Didn't It Rain? (3/?)
Title: Didn’t It Rain?
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t believe my lieeeees
Summary: They are motherfucking cops and it may only be because I wanted to give them guns-who knows?
Warnings: Dirty dirty. Chunky. Makes no sense, half asleep, crack-head bullshit. Enjoy.
Gerard is... not-- he is not letting it get to him.
But he's not stopping.
He's aware of this, faintly, as Frank drives him home from the reception.
Frank doesn't look happy, Gerard thinks. He hasn't said anything since he pulled Gerard off the bar. Off it. He hasn't given Gerard any meaningful looks, but Gerard isn't gone enough to not realize he's gone enough to have missed one.
"Fraaank." Gerard murmurs with his cheek pressed against the window. It's cold and for a minute Gerard can't fucking remember what season it is. He considers asking, but then gets distracted because everything's going so fucking fast outside.
Eventually he looks at Frank. Things are still spinning, but he can see the way Frank's mouth is pulled down.
"Why do you do this Gee?" He asks quietly.
Gerard pokes his own cheek. "Frank, are you talking to me? Is that an- a fucking rhetorical question?"
Frank doesn't answer him.
"Don't be mad Frankie." Gerard leans over, because it's easy, he leans his forehead into Frank's shoulder.
He knows why Frank may be angry. But Gerard is not out of control or beyond help, he doesn't even need help. He's fine. Gerard knows exactly what he's doing.
Gerard does not drink because he's depressed. He does not drink for some deep emotional reason because he has no other way to control his feelings. He is not dependent. He is not an alcoholic.
Gerard drinks because he likes it. It makes his confident. It makes him not give flying a shit. He sleeps like the fucking dead. But overall, it makes him happy, gives him a little bit of excitement where there's nothing. He doesn't see anything wrong with that.
Faintly he wonders what kind of ass he made himself out to be tonight. If Mikey's mad at him. The last thing he remembers is Mikey and Alicia's first dance as husband and wife. But then, Gerard doesn't think anyone probably even noticed his stupidity.
"You want me to stop?" Gerard slurs, maybe licking the window. Because if Frank wants him to, Gerard will stop. Because he can.
"I told you, Gee, your call."
Gerard hums; he's looking at the scorpion on Frank's neck and wondering why the hell he could stand that, but not a measly little spider.
Bugs are no thing to Gerard. In fact, he likes them, usually. He likes tracing the dumb bees that like to incessantly ram his apartment window. They're kind of interesting. It's a complete polar opposite of Frank, who embraces Gerard's mortal fucking enemy- the needle.
While Gerard is pondering this, he's got his finger in his mouth; he can't feel his gums.
Meanwhile, the car has stopped, Frank is opening Gerard's door. Gerard grins at him. Frank bends down onto his knees and brushes some hair away from Gerard's face. It's sticky, and Gerard can't remember why. Maybe tomorrow he will.
Frank wipes his thumb along Gerard's bottom lip and frowns.
"Frank." Gerard mutters. The alcohol makes him confident enough to say whatever he wants, but it also makes his attention span shit. "Frank."
Frank just sighs and rubs at his forehead with his palm. Gerard gasps and grabs the hand mid-air. "You're bleeding!" But when he looks up, Frank is still frowning.
He helps Gerard out of the car. "Fuck, Gee."
Gerard just breathes against Frank's neck while Frank carries him to bed.
He's gonna stop.
***
He felt like he did the day after he first slept with Frank. He had that cold thing in the pit of his stomach when he went to apologize to Mikey for his behavior at the wedding.
It too was silly worrying.
Mikey couldn't be angry at him.
Gerard could still feel guilty though.
Guilty for doing what he did and then just being forgiven.
Gerard's not sure who said he could be such an idiot while everyone just stood around and let him be, loved him and supported him. But he didn't wanna be like that anymore.
***
"We're going out tonight Gee." Mikey stands behind his brother, lightly slapping each cheek a few times, because it's annoying.
"Uh huh."
"Wanna come?"
Gerard snorts and clicks away on his computer. "I don't want any more shit on my wall. I like yours and all, but I'm not really looking to make dicks and unicorns a theme."
Mikey doesn't even roll his eyes at that.
Gerard doesn't even look near Frank, says, "Nah. Not feeling it."
His brother shrugs behind him, "Kay. You know where to find us."
Gerard nods. Watches his brother leave, turns in his chair. His eyes meet Frank's.
Frank is not smiling, but he still looks pleased. Gerard raises an eyebrow. He is in control.
***
When Gerard stops drinking, when he's sober for a while, sober for more than a week, he notices that Frank is... Frank is not okay.
For a long time Gerard wondered what he'd been missing all that time he'd been living weekend to blurry weekend.
It's not such a noticeable difference in Frank, so Gerard understands that there was no way he could have seen it when Frank was carrying him home or even when they had their nights together. He can tell now.
Frank is his usual self. He's cheerful, he's short-tempered, he's a fucking spaz, but is not the right.
He's all off. Everything is forced. It's not fucking cheesy like it sounds; there just isn't anything behind it. It just looks like an act to Gerard.
And it makes him feel guilty. Guilt-ridden that he couldn't tell what was wrong with Frank. He's Frank's best friend, but he couldn't see all of this.
Gerard can see it now. The office is full, but quiet. They do actually get work done sometimes.
Except Gerard. Because he's looking at Frank.
He's catching things.
When Frank writes, he rests on one elbow, runs a hand into the hair at the crown of his head. His fingers twitch, they tap rhythmically. Frank has the best expressions when he's not paying attention, just-- his nose and his eyebrows. The way he'll raise one eyebrow or scrunch his nose. But usually Gerard is focused on his active pink tongue. When Frank concentrates, when he's thinking hard, he does this thing where he runs his tongue across his bottom lip and then pulls the lip into his mouth. When he's working, like when he's cleaning his gun, or trying to figure out Ray's Rubix Cube with Kiss' faces, his mouth is open, lips round.
Frank is doing none of this.
He's just been staring at his computer, lips tight. But when Bob cracks a joke about the computer narrator that sounds like a crack whore with laryngitis and Brian, Frank is the first to snicker, snort a comeback.
Gerard just sits back in his seat and glances over at his brother, who is actually in the fucking office for once, and playing solitaire.
He kind of wishes he could talk to Mikey about this.
***
So, Gerard knew that Frank had pretty much been staying at work for a few months. Since before Mikey's wedding anyway. Only going home to do laundry, get clothes and other shit. So when he invited Frank over to his house, he doesn't know what he was thinking. Bad Christian Slater movies and maybe showing Frank something warm, something that wasn't being alone at work 24/7.
Frank is his best friend who is, halfway through the movie marathon, in Gerard's lap, grasping the sides of his face, practically inhaling breath from Gerard's lungs. It makes Frank smile, so Gerard lets him.
He lets Frank coax him into their usual little dance of stripping clothes to a soundtrack of Christian Slater's weird unmistakable voice and loud rock music. He lets Frank pull him to his bedroom. He lets Frank fuck him till they're both sore. Frank doesn't let Gerard's mouth stay more than a few inches away for long.
It's later, when Gerard is lying in bed. He'd caught his breath long since, but his heart is still going like fucking crazy. Body sore and damp, lips swollen. A wreck.
Frank is sitting up on the edge of the bed; Gerard can see the lines of his back in the dark. Out in the living room he can hear some loud song with lots of heavy bass, probably the credits for the movie that had been looping this entire time.
His head is down, Gerard notices. He can see the dip between his shoulders. He looks at the grinning pumpkin on Frank's back and can just see the handles of the two guns before they disappear under the sheets he has gathered at his waist.
"It's-- it's," Frank starts. Gerard can hear the clicking of his lighter and when Frank takes the first drag of a cigarette. It makes him kind of want one too. A few moments pass before he starts again quietly. "It's lonely."
At home, it's lonely at home. "Where?" Gerard murmurs.
"But at the office, you guys are there. I can't be lonely. And when you aren't there, I can distract myself with work. I guess."
"Frankie."
"I can't be there." Frank interrupts. "I can't feel lonely anymore."
"So you're gonna live at work?" Gerard asks him. "Brian's gonna love that."
Frank turns his head slightly but does not look at Gerard nor face him. "You ever seen that place cleaner? Would you have noticed unless I'd told you? Have I ever been a burden to that place?"
Gerard can't say yes to any of those questions. He wants Frank to lie back down.
Eventually Frank says, "It's not so lonely with you."
This was out of territory. They'd never been here before. It wasn't somewhere they were supposed to go. Gerard feels warm.
"I'm not lonely with you, and the more I see that, the less I feel okay at work. I'm starting to feel it there too."
Gerard wants to ask what that means, but he can't really find the words for it. They've never been here before.
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