(no subject)
take to the skies
frank x gerard
nc17
part of the nadja!verse (yes that is what i'm calling it)
chronologically, this follows life on the rumor scene although it could be considered a oneshot if you really want
The in-betweens are the hardest parts, Frank thinks while he watches the ash of his cigarette growing longer and longer, the bright ember of the cherry dwindling down to nothing. Sighing to himself, he picks it up and takes a drag.
Sheila arches an eyebrow from the doorway. "You look like shit," she says, and Frank barks a little laugh, fingers flying over the keyboard while he finishes his latest column. He's been pretty cynical lately; almost constantly bashing on celebrity couples and kids on the club scene.
Maybe it's because he and Gerard had a fight two weeks ago. Frank could recount the moment down to the exact second, every detail precisely accurate, if he wanted to. But instead he just shakes his head and says, "Well, you're not too hot yourself."
Sheila smiles a little and steps into the room, resting her chin on Frank's shoulder and reading, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"You should take a vacation." She says it suddenly, as though she's pointing out a flaw in his grammar or telling him that the syntactical structure of the third paragraph just doesn't suit the overall tone. And maybe she's pointing out a flaw in something, but Frank doesn't feel like following that metaphor any further.
"Yeah?" he asks tiredly, scrubbing his hand over his face like maybe that'll make the dark circles under his eyes disappear. He calls Gerard every afternoon during his cigarette break and Gerard calls him every morning when he wakes up, but their voices are still the clipped, sharp-edged tones of sulking children. "And where the fuck am I supposed to go?"
Sheila sighs, smacks him half-heartedly in the side of the head. "You're the one with the tour schedule, genius. You figure it out."
*
"God, you just don't get it sometimes do you?"
"What? What don't I get?"
"How hard it is for me to be away from you. It's a fucking year now and I hardly ever get to see you and there's nothing either of us can do about it and it never seems to bother you. What, am I not enough?"
"I never said that and you know it. We've talked about this before and you know there's no getting around it."
"What the fuck ever. I'm going for a walk. Call me and I'll chuck my phone into the nearest body of water."
*
As a rule, Frank hates airports. Mostly it's because his immune system is like the scrawny kid at recess - the one that always gets pushed into the gravel, gum stuck in his hair, bruises on his cheeks because children are cruel when they encounter something they just don't understand. He catches almost every bug he comes across. Usually he'll push through it, going to work and writing and taking extra-long lunch breaks to go home and pass out for an hour or two and pop some Tylenol. But every now and then he gets the flu bad enough that he's laid up for a week or two, and really, this vacation - if that's what he's calling it - is way too important for him to be all snotty and gross.
It doesn't help that airports are like breeding grounds for viruses and bacteria and loads of other disgusting shit that Frank just doesn't want to think about. So he plugs his headphones into his ears and turns his iPod up to half-volume and crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to look as surly as possible just in case the guy next to him gets any funny ideas about starting a conversation.
*
"You're back."
"Looks like it."
"And, obviously, you're stlil pissed."
"Well what did you expect? Fucking cupcakes?"
"I thought the whole point of going for a walk was to cool down. What the hell did you do instead?"
"I watched a prostitute do the can-can. What do you think I did?"
"I'm going to bed. If you start to feel drowsy, I hear the couch is pretty damn comfortable."
"I - what, wait - that's not -"
Slam.
"Fuck."
*
Nail biting is a habit Frank picked up when he was maybe seven-and-a-half years old. He isn't sure exactly when it started, but the third grade was a pretty rough year, and he distinctly remembers his mom asking his dentist and his doctor on separate occasions if there were going to be any disastrous side effects to him gnawing the shit out of his fingertips.
His stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of his collarbone, which always happens during takeoff and landing, and he's got his index finger between his teeth, chewing anxiously. Now that he's actually here, he's not entirely sure that it was such a good idea, after all.
He slings his carry-on over his shoulder, making sure that he didn't forget the battered paperback novel he'd picked up on the way to the airport that morning because it's some novella about zombies that he's pretty sure Gee is going to love if they ever get back to normal terms ever again.
"Quit being such a drama queen, Iero," he scolds himself quietly. The woman next to him arches a brow and Frank smiles sheepishly, hoping to God he doesn't throw up.
*
Frank doesn't think he's ever been as happy to see Bob and Matt as he is when he steps out to the terminal and they're standing there, matching shit-eating grins, holding up a sign that reads in sloppy Crayola "Fuck-Up."
*
"You're so fucking full of yourself you don't even think about how much it kills me every time we're apart, do you? It's like I'm missing my other half."
"Oh don't you try to pull that cliche bullshit on me."
"I'm not trying to pull anything on you, you asshole! I'm telling you that I fucking love you, okay?1 It's not my fault if you can't deal with that."
*
"Man, is it ever good to see you," Bob says as soon as they reach the safety of the rent-a-car that Frank signed up for. It's black, unobtrusive, nothing outstandingly memorable. It's perfect.
Frank slips his sunglasses on and glances into the rearview mirror. "Oh yeah?" he asks with a smirk. "Missed my pretty face?"
Matt bats his eyelashes while Bob just laughs. "Of course we did, Frankie sweetheart." He chuckles and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Plus Gerard's been a right little bitch since the tour started. We're hoping you can fix whatever it is that you screwed up before we left."
"How do you know I screwed up?" Frank blurts, suddenly tense and defensive, closing in on himself the way he always does when he feels threatened. He talked about it to a psychiatrist once but figures it isn't worth the therapy bill to try and do something about it. Besides, it's worked pretty well thus far.
Matt raises and eyebrow and Bob reaches up to clap Frank on the shoulder.
"Calm down there, Frankieboy. We're just sayin' that since Gee has been all 'woe-is-me-this-is-the-apocalypse' one of his dramatic gestures didn't go over too well."
Frank presses his lips into a tight line. He wants so badly to tell them all about it, including how spot on they really are with that assessment. Instead he opens his mouth and asks sullenly, "It's the next left, correct?"
*
"So I guess I'll see you in four months, huh?"
"That seems to be the case."
"This is the final boarding call for flight 2287 to Chicago, Illinois."
"All right, well, I'll call you."
"Okay."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Click.
"I love you, too, babe. Travel safe."
*
"We have a surprise!" Matt and Bob crow, arms slung around one another's shoulders, Bob carrying the duffel bag full of clothes that Frank brought along. Together, they manage to create a human wall that completely blocks Frank from the view of the rest of the band.
"Is it coffee?" Mikey asks from his spot at the kitchen table. Gerard looks at them in stony-eyed silence. He's been crying again, Frank can tell, when he finally sneaks a peek through the space between Bob and Matt's elbows. Immediately Frank's heart plummets and he wants no more than to reach out and run his hands through Gerard's hair and whisper to him that everything will be okay.
"No. Better than coffee." Bob promises.
"Much tastier," Matt adds and Bob groans and laughs. As though on cue, they step aside to reveal Frank, shifting from one foot to the other, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jeans while the other's halfway in his mouth while he nibbles at hyperspeed.
"Hey," he says as Gerard's jaw drops.
*
"I'm sorry. I was stupid."
The bus pulled into a rest stop about two and a half hours after heading out. Frank thinks that it was probably the most miserable two hours of his life. He and Gerard sat at the kitchen table and made painful small talk until the rest of the band members left, and then just stared at one another. Frank tried to start his apology a few times, but the angry lines at the edges of Gerard's mouth deterred him at the last minute each time.
"Yeah," Gerard says. "You really were." And he sounds more fatigued than upset, which Frank is counting as a plus because tired Gerard he can definitely work with.
He's leaning against the edge of the bus, smoking while the rest of the guys wander the gas station parking lot and buy sugary-sweet snacks to last them until they reach the venue that evening. He holds the cigarette out to Frank, who accepts it and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly. It's a peace offering. Frank's heart soars.
"Can you forgive me, Gee?" he asks, reaching out to tentatitvely intertwine his fingers with Gerard's, and takes a step forward. For one agonizing moment, Gerard is silent, studying Frank coolly.
Finally, the ghost of a smile flickers across his features. "I suppose."
"Good," Frank grins and leans in to kiss him.
*
Sex on the tour bus is kind of awesome, Frank decides while Gerard bites his shoulder to keep from gasping out loud. It's not like the rest of the band members don't already know what they're up to, but the secrecy of it all makes Frank's adrenaline rush like when he was a teenager sneaking out to go to parties.
He pulls back and thrusts forward once more, hard, and he can feel Gerard's thighs press tighter around him while Gerard comes, sticky, against both their stomachs. Frank follows, riding out the wave with a few sloppy snaps of his hips.
"Fuck," Frank murmurs, nuzzling Gerard's neck. "I missed you."
Gerard laughs, a soft sound against the shell of Frankie's ear, and runs his fingertips over Frank's back. "Missed you too."
*
It's been three days since Frank first got there, and he and Gerard are back on track - stealing kisses when they think nobody else is looking, Frank dodging the paparazzi and pretending like he's just spending time with friends, sharing their favorite stories from childhood well into the morning hours, talking about everything and nothing. But something is still a little off-kilter, just slightly unbalanced but it's enough for Frank to notice it.
"Mikes," he whispers one day when Mikey's about to wander off in search of a Starbucks. Gerard went with Matt to stock up on eyeliner and Bob is somewhere in the back cursing at the television while he tries to beat the last level of some video game or another that Frank has never heard of. Ray's probably standing behind Bob, giving tips where necessary and chuckling when Bob snaps that he's going to beat Ray's high score it if kills him.
"Hm?" Mikey blinks at him like he's just waking up and Frank, not for the first time, is utterly amused at the younger Way's mellow character.
"Did I...why is Gerard still upset?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet.
Mikey peers at Frank over the rims of his glasses. "Seriously?"
"Yeah." Frank murmurs, frowning. "I just...I've been running the whole thing through my head over and over and I just...I can't...I don't know what to do."
Mikey watches him for a minute before smiling and saying, "My brother loves you, man. You'll figure it out," and tapping him on the shoulder.
After Mikey's out of earshot Frank gives a little exasperated groan because that's the least helpful advice he's ever received in the history of ever.
*
"It's not my fault if you can't deal with that."
*
At exactly eight twenty-seven that night, right before My Chemical Romance is supposed to go on stage, Frank has an epiphany, and he very nearly tears the curtains down he's so shocked.
"Shit," he hisses to himself. "I'm a fucking idiot."
*
"You guys," Gerard says into the microphone, after the set has already finished but before the encore has officially started. Bob keeps up a steady drumbeat in the background. "Before we finish up here tonight, I want you all to say hi to a good friend of ours who flew out to spend his vacation stuck in a tourbus with us. Frank Iero, get your ass out here!"
Frank blinks owlishly from where he's standing in the wings and walks onto the stage a little shyly, like he's unsure of what he's doing. It's been awhile since he's been in front of an audience after all, and it was never one like this. The crowd's roar is defeaning and Frank can't help but beam.
"FRANKIE! FRANKIE!"
"Hey," Frank says into the microphone, laughing a little. Gerard smiles at him and tugs on his tie, winking. Frank grins because Gerard knows the tie is the one thing about the whole uniform that Frank thinks is completely killer.
"So, uh, before I left New York I did something totally stupid," he says, stumbling over the words a little. Gerard's eyebrows are half raised because Frank knows nobody expected him to recite a speech, but Mikey is giving him a thumbs up from his side of the stage and Frank is emboldened. He takes the microphone off the stand, holding it in a fingerless-gloved hand, and continues.
"I got into this fight with the love of my life," he admits, and the crowd responds with a sympathetic "Oooh."
"And I was too much of a pussy to say something that really, really needed to be said." The whole crowd laughs. "So, I want you guys to help me out, okay?"
The crowd cheers back at him and Frank grins, eyes flickering over to where Gerard is. Even in the dim light, Frank can see he's blushing, and Frank winks at him.
"All right." He turns his attention back to the crowd. "On the count of three I want you all to say with me 'I love you, motherfucker!' You ready?"
There's a wave of hollering and whooping yells and Frank laughs again.
"Kay. One! Two! Three!"
"I LOVE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!"
The foundations of the stadium shake.
*
"You are such a drama queen," Gerard teases, biting down on Frank's lip while Frank tugs at his tie. And Frank grins because, judging by the way that Gerard was barely off-stage and out of the line of vision of the audience before he pounced on Frank, it totally worked.
"You know you love it," he teases right back, wrinkling his nose.
"I do. C'mon. We get a hotel tonight so we can fuck in the shower."
*
Frank's got both hands braced against the tiled walls of the shower, palms slipping every now and then on the condensation-covered surface. Gerard has one arm looped around Frank's waist while the other moves rhythmically up and down Frank's dick, in perfect time with Gerard's thrusts.
The muscles in Frank's thighs shake a little, and he shifts. The angle is just right, and Gerard drives in deep, and Frank moans rather loudly and tosses his head back.
"Oh, Christ," he gasps. "Do that again."
Gerard complies, murmuring beautiful filthy things in Frank's ear, barely comprehensible over the spray from the showerhead. Frank feels his knees go weak as the muscles in his abdomen clench and he comes all over the wall of the shower.
"Gorgeous, baby," Gerard whispers against Frank's shoulder before he's groaning and coming, as well.
*
A week and a half later and Gerard is dropping Frank off at the airport again, except this time Frank is catching a flight back to New York because putting 'Frankie Thinks' on hiatus has apparently had disastrous results and Sheila's in a frenzy as to the proper course of action to follow.
"I'm gonna miss you," Frank says, his head resting against Gerard's shoulder, Gerard drawing his hands through Frank's hair.
"I'll miss you too," he answers, pressing a kiss to Frank's forehead. "I always do."
Frank lightly punches him on the arm. "You're such a sap."
Gerard laughs. "Says the guy who decided to declare his love in a stadium full of thousands of people."
Mock-grimacing, Frank sits up to face Gerard as the girl at the kiosk calls his row. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
Gerard smiles wickedly. "Not likely."
Frank kisses him twice, chastely, and then squeezes his hand, murmuring, "I gotta go now."
"I know," Gerard says, kissing Frank again. "I'll call you everyday."
"I'll always answer."
"I love you. Don't die on the plane."
Frank laughs and wraps his arms around Gerard where they're standing and smiles into the collar of the Gerard's coat.
"I love you too, babe." Mentally he adds, and I'm sorry it took me so long to say it.
*
Sheila buys Frank an outrageously expensive lunch in thanks for cutting his trip short and tells him that she doesn't know what she'd do without him. Frank grins and waves a fork at her and replies that he doesn't know what she'd do without him, either, and she laughs and flicks water at him.
"So, did you patch things up?" She asks as she scans the check, trying to be haphazard about the question just in case.
Frank smiles. "Yeah, we did."
"Good," Sheila says, looking up and smiling, folding her hands. "Now maybe you can get back to writing opinion columns instead of thinly veiled Livejournal entries."
The look Frank gives her is a mixture of utter shock and mock-offense. "Oh, ouch, Sheila. You wound me," he teases.
"Shut up," Sheila says. Then, "You're paying for the taxi back."
When they arrive at the office, she grabs his arm and adds quietly, "You might want to pop by the My Chemical Romance boards. It seems the fans are all a-twitter about your little declaration and the internet is apparently buzzing to know who Frank Iero is in love with and why he would declare it during an MCR concert."
Frank grins. "It's always the boardies," he mutters to himself.
He's halfway through an article squandering the rumors about himself and various band members - the theories concerning him and Matt are particularly hilarious, though - when his phone rings. The ring tone is Madonna. Gerard picked it himself.
"Hey, babe," Frank greets, bringing the phone up to his ear.
"Hey," Gerard says. "So I saw this really ugly cat in a petstore in Wichita and I thought of you."
Frank laughs and props his feet up on his desk. "Oh, really? I'm flattered."
He and Gerard can spend hours like this, talking on the phone and sharing stories about their days and the crazy things that their coworkers do and some of the more hilarious celebrity gossip, and Frank feels his heart speed up a little bit because this being in love thing? Yeah. He can definitely deal with this.
omg! there's a part 3 (well, half of it anyway)! GO!