Fic: James Cameron Got It Wrong (1/6)

[ladyfoxxx]

Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

James Cameron Got It Wrong

The kids are screaming tonight. Frank is too, into the mic, his fingers flying over the frets as the band burn through Sorrows. There's a sea of faces below him, bodies shifting like a tide, mouths moving in time with Frank's. More and more of them are showing up wearing the thick bar of black makeup across their eyes, taking their cue from Gerard, who stalks the stage - his face white, his eyes black - as he screams and spits at them; lays himself open and bleeds into the mic for them.

Frank's never going to get sick of this, the way the energy from the crowd pumps through his veins, through his heart. He drops to his knees, landing hard enough to bruise, fingers blurring over the strings. He'll feel it later, the post-gig aches, but not right now. Right now he's invincible.

He throws his head back, playing the last chords, Gerard's voice ringing in his head. When he looks up, he's not the only one on his knees. Gerard's down too, head bent, sweaty black hair swaying around his face, panting into the mic. He's only still for a moment, the briefest blink of time, before he's climbing to his feet, all attitude as he swaggers across the stage and swears at the crowd. Daring them to listen as he tells them whatever he thinks they need to hear today.

Frank's got a few seconds, so he bounces to his feet, high pitched squeals of the crowd in his ears as he grabs a bottle of water and chugs it, spitting a mouthful like a sprinkler over the kids' sweaty faces. He catches Toro's eye across the stage and Ray grins at him, shaking his hair out. Frank grins back, throwing the half-empty bottle into the crowd, knowing he'll get more on them than in them, but there might be a mouthful left for whoever catches it. It's fucking hot today.

Bob starts bashing out the beats to Cemetery Drive and Frank bounces on his toes, crashing into Mikey as he races to perch on Bob's riser, grinning while Bob glares up at him over his flying sticks. He's not supposed to be up here and he knows it, but Bob's gotta play so he can't do shit. Then Frank's guitar part comes up and he leaps down, lifting Pansy over his head and striking the notes blind, getting lost in the music once more.

It's a fucking good show.

***

Ray grabs Frank by the shoulder as three fifths of the band weave their way down the hotel hallway, sweaty, wrung-out and post-show buzzed. It's the first hotel night of the tour and Frank's been desperate for it for what feels like forever.

"You coming to the room party? Two floors up. Avenged saved their rider. C'mon." Ray shoves a handful of his fluffy curls back from his face, only to have them bounce back into his eyes immediately. Frank doesn't laugh, well he maybe grins a little. Humidity does hilarious things to Ray's fro.

Frank pretends to consider the question, and then shrugs. Half the fun of festival touring is hanging with the other bands. "Sure, okay. Not a party unless I'm there, right?"

"You're so humble." Ray swats Frank on the back of the head and takes off up the hall, too fast for Frank to retaliate.

Frank's still flipping the bird at Ray's back when Gerard catches up to him. Gerard's having one of his quiet days today, not talking much if it isn't into a mic or having silent eyebrow conversations with Mikey. Mikey's already vanished, probably upstairs at the party - he has a unique talent for being one of the first people to show up at any post-gig gatherings. Bob's probably still at the venue, talking shit with his old tech friends.

"You gonna come up and hang out?" Frank asks, quickening his steps to keep pace with Gerard.

Gerard scrunches his nose up, hugging his sketchbook to his chest. He's been keeping it close lately, writing or sketching - Frank's not sure which - at every opportunity. "I don't know, Frankie. I don't think I'm really in a party mood tonight."

Gerard lifts his room key and stares at the number, matching it with the one on the door to his right and fumbling to fit it in the slot.

It's the answer Frank was expecting. Gerard hasn't made it to many after-show parties since he got sober. Frank keeps asking, though. As much as Gerard seems to thrive on solitude, it can't be good for him all the time.

"Well, if you change your mind..." Frank says, leaning on the doorway.

"Yeah, I don't think so." Gerard gets the door open and turns around in the doorway to look at Frank. He's still wearing his show gear and his make-up is half sweated off, black streaks around his eyes, powdery white pancake on his cheeks. The make-up makes him look paler than he is, frail and vulnerable, his eyes looking huge as he blinks at Frank. "I think I'll just have a quiet one."

"You want company?" Frank finds himself asking, without actually having planned to. Once the words are out of his mouth, though, he realises he'd really like that. Fuck the party, it feels like forever since he and Gerard have hung out just one-on-one. "There's probably a movie marathon on the free cable that needs watching."

Gerard's lips twitch up at one side, so fast Frank nearly doesn't see it, then Gerard's chewing his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing, his gaze flicking everywhere but on Frank's face. "I just don't think I'm gonna be good company tonight."

"Never stopped you before." Frank needles, grinning. He knows he's pushing it now, but when Gerard looks up and glares at him for all of two milliseconds before his face breaks into an unwilling smile it's totally worth it.

"Fuck you, asshole. Way to make me want to spend time with you." Gerard slaps him lightly on the arm.

"It's okay, you can go inside and jerk off thinking about me, now. I don't mind." Frank leans in closer, waggling his eyebrows.

"Wow." Gerard wrinkles his nose and screws up his mouth. "That's kind of gross."

"I'm gross?" Frank leans into Gerard's space, sniffing obnoxiously. "You smell like an armpit. Take a fucking shower already."

Gerard just glares at him, but Frank can see he's having trouble making it stick. "You take a shower."

"Oh, I'm going to." Frank grins, leaning heavily on the doorframe. He's been dreaming about hot running water for days now. "Just try and stop me."

They're both quiet for a moment until Frank gets impatient with the silence, asking quietly, "You're okay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah." Gerard scrapes a hand through his sweaty hair. "I'm just. You know." He shrugs, glancing up from the floor to look at Frank, his arm stuck at a weird angle and his face looking strange under the ruined makeup.

Frank considers Gerard for a long moment before deciding he believes him. "Okay. See you tomorrow then." He catches Gerard in a fast hug, which turns into a longer one when Gerard's fingers curl into his shirt, hanging on. Frank smiles into Gerard's shoulder, breathing through his mouth because Gerard really does smell rank. He ruffles Gerard's hair, fighting the urge to say something gooey. They break apart and he gives Gerard a soft smile, getting one back that makes him think everything is okay.

Everything's better than okay. He's touring with his best friends, he's on stage every other day in front of kids who adore them, and Gerard's doing better. So much better.

He gives Gerard's shoulder a brief squeeze, the material of his shirt damp under Frank's hand.

"'Night Frankie." Gerard's smile is tiny and a little tired. Frank pulls a face at him until it turns into a proper grin, scrunching his nose up. Only then does he feel okay to turn and head down the hall to his room and the shower he's been dying for. Parties can wait when there's hot running water on offer.

***

The shower is everything he dreamed it would be. He stays under the hot spray way longer than he should, so his skin is pink when he steps out into the steamy bathroom. He swipes his hand across the fogged-up mirror, his fingers cutting through the condensation to create a window of reflection as he scrubs the towel over his hair.

He catches a glimpse of his own image and stops to check himself out, angling his head from side to side and flicking his long black hair off his forehead. It's a stark contrast to the white-blonde shaven sides of his mohawk and while the look is a pain to keep up, he's not ready to give it up just yet.

He knots the towel around his waist, considering his own reflection for a moment. He knows he's not bad to look at, but he wouldn't mind having a little more muscle and a little less flab. He sucks in his gut then lets it out again, shaking his head at his own narcissism and pulling the ugliest face he can as punishment. He's still laughing stupidly to himself when he opens the bathroom door to head back into the hotel room.

He stops moving the moment his feet hit the carpet. There's someone else here, and it's not Ray.

"Dude?" He peers into the room. He can't see much of the intruder. Not that this guy is trying to hide, oh no, he's standing right there in the middle of the bedroom, between the twin beds with their garish matching bedspreads. He's facing away from Frank, and with the only light in the room is coming from the bathroom, so all Frank's got is the impression of someone around his height, with shoulder length dark hair, wearing a yellow and black striped shirt and what looks like maybe an army vest?

It definitely isn't anyone Frank knows from the bands or tech crew, that much is obvious.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" A chill runs over Frank's still-damp skin. He feels far too naked in nothing but a towel when there's a stranger in his room. How the fuck did this guy even get in here? Hotels - even shitty three-star ones - are supposed to have some kind of security.

Shit - of course. It's probably a fan.

"Look dude, you really shouldn't be in here, breaking in like this is seriously crossing lines. I've got places to be, though, so if you fuck off I won't call security. But can you fuck off? Now?" Frank tightens the knot in his towel, feeling underdressed and a little vulnerable.

The intruder still hasn't said anything, although now that Frank is listening - really listening - he can hear a muffled staticky noise that sounds like a voice through a distant two-way radio. The guy doesn't turn around. "Dude?"

Frank's a moment away from grabbing the glass from the bathroom and smashing the rim to make a weapon out of it when the guy finally speaks. "Don't freak out."

"Too late. Now just get the hell-"

"No, I'm serious, don't freak out." It isn't until Frank's heard that many words in a run that he notices the Jersey accent. And that there's something familiar about the voice, something he can't quite place. "Don't freak out and don't call Worm. Okay? I'm gonna turn around now."

Seriously, who does this guy think he is? Frank's starting to think the smashing-up-the-glass thing might be a good idea, or at the very least calling Worm. But then the guy does turn around and sure, it's dark in the room and Frank's shadow is slanting over the stranger's form, but when Frank's eyes land on the guy's face it's a shock to discover it's as familiar as his own.

Because it is his own.

His cheeks are a little rounder, skin a little darker, hair longer (and all one colour) but Frank knows his own face when he sees it - and that is his face.

"What the fuck?" Frank says, one hand coming up to grip the doorframe because, shit, he's feeling a little dizzy and his heart's beating so fast it might burst out of his chest. "Seriously, what the-" The rest of the sentence is lost because his knees choose that moment to give out completely and he nearly winds up on the floor. His deathgrip on the doorway helps keep him upright, but mostly it's the firm grip of his weird doppelganger's hands around Frank's biceps (when did he even get close enough to touch?) that stop Frank winding up on his ass.

"Don't touch me-" Frank tries to wrestle out of the guy's grip, but his vision's gone all spotty and he's not sure which way is up.

"Don't be a dick, Frank." The other Frank says, but before Frank has a chance to get all Jackie Chan on this weird guy who's borrowed his face, he's being escorted towards one of the beds and his ass winds up on the soft mattress. Fuck, his hands are shaking. Okay, he's totally going to bust this guy's ass as soon as he catches his breath.

"Who the fuck are you?" He finally gets the words out, curling his fingers around the corner of the mattress in preparation to get up. Because he's going to get up, any second now, and take the offensive. "Are you a clone? Or a pod person? My evil twin?"

"None of the above."

"You have a really good plastic surgeon?" Frank forces his eyes up to look into his face looking right back at him. And fuck, that's still fucking weird.

"There's one you haven't thought of yet." The guy with Frank's face gives Frank a weird little smile. A smile Frank recognises as the one he uses when he's humouring someone. The strange 'other' Frank drops to sit beside Frank on the bed, pushing the sleeves of his yellow and black shirt up to his elbows and leaning on his knees. The movement draws Frank's eyes to the guy's hands. And the tattoos on them.

"Holy shit." Before Frank's even thought about it, he's grabbed the other guy's hands, putting his own beside them for comparison. This 'other' Frank has the same 'HALLOWEEN' across his knuckles, a little greener and softer with age than Frank's. The positioning and lettering are completely identical to Frank's, not to mention the shape of his hands. If that wasn't enough, he's also got "I wish I were a ghost", on his right wrist and the scorpion on his neck. They're all real tattoos, not henna or some shit too. Frank can tell.

The really eye-widening part, though, the part that has Frank grabbing this guy's wrists and holding his hands up to Frank's face in the too-dim light, is the tattoos this guy has that Frank doesn't have.

The "BOOKWORM" spelled out on his fingers, for one, which Frank can't help but admire. The numbers "7-29-07" are etched on his wrist. Sure, they could just be numbers, but Frank knows instinctively it's a date. A date two years in the future. Frank's stares until his eyes hurt. And it all sinks in.

"Holy shit." He whispers, his breath bouncing back off the guy's hands, smelling like engine oil. He drags his gaze from the tattoos back to look back into his doppelganger's face. "You're me. You're me in like, five, ten years time, aren't you?" He drops the guys hands, leaning back on the bed to look, really look. "This is some kind of fucked up dream."

The other Frank shrugs and grins, making his eyes crinkle up at the sides. "You're right. Except about the dream. This isn't a dream."

Frank can feel his eyebrow arching up in doubt. "So what, I'm not dreaming and you're really from the future?"

The other Frank leans forward a little to look Frank dead in the eye. "Yes."

"No way." Frank chews his lip, considering. "Prove it."

"You want to talk about losing our virginity, e-mail passwords, or who you've been thinking about while you're jerking off lately?" The other Frank grins, leaning back on his elbows.

Frank narrows his eyes. This other him is such a fucking asshole. He'll take a different approach. "Show me the rest of your tattoos."

The other Frank just smiles like he knows something Frank doesn't. Frank thinks he can hear that distant staticky voice say something again and the other Frank must hear it too, because his hand flutters to his ear and he whispers "Shut up, asshole," before he stands up and starts to peel off his green vest and the bright yellow shirt underneath it, which Frank can see now says "Super Stinga Demolition". Whatever the fuck that means.

All in all, it's a shitload of colour for one outfit. "You look like a rainbow threw up on you, dude"

The other Frank giggles, the sound muffled into the neck of the yellow and black shirt as he pulls it over his head. Frank thinks he hears him say "Colour is the new danger" but it's hard to tell through the fabric.

Before Frank can ask him to repeat himself, the other Frank's shirt slides off, revealing his back. Now Frank's staring at his first ever tattoo, the smiling jack-o-lantern, perfectly positioned on this other Frank's back. The "Keep The Faith" Frank just got is there too, worn and soft with age, and so are the crossed guns on his lower back, exactly where they should be. In addition to those, though, this Frank's got the words "Search and Destroy" wrapped around his torso in a similar font to Frank's 'Keep The Faith'. It's eerie, because Frank's been thinking about getting something like that. The idea of some ink tied in with that Rollins quote has passed through his mind more than once, but he'd never settled on exactly what to get. It really is like looking into the future.

The clincher is when Frank's eyes run up the other Frank's arms and he realizes he's looking at two full sleeves. He always knew he'd wind up covering both arms with ink, but he never imagined exactly what with. He's always been fairly in-the-moment with his tattoo choices. But when his eyes settle on his doppelganger's shoulder and he sees his grandfather's face smiling at him from behind a drum kit - the very photo Frank's had tacked up on his bunk with the passing idea of getting it inked one day - he knows this shit is for real.

"Holy fuck." Frank's hands are touching, tracing the lines of ink before he's even realised it. He's running his hands over favourite band logos, words and symbols that carry special resonance for him. He's so caught up in it that it's like waking up from a dream when the other Frank clears his throat to get his attention. Frank looks up to find his own eyes watching him with amusement.

"You're not kidding," he says to his future self. Wow, his future self, now that's a headfuck.

"I told you I was for real."

"So what, is there something you need to tell me? Is something going to happen? Is there like, some kind of Skynet kinda situation we need to fix or someone we need to kill or something?" Frank fidgets on the bed. So maybe his strongest impressions of time travel are from Terminator movies. So what?

"No, nothing like that." The other Frank is twisting his shirt between his fingers in what looks like a nervous motion. Frank can hear that voice again, the soft staticky radio voice, but he can't make out what it says.

"Who's talking to you?"

"No one. Well, like, a friend."

"From the future?"

"Yeah, but that's not..." The other Frank rubs a hand over his face, his mouth settling into an uncomfortable line. "I'm not supposed to tell you about the future."

"So why are you here then? Is this like some kind of past-tourism thing? Because if you're looking to relive your greatest life moments I thought you would've wanted to be here for the show." Frank kicks his legs up off the floor, then stops because he realises it's making his towel fly up. Then he starts again because what does he care if his future self sees his balls?

"Good show?" The way the other Frank asks the question - a little quiet and unsure - Frank wants to make fun of him for it. But the way he's looking at Frank, with just the tiniest bit of wistfulness in his eyes, makes Frank pull up short.

"'Course. We rocked the shit out of it. You're still playing, right?" He grabs the other Frank's hands again, running his fingers over his fingertips, looking for familiar calluses. They're still there, thank god. He can't imagine a future where he's not still playing guitar. Maybe not always with My Chem, but still playing.

"Not as much as I'd like to," the older Frank admits, before taking his hand back. He looks like he's going to say something else, but a burst of static voice stops him. He closes his mouth. "Fuck, stop making me talk about the future. I'm fucking getting in trouble here." He waves a hand at the nearly invisible earpiece Frank can now see he's got attached to his ear. Looks like there's been some leaps and bounds in technology. It'll be nice when his in-ear monitors are that size.

"So why are you here, then?" Frank folds his arms and stares at the older version of himself.

The other Frank just shakes his head, asking, "Who are you rooming with tonight?"

"Ray," Frank says, "and stop dicking around and answer my question."

"Where is he?" The other Frank glances towards the hotel door. He starts to get up, then seems to think better of it and sits down again.

Frank can't fathom why he'd come back all the way from the future to ask about Ray, but he answers anyway. "At some post-gig thing with Avenged Sevenfold. I'm supposed to meet him there later. Why are you being so fucking cagey?"

The other Frank does get up then. He walks over to the hotel room door and peers out the peephole. "So he won't be back for a while, right?"

Frank stares at his other self's back, the mixture of familiar and unfamiliar tattoos in the dim light, from an angle he'd never be able to see on his own body. "No, not for hours, what the fuck?" He's pretty sure he's not this annoying. He walks up to the other Frank, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around. "What's going on?"

The other Frank shoves a hand through his hair, the motion slightly frantic. "Look, don't freak out."

"You keep saying that. I haven't freaked out yet."

"Yeah, but I haven't done anything yet."

"Just-" Frank sighs. Fuck, this is more annoying than trying to get a straight answer out of Gerard. "Just fucking tell me."

The other Frank takes a breath, then looks Frank dead in the eye. "Close your eyes for a second." Frank starts to protest, but the other Frank talks over him, "Just for a second."

Frank rolls his eyes, but does as he's told. So he's standing in the middle of a hotel room in only a towel with his doppelganger from the future, and his eyes closed. Well, it's weird, but whatever. He thinks he can hear that static buzz again, followed by the other Frank whispering, "Sure, carpe fucking diem."

And then, just when he thinks it can't get weirder, the other Frank kisses him.

Frank's eyes fly open and he takes a step back. "Wait, what?"

The other Frank flashes him a shit-eating grin. "I told you not to freak out."

"You kissed me."

"No shit." The other Frank is still grinning.

Frank is... not sure how he feels about this. He's not disgusted, he's more - surprised? "It was kind of unexpected," Frank admits. He's not ready to run, but his heart is beating really fast and he can't stop shifting from foot to foot.

The other Frank puts his hand on Frank's neck, stroking his thumb gently over the hollow behind Frank's ear. He's a fucking asshole, because that's totally a sweet spot for Frank and he knows it. He also knows he's an asshole because he's grinning at Frank again, wide and wicked. "So this time you're expecting it." Then the pressure on Frank's neck increases and the other Frank leans in and kisses him again.

It's not a brief kiss this time and Frank doesn't pull back. It's like a dare. Like the times he and Gerard fuck around on stage, pushing each other to see who'll chicken out first. It's not going to be Frank. He deepens the kiss and takes a step closer, until his chest is pressed up against the other Frank's, warm skin against warm skin. Frank relaxes his mouth and the kiss gets deeper, tongues getting involved.

He has to admit it's pretty hot. It's been a while since Frank's gotten some and even longer since he's gotten it with a dude. And this future version of himself is a good kisser. Frank could probably even learn something from him. He lets his hands come up to rest lightly on the other Frank's shoulders. The other Frank responds by latching tighter to Frank's mouth, grinding closer, one leg finding its way between Frank's. Frank feels his towel shift. It's going to be on the floor soon. And then he'll be naked, and there's a whole lot of skin touching already happening, which feels frighteningly good, but he's not sure he's ready for naked just yet.

He breaks the kiss, panting. "How far are we taking this?"

The other Frank flashes him a wicked smile and it's downright weird how much Frank likes the way it looks on his face. "All the way," he says, straight up, then ducks his head to suck at Frank's neck. Fuck, Frank loves that.

He's caught for a moment between panic and arousal, flailing behind himself to press a hand to the wall because he's in real danger of falling over. This is happening so fast, he should think about it more, right? There's got to be a million reasons this is a bad idea. He's still struggling to find them when first his towel and then the other Frank's knees hit the floor.

Then there's hot breath on Frank's dick and a strangled breathy noise he realises he's making as the other Frank bends his head and Frank's cock is enveloped in wet heat. Frank chokes out a few choice expletives and grabs a handful of the other Frank's long sweaty hair. No chance of thought now, all his blood's rushed to his dick.

He glances down, seeing the mess of brown hair and his inked fingers tangled in it. From this angle it could be anyone down there, bringing him off - any anonymous, really fucking orally talented person. Fuck, he always suspected that swirly thing he likes to do with his tongue would feel good, but not that good. Frank sucks in a breath, trying to just go with it. It nearly works. Then the other Frank looks up, his cheeks hollowed around Frank's dick, his fingers wrapped around the base so Frank can see the "H", "A" and "L"'s inked on them and it should be a turn-off, it really fucking should, but it's not. It's some kind of fucked up aphrodisiac and all Frank can do is tighten his fingers in the other Frank's hair and lean back on the wall so he doesn't fall over.

The other Frank makes an appreciative noise and it vibrates around Frank's dick, making everything feel that much better and fuck if Frank is going to find a way to make his brain work now. The other Frank's hand comes up to rest on Frank's hip, fingertips digging gently into the soft flesh, pulling forward a little. Frank knows that move - he's usually making it. It's a signal that it's okay to fuck into his mouth, that he likes it, that he wants it. Knowing the meaning behind the touch has Frank moaning softly and letting his hips push forwards into the other Frank's mouth. The other Frank welcomes the motion, relaxing his mouth and taking more of Frank's dick, his fingers tightening and pulling at Frank's hip, encouraging more.

Frank gives him more, letting his hips move of their own accord, rocking forward faster and faster until he can hear the wet slap and slurp, until his vision starts to blur and he can feel his orgasm thrumming up through him. He's just starting to tighten his fingers in the other Frank's hair, reaching a hand back to support himself on the wall, when the other Frank pulls off, breathing hard.

"Not yet," he says, and Frank gets stuck staring at his mouth, his lips are so wet, and there's a string of spit between his lower lip and the tip of Frank's dick. "There's a lot more to do first."

"You're fucking kidding." Frank's having a hard time getting the words out around trying to breathe. He can barely stay upright and there's going to be more. "Dude, I don't think I can-"

"You can. I know my limits," the other Frank insists, climbing easily to his feet and grabbing a handful of Frank's mohawk to pull him in for a kiss. Frank doesn't fight it, licking into the other Frank's mouth and tasting the salt of his own skin. It's pretty hot.

The other Frank steers Frank backwards, and when the back of Frank's legs hit the bed Frank lets himself sink down onto it, guided by the other Frank's hands. He lets his older self lay him out on the bed, transfixed by the sight of the unfamiliar tattoos on familiar hands as they slide over his body, up his arms, down his chest, down, down... Frank gasps when the other Frank finds his grip on Frank's cock, his calluses rough against the underside, just the way he likes it. The other Frank grins down at him and Frank finally notices one more difference between them he's so far overlooked.

"You got rid of the lip ring."

"Yeah." The other Frank nods, leaning over Frank on his elbow and lowering his mouth to Frank's, sucking on his lip and pulling the lip ring into his mouth. He rolls his tongue around it until Frank's brain starts to flatline, before letting it go with a wet noise. "I miss it sometimes."

Frank leans up and runs his tongue over the indentation of the healed piercing on his double's mouth. "I could re-pierce it for you. Wouldn't take much." He sucks the other Frank's lower lip into his mouth, letting his teeth graze the indentation.

"Nah," the other Frank answers. Frank's not sure why his voice has dropped to a low whisper now. "Not a good idea where I'm going."

"Right," Frank says, with a note of surety he doesn't feel. "Where is that again?"

The other Frank slaps him lightly up the back of the head. "You're not gonna trick me into telling you, asshole."

"Fine." Frank pouts, then pushes his hips up off the bed to rub against the other Frank. It has the intended effect: his breath hitches and he folds down on Frank like a puppet with cut strings, covering Frank's mouth with his own and kissing him hard. His grip on Frank's cock starts to slide and Frank can feel how he's hard inside his pants, the press of his arousal against Frank's hip. He breaks the kiss to complain, "Fuck, how are you still wearing pants?"

"I have no fucking idea. But I can fix that." The other Frank struggles for his belt and Frank helps him, ripping the buttons on his jeans open and getting a hand inside. The moan the other Frank makes when Frank finds his grip is guttural and loud. Frank echoes it as the other Frank mimics his motions until they're groaning into each other's mouths as they jack each other off, hot and rushed and nowhere near enough.

The other Frank folds first, wrenching his mouth free to mutter "fuck this" before sliding down Frank's body and just diving down, swallowing Frank's dick. Frank arches up off the bed, a whining noise escaping his lips as his torso folds forwards over the other Frank's head. His fingers are stuck in the long brown locks and all Frank can concentrate on is how fucking amazing it feels. His mouth. His mouth. Holy shit. He has to grit his teeth, count backwards from ten, really concentrate on not coming yet.

He's so gone he nearly misses the sound of a foil packet ripping, but when slick fingers start teasing at his hole he offers no resistance, pressing back against the seeking hand, only wanting more. The other Frank gives it to him, pushing another finger in and there's the stretch, fuck it's been a long time since he's had something in his ass. He really needs to do this more often. He flops back onto the bed, grabbing his knees and pulling his legs back to give better access. He glances down between his spread thighs to find his own familiar smile grinning back at him, fingers wrapped around Frank's dick. It's strange and disorienting but so wickedly hot he nearly goes cross-eyed from it.

The other Frank chuckles, dropping a kiss on the crease of Frank's groin before crawling up the bed to kiss Frank breathless, his fingers still inside him and fuck, Frank's unravelling. He sucks in a breath through his nose and kisses back, hard and needy. He can't help the whine that slips from his mouth when the other Frank slides his fingers free.

The other Frank shushes him with wet lips brushing across Frank's mouth. "It's okay, there's more. You want more, right?"

The blunt press of the other Frank's cock at his ass is gentle, like he's waiting for Frank's go-ahead. And Frank gives it. He pushes back, inviting, encouraging. "Fuck yes. Fuck yes." His voice is shot and when he can focus his eyes he's looking back into identical hazel greens, pinched up with the wicked smile being flashed at him before they drop closed as Frank watches, then echoes, the groan his future self lets out as he pushes home.

It's so much more intense than fingers and so much better. He pulls the other Frank's head down, devouring his mouth, clawing a hand down his back to grab his ass and pull forwards as he pushes his own ass back, setting a rhythm that's fast and punishing and the other Frank meets it easily, falling into step with Frank like two heartbeats synching up. It's messy and almost violent. Their teeth clash as they kiss and the other Frank's hand is clenched so tight on Frank's hip it's gonna bruise. Frank's dick is sliding against the crisp hair leading down the other Frank's belly to his dick, sweaty and just the edge of too rough.

They have to break the kiss because they're both breathing too hard. They pant into each other's mouths, Frank's hand locked in the other Frank's hair, their foreheads slick where they're pressed together. Frank hitches in a breath. It comes out on a whine. Fuck, he's so ready to come.

"Yeah?" the other Frank whispers, and Frank realises he must've said that out loud. Then the other Frank's mouth covers his, as his hand reaches down to grab Frank's cock, pulling him off in time with his ever-speeding thrusts, rough and fast and just perfect. Frank groans into his mouth, shoving back on his dick, clenching his fingers into his ass and just feeling, wanting, needing, oh fuck.

He's so close now. "Fuck, oh Frank, oh fuck, just. Just. Uh." Frank's brain reds out and he melts back onto the mattress, spewing nonsense and chasing the orgasm he can fucking feel right deep in his belly. "So close, so fucking close. Fuck."

The other Frank speeds his strokes and Frank can feel the press of his teeth against his cheek as he smiles or grimaces, pounding into Frank, no holding back, knowing just how much to give, just how to twist his hand, just how to touch Frank and oh fuck-

"Oh fuck." Frank grunts, as his whole body stiffens, trembling on the edge. His eyelids flutter and he catches a glimpse of his own O-face, mouth hanging wide, eyes closed, face distorted in ecstasy. To see it up close like this is both confronting and strangely beautiful. The other Frank twists his hand just the right way and Frank comes apart, shaking and moaning and writhing underneath his future self, his dick pulsing between familiar fingers, spilling all over his stomach and the inked swallows.

The other Frank's still going, grunting as he pounds Frank's ass, riding out his orgasm, stealing the breath from Frank's lungs every time he bottoms out, until he collapses onto Frank, gasping. Frank grips the other Frank's shoulders weakly, panting and hanging on. There's warm breath on his neck and he can feel the thud of the other Frank's heartbeat against his chest, almost as hard as he can feel his own. He traces his fingers down unfamiliar tattoos, shiny with sweat.

"Jesus," Frank says when he can finally breathe. "I'm a fucking good lay."

The other Frank giggles, and it feels good against Frank's chest and neck. "You mean I am," he corrects.

Frank just shrugs. "Same difference." He glances down to find his future self smiling up at him, his upper lip dotted with sweat and his hair an absolute wreck. "You going to tell me what all this is about now you've had your fucking wicked way with me, or whatever?" Frank waves an airy hand like it's no big deal even though he's so fucking curious now that he actually has enough brain cells to be curious with.

"What, you mean I can't just travel back in time to fuck you for kicks?" The other Frank shoots Frank a smile and fuck, Frank can totally tell he's deflecting. He frowns and wriggles until the other Frank rolls off him, sitting up a little.

"No, I don't think you would. Why are you being so fucking secretive?"

"I told you, I can't-" The other Frank takes a breath that comes out as a sigh. "I can't tell you." The phrase sounds rehearsed.

"Dude, I'm you. If you can't tell me who the hell can you tell? And why do it, anyway? I mean, what are you getting out of this?" Frank can feel his brow furrowing as he poses the question. It really doesn’t make any sense.

The long-haired Frank just shrugs, the picture of non-committal. "Maybe I'm not the one getting something out of it."

"What, so it's for me then? What am I supposed to be getting out of this? I mean, besides the sex."

Frank hears the mild buzz of static again. He'd nearly forgotten about the earpiece. Fuck, of course.

"No, it's your friend, isn't it? Holy shit, are they still listening?" Frank crawls forward and presses his ear over the other Frank's, but he squirms away before Frank manages to hear anything other than static.

Frank smirks, making sure to raise his voice - he's not sure where the microphone is, but he's damn certain there is one somewhere. "Hey are you beating off to us right now?"

The other Frank looks a little pink in the face.

"You kinky motherfuckers," Frank breathes, not sure if he's impressed or appalled.

"No more fucking questions about the future," the other Frank says.

"Come on, like I'm going to be able to concentrate on anything else," Frank argues, pitching over the side of the bed, his bare ass high in the air as he scrambles his hands on the ground to dig through the other Frank's discarded clothes. There's the vest and the yellow and black shirt, which both are dusty and smell lightly of gasoline. There's also a pair of heavy motorcycle boots that the other Frank must have taken off before Frank got out of the bathroom - talk about being prepared. He grabs one dusty boot, holding it up to the light, his mind already reeling.

"So James Cameron got it wrong, then. You can bring stuff. This boot is from the future."

"Wait, Frank." The other Frank starts to slide across the bed to where Frank is, but he gets caught up in the tangle of his still-undone pants, so he doesn't make it to Frank before he tips the boot sideways and a fucking gun falls out.

It lands on the bed with a soft thump. It's no regular gun. It's painted a bright green and is decorated with kanji and dripping yellow letters on the side that say "HORROR."

"Don't-" the older Frank says, raising a hand to stop Frank, but it's too late, Frank's already picked it up. Despite the bright colouring, it's heavy in his hand. It's a real gun.

"Fuck," Frank breathes, lifting it up to aim it at the bathroom door. It's like being in a video game, but for real. He closes one eye to try and help his aim, but he barely has a moment to appreciate the sensation before the other Frank disarms him so swiftly Frank's not even sure how.

The other Frank stuffs the gun into the waistband of his now done-up jeans, behind his back. "It's not a toy. You could do some real damage."

"You carry a gun now? What the fuck happened in the future that you need a fucking gun?"

The other Frank just shoots him a withering look. Right. No questions.

"Fine. Fine. No talking about the future. But like, fuck." Frank rifles through his mind looking for more generic questions. There's so much he wants to ask, about the band, his family, his friends, fuck, even climate change-

"No fucking questions." The other Frank is watching him, like he can see the brain scramble that's happening. "Just calm down. You don't have to know everything."

Frank sighs and flops back on the bed. "You don't understand."

"Oh, I do," the other Frank says, curling up on the bed beside him, tugging at Frank's shoulders until he rolls to his side, moving with the urging fingers to lay his head on the other Frank's shoulder. The other Frank strokes calming fingers through the short bleached strands on the sides of Frank's mohawk. "I miss having my hair like this."

"It's a lot of fucking upkeep. I think I'm gonna let it grow out. Not that I have to tell you that." Frank says, the words muffled slightly into the other Frank's chest. Okay, so he's maybe sulking a little.

"True," the other Frank says, still petting a hand through Frank's hair. If his aim is to calm Frank down, it's totally working. "You should talk for a while. Tell me what happened today."

Frank sighs, boneless, tracing a hand down the other Frank's full sleeve tattoo, the one that's going to grace Frank's bare arm one day. "You already know everything. What's the point?"

"Maybe I just want to hear it."

Frank lifts his head to look his future self in the eye. There are lines around this Frank's eyes that Frank doesn't have yet and his skin is a little more brown, like he spends more time outside than Frank.

"Why?" Frank asks, his voice coming out more gently than he means it to.

The other Frank shrugs."You know when people talk about the best years of their lives?"

Frank nods slowly.

"I don't want to sound like an old man, but you're kind of living mine right now."

Frank's not sure what to do with that. He wants to ask what it means, if it means this tour is the last one he'll get to do before the band crashes and burns like it nearly did a year ago. If it means things in the future are worse than they are now - is there a war? A depression?

He fights down the questions, but not because the older Frank asked him to. More because he doesn't think he wants to know.

Instead of asking, he leans his head down against the other Frank's shoulder and talks. He talks about how Gerard messed up the words to Honey in soundcheck - again - and how much shit they all gave him for it. He talks about how the venue fucked up and didn’t include any vegetarian options in the catering so they had to send Brian on an emergency run for what was - seriously - the worst veggie burger he's ever had in his entire life. He talks about Bob's newest habit - implemented after Frank trashed his kit on TRL - inciting Bob's new insistence on taping off his drum riser with safety tape, declaring everything inside the yellow and black taped off area a 'Frank-free zone', which Frank makes sure to invade every show.

The other Frank laughs at that, his chest vibrating with it under Frank's head, even if the laughter sounds a little choked at the end. Frank just keeps talking, telling tour tales, sharing his excitement at the first kids getting MCR tattoos - tattoos, man, of our band - and that one show where they basically had to roll Mikey out of his bunk and drag him on to the stage because he'd taken a bunch of cold and flu tablets that had knocked him right out for hours.

The other Frank keeps giggling like he's really enjoying it, and their laughter bounces together like he's in an echo chamber. Occasionally the other Frank will chime in with a remembered fact or an "Oh my god, I totally forgot about that!" until they're talking over each other, both trying to get the words out first.

Frank's mid-way through a story about Gerard's latest public service announcement he likes to give to the crowd when a thought occurs to him and he breaks off mid-sentence, unable to stop himself from asking,

"So Gerard... is he all right? Is he still-?"

The other Frank settles his hand over the back of Frank's head, warm and comforting. "Yeah. He's still sober."

Frank's mouth stretches into a grin that's mostly smushed into his future self's chest. His own chest swells with what feels like pride and there's more than a little relief in his voice when he says simply, "Good."

There's a long moment where Frank can't find any more words or stories to tell. He's curling into his future self's side and trying not to think about how bad it got, those days when there wasn't even enough left of Gerard to recognise underneath all the alcohol and pills. The other Frank's arm tightens around him.

"Good," Frank says again, lifting his head to find himself looking into his own eyes, wide and full of concern. "I don't think I could do that again."

"I know what you mean." The other Frank's mouth quirks up at the side and he drops a kiss on Frank's forehead. It's comforting. "You're tougher than you think, though."

Frank hears the low startle of static again and scowls. "You know it's more than a little weird that someone's listening to us."

"He's not," the other Frank says. "He hasn't been for a while, just. He's letting me know I'm nearly out."

"Out?" Frank asks.

"Of time. I'm gonna have to bail on you. You might have to go to that party with Avenged after all."

Frank giggles. "No fucking way. I'm gonna spend an exciting evening being unconscious. And it's gonna be awesome."

The other Frank starts to roll away, then. Frank makes a grab for his arm, but he misses, pouting as the older Frank slides to the edge of the bed and starts picking up his clothes from the floor.

"Fuck dude, do you have to go already? I was just getting used to this."

The other Frank pulls the way-too-bright yellow and black shirt over his head, peering at Frank through the neck hole as he pulls it over his chin. "This?"

"Yeah." Frank shrugs. "I don't know, you remember all my shit. It's like, the closest I'll get to having a brother."

"Bullshit," Frank says, stepping closer to the bed to sweep a hand down Frank's cheek. "You've got brothers. Three of them."

He says the words so fervently it takes Frank a moment to process the number. "You mean four, right?"

A flash of alarm crosses the other Frank's face, so fast anyone else might have missed it - then he's smiling and brushing back his hair. "Yeah, four. Sorry, I suck at math."

"You mean we suck at math," Frank corrects, chewing on his lip, a hot curl of panic in his chest. It was just a mistake, he tells himself. A mistake that had his gun-carrying future self saying three instead of four. Right.

It's a physical effort not to ask. He knows the other Frank won't tell him anyway.

The other Frank isn't looking at him, he's knelt down, pulling on his boots. "Yeah right, us. The Ways are practically one person anyway," the other Frank finishes with a snort. He stands up and turns back to Frank, smiling wide.

"I don't like your shirt."

"You will."

"Right. Is this another one of Gerard's ideas to give us uniforms?"

The other Frank only lifts an eyebrow in answer.

"Fine. No fucking questions." Frank throws his hands up in surrender.

The other Frank stoops to pick up the vest - the army-looking one. See, that's the one item in this outfit Frank reckons he could actually wear without feeling like a douchebag. He snatches it out of the other Frank's hands and holds it up, admiring it. There's a patch on the shoulder that says something in kanji and it smells like dust and sunshine. The other Frank reaches for the vest but Frank pulls it out of the way, putting it on instead.

"You should give this to me. You know, like a souvenir." Frank settles it on his shoulders. It fits perfectly, of course. He fits his hands to the lapels, straightening it and trying to look tough despite being naked underneath.

"Yeah it doesn't work like that." The other Frank makes "gimme" hands at him, but Frank ignores him.

"Why not?"

"Well we can't take shit back and forth. It's not like a travel thing. It's more like a..." the other Frank scratches a hand through his hair, thinking, "displacement thing. Like whatever goes out, has to come back. Get it?"

"Huh." Frank scratches his chin, thinking on it. "But how does it know what's gone out?"

"Well everything gets scanned through when it goes out. So it's all identified. Or something. I don't know. I didn't make the thing."

Frank squints up at his older self, grinning, a little smug. "You totally answered those questions."

The other Frank shrugs and sits down next the Frank. "They weren't about the future. They're just about the tech. So unless you're thinking of like, designing a time machine, I figure we're pretty safe." He smiles at Frank and Frank smiles back. He likes the way the other Frank's eyes wrinkle around the sides when he smiles. He's going to look like that one day, he thinks, and that's okay with him.

"So, how long do you have?" he asks, dreading the answer a little.

"Only a few minutes."

"So no time for a blow job then." Frank gives his best smile.

"Already? Jesus. Talk about recovery time."

"You're such an old man," Frank teases, bumping his shoulder to the other Frank's. He bumps back, shooting a sideways look and a grin at him. His hand brushes against Frank's on the bedspread and Frank looks down to see their fingers entwined, all the letters of "Halloween" visible and overlapping. He can't help but smile.

"Hey, remember the day Gerard asked us to join the band?"

Frank grins, remembering the smell of stale beer, the shitty basement club, being perched on a chair watching the set, the strained expression on Gerard's face - somewhere between agonised and hopeful - when he asked the question. "Yeah. Fuck, I don't think he'd showered in a week. He stunk so bad."

"But you hugged him anyway."

"Fuck yeah." Frank grins. "Best day." He looks up at the other Frank and finds him smiling back, knowing they're both irecalling the same memory right now, all the same details. It warms his chest to think that there's someone who's been through exactly what he's been through, all the shit and all the awesome, and they're both here, right now. "Fuck man, I'm gonna miss you." It's a surprise to him to hear himself say it.

The other Frank cracks a grin, shaking his head a little. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna miss you too." He catches Frank around the back of his head and draws him in for a playful, bitey kiss that ends with them both grinning, forehead pressed together, as the other Frank's fingers rub gentle circles into the back of Frank's neck.

The quiet moment only lasts a minute before they both get fidgety, then the other Frank's touching a finger to his earpiece and saying. "Two minutes."

"So is it like beaming in Star Trek? Are you gonna go all wavy and sparkly when you go back?"

The other Frank shakes his head. "Dude, I don't know, I've only seen it from this side."

Frank realises he's still wearing the vest. He starts to shrug out of it. "Hey, you want this back?"

The other Frank waves a hand at him. "Nah, leave it on. It'll come with me whether I'm wearing it or not. Trust me."

"For real?" Frank asks, knowing his eyebrows have hit his hairline.

The other Frank just laughs. "Yeah." He stands in front of Frank, linking their hands and looking down at their twin tattoos. "Take care of yourself, Frank."

Frank looks up at his future self, and they share a small grin. "Sure thing. Frank." He giggles, and the other Frank echoes it. Then the room starts to shimmer and blur. Frank looks down at their hands, watching the way the other Frank's fingers, with the 'BOOKWORM' tattoos on the second knuckle, start to fade, turning transparent.

"Wow." Frank whispers watching as his future self fades away right in front of his eyes.

But that's not all.

All around Frank floods with brightness and the soft surface of the bed under his ass vanishes. He's not expecting that at all, and he falls, his bare ass landing hard on concrete. There's a thump in front of him and he looks forwards just in time to see a pile of yellow and black and green hit the concrete between his legs. The other Frank's clothes. His boots. His gun. Frank looks down to see he's still wearing the vest. The one the other Frank said would go with him whether he was wearing it or not.

Heart pounding in his ears, Frank finally looks up, his eyes straining because wherever he is now is so much brighter than the dim hotel room. Because he's not in the hotel room anymore. Fuck, fuck. Concentrate, Iero, where the fuck are you?

It looks like an industrial kitchen, but one that's been taken over by mechanic squatters. There are tools and equipment scattered on every surface, drills, car parts, electrical paraphernalia, parts of old computers. He's still staring, trying to make sense of it, adrenaline coursing through him hot and urgent, when the silence is broken by a voice coming from the next room.

"See how you like it, asshole." There's a laugh then, and fuck, Frank knows that laugh. That rough, abrupt, slightly dry, laugh.

"Gerard?" he calls, his voice sounding small and unsure.

Gerard (or someone who sounds freakishly like him) stops giggling then. Frank struggles to his feet, bundling the pile of green and yellow clothing and holding it to his groin to cover himself. "Gerard, is that you?"

Frank hears footsteps and he turns his head toward them, in time to see a figure come through a battered doorway into the kitchen. It is Gerard, but it isn't. It's not Frank's Gerard, with the long hair, black and stringy, the shuffling footsteps and baby face. No, this Gerard is lean and lithe, wearing skin-tight leather pants and a bright blue t-shirt with yellow lettering on it. His face is thinner, cheekbones high and defined. His hair is the biggest surprise: it's fire-engine red.

He stares at Frank, his eyes huge as they dart between Frank's two-tone mohawk and his right arm, bare of ink. "Oh shit. Oh shit." Gerard's expression is pure shock.

Hot panic twists in Frank's chest. He struggles to keep his voice level. "Gerard, what the fuck is going on?"

Gerard opens and closes his mouth a few times before he manages to make words. "You. It's. Fuck. Fuck. I mean. The machine. It's like, holy shit. I've never heard of this happening before, ever. I didn't even know this was an option." Gerard tugs on his bright hair, staring at Frank and stammering in circles.

"Gerard," Frank warns, raising his voice. "Tell me. What the fuck happened?"

"Don't you get it? The machine." Gerard stares at him, eyes wide and manic. "It brought back the wrong Frank."

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