Take the Pieces and Build Them Skywards - part 5
back to part 4
They get back to Frank’s place late after dinner courtesy of Pete. Frank yawns, but he doesn’t look very tired.
“You wanna watch a movie?” Gerard asks. They haven’t talked about it explicitly, there’s no set time they need to say their goodbyes by, but he gets the feeling that at the end of the night, it’s going to be goodbye and not goodnight.
Frank shrugs. “Sure.”
They end up curled up on the couch watching Zombie Strippers, even though they’ve seen it at least five times already. Frank nuzzles his way under Gerard’s arm, rests his head on Gerard’s chest, and wraps an arm around his waist. He probably can’t see very well with his shoulder near his cheek and his face half-smushed in Gerard’s shirt, but it’s not like Gerard’s complaining.
It takes him half the movie to realize this is what he’s going to miss most: the stupid shit, the mundane shit like watching movies together or arguing over take-out or trying to fix a leaky faucet. He can’t remember what he used to do, before he met Frank, how he used to spend all his time alone. The idea of spending it all alone again makes his chest tighten, and suddenly he’s breathing shallowly, making horrible wheezy noises, and his head’s spinning.
Frank jerks up, puts his hand over Gerard’s chest, and mumbles soothing nonsense. When Gerard starts hyperventilating, Frank grabs the front of Gerard’s shirt and shakes him a little. “Gerard!” It gets Gerard’s attention off his own breathing, off the crushing devastation that’s making him feel like he can’t breathe, and as soon as he’s not in any danger of passing out, Frank kisses him.
This whole time, Gerard’s been a little afraid of how calm Frank seems to be about everything. He can’t actually want to die, he can’t know anything good comes after life, he can’t want to leave his family and his friends and everything he loves. Suddenly Gerard gets it, how terrified Frank is of going, how much he misses everything already, how hard he has to work every single second not to give in and take the easy way out. He gets how much harder he’s made it on Frank. He gets it because Frank’s kissing him like stopping will be the end of him. He’s clutching at Gerard’s shoulders, scrambling to get onto Gerard’s lap, sucking the air out of Gerard’s lungs and using it to make helpless, desperate little sounds.
Gerard kisses him back just as desperately, uncomfortably aware of every detail. The shape of Frank’s lips, the taste of his mouth, the weight of him on Gerard’s lap, the faint smell of his shampoo and his cigarettes. It makes it feel clinical, the way he’s cataloging everything, trying to burn it into his mind so he’ll never forget. He knows he will; he used to think he’d never forget the taste of his first kiss’s lip gloss, or the smell of Elena’s perfume, or a million other little things he’s tried to hold onto unsuccessfully.
So he stops. Gives over thinking to just doing, pressing Frank back and twisting their bodies so they can tumble back onto the couch, stretching himself out over Frank and grinding his hips down until he knows he’ll have bruises from the button of Frank’s jeans biting into his skin. Frank bends his knees and digs his feet into the couch, makes room for Gerard between his legs, and tangles his fingers in Gerard’s hair, holding on so tightly Gerard’s scalp burns.
The TV’s still on, flickering in the dark room and making the angles of Frank’s face stand out in sharp contrast. Gerard tears his lips away for a second, letting Frank hold onto his hair, just staring down at him. He’s so fucking beautiful Gerard aches just looking at him.
“Gerard,” Frank breathes, bucking up against him, trying to pull his mouth back down.
“Frank,” Gerard replies, leaning back down, letting himself get sucked back into the hazy desperation of Frank’s mouth.
Everything blurs for a while, individual movements lost in the rush of lips against lips and fingers on skin. He can’t remember how long they’ve been kissing, but it feels like it’s always been too long, and he fumbles with Frank’s pants until they’re unfastened. Frank lifts his hips and pushes his jeans down, hooks his thumbs in his underwear and tries to twist out of them. He ends up leaving bright red streaks against his own thighs where his nails got in the way, and in the high contrast of the dark room and the bright TV, they look worse than they are, like they’re scored into his skin permanently. Gerard pushes back and folds his legs up so he can crouch down by Frank’s feet. Frank reaches down for him, catches his hand and a tuft of his hair, and Gerard doesn’t bother trying to readjust his grip before he licks his way around the head of Frank’s cock.
Frank bucks up, cock sliding wetly against Gerard’s cheek. Gerard lets him ride it out until he’s flat against the couch again, and then he fits his hands into the grooves of Frank’s hips and presses down. Frank whimpers, tugging harder at Gerard’s hair, and Gerard lets the pain temper his lust until he’s not so close to the edge before sucking Frank into his mouth and pressing his tongue against the bundle of nerves on the underside. Looking up makes his eyes feel too wide, but it means he can see the silent movements of Frank’s mouth and the wet shine of his eyes as he stares down at Gerard. He works his mouth down until the tip of Frank’s cock is resting at the very back of his throat, and then he forces himself to relax and swallow until his nose is pressed against Frank’s skin, until the designs of Frank’s tattoos blend into a swirl of color at the edges of Gerard’s vision. He stays like that until Frank makes a noise that’s half plea, half demand, and then he slowly starts a rhythm, letting go of Frank’s hips so he can wrap one hand around the base of Frank’s cock. Frank reaches down and claims his other hand, lacing their fingers and squeezing so tightly that it’s painful. Gerard gets it, though; he doesn’t really want to let go, either.
He keeps the rhythm slow, makes it messy, doesn’t let Frank get too close. They have as long as this goes on, and what happens after, Gerard knows but doesn’t want to think about. So he just concentrates on the feel of Frank in his mouth, the taste, the sound of Frank’s labored breathing and the choked whimpers he makes when Gerard hollows his cheeks.
Even keeping it slow, it’s not long before Frank’s tugging on Gerard’s hair, bucking his hips a little to get Gerard to pull off. “Gee, Gerard, come on, stop, I don’t, fuck, I don’t wanna come yet. Stop.”
Gerard lets Frank slide out of his mouth with an obscene noise, and he doesn’t pause before he’s leaning up to kiss him, mouth slick all the way around. Their lips slide against each other, almost off of each other, but Frank gets his teeth into Gerard’s bottom lip and holds on. Gerard licks at Frank’s upper lip, catches the rough ridges of the bottom of his teeth.
Frank tries to turn them so they’re facing each other, but the couch is narrow and they almost roll off. Gerard catches Frank by the front of his shirt, holds on even though Frank’s body weight pulling against the fabric has to be cutting an indentation into his neck. Frank stares at him for a second, and then propels himself forward and pushes Gerard into the back of the couch. Gerard feels smothered, trapped between Frank and the couch, but it’s a cage he’d stay in forever if he could.
Frank nudges Gerard’s legs out from under him until his feet are resting on the floor and then throws a leg over Gerard’s lap and straddles his thighs. He fumbles with Gerard’s shirt, catching on to the hem and letting it slide out of his fingers more than once, and Gerard realizes then that Frank’s shaking. His hands, his shoulders, his whole body trembling, and it’s not just from what they’re doing.
“Frank,” Gerard whispers, but Frank just keeps trying to get Gerard’s shirt off, hitching it up around Gerard’s armpits and tugging, glaring at it like it’s the source of all his problems. “Frank.” He says it louder this time, and Frank looks up, still holding onto the hem of Gerard’s t-shirt like a lifeline. With his face lit by the TV behind them, Frank looks so fucking young. Gerard can’t ever remember being that young, doesn’t remember what he was doing at twenty-one, can’t imagine being told he was going to die at twenty-one. “Frank,” he says again, and Frank crumbles, pressing his face into Gerard’s neck. Gerard can feel something wet against his skin. Right now, he thinks, right now I could ask him to stay, and he would. Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s back and holds on. He doesn’t say anything.
After a while, Frank breathes out heavily against Gerard’s throat and when he laughs, it’s muffled. “Sexy, huh?”
Gerard rubs his hands down Frank’s back, over the sharp wings of his shoulder blades and over the slight curve of his hips. “Always.”
Frank picks his head up and his eyelashes are clumped together wetly. “Come to bed.”
Gerard’s stomach clenches. Goodnight is too close to goodbye, and he knows neither of them will be sleeping. It’ll just be awkward silence, both of them pretending they’re not counting down the minutes.
“I’m not tired,” he says, and it sounds so stupid and stubborn, to be refusing Frank this last thing, but Frank laughs and scrubs his hands across his eyes.
“Come to bed, you dork. Come have sex with me. You’re never gonna learn, are you?”
Gerard follows him into the bedroom knowing that now he never will have a chance to learn.
Frank gets undressed slowly, peeling his t-shirt off and shucking off his jeans, pulling his socks off one by one and shimmying out of his underwear.
Gerard follows his lead, but Frank catches his wrist and holds it for a second. “Frank,” Gerard says, and it sounds desperate, plaintive. Frank starts rolling the hem of Gerard’s t-shirt up, slowly, inch by inch, until Gerard has to lift his arms above his head to let him pull it the rest of the way off. His pants get the same treatment - Frank pops the button and slides the zip down tooth by tooth, and by the time it’s down, Gerard’s vibrating with need. He wants to touch Frank, he wants Frank to touch him; every second they’re taking to get undressed feels like one second less they have. But he doesn’t rush it.
Frank kneels down and pulls Gerard’s pants and boxers off, holding onto Gerard’s hip to keep him balanced as he steps out of them. He’s not wearing socks, but Frank stays on his knees anyway, resting his forehead against Gerard’s hip and breathing out hot, heavy breaths against his skin. Gerard runs his fingers through Frank’s hair, tugging on the ends of it, and Frank looks up. He looks lost.
“C’mon.” Gerard helps him up and over to the bed, and Frank slides in, waiting for Gerard to lay next to him before he lays down.
“We don’t…” Gerard starts, and it sounds too loud in the quiet room. Softer, he says, “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want.”
Frank laughs, and he seems to pull himself together a little because he grabs Gerard’s hips and rolls them until Gerard’s on top. “I want.”
Gerard leans down to kiss him, and Frank clutches at his back. It hurts a little, like maybe Frank forgot Gerard’s skin is actually attached to his body and won’t come off no matter how hard he tries, but Gerard’s also kissing him like he can smother him this way, so he gets it.
Frank breaks off for a breath, and squirms out from under Gerard a little to reach over to the bedside table. He grabs the lube but gets distracted when Gerard bites his way up Frank’s neck, stopping at his jaw to lick the curve of it.
“Gerard,” Frank whines, high and needy, “Come on, fuck, please.”
Gerard grabs the lube and fumbles with the lid, suddenly noticing his hands are shaking. They’re shaking so bad he can’t get it open, and Frank laughs. It’s not mean, it’s the laugh that means you dork, and it makes Gerard want to scream at the unfairness of not getting to hear that laugh for the rest of his unlife.
Frank takes the lube and flips the top, pouring a pool of it into his hand. He drops the tube and fists his cock, biting his lip as he arches up into it. “Jesus, Frank,” Gerard says, unable to tear his eyes off the scene in front of him. Frank strokes himself a couple more times before he tightens his grip, holding onto the base for a second and breathing out heavily, like he’s trying to get himself under control.
Gerard barely moves when Frank does, just lets Frank push him sideways and push his knees apart. “You okay?” Frank murmurs, trailing a slick finger behind Gerard’s balls. Gerard manages an “mm-hmph” before Frank slides his finger in, easily adding a second when he gets to the first knuckle. Gerard squirms under him, trying to push down onto Frank’s fingers and wriggle away from them at the same time. Frank puts a steadying hand on Gerard’s hip and pushes in further, twisting his fingers slowly, so fucking slowly Gerard feels like he’s going to come out of his skin, and then he hits the right spot. All the air in Gerard’s lungs gets knocked out in a single breath, and he has to blink a few times before he can make out Frank’s face swimming above him.
“There?” Frank asks, almost whispering, and twists his fingers again. Gerard bucks up off the bed, nodding his head frantically. Frank grins and pushes down on Gerard’s hip, keeping him anchored, and leans down to drag the flat side of his tongue over the head of Gerard’s cock.
Gerard grabs fistfuls of Frank’s hair and pulls, biting down on his own lip so hard he feels the skin threatening to break.
By the time he can think straight again, Frank’s backed off, somehow managed to get Gerard’s fingers out of his hair, and he’s lining up, waiting for Gerard’s okay.
Gerard nods, desperately sucking in lungfuls of air, and hooks his ankles around Frank’s back. Frank slides in, eyes going unfocused, and Gerard taps his heels on Frank’s skin, urging him to move faster. “Shh,” Frank whispers, even though Gerard hasn’t said anything, and continues to take his fucking time. Gerard knows - he knows - he should be dragging this out, letting Frank go as slow as he wants, putting off the inevitable, but his whole body feels strung out, too taut, like if he bends wrong his back will snap from the tension. He just wants Frank, all of him, so he can forget to think and pretend this isn’t the last time he’ll ever get to have him.
Frank finally sinks all the way in and stays there for a second, holding himself above Gerard with an arm on each side of his head. His arms are shaking with the effort, and Gerard’s shaking with the need to do more than just wait. He squirms and Frank hisses, transferring his weight to one arm and reaching between them to fist Gerard. Gerard tenses and Frank groans like it’s being forcefully pulled out of him, his chest vibrating. Finally, finally he starts to move, pulling out slowly and then starting a tortuous pace that he mirrors with his hand.
Gerard whines, says, “Pleasepleaseplease,” and it looks like Frank’s having a hard time refusing. He only keeps up the slow pace for another minute, and then his thrusts get erratic and his hand keeps slowing down until it’s almost stopped, and then he jerks fast and hard like he’s trying to make up for forgetting.
“Gerard,” Frank grunts, and his arm jerks like it's going to give out on him. He lets go of Gerard to hold himself up and Gerard whimpers at the loss of contact. But when he reaches down to touch himself, Frank growls out a warning. “Wanna suck you after,” he says, the words all rushed together like it’s taking all he’s got just to say that much.
Gerard reaches up to tangle his fingers in Frank’s hair, something to keep his hands busy, and tightens his legs around Frank’s hips. Frank leans down to kiss him, mumbling something against his mouth that feels like “GeeGeeGee” and then he tenses, going completely still when he comes.
When he slumps down, his sweat-slick stomach brushes over Gerard’s cock, and he whines at the sensitivity. Frank’s barely coherent, but he manages to pull out and slither down Gerard’s body. It takes all of two sweeps of Frank’s tongue over his cock and Gerard’s coming so hard he can’t speak, can only open and close his mouth with what might have been words if he had the air for it. He thinks he’s staring at the ceiling, but he might as well be staring at the back of his eyelids for as much as he can see.
When his vision comes back into focus, Gerard blinks down at Frank, who’s resting his head on Gerard’s thigh and staring sleepily up at Gerard. Frank smiles, slow and easy, and for one blissful second, Gerard feels like everything is normal. They’ll clean up and go to bed now, and in the morning they’ll get breakfast, and maybe one of these days Gerard will work up the courage to introduce Frank to the guys. Frank will go to work, and Gerard will reap, and-
It all comes rushing back the second after, and Gerard has to look away from the smile on Frank’s face.
Frank climbs up Gerard’s body, ignoring the sticky, sweaty mess they’ve made, and just lies on top of him.
He’s a solid weight on top of Gerard, just this side of too heavy, but Gerard’s not about to make him move. Frank shoves his face into the crook of Gerard’s neck, his breath tickling the skin there, and he wedges his hands under Gerard’s back, their combined weights trapping them.
It’s not exactly comfortable, but Gerard could lay like this for the rest of his time on Earth and be happy. Frank’s warm and breathing and alive, which is all that matters because soon enough he won’t be.
Frank wiggles his toes a little and mumbles against Gerard’s throat, “It won’t be forever.”
Gerard doesn’t know that. That’s the part that scares him most, that has scared him most since the day he woke up dead. Eventually, he will cross over, and no one will tell him what happens then. Heaven? Reincarnation? Nothingness? There is no guarantee that wherever Frank’s going, Gerard will be able to follow.
He tightens his grip on Frank. “It might be.”
Frank snuffles a little and picks his head up so he can look at Gerard. Even this late, even after the day he’s had and the sweaty sex they just had, Frank looks amazing. This close up, Gerard can see the individual flecks of gold in his eyes.
“It might be. But I choose to believe it won’t be.”
Gerard cards his fingers through the back of Frank’s sweaty hair and tries not to think about how it’s the last time he’ll do that. The last time he’ll argue with Frank, the last time he’ll be able to hug him, the last time for everything. If he starts cataloging it, he’ll never stop, and it will make this harder than it already is.
“I can’t do it,” Gerard whispers, and his voice sounds so small that he repeats himself because Frank might not have heard. “I can’t do it.”
Frank’s face falls, and Gerard wants to take it back. He wants to be able to do this, to be there for Frank, to be the last person Frank sees before he dies and to be the one that helps him cross over. But the thought of it is making his chest feel like he’s being compressed, crushed by the weight of his grief. He knows that even if he agreed to do it, he’d back out at the last minute. He’d try to change Frank’s mind again, or he’d resort to something worse. He doesn’t want Frank’s death to be like that.
“I’d like it to be you,” Frank whispers back, and for a second Gerard panics, not sure if he’ll be able to tell Frank no if he insists. “But I get it. I. I don’t know if I could do it if it was you. I’d probably just tie you up and keep you in the basement forever.” It starts out teasing, but Gerard can see the realization dawning on Frank’s face - there’s a good chance he hadn’t reversed their roles until just now, and he’s serious.
“I can ask Bob to do it,” Gerard offers, and Frank nods.
“Yeah, okay.”
Gerard starts to gently disentangle himself from Frank’s grasp, wriggling out from under him and almost collapsing on the floor next to the bed. “I don’t think I can wait for him to show up, Frank.”
Frank sits up, sitting on his heels, and scratches at his bare chest. Gerard avoids looking, trying to gather up all his clothes instead, running a steady mantra of don’t break down, don’t break down, hold it together until you leave, don’t break down through his head.
“Okay.” Frank sounds disappointed but not angry. He waits until Gerard’s got all his clothes picked up, held tight against his chest like they can plug the gaping hole that feels like is there, and then he says, “I love you.”
The clothes bundle isn’t doing anything at all to make Gerard’s insides feel less open and raw.
“I love you, too,” he mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes. He’s just tired, he’s just overwhelmed, but he needs to get out of here before he starts begging. Frank’s made up his mind and deep down, Gerard knows he made the right decision. “I love you, too,” he says again, because he can’t think of anything more important to make sure Frank knows.
Frank helps him get dressed, sneaking kisses between every article of clothing, and when Gerard goes to the door, Frank throws on a pair of boxers and follows him. He can see Frank struggling with something to say, maybe it’ll be okay or take care of yourself or something trite and overused to fill the silence. Eventually he just says, “You’ll be okay,” and kisses Gerard again.
Gerard’s not sure he’s ever disagreed with something as strongly as he disagrees with that, but he nods and kisses Frank back, and then he leaves, biting his tongue and forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other until he can’t see Frank’s building anymore.
--
After he calls Bob, Gerard wanders for a while down streets he doesn’t recognize until gets back to ones he does. He doesn’t bother wiping away the dampness on his cheeks, and he doesn’t look at anything but his own feet.
Frank’s gone. Frank’s gone. He won’t be in the diner if Gerard goes to get a cup of coffee, he won’t be at his own apartment if Gerard goes knocking, he won’t be in bed if Gerard goes home.
It’s been six hours; he knows Bob well enough to know Frank’s dead. Fate had been chomping at the bit to get Frank, and Gerard can just about imagine how fast it must have come down after Bob took Frank’s soul. Slipping in the shower, maybe, or electrocution via faulty socket. Maybe the ceiling fan fell on top of him. It doesn’t really matter how he died, he’s dead, but Gerard’s got nothing else to keep his mind occupied.
These past few months have been nothing but Frank, and now Gerard’s looking at a long future of not being quite dead, but not really being quite alive either, without the one person who made him feel like not really alive was better than dead.
Eventually the sight of his own feet gets old, and he looks up. Somehow he’s managed to wander back home - his old home, his real home, the home with Mikey and his mom - just like the night he died. He guesses old habits die hard.
He sits down on the curb across from his house again, pats himself down for cigarettes, and realizes he left them back at the apartment. Maybe Frank finished the pack before…
Gerard scrubs at his face, desperately trying to think about something else, anything else. He’s gonna drive himself nuts if can’t.
There’s the quiet sound of a door being pulled shut deliberately slowly, and Gerard looks up to see Mikey standing just outside the house. He’s already got a cigarette in his hand, and he’s already headed over to Gerard.
Mikey sits down without saying anything and offers Gerard a cigarette. Gerard takes it, clamps his lips down around it and keeps them there, trying not to say anything. Mikey’s right next to him, his little brother, his best friend. If he starts talking, he’s gonna spill everything, about himself, about reaping, about Frank, because he needs to talk to somebody, and Mikey’s always been that somebody. Having him this close and acting like they barely know each other makes Gerard’s stomach clench painfully, so he just concentrates on staying quiet and smoking like his life depends on it.
Mikey talks first. “You knew my brother better than you said you did, before, didn’t you?”
Gerard is actually shaking with the effort of not just yelling, It’s me, Mikey, it’s me, I’m still here! He nods and keeps everything tightly tamped down.
“We had a fight the day he died.” Mikey sighs, and he sounds so weary, so worn down. “It was really fucking stupid. I knew we’d get over it, I mean, we always do, but then.” He shakes his head, ashing his cigarette near his feet. “But then he died, and I didn’t get a chance to tell him I was sorry.”
Gerard feigns a cough and turns to the side so he can press his knuckles hard against his mouth, willing himself to just stop shaking, willing himself to be able to speak without his voice cracking.
“I saw him,” he finally says, voice rough with could probably be explained by too much smoking. “The day he died. He said something about you guys having an argument.”
“Yeah?” Mikey sounds wary, and Gerard is so fucking disappointed in himself that he would have ever given Mikey a reason to think he’d talk badly about him behind his back.
“Yeah. He said he felt like a dick, but he knew you guys would get over it. He said he was pretty lucky to have a little brother like you.”
Mikey scrubs at his eyes behind his glasses, not even pretending that he’s not crying. “He said that?”
“Yeah, he said that. He really loved you a lot.” Loves, Gerard thinks. Loves.
Mikey smiles a little and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I know,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.
He stays until Gerard finishes his cigarette, and then he stands up and stretches. He doesn’t say goodbye, or good night, or how did you know my brother, or why do you keep showing up. He just waves a little and heads inside.
It’s just starting to get light out, and the birds are just starting to go nuts with their chirping, and Gerard doesn’t really think the people in the house behind him will be too stoked about a strange dude sitting on their curb at ass o’clock in the morning. When he stands up, his knees pop, and his ass is almost numb, but he feels better than when he sat down. Not great, still not even good, but better.
He heads back the way he came. He’ll be a little early, but the waffle house will be open.
It’s busier today than it usually is, and Gerard has to squeeze through a crowd waiting at the door, duck under a waitress’ full tray, and waltz with a guy coming out of the bathroom, both of them trying to go to one side so the other can pass.
Eventually he makes it to the regular booth, stands just behind it for a minute. He’s exhausted, drained, grieving, and he just needs a second to get himself together. He scrubs at his eyes and cheeks, runs his hands through his hair, straightens his jacket.
Bob says something quietly from inside the booth and there’s a chorus of laughter, and suddenly Gerard’s so pissed off he can’t see straight. Those asshole are sitting around eating breakfast, laughing like there’s nothing wrong, and they know. They know Frank’s gone, Bob’s the one that did the deed for Christ’s sake, and they’re still acting like everything’s fine. It’s not fine,, Gerard wants to say, while he slams their faces against the table, Frank’s dead and the world is a shittier place for it.
Before he can do anything too melodramatic, Bob says something else, and one laugh stands out from the rest. It’s too high-pitched to be Brian or Bob’s, lasts a few beats too long to be Ray’s. Gerard’s heart skips two beats right in a row, and he has to put a hand on the booth to stave off the dizziness.
He’s been up all night. He’s been up all night after an undeniably stressful day. He hasn’t eaten, and he can’t remember the last thing he drank. He could be dehydrated, having auditory hallucinations brought on by grief. He can hear his own harsh breaths, every third one catching in his throat. The guys must hear him, too, despite the din in the room, because they all go quiet.
No one says anything for a minute. Finally Gerard clears the frog out of his throat and says quietly, “New guy?”
He can hear some shuffling in the booth, and finally Ray answers. “New guy.”
It could be anyone. It could be someone Gerard’s never met, a newly-dead dude that just sounds familiar. It could be a transfer from another team. He’s still not giving up the ghost on the hallucination front. But he hears it again, that stupid, ridiculous giggle he’d know anywhere. “I have a name, you know.”
Bob says, "Yeah, Shouldn't-Have-Gotten-Involved-With-A-Reaper-and-Doomed-Himself-To-Also-Becoming-A-Reaper Guy."
Gerard holds his breath until he hears, “That’s kinda long. You should probably just call me Frank.”
He stumbles around the corner of the booth so fast he slams his hip into the table. Brian’s coffee cup wobbles precariously and Brian mumbles grumpily, but Gerard barely notices because Frank is sitting there. Frank is sitting in front of him, grinning like a goddamned loon, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do besides stand there and grin back at him.
Lucky for him, Frank seems to have a better idea of what’s expected. He stands up, clambers over the table - completely destroying Brian’s waffles in the process - and launches himself at Gerard. He kisses Gerard just as desperately as he had the night before, and Gerard fumbles to get his hands on as much of Frank as he can, skidding over Frank’s face and down to his shoulder, wrapping around his back and clutching at fistfuls of his shirt.
When they have to break for breath, Gerard pulls back and reaches up to brush his fingers over Frank’s face. Frank turns into the touch and kisses Gerard’s fingertips. “You’re here,” Gerard says, and it sounds so stupid, so insufficiently expressing what he’s feeling.
Frank nods, grinning. “I forgot you’d look different,” he says, reaching up to bat Gerard’s hair away from his face.
Gerard touches his hair self-consciously. “Is different bad?”
Frank shrugs, pretending to be indecisive. “It could be worse, I guess.” Gerard makes an indignant noise and shoves Frank a little. Frank laughs. “Kidding! I’m kidding. You’re gorgeous.”
Gerard hates that he’s blushing, but it doesn’t really matter because Frank kisses him again, and then they just hold onto each other for a while, grinning stupidly. Behind them in the booth, Bob and Ray are grinning into their coffee and Brian’s shuffling his papers an inordinate amount, frowning at the footprint in his waffles.
Eventually Bob says, “Get your asses back in the booth, you’re blocking traffic,” so Gerard slides in and tugs Frank in next to him, hanging onto his hand like Frank might disappear if he lets go.
Brian slides his ruined breakfast to the side for the waitress to pick up and starts sorting out Post-Its. “I always get stuck with the weirdos,” he mutters. “I always get stuck with the idiots who have to go and hook up with someone they know they shouldn’t.” He sounds grudgingly fond, and Bob and Ray smirk at each other over their coffee. Brian looks up and points at them each in turn. “Don’t even, assholes. I’ve known about you since the first time you defiled the bathroom here.”
Bob and Ray’s smirks slide off their faces, and Ray puts his coffee cup down a little shakily. “But.” He glances at Bob and they have a short conversation with their eyebrows. Eventually he turns back to Brian. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Brian shuffles his papers angrily and blusters a little bit. “Because if I’d said anything, I would have lost plausible deniability. Which I just did, so you’re welcome. Plus, I say something, the wrong person overhears, you guys could get pulled and I could get stuck with even bigger assholes.” He sounds self-consciously embarrassed.
“Sure,” Bob says, grinning again. “Whatever. You love us.”
Brian huffs.
Gerard’s not about looking gift horses in the mouth, but he can’t help asking, “So uh. How exactly did it work out that Frank got reaper duty and got put on our team?”
If Gerard didn’t know for a fact that Brian did not even have the capability to blush, he would say Brian was blushing. He shuffles his papers so hard they get bent at the bottom. “I just have terrible luck, I guess.”
Pete Wentz pops up from the booth next to them, peering over the divider. He’s got a mouthful of something, cheek puffed out like a chipmunk, and he has to talk around the mass of food. “Fuck you, Schechter, Patrick showed me that request for Iero. You are a totally sappy motherfucker.”
Gerard can hear someone else in the booth, too, hissing, “Sit down, Pete!” and then mumbling, “I am going to get fired, you are going to get me fired.”
Brian cranes his neck to look up at Pete, and Pete grins down at him, not moving until Brian starts to get out of the booth.
“Sanctuary!” Pete yells, disappearing from view, and then he tumbles out of the booth, what Gerard can only imagine is Patrick’s foot extended to the edge of the seat where Pete fell. Brian stands over him with a handful of Post-Its, which normally wouldn’t be too threatening, but it’s Brian, and Gerard - despite his overwhelming love for the man at the moment - is pretty sure Brian can kill someone, even an already dead someone, with a handful of Post-Its.
Frank squeezes Gerard’s hand under the table, and Gerard squeezes back, and he thinks maybe this whole death business isn’t so bad.
--
Epilogue
--
"Brian's gonna make you pay for his waffles for like, a year," Gerard says. It's been a week, and Brian still hasn't forgiven Frank for his ruined breakfast. Frank mostly deals by paying for a lot of waffles and dragging Gerard into the bathroom at the waffle house as often as possible to avoid Brian's glare.
Frank mumbles something unintelligible. Gerard forgives him for not enunciating, because Frank's mouth is currently attached to Gerard's throat. When he takes a break from sucking a row of hickeys into Gerard's skin, he looks up and grins. "He got me this job, right?" Gerard nods. "I will pay for his waffles forever."
"You underestimate his waffle-eating ability."
"Mmm, that sounds dirty." Frank grins and ducks in to kiss Gerard's jaw.
There's a banging on the bathroom door and someone jiggles the handle.
"You've been in there for exactly forty-two minutes. There are people out here who need to use the bathroom for the purpose it was intended, you selfish bastards." Bob doesn't sound too angry, and Gerard figures he's got at least a month to milk the fact that his boyfriend just died. Maybe less, since his boyfriend is actually still capable of kissing him silly, which he is taking advantage of in a very big way right now. They round it up, and come out after an hour.
"It's about time," Pete says, bouncing out of his seat. He grabs Frank's hand and shakes it enthusiastically. "Welcome to the dead dude club! It's awesome."
"I thought you got banned from ever coming in here again?" Gerard scratches his head, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure none of the waitresses have noticed Pete's presence yet.
"As if any earthly force could keep me from waffles," Pete scoffs. "Now come on, I've got a surprise for you."
"Wait, where are we going?"
Pete just grabs them and starts toward the door. "You know how I said I hadn't had the whole 'I'm a reaper' conversation with Mikey yet?"
A flicker of hope sparks in Gerard's chest, and he tamps it down. There's no way. There's no possible way. "Yeah?"
Pete propels them out the door and beams. "That's been rectified."
Mikey's sitting in a car by the curb, gnawing on his thumbnail. It takes him a second to realize there's someone standing next to the car, and when he turns to look out through the window, Gerard's heart stops in his chest. He's pretty sure it won't kill him.
Mikey's gaze flicks to Pete, who just motions for him to get out of the car. Gerard takes a step back, and Mikey opens the door and unfolds himself from the front seat, stepping out warily. "Hey...I know you."
Gerard nods slowly. His chest feels tight. "Yeah, you do."
Mikey looks at Pete, his eyes widening slightly in confusion. "You...this. You said I..." He gestures helplessly, and Pete nods. Mikey turns back toward Gerard, staring desperately. "Gee?" he whispers.
Gerard barely has time to nod before Mikey's lanky limbs are wrapped around him. Gerard squeezes back so hard he can feel Mikey struggling to breathe, but Mikey doesn't complain. He just tucks his face into Gerard's neck and says, "Don't you ever die on me again."
"I'll do my best." Gerard smiles against Mikey's hair, locking eyes with Frank over his head. He's willing to bet he screwed up enough early on that he's due for a very long stint as a reaper. He's kind of the luckiest undead guy in the world.
back to master post
