Back Door Santa
Masterpost
Frank takes off his glasses and slowly massages his temples, running his hands through his hair. The office is mostly empty now. A vast silence grips the floor and Frank can see the last few people hunched over their desks, typing furiously to get the last few words done. He turns in his chair and looks out the window across the Chicago view where night has fallen from the last time Frank remembered to check. The streets are lit with a blurred yellow fog and slow snowflakes float down to settle on the ground. Across windows and buildings bright gold, red, silver and green decorations are illuminated, declaring that the holidays are upon us.
He moves up closer to the window to stand with his forehead leaning against the glass, the material cold against his skin. Frank looks down at the people bustling through the ornamented roads and sighs. He’s not usually one for tradition, but Christmas is one hell of a beautiful time of year. The clock shows 18.36 - Frank’s going to be late. He packs up and his things, says goodnight to the few remaining and heads down.
His parents called him, not too long ago, telling him that they urgently have to speak with him. Frank supposes it’ll be the usual catch-up but he still wonders why they’re coming down from Rockford. The drive probably took them over two hours so there must be something that they’re hiding. They only bother to make the trip when they feel guilty for something they’re about to do and feel the need to spare Frank a journey. Last time this happened, maybe over six months ago, they told Frank that they’d sold his signed photo of Leonard Nimoy to buy a new oven. Frank hadn’t been impressed.
He walks hastily to the restaurant and manages to arrive with time to spare. His parents have already been seated, and as the maître d’ leads him down, he spots his mom nervously nibbling on bread.
“Hey there, chump!” His dad calls, his thunderous voice unintentionally roaring through the restaurant. His mother, a small and fragile woman, slaps her husband the arm and whispers, “Quietly, Frank,” before turning to her son and smiling, “Darling, how have you been, my baby?”
“Quit it with the pleasantries, you guys,” Frank says, sitting down. “You saw me last week. What are you going to break to me this time? Sold any other irreplaceable memorabilia without my permission?”
“Well your father did consider auctioning the Diana Ro-”
“Shh, dear, that’s no matter now. Frank, son, we just wanted to see you to wish you a Happy Christmas,” says his father, pouring a glass of wine for each of them.
Frank scrunches his face up, “Uh, a bit early isn’t it? Save it for a few more weeks.”
“No, darling you see, we’re not going to be here this Christmas,” utters his mother, hiding her face behind the large glass.
“Oh ma, don’t be like that. You’re not that old,” laughs Frank, patting his mother on her hand.
“Son, we’re going on a winter sun vacation to Cuba,” announces his father, as if a large weight has rolled off his chest.
“So,” Frank begins, but knots his eyebrows. “Am I going to be alone? For Christmas? Oh, come on, everyone goes home; I’ll be here by myself!”
“I’m sorry, Frankie, your father and I really need this holiday. And you need one too! So take a break from that blasted work of yours and go somewhere,” urges his mother, earnestly. Sure, she says that now after she’s booked her vacation off to fucking Cuba - do they even let people in there?
“When are you going, then?”
“Oh, tonight.”
Three weeks before Christmas, no big deal. Frank’s sure he can find a last minute destination to go to. Alone and all by himself during the happiest holiday of the year, hooray.
“How about that English friend of yours? You know the one, your friend,” his mother prods and Frank’s surprised she even remembers he had English friends. Most of them were from college anyway, and he hasn’t seen them since he graduated four years ago.
Frank sits back and laughs, “English friend? Ma, I had about twenty of them. Which one in particular?” Twenty is very much an exaggeration of maybe about three English friends, one of whom was a guy from Massachusetts that spoke with a fake British accent most of the time.
“You know which one - the one with the um,” Frank raises an eyebrow at his mom. “Never mind, either way, choose an English friend and go there,” she says, just as enthusiastically.
“I can’t possibly intrude on their Christmas because my loving family have flown off to Cuba,” Frank replies. Or maybe he could.
That night, as he lay in bed, Frank carefully drew up a list of pros and cons of going to England for the holidays. He really did need a break, and it’d be nice to be in a country that spoke English. He’d rent himself a house and relax, away from city-life stresses. Yeah, it wouldn’t be bad at all. The next day Frank carefully dials up the number of William, one of the friends his mother had mentioned the night before. Naturally, he startles a bit when the voice of an old frail woman with a shaky but thick Glaswegian accent answers the phone after close to eight rings, “Hello?”
“Hello there, is there a William there?” Frank might as well try, he’s can’t remember Bill’s current living situation. Maybe he moved in with his old, Scottish Grandma in Glasgow from the last time he’d spoken to him (possibly about three days ago.) “Hello?”
“Yes, dear, this is she,” replies the woman, after a good ten second deliberation period whether there was indeed someone called William in that house.
Clearly there isn’t.
“Right, thanks very much. Just checking. Good bye!” chokes out Frank before ending the call and laughing to himself.
He dials the number again but this time with a bit more success, “Hell-o?” answers a familiar voice on the other end. Frank had never actually met the kid but he’d exchanged greetings via phone more times than most of his physical friends.
“Hey Gabe, it’s Frank. Is Bill there?” he asks routinely, settling down on the arm of his couch. He had tried to plan out how exactly to ask William if he knew of anywhere he could stay near him at Christmas. He thought of working Christmas in slyly by first mentioning the weather, then moving on to the holidays, slipping in how lonely he’d be without his family and most of his close friends flying off to other parts of the country. After that, he’d rely on William’s politeness to invite him to England.
“Frankie, hey, what’s cracking?” asks a cheery William on the other line. It’s like 9 in the morning there, how is he not slamming the phone down on him?
“Oh not much. It’s really cold here, nearly Christmas time! You excited for Christmas? Got any plans? My parents are going to Cuba on holiday so I’m going to be left here all alone with no friends, isn’t that a mighty big shame. I’m trying to find somewhere to go myself, spent all morning on every vacation planning website you can think of! Ha-ha. So how are you?”
He’s kind of impressed how he only had to take one breath in the middle of all of that. Maybe it hadn’t gone as planned.
There’s a pause on the other line and then a low laugh. Bill slowly formulates, “Uh, I’m okay. I’m going to say what I think you’re doing here, Frank. So forgive me if I’m wrong - how about you come over to England for the holidays?”
“Really? Hadn’t thought of that. That’d be great, when shall I come?”
//
It is only after Frank collapses on the crooked bed, still clad in his numerous layers, that he manages to take a deep breath and realise that he is in England. He is in a rented cottage in East Horsley, Surrey. Alone, again.
Fuck, this plan didn’t work.
On top of everything, his flight was delayed by five hours and they shipped his suitcase off to fucking Gibraltar of all places. He sighs exasperatedly; right now, Frank has half a mind to give up and go home. Too tired to think reasonably, he opts to sleep on it. Stripping down to his boxers, Frank flings himself onto the bed that’s now snowed under five different blankets (four of which had fallen on him and knocked him to the ground when he opened one of the cupboards.)
It’s not ten minutes before Frank’s completely dead to the world. He sleeps without a stir until his phone goes off at some point. Groggily, he crawls across the bed and snatches the phone from the bedside table. Without checking the caller, he answers, “Ugh ‘lo?”
“Frank?” asks a cheery William, voice way too loud for Frank’s ears.
“Bill? Why’re you calling me? This is going to cost me and you a bitch,” replies Frank, rubbing his eyes and trying to sit up in bed.
“You didn’t give me an address or anything for wherever you’re staying. Anyway, I hope the flight was good and you slept well - do you want to meet up soon?”
Frank sighs exasperatedly, “No asshole, they lost my luggage and I have jet lag. Yes, let’s meet up.”
William quietly hums on the line clearly trying to think of a plan, but in the meantime, Frank feels his eyes drooping slowly. He bolts awake, shocked from the voice, “How about we meet at say 4PM? Gimme the address and I’ll come pick you up.”
Frank lists off the lines he memorized (in case the print-out with the details had joined his luggage and mind in the ‘lost’ pile) and sets an alarm for 3PM on his phone, before wearily dragging the covers up under his chin and falling easily into sleep.
As soon as his eyes bolt open, Frank knows he’s late. How does he know this? After years of being late to school, work, weddings and dates, Frank has learnt to recognise when his internal clock sets off the alarms; and right now? The alarm was going off pretty fucking loud.
The moment he throws himself out of bed, there’s a resounding knock that echos throughout the empty house. Frank curses under his breath but (carefully) makes his way down the narrow stairs. Frank unlocks the door and yanks it open, prepared to get whined at by William for the next fifteen minutes as he attempts to get ready.
Surely enough, the first thing out of William’s mouth when he takes in Frank’s clearly freshly-woken appearance is, “Fra-ank!”, the ‘a’ in which seemed to drag on for two millenia.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just slept through it,” he mutters, and ushers Williaml in to protect his practically naked body from the icy winds outside. “I’ll be down in a second, I just gotta get changed.”
He stops half-way up his jog to the second floor and turns back down quickly, where William’s standing expectantly by the foot of the stairs, “Remembered your lost luggage? Want to borrow some clothes?”
Frank’s mouth opens and shuts quickly, “A shirt would be fantastic.”
//
Not half an hour later, the pair were on East Horsley’s high street. Frank was no grinch; he easily admired and enjoyed the quaint village. Surrounding the one high street is a network of small streets - nearly all close to impossible to navigate without a local guide. Less than a handful of the buildings aged under thirty years, but rather than the decrepit stones and worn thatched roofs emitting a sense of decay, they felt almost comforting. A light snowfall the previous night meant that a scatter of bright white snowflakes covered the tops of houses, and all clouds had dissipated to reveal a heavenly blue sky.
Frank bows his head, nestling his mouth and nose deep into his scarf as he wraps his thick peacoat around him, seeking for warmth. Underneath that, and his hoodie, Bill’s largest shirt was riding up his stomach. Skinny ass.
“Where to now, Cap’n?” Frank asks, his breath condensing and vanishing in front of him.
Bill hums and stops walking, “How about we get you some food?”, he suggests. A sudden cold gust of wind speeds past them and Frank shivers as he answers, “And lots and lots of Scotch.”
They enter a small shop, which Frank glances at quickly and sees is called ‘Tesco’. Frank sighs at the warmth as they enter through the automatic doors, and Bill greets the shop assistant. Grabbing a basket, they begin meandering through the few aisles, throwing everything that catches their eye into it.
“Want some Angel Delight?” William asks, grabbing several brightly coloured packets off the shelf.
“Some what?” Frank frowns at the synthetic pink mess that was pictured on the front. Bill rolls his eyes and moans, “Oh my god, it’s like an orgy in your mouth. Gotta have it.”
The same thing pretty much happens down every aisle, with William grasping at various foods Frank has never heard of and towering them in his ever-growing basket. After a while, William’s growing frustration, concerning Frank’s lack of British foods knowledge and the American-English differences that are so often forgotten, became quite funny. (“You want some crisps?” “Some what? Oh chips!” “No, they’re crisps” “We call them chips.” “No, you eat chips with fish and burgers, these are crisps!” “You have fries with burgers...” “Oh god, shut up.”) Eventually they reach the checkout, and not without a hefty price, they leave the shop with bags of all the essentials; hard liquor and junk.
“Okay well, I’m not dragging this shit around for the rest of the day so, let’s go drop it off at your house and then we’ll go wild in the high street!” William says, with such convincing enthusiasm, Frank’s not sure if he’s serious or sarcastic.
//
“I know where we’ll go tonight,” William says when they’ve exhausted all the shops in the village.
“My friend, Gerard- did you meet him? Anyway, he owns the local pub and seriously, trust me when I say it’s the busiest place here,”
“Yeah, that sounds cool. Do you wanna go now? I’m pretty hungry,” Frank says, and William leads them down the frosty path to a large red-brick pub, the walls covered in ivy.
Large gold lettering above the doorway reads ‘The Dark Horse’ .
It’s very homely-looking, Frank thinks, taking in the wooden bench tables in the garden and the wreath decorating the heavy, antique door. He changes his mind when he goes in. Although the interior is warm and cosy, he’s met by a wild roar from a group of guys dominating half the pub. Startled, he looks at them and is then relieved to see them clad in soccer shirts and grouped around a large TV hanging on the wall, showing the familiar sight of guys in shorts kicking a ball around.
William and Frank walk in, taking off their scarves and coats as William leads them to the bar.
“Pint?” William asks, and Frank eagerly agrees.
William leans over the bar and whistles loudly (something Frank has not forgotten since college). A guy walks up behind the bar and smirks at William.
“You’re not allowed to whistle at me like a dog in my own pub, you know that?” he says, already having grabbed a glass and started pulling a pint for William.
“How else am I supposed to get your attention? You’re meant to actually work, remember?” William laughs and accepts his pint, signalling for another. “Gerard, Frank, Frank, Gerard. I know Frank from college and Gerard, unfortunately, from my childhood,” William says, beckoning between them.
“Hey,” Frank says, shaking Gerard’s extended hand over the counter.
Gerard proceeds to pull Frank his own pint as Frank quickly surveys the guy. Dark hair, pretty face, not bad, Frank thinks.
“So, what are you here for?” Gerard asks, smiling as he hands Frank his beer over.
“Oh God, it’s kinda embarrassing.” Frank laughs. “I was pretty much left alone for the holidays and err, since it’s a pretty depressing prospect, thought I might as well visit an old college buddy,” he says, punching William playfully on the arm.
After half an hour or so, William and Frank decide to finally go a table and order food on account of their growling stomachs.
“So... what do you think of Gerard?” William grins as soon as they sit down, opening a menu. This pretty much confirms Frank’s suspicions of Gerard’s gayness, because subtlety was never William’s strong suit. Well, Frank was pretty sure anyway, Gerard’s probably the biggest flirt in England, let alone the village.
“God, you’re so obvious.” Frank scoffs.
“What?” William cries, pretending to be shocked.
“Well... what’s not to like?” Frank says, waiting for William to smirk. “I think I’ll get the fish and ‘chips’. When in Rome, eh?”
“Good choice. Although, I’m afraid to break it to you, English cuisine doesn’t really compare to Italian.”
A waitress comes over at that point, and Frank guesses she must be Scottish or something, because he doesn’t understand a word of what she says Frank and William continue chatting, William primarily talking about his job as a banker in London, his boyfriend and the Christmas holidays before their food arrives some twenty minutes later..
After they’ve finished, the waitress takes their plates away and they spend a few minutes considering whether they should do anything, but instead decide on staying in the booth and ordering a few more pints.
“And do you remember that time Golds chundered on the landing? He had some- Hey!” William stops (halfway through his story of the time William and Frank’s friend threw up on the stairs of their dorm and their other friend had unfortunately slipped on it and cut his hand open) and grins at someone behind Frank.
Frank turns to see a tan guy he recognizes as Gabe at the door smiling back at William and heading towards them.
“Hey,” he kisses William who has gotten up as a greeting and turns to Frank, who got up awkwardly too. Gabe shakes Franks hand eagerly.
“Frank, right?” he grins and God, why does everyone have to be fucking 10 foot tall?
“Yeah, good to finally meet you, man, ” he says and they all slide back into the booth.
Gabe asks all the regular questions: what do you do, how do you like England, why are you here. Not long after, Gerard comes over from the bar and slides in next to Frank.
“Don’t you have a pub to run?” Bill asks as Gerard sips from the beer he brought with him.
“I’ve clocked off. Plus, I thought I’d keep Frank company whilst you two get off all night,” Gerard grins in reply.
“Fuck off,” William laughs and throws a peanut at him.
“Trust me, they’ll start in a minute,” Gerard whispers to Frank.
They don’t start making out, but it’s just as bad when they go all couple-y and ignore everyone else just a few minutes later. But Frank doesn’t mind because Gerard turns out to be more than entertaining.
“Do you want another?” Gerard asks Frank when he downs the last of his beer and nods at Frank’s empty glass.
“Yeah, sure,” Frank says and watches as Gerard saunters over to the bar and starts talking to the blond Scottish girl.
“Um, Frank, we’re gonna go. It’s getting pretty late, and we’ve both got work tomorrow” William says, disentangling himself from Gabe. “Do you want a lift back?”
“Uh,” Frank starts. He’s still on American time so he’s not tired in the slightest, but he has no other way of getting back. Well, he could always walk, it’s not that far. But then again, would he just stay here by himself and annoy Gerard?
“I’ll get him home,” a voice says and Gerard slides back in next to Frank, handing over a pint. “I mean, if you wanna stay?” Gerard smirks at him.
“Yeah, I think I’ll stay.” Frank says to Bill, who just looks between him and Gerard and grins.
“O-kay,” William sing-songs. “I’ll see you tomorrow,”
Frank barely notices them leave because Gerard just turns to him and continues their prior conversation.
“Yeah, I’ve gotta admit, it was weird walking in to a bunch of soccer fans. I thought-”
“It’s not soccer!” Gerard says, laughing.
“Soccer, football, whatever. I’m American,” Frank says and accidentally spills beer down his shirt. Well, William’s shirt.
“No! We invented it, it’s football!”
They wind up spending the rest of the night there, slowly getting drunker and drunker, and it’s only when the waitress says something to Gerard that Frank doesn’t understand that he notices the empty pub and the staff cleaning up.
“Come on,” Gerard says as he throws a set of keys to a waiter and pulls his coat on. Frank follows him outside, where the freezing cold slaps him straight in the face.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” he breathes, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Good old English weather, eh?” Gerard just grins. “So where are you staying?”
Frank, (who for the life of him cannot remember the address of the cottage), pulls out his phone, finds the details and hands it to Gerard.
“Oh, alright, not that far then.” Gerard says, pulling Frank forward by his arm.
“What? We’re walking?” Frank whines but takes Gerard’s arm anyway. He’s drunker than he thought.
“Uh, duh, I can’t drive because you’ve been getting me drunk all night in an attempt to seduce me,” Gerard smirks.
“Shut up,” Frank laughs and hits Gerard playfully on his chest, causing them to stumble. Frank still clinging to Gerard, walks into a icy patch and slips, bringing Gerard down with him. Of course, Frank bursts out laughing in an obnoxious cackle and they both struggle to get up.
“Come on, stop fucking around, it’s cold,” Gerard says and pulls Frank forward and quickens the pace.
Frank starts rambling on about something to which Gerard hiccups in reply and Frank almost doesn’t notice when they get to the familiar cottage.
“Home sweet home!” He coos and stumbles forward to unlock the front door. After a few unsuccessful tries, he eventually fits the right key into the lock and majestically swings the door opening.
He beckons to it dramatically.
“Would you like to enter my humble abode for a little ‘nightcap’ as you all say?” he says, biting his lip.
Gerard hesitates for a moment, looks behind him and then pushes Frank in, following him. “Go on, then.”
Frank flicks the light switches and turns the heaters on whilst Gerard closes the door behind him and reluctantly takes his coat off and kicks his shoes off.
“Can I interest you in some.. ‘premium Scottish Whiskey from the H...High-H..th-the High... Scotland’?” Frank slurs, producing a clunky bottle of scotch from his grocery bags in the kitchen.
“Ooh, yes, please,” Gerard replies and follows Frank into a small, cosy living room, slumping down in the couch next to him. Still freezing, he looks at the abandoned fireplace and nods to it. “Shall I light it up, then?”
“Oh my God, you know how to do that?” Frank says, either very impressed or just very drunk.
“Oh, just watch me,” Gerard replies, wiggling his eyebrows.
He goes over to the stone fireplace with the timber already set up and quickly finds some matches and kindling. Meanwhile, Frank finds some blankets and tumbler glasses and generously pours scotch into two of them.
It takes a while, but Gerard eventually lights the fire and Frank applauds loudly and hands him his drink as Gerard sits down close to him on the couch. Frank throws a blanket round both of them, making them pull their legs up and push closer together, their legs entwined.
“Since I’m like, twice as drunker than you-” Frank’s grammar really takes a pounding when he drinks (not the only thing that takes a pounding! badum pum ptsh)- “You should probably down that so we’re even,” Frank says, nodding to the glass in Gerard’s hand.
“This is like...four shots worth,” Gerard says ludicrously. However, when Frank doesn’t say anything and just gives him a grinning, unimpressed look, Gerard swallows all of it as quickly as he can, grimacing.
“You’re definitely trying to get me drunk,” he says, grinning.
“Maybe I am,” Frank giggles, peering up from under his eyelashes as he bows his head to sip from his glass.
Gerard doesn’t say anything from that point, but reaches for Frank’s glass and puts both of their on the glasses coffee table. When he leans back to face Frank, he’s a lot closer than before. Gerard’s eyes flick between Frank’s lips and eyes obviously and he slowly leans in, the soft tip of his nose brushing Frank’s affectionately before he slowly presses his lips against Frank’s.
It’s as if they both go on auto-pilot from that moment. Frank’s too drunk to think about the implications of what he’s doing nor does he really think about who he’s doing this with.
Gerard begins to kiss him with a quicker pace, placing a lot of kisses on Frank’s mouth before he nudges his legs apart and shifts closer to him. Frank’s arms find Gerard’s knees and move up and down his thighs, almost as if he was trying to warm him up. Gerard takes this as a sign to go further, and so he slips his heavy tongue into Frank’s mouth, absent-mindedly noting the strong taste of beer and whisky.
Frank moans slightly and his hands now move up to Gerard’s shirt, where they snake under his clothes to caress his soft skin. However, his hands are cold and Gerard gasps suddenly and then laughs under his breath as he moves back into the touch.
Frank is responsive to the kiss and lazily meets Gerard’s tongue with his own, feeling the familiar want stir in him. The kiss deepens and quickens and Gerard pushes Frank down so that he’s nestled on top of him, between his legs now. His hands start to start to unbutton Frank’s shirt as Frank’s hands move down to Gerard’s ass which help him pull Gerard closer to him.
With the shirt successfully unbuttoned, Gerard starts to kiss down Frank’s neck, biting and sucking at the pale skin. His hands get to work on the fly of Frank’s jeans, and the little moans Frank makes are driving him wild. Frank claws at Gerard’s shirt and pulls it off him, sitting up to kiss him again.
When Gerard slides his hand down the bulge of Frank’s underwear, he gets a sorely bitten lower lip in return. He starts palming Frank through the layer of cloth, the moans now a lot louder and dirtier. It gets too much, Gerard thinks, so he undoes his own jeans and kicks them off, as well as pulling off Frank’s.
“We should probably go up,” Frank says, his voice hoarse and breathy, but still a complete turn on to Gerard.
“Okay,” Gerard croaks, and they bundle up in the blankets, still not tearing away from one another.
They slowly stumble across the room, still kissing and touching and accidentally walk into the doorframe, where Frank bashes into something, although the alcohol and desire allows him to barley feel anything.
It’s surprising how they even make it up the stairs, but when they do, Frank pulls Gerard to the bedroom, the colder air in the room forcing them to remain under the blanket until they fall onto the bed.
They get under the covers as quickly as possible, but the bedsheets feel like ice and they both hiss from the cold before seeking the heat from each other’s bodies. Entwined again, they kick off the last remaining pieces of clothing and find themselves flushed together.
Gerard snakes his hand down to Frank’s crotch and pushes apart his legs greedily before Frank pulls the same hand up to his mouth and takes two of Gerard’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on them teasingly.
Not being able to stand it anymore, Gerard pulls his fingers out of Frank’s mouth and moves them down under the covers and up to Frank’s entrance, where he pushes in clumsily and too quickly, but Frank moans anyway. He builds it up quickly and pulls out when he’s too impatient.
“Do you have a condom?” Gerard says, the words sounding weird in the room.
Frank nods and leans over to the side of the bed, where his suitcase lays. He rummages through it for a second before thrusting a condom at Gerard and moving his back down to find a comfortable position.
Gerard rolls the condom on his cock quickly and aligns himself with Frank, pushing in when he guesses he’s set. They both moan loudly immediately and Gerard indulges in the pleasure and heat before feeling the familiar urge to move. He begins to thrust into Frank slowly, although he speeds up in no time.
Frank, having done this countless times before, knows what he likes, so twists slightly to the side and lifts his hips up, getting Gerard to hit his prostate bang on.
Gerard doesn’t think porn stars are this loud in bed.
Happy that Frank’s happy, Gerard eagerly thrusts quicker, his mind several steps behind his actions as he fully feels how drunk he is right now. Still getting quicker and more forceful, Gerard brings one of his hands to Frank’s cock- almost collapsing from lack of balance in the process- and clumsily beats him off, feeling himself get close embarrassingly quickly.
But Gerard hasn’t got anything to embarrassed about, because soon enough, Frank stops shouting profanities and comes with a loud, hooker moan. The clenching around his cock is enough to send Gerard to his climax too, and he comes moments later, greeting the euphoric feeling happily.
He moans in Frank’s mouth and slowly pulls out, disposing of the condom and then hurrying back to the warmth of Frank and his bed.
They entwine their legs again, kiss slowly and fall asleep comfortably.
//
Whether it’s from the blinding light streaming in from the windows, the state of his hangover, or touch of another body nestled against his own, Frank wakes up with a groan. It takes him a few seconds, but he manages to open his eyes and quickly takes in his bedroom. He was almost expecting to wake up in Chicago. As the man next to him stirs, Frank recalls the events of the night before and feels anxious for the first time since meeting the guy.
Frank’s old enough and experiences enough to know hooking up isn’t a huge deal, and that two people can usually handle the morning after fine. But what if Gerard’s totally different? What if all Brits are? Frank can’t remember William going crazy at a guy after he’d slept with him during college, but then again, William’s a huge slut.
Frank sort of wants to get up and use the bathroom and get coffee but he can feel how cold the air in his bedroom is and the mounds of thick blankets and a warm body seem like a much more appealing prospect.
He could analyse every little thing and the events of last night, but his head hurts too much, so he thinks ‘fuck it’ and contently shuts his eyes, snuggles closer to Gerard and attempts to sleep his hangover off.
It’s only maybe a few hours later, but Frank feels better when he wakes up. He notices Gerard’s not next to him even before he opens his eyes. He’s surprised that Gerard would have left without even saying goodbye. But then Frank notices a strange but familiar smell and when he finally opens his eyes, the go straight to the open window, where Gerard is standing, huddled in a blanket, smoking silent.
“Morning,” Gerard says, smirking even now.
“Hey,” Frank replies, coughing slightly.
“Fag?” Gerard says and for a second, Frank think he must have misheard him.
“What did you just say?”
“Oh shit, sorry, I meant cigarette,” Gerard half-laughs, and Frank notices the pack of cigarettes poking out of the blanket from where Gerard is offering him one. “I shoulda remembered that crazy slang of yours,” Gerard adds, taking a drag.
“Yeah, I thought it was a little weird,” Frank chuckles. “But no, thanks, I don’t smoke,”
“Fuck, is it okay if I-” Gerard gestures at the window and the lit cigarette.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, don’t worry about it,” Frank says.
“So, how’s your head feeling?” Gerard says, grinning.
“Ha, not too great, as you can imagine.” Frank laughs and groans as he rubs his eyes.
“I know what you mean. Anyway, I’ve got some errands to run but I’ll probably see you tonight, yeah?” Gerard says, finishing his cigarette and beginning to pull on his jeans.
“Uh, cool,” Frank says, surprised at how easy this has been. He’s even more surprised when Gerard kisses him deeply at the door of the cottage as Frank sends him off, still huddled in blankets, and oddly enough, still naked underneath.
//
“So, how was London?” William asks Frank as they slide into their favourite booth in the pub.
Frank had planned to go into London with William and do all the usual touristy shit but Bill had a last minute work emergency and couldn’t go. Fortunately, Gerard offered to take Frank instead as it was his day off from the pub.
“Really good actually. I even got my luggage back yesterday which was good timing. Everything was decorated for Christmas and it was really pretty, actually. We saw all the obvious stuff like Big Ben and the London Eye which was cool, and then we were gonna go shopping so we got to Oxford street but it was ridiculously busy so we just went to Covent Garden instead.”
“Oh, that’s even better. Were all the market stalls up?”
“Yeah, we bought some muffins. Oh, and we went ice-skating near some museum, and checked out Harrods as well even though a piece of chocolate there costs like, ten pounds.”
“Ice-skating? Sounds a bit like a date,” William grins.
“Shut up,” Frank laughs. “Although, there was definitely... something there.”
William leaves after an hour or so, and Frank ends up talking to Gerard at the bar for the rest of the night.
Glancing at the clock, Frank notices that the hour hand is slowly turning past 1am, and on a weekday, the pub is slowly clearing out.
“I think you have to bugger off soon, we’re closing at any time,” says Gerard, jokingly as he rearranges things behind the bar.
“Joy, a refreshing twenty minute walk back to the cottage is just the anecdote to clear my head of the substantial amount of liquor you fed me tonight,” Frank groans, slouching in the chair. He groggily begins to put his coat on, but stops to follow Gerard’s movements around until the other man catches his eye.
“What?” asks Gerard, nervously.
“Of course, my problems would disappear if the handsomest barmen in all the land gave me a lift home on his noble steed,” he batters his eyelashes.
Gerard sighs and rolls his eyes, “Well at least help tidy up, dick.”
The two shuffle around the now empty pub, kicking out the last few drunkards out until eventually they themselves clear out. Frank jumps into the passenger seat of the Mini, and bundles up in his coat as Gerard starts the car.
“I love the old girl, but her heating system is fucking awful,” says Gerard, fiddling with the buttons on the dash. In the other seat, Frank leans up closer to Gerard, his breath still riddled with alcohol.
“I can think of another way to get us warm,” he says huskily, caressing the hairs on the back of Gerard’s neck as his lips brush down the other man’s jaw.
Gerard laughs and pushes him away, despite his groin’s serious protests, “Not in this car and not in the middle of the night.” The steam on the windshield clears up and he starts the car, turning into one of the old country roads that lead to Frank’s cottage. It’s not as easy as it sounds, though, as all the while Frank manoeuvres himself impressively around, and attaches himself to Gerard’s neck - in a rather leach-like manner.
He whispers and whimpers into the shell of Gerard ear, although the receiver adamantly refuses to tear his eyes and mind of the road. When Frank’s hand cascade’s down the front of Gerard’s shirt and starts perseveringly palming Gerard’s crotch.
“You can’t ignore me any more,” whines Frank, “Or at least your dick can’t.”
Gerard shudders and hits the breaks on the car, launching himself at Frank. Their mouths clash as both hands work to get rid of clothes. Frank feels his dick growing, the car gets hotter and steam envelopes the windows. Gerard attempts to climb over into the passenger seat but his leg gets trapped underneath the steering wheel. He frustratedly tries to weasel out; his unsuccessful efforts only magnified as Frank doesn’t desist in his increasingly harsh bites down Gerard’s neck. Eventually Gerard manages to slide out just to slam his head into the roof of the car and then to jab the gear stick into his thigh. He huffs and sits back into his seat.
“Get off, Frank, this isn’t going to work in here and I don’t want a billion and one bruises tomorrow, alright?” he says, pushing the other boy away.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Frank says, quite abashed. Gerard shrugs and leans over to peck him on the lips quickly.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
Frank’s pride leaves him walking the rest of the 15 minutes home in the cold, dark and snow with a boner. What a merry, joyful season!
//
“Okay, no, I swear the turning is like, around that corner,” Bill says, squinting, trying to somehow see around the fucking bend. Gabe fiddles around with his iPhone, looking around to figure out where they are. In the backseat, Gerard and Frank exchange an amused look, smirking as Gabe starts shouting at William to slow down.
“William, please just, drive slower so I can figure out where we need to go. Not to mention it’s freezing outside; there could be an ice patch just, please.”
Bill angrily hits the steering wheel, and whines, “I don’t wanna be that arsehole that holds the traffic up.”
Gabe twists his head to look back and then turns to Bill, “There are no cars behind us.”
William sighs and eventually slightly slows down. Gabe continues to scan over his phone, zooming in and out. Finally he looks up and lets out a noise like a yelp and screams, “Left! Left!”
William hits the breaks and turns sharply, sending Frank catapulting across the seats, the seatbelt tightening to hold him down. “Argh, fuck,”
William laughs gleefully and slaps his knee, “That was a close ‘un!”
The rest of the passengers are stuck in a stunned silence. Frank’s not sure whether to laugh along with him or to jump of the car while he’s still alive. The car meanders through the country road, a tight path trampled down by hundreds of cars before them. They pass a large gateway and a sign that reads, ‘Polesden Lacey’.
“So, what exactly is this place?” Frank asks, curiously peering through the windscreen.
“Uh, it’s this country house-estate thing owned by the National Trust. I think it belonged to this Edwardian hostess who was famous for her parties and the like; the house is really gorgeous,” answers Gerard, as William pulls up to a parking lot. Expecting there to be very few visitors at this point in December, Frank’s quite shocked to find a couple dozen cars there. The estate is covered in woodland, but the trees stand bare due to the bitter winter cold. The group file out of the car and begin walking towards the house.
“I figured we go tour the house first, then go walk around the gardens until we get cold, tired, bored or all of the above?” Bill suggests, and everyone agrees as they begin trekking up the stony path. The house is, as Gerard said, truly beautiful. A tall wide building, covered in vines creeping up it’s worn sides, stands proudly at the top of the small mound.
William and Gabe lead the way up, nestled in each other to protect from the harsh winds. Behind them, Frank and Gerard trail. Frank offers Gerard a shy smile, which he returns. The four of them run into the building (not before Frank takes a hundred photos of the house from every angle, of course) and find themselves in a gorgeous reception room.
The people spread out inside are made up of either couples like themselves or grandparents, intently reading through information about the house whilst their grandchildren stand with cocked hips behind them, mindlessly texting. Frank glances around the large room, admiring the detail to decoration. He’s never been a huge fan of history, but it’d be hard not to admire the beauty of the past.
He feels a tug on his jacket and turns around, Gerard looks at him with wide eyes and leans in, whispering quietly, “Bill’s gone to find the tour guide, but uh, they’re always a tremendous bore.” He walks over to a narrow corridor leading away from the reception and beckons Frank with a gesture of his head. “How about a private tour, Mr. Iero?”
Frank bites his lip and looks around the room. No-one’s paying any attention to them and William and Gabe are no where to be seen. He sighs and walks swiftly over to Gerard, shuffling him with his hands as he approaches, repeatedly whispering, “Go, go!”
They hurry into the next room, which reveals to be a large Dining Room covered by a deep crimson carpet, damask wall coverings and adorned with numerous portraits. The long table in the middle branches out about 20 seats. Gerard runs and jumps over the red rope surrounding the main part of the room, pulling out one of the chairs and lifting his right eyebrow. “Dinner is served, my lord,” he says in a fake, posh accent. Frank laughs and flips him off, but really, the only thought going through his head is that he wouldn’t mind having Gerard for dinner.
The pair run out of the room and follow a tight staircase to the next floor. Frank’s not claustrophobic, like at all, but he swears that people a hundred years ago must have been half their size. They tiptoe across the corridors, peering in through ever door left ajar and upon even the slightest noise, Frank grabs Gerard’s coat and yanks him back. Once harder than the times before sending Frank stumbling backwards with Gerard in tow. His back hits a door with more force than expected, and the door falls open.
They look at each other with the same mischievous idea as they run inside room, shutting the door slowly and quietly behind. The room colour is a dark emerald green which ornaments it from the thick carpet to the floor length curtains. A large four poster is central in the room, with a dark wooden frame and sheets that look like they haven’t been washed since 1905.
“Y’know,” Gerard says, eyes planted on the bed, “I have this fantasy-”
Frank doesn’t even care what his next words are going to be, because Gerard’s reaction to Frank’s interruption seems to suggest the Frank knew exactly where he was going with that sentence. His lips are covering the other man’s with a strong wanting (that has built up with every little touch over the past few days) and soon the two are desperately attached, tongues fighting.
“Wai-wai-wait,” Gerard groans, separating himself unwillingly. He grabs onto a chair from the desk and props it under the door handles. “Fuck, whatever, that’s good enough.”
He grapples Frank’s clothes and tosses them to the side, pushing both of them onto the bed. They quickly roll of, however, brushing down their now naked bodies, “Agh, fuck, what is that, wool? Jesus!”
Gerard pulls back the cover lain on top to reveal bedsheets underneath. “Hah, no way, I bet these haven’t been changed in a century.”
A persistent American cares less about sanity, however, and pushes Gerard back onto the bed, clambering over him as his lips place scattered kisses along Gerard’s torso.
“Shh, baby, you’ll forget about that soon enough,” he smirks, looking devilishly up at Gerard through lidded eyes as his sinks down the man’s body.
*
Frank’s nasally laugh is cut short by the ring and vibrate of Gerard’s phone. He crawls to the edge of the bed and leans over, grabbing Gerard’s jeans and throwing them back.
“Bill says we need to, and I quote, ‘stop consummating, no matter how hard you try you will not get Frank pregnant’,” he laughs, reading out the text as his eyes skim down, “and we should hurry our butts out because - aw shit.”
Frank freezes and pesters, “What? Shit what?”
“They’re closing and checking around the house.”
“Fuck. But we’ve only been here for like half an hour!”
“It’s been an hour and a half.” The two jump out of the bed and begin tossing on their clothes, throwing between them socks and underwear. With most of their items on properly, and some the wrong way round, they manage to sneak out of the room and avoid any staff as they scramble back into the reception room; there to be greeted with equally wide smirks.
//
It’s near impossible to believe that by the time Christmas Eve comes about, Frank’s spent a mere week and a bit in England. A collective decision between William, Gabe, Gerard and Frank was made to spend the holiday together as it was most likely one of the last opportunities the four would have to spend together before Frank left. Frank’s house was chosen on the grounds of it’s homely touch and majestic fireplace. Although the latter could be potentially hazardous after their plans for the evening (alcohol, and lots of it.)
The safety hazards are the least of Frank’s worries as the day approaches, however. When he nominated himself for host, he seemed smug at first that he wouldn’t have to travel anywhere, but after registering the reluctance of everyone else to put themselves forward and their obvious relief when he did - he remembered a small detail. He’d have to cook. Bill assured him he’d bring some dessert along but the meal was ultimately, left in his capable hands.
As it so happens, his hands were as entirely capable in the house as many cooking programs assured him. He attempted an Ina Garten recipe for soda bread once, and well, let’s just leave it at the fact that Frank has physically not been able to cook much in his kitchen since.
On the morning, he stirs awake at an ungodly hour - that’s 9am for Frank. He empties out the contents of his fridge and cupboard onto the table and rummages through his findings. Lots and lots of liquor, some red wine, masses of food with no use-by date, some chicken breasts and various vegetables. He eyes them up before tearing through the house in search of book. Finally, buried underneath stacks of self-help and weight loss books is an old recipe book with torn pages.
Frank flicks through the categories and figures a ‘Coq au vin’ sounds simple, clean but superbly sophisticated. It is named in French, after all. Emptying out all pots and pans from the cupboard, he stares at the recipe and his ingredients for a while before swigging from the wine and starting on chopping the vegetables.
Needless-to-say, he’s scavenging for plasters not five minutes later. After he slows the pace down and stops pretending he’s Michel Roux, he manages to have everything sliced. Now to turn the stove on; no problem.
Frank almost burns his eyebrows off. Sticking his head down to see what was going on seemed like the perfectly logical option at the time. He groans and throws himself down on the floor, drinking heftily from the bottle of wine. He’s going to need reinforcement. And more wine; much more wine.
Gerard arrives in half an hour.
“Oh thank God,” Frank says when he flings the door open and hurries Gerard in.
“What’s the big emergency that I had to come here four hours early?” Gerard says, taking off his coat and following Frank into the kitchen.
“Well...It turns out I really can’t cook,” Frank says.
But it turns out Gerard can’t either.
Three hours later they’ve narrowly avoided a kitchen fire twice, spilt cream all over the floor and their feet and burnt Gerard’s thumb, and yet have somehow managed to cook something. They barely have time to clean up the kitchen and set the table before William and Gabe arrive, sprinkling snow off their coats as they walk in.
“Okay, you guys go sit, I’ll bring out the food. Oh, and just help yourselves to some wine; it’s on the table,” Frank says, running in the kitchen to make sure the dinner hasn’t spontaneously combusted while he was gone.
Gerard helps Frank serve the food and they all sit down quickly to eat. Whilst it’s certainly not michelin star quality, Frank is pretty impressed at the meal and happily accepts Bill and Gabe’s compliments.
“A toast,” William begins when they all sit bloated around the fire after the meal. “To Frank’s trip here. It was great to see you, man. Ever since-” William stops, and brings a hand to his mouth. He hiccups. “Uh, that was weird. But anyway, it’s been-” he stops and hiccups again before his stomach rumbles, almost on cue.
“Oh God,” William says and runs to the bathroom. They all watch him slam the door and hear a familiar, horrid hurl.
“Was he drinking?” Gerard says.
“No, he only had one glass cause he was gonna drive us back.” Gabe replies quietly.
“Oh God,” Frank says as his stomach rumbles. “Oh fuck, oh fuck-” Frank barely makes it to the kitchen before he starts hurling in the sink.
Gabe and Gerard follow not long after.
It’s safe to say, Frank didn’t expect to stay in bed with a bucket on Christmas day.
//
As they’d envisaged, Christmas eve was the last time they’d all get to spend together. Mainly because of Frank, though. With projectile vomiting, it was difficult for the four to see anyone.
His trip was over before it began; or so it seemed. William refused to have anyone else but him take Frank to the airport, and with sick bags in hand, Frank bids Gabe a goodbye, see you soon and asks him to pass on the same to Gerard.
Outside the gates at the airport, Frank hugs William tightly, thanking him for everything. They promise to talk and write and visit more often than they had done before, and Frank knows they’re staying true to that.
A few metres away stands Gerard, slightly panting with a red tint to his cheeks. Frank looks at him with confusion; he thought they’d all said their goodbyes two nights ago. He didn’t really know how to approach him, he didn’t know what to say.
He walks up to him and smiles, with a soft ‘Hey.’
Gerard looks down at his feet, and draws in a breath, “I knew you were leaving but, I didn’t know it was so soon. Gabe told me this morning, and - and well, I thought that you would’ve come to say goodbye.”
“Why would I do that?” Frank asks, trying to mask his teasing smile. He takes off his backpack when Gerard looks at him with a mixture of confusion and hurt.
Frank pulls out an A4 sheet of paper and hands it to Gerard, stepping in closer. Gerard’s eyes almost frantically scan over the piece of paper and then flicker up to meet Frank’s. “You’re coming back in February?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re not going to be able to get rid of me. Where I work, they’re awfully nice to me when it comes to days off,” he grins and leans forward to kiss Gerard.