then he does step away from Gerard, spinning around in a circle with his arms out ('Ooh, shouldn't have done that,' he says when he teeters and Gerard has to catch him again), 'and now you have to kiss me.'
Gerard groans. The problem here is that it's just a stupid game to Frank, whereas Gerard really does want to kiss him. Then: 'I want it to be a good one,' Frank adds. 'Kiss me like you mean it.' Oh, he would say that.
When Gerard sighs and shakes his head because he can't just go around kissing his band mates, no matter how much he desperately wants to (drunk or not), Frank scowls. He doesn't look particularly fearsome, not normally, but Gerard's not about to point out to him that the firelight really makes his scowl look plausible this time.
'Don't you want to kiss me?' Frank releases Gerard again, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. 'Sorry, I thought you did,' he says, and he's changed that quickly, from playful to... to... embarrassed? He laughs again, but it's not that happy, bubbling giggle, it's the kind of laugh that just feels awkward and uncomfortable and like maybe Gerard should be apologising. 'Guess I was wrong.'
Wrong? Jesus fuck, no. Wrong is the last thing Frank could possibly be with this, Gerard thinks, and the way Frank's talking about it makes it seem like he really actually wanted Gerard to kiss him too. How could that even be? This is Frank, right, and he's just - he's Frank, he's not interested in long periods of making out with Gerard by the bonfire (and yeah, Gerard has thought about it, more than once already this evening alone), he's drunk and fooling around and being stupid and.
And he couldn't really want it, could he?
Once Gerard's managed to pull his head out of his metaphorical arse he realises that Frank's gone. Just... disappeared like that, right out from under his nose, while he was too busy musing like some kind of fucking moron about why Frank would or would not want to kiss him.
'Frank?' Gerard says hesitantly. He can't see a new silhouette against the flames, and instead peers around into the darkness. Eventually he spots someone sitting over on the doorstep to the back door of the house. He'll ask them if they've seen--
Never mind. It's Frank, sitting there. His shoulders are slouched and he coughs softly, like all the life has gone out of him.
Surely he can't be so drunk that a rejected pass on his own band mate would make him look this down. Because Gerard would never reject him, not really, not if he knew Frank wasn't just fucking around with him. 'Anyone sitting here?' He points at the step next to Frank.
Frank rubs his nose with the back of his hand and shrugs eloquently.
Gerard sits down carefully. The wood of the doorstep is cold under his buttocks, seeping through warm, worn denim.
It's odd and awkward. Neither of them has a drink, so they can't even concentrate on a can or a glass in their hands, and eventually Frank huffs a soft laugh. 'Sorry about that,' he says sheepishly. 'I'm drunk.'
'It's okay,' Gerard says. 'So am I.'
Frank picks at the tear in his jeans, fraying cotton between his fingertips. There's another awkward pause, and then Gerard sighs. 'I would kiss you,' he says. Now where did that come from?
Frank looks at him questioningly. The light now comes mostly from the bulb hanging on a string in the porch behind them, and when Gerard looks out into the yard the rectangle of falling light is blocked out by their hunched shadows.
'What do you mean?'
Gerard rubs his knee nervously. 'I mean, I - if you wanted it. If you really wanted it, if you... well, if you meant it, I'd - I'd kiss you. I'd like to kiss you now.'
Frank still looks at him questioningly, now with a slight tilt to his head. 'You would?'
Gerard nods. He wants to look away from Frank's gaze, he really does, but he just can't.
'I'd like you to kiss me now,' Frank says.
'I can do that,' Gerard says, and he turns, reaching up to cup Frank's face in his hands. Frank's face is cold, but his fingers are colder, and he thinks - with surprising clarity for someone who has as much beer in him as he does - that if here was any way to keep this moment behind glass, this moment right now, with Frank looking at him, eyes wide, lips parted and expression expectant.
Gerard can't help but hesitate, to give Frank the chance to change his mind and pull away, but he doesn't, and Gerard closes the distance between his mouth and Frank's. It's not like any of the stage kisses - hot with adrenaline and enthusiasm - or like the messy way Frank had kissed him moments before.
It's not the best kiss Gerard's ever given, but nor is it the worst. It's just a kiss; it's him moistening his lips and pressing them (open-mouthed) to Frank's for a moment before he dares to flick forward with his tongue, against the softness of Frank's lower lip, the hardness of his teeth. Frank sits, hands still folded in his lap and lets Gerard kiss him, moving to meet and accept everything Gerard offers.
Gerard's a little breathless when he pulls back, and when he licks his lips he can still taste Frank on them. Frank sits with his eyes closed for a moment, before he opens them and looks at Gerard. 'That was nice,' he says with a hazy smile. 'That was really nice, Gerard.'
Just nice? Gerard is about to pout in protest when Frank leans forward, his hand sliding around to cup the back of Gerard's head and the next thing Gerard knows he's pressed up against the doorframe and Frank's practically in his lap, kissing him with all the drunken passion he can muster.
Gerard's only human; he can't help it when he gets turned on. Frank does that to him sometimes anyway - and god, he would not admit to that even under torture - and when he's got his tongue stuck halfway down Gerard's throat and one hand worming up under Gerard's shirt and jacket then it's some kind of a given that Gerard will feel the heat of it right down his spine and in the tightening of his balls.
Frank is gasping for breath when he breaks off the kiss.
'That was better,' Gerard says after a moment and Frank laughs. It's a laugh Gerard hasn't heard from him except for one or two times when he's accidentally come across Frank in an intimate moment, his voice husky and sensual and completely different from - from normal Frank.
'Let's go somewhere,' Frank says. He's still got his hand wedged up Gerard's shirt, splayed against his skin, and when he works it higher to brush his fingertips over Gerard's nipple, Gerard hisses an intake of breath.
All he can think of is yes.
The somewhere they go to is the van, where it's parked a small hike away from the party, amidst a few other vehicles. It's quiet and alone and the only sound is their breathing.
Frank fumbles with the keys in the van door, scrabbling with the handle before dragging it open. Gerard mouths at Frank's throat, up under the line of his jaw as he hustles Frank into the van. It's cold inside, icy cold air on overheated skin, but Gerard can't bring himself to give a fuck when Frank's burning up under his hands. Except this is Frank, and Gerard - god, he just doesn't know if Frank burning up under his hands is because he's turned on or because he's sick (yeah, and there's another problem, he's got designs on one of his best friends, his pretty - oh so pretty - damn sick best friend and there's something fucked up about that) and he gasps, 'It's cold, Frank, it's too cold, you might get sicker--'
'No,' and he can feel Frank's voice vibrating under his mouth, 'I won't - not, not this time, I won't.' It's a dirty trick Gerard will recognise later, when Frank slides a hand down and grips Gerard where he's hard, through the straining material of his pants. Like Gerard could think of anything else when Frank's squeezing and releasing him like that.
There's a half-crushed box of t-shirts against the far door, and the familiar mess of clothing and sleeping bags and blankets that makes up the stale cushion for their bodies. Gerard kneels and tugs the door shut behind him, and when the light above winks out the only light in the van is from the moonlight coming in the windows.
'C'mere,' Frank mutters, dragging Gerard back towards him (and Gerard goes willingly), mouth unerringly finding his in the moonlit darkness and Gerard groans, softly, when Frank licks at his tongue.
Frank tastes like beer and cigarettes and Gerard can't help but groan again and settle back on his heels as Frank shuffles forward on his knees so he's straddling Gerard's thighs, rolling his hips forward so Gerard can feel the heavy, hard weight of his restrained cock against his belly. Frank grins down at him. Gerard never expected Frank to be so forward, or so appreciative.
Jesus, he's hot.
Frank tips Gerard's mouth up to his as Gerard runs his hands up Frank's back, rucking up his shirts with his hands. Frank sways back a little so Gerard can tug it off over Frank's head and when Frank sways back in Gerard pressed his mouth to the dip of Frank's throat, his tongue flicking out to taste Frank's salty skin.
'Here, here,' Gerard says, pushing Frank down on his back on the cushion of the blankets, and when his hand goes straight to the fly on Frank's jeans.
Gerard wouldn't lie if Frank asked him - Frank's hardly the only guy Gerard's fooled around with, so he hasn't got any shame or hesitations about sliding his hand inside Frank's jeans and wrapping his fingers around Frank's cock. 'Oh Christ,' Frank says with sudden, surprised force. 'Gerard - fuck--'
'Mm-hmm,' Gerard hums, tugging Frank's pants off his hips and down so they're bunched up down past his knees. He curls his fingers around Frank's thigh and Frank makes a strange warbling noise, pushing his hips up like he does - like Gerard's seen him do - when he's on stage with his guitar. It's not nearly as obscene then as it is now, with Frank practically naked and his cock fat with need.
Frank's hands grip the front of Gerard's jacket and shirt and he pushes up against the thigh Gerard's got wedged between his; it's a little awkward, because of Frank's bunched up jeans, and because Gerard's still wearing his, and it' clear Frank's not happy with that when he tries to undo Gerard's fly as well as rub off against him. Gerard shifts so he can struggle out of his jacket and push down his own jeans (worn and aging and in good need of a wash) and the moment he's bare - the cold air kissing his cock in a way that makes a shiver run up his spine, and there's Frank, damn him, laying there like he can't even feel the cold - Frank's grabbing at him, pulling him down over him, pushing up with his hips at the same time so their cocks will rub together.
Gerard gasps. Holy shit. 'Holy shit,' he manages, and the moonlight lights up Frank's impossibly brilliant grin.
'You like that?'
Gerard shifts so he's laying fully over Frank, between his raised knees, his own legs bent awkwardly because of the limited space in the van, and braces himself up on his elbows. 'It's not so bad,' he says, and his breath catches when Frank shifts under him.
He can feel Frank's cock hard and silky nestled against his, and when he thrusts forward Frank makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. 'Some more of that'd be good,' he says. 'C'mon.'
Gerard dips his head and kisses Frank again, a sloppy kiss that is all tongue and teeth and gasping breaths as he thrusts his hips in against Frank's. Drunken sex always seems to go on longer than it really does and Gerard's feeling like he's some kind of epic master of the art of fucking when he comes maybe a minute later. Frank squeezes Gerard with his knees as Gerard comes, head thrown back and panting - the windows are steamed up, so the moonlight is just a luminous glow on his skin - and he manages to grunt out, 'If you fucking stop, I swear, I will never fucking touch you again.'
Gerard's practically boneless from his own orgasm (sticky wet and his arms tremble where he's propped up on his elbows so he doesn't crush Frank beneath him), but the thought of Frank not touching him - whether he means like this or not - is enough to spur him into movement, and he slides a hand between them so he can wrap his fingers around Frank and jerks him off. The closer Frank gets to his own orgasm the harder he squeezes Gerard with his knees, and Gerard fancies that he's probably going to have a helluva couple of bruises on his hips come morning.
Eventually Frank comes with a 'Holy fuck-!' and Gerard holds him in his fingers until he stops shaking and his iron grip on Gerard's body eases up.
'Better?'
'Mmm.'
'You'll touch me again?'
In response Frank twines his arms around Gerard's neck and kisses him.
Gerard grins down at him. 'Excellent,' he says in his best Monty Burns impersonation. It's poor, but it makes Frank laugh.
Gerard shamelessly picks up one of his brother's dirty t-shirts and wipes first himself and then Frank clean, before shoving the shirt into a plastic bag which he's sure is full of rubbish.
'Gerard!' Frank says, aghast. 'He's going to kill you for that.'
Gerard just flashes a cheeky smile at Frank and shrugs. 'What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he'd probably blame it on Matt.'
'That's just mean. True, but mean. But... would you tell me, Gerard... I - I didn't realise you liked me like that,' Frank says, yawning and pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. 'Like this. 'Til... before.'
'You didn't ask,' Gerard says, as he makes some play for modesty, wriggling around as he attempts to pull up first his trousers and then Frank's. 'Didn't want to get shot down and fuck things up.' He doesn't even think about how this could have fucked everything right up for them. He can't, not right now. 'You really should put your shirt back on. You'll get sicker.' And then Gerard feels guilty for getting Frank practically naked out here in the van just so he could have his wicked way with him, regardless of the fact that Frank started it. Clearly he was just having sick delusions, and Gerard was a terrible (and satisfied) person for taking advantage of him like that.
'I feel fine,' Frank protests, but he throws out a hand for his shirt, missing and instead grabbing one of Ray's hoodies. He bundles himself up in that instead. 'Better?'
'Mmm.'
Gerard knows they should go back to the party and the bonfire, and keep warm and then take up the offer of sleeping in what will undoubtedly be the warmer upstairs rooms at the house, but it's kind of nice curled up on the dubious mattress of the detritus of five boys living in one van.
By the sound of Frank's breathing - reedy, because he's still got that monster living in his chest - he's pretty much fallen asleep already, so Gerard curls around him ('You're warm,' Frank mumbles and Gerard retorts that he always says that), tugging over them a layer of blankets and sleeping bags until he's formed a warm, sheltered cocoon around their bodies.
We'll be fine here, Gerard thinks and tucks his face against the back of Frank's neck. He falls asleep in no time.