More Than You Could Ever Know 6/8

[moku_youbi]

​*

There was a photoshoot in Chicago, and that was totally weird. On stage they all sort of had their own look--Spencer in his dress slacks and snazzy buttondowns; Jon in bare feet and a henley, hem of his jeans frayed; Ryan and Brendon tended to match more often than not, in paisley or plaid; Frank had been true to his word as far as the shredded jeans went, and usually paired them with a band shirt.

Their photographer apparently didn't approve of their normal looks. He dressed them up in these ridiculously expensive suits with embroidered collars and gemstone cufflinks, and like, sequined ties. Brendon managed to pull the look off like some goddamned movie star and Spencer always wore a suit like a second skin, but the rest of them just looked like kids who'd ransacked their dad's closet.

It went on for their entire off day, shot after shot of what felt like the same fucking pose until it was finally right. When Jon shot them, it tended to be a good time, but Frank couldn't imagine his expression in any of these pictures would be anything other than abject boredom. Maybe some annoyance.

That didn't really go away even after it was over. Frank was fucking starving--they hadn't had any vegetarian options in the spread at the shoot, which was just about the most ridiculous thing Frank could imagine. A lot of actors and musicians were fucking vegetarians, what the fuck. Someone had gone out and come back with a fucking fruit basket, and normally Frank would have been all about fruit, but he was too pissed off to really enjoy it at the time, or do anything really other than scowl at everyone in the room.

He went straight to his bunk when they were back at the venue, shoving his ear buds in and settling down for a good skulk. The rest of his band were in the back lounge with a movie and knew better than to interrupt him anyway, so when a tentative knock came on the wall outside his bunk, he didn't really know who it would be. "What?" he snapped, jerking the curtain back.

Ray gave him a sheepish smile and lowered his hand. "Hey. Sorry, just, uh. Okay, so Matt went with some of the guys to this shady place down in Chinatown and now they all have food poisoning."

Frank was in a pissy mood, but he wasn't a complete asshole. "Is he okay?"

"Gee and Mikey are with him at the hospital. They say he's gonna be alright, but they're keeping him over night, and then they say he needs to rest for a day or two."

"Okay," Frank said when Ray finished and looked at him expectantly.

"I just remembered you saying that you used to play our stuff, to practice."

"Yeah," Frank agreed.

Ray rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I know it's asking a lot, and we could probably get one of our techs to do it, but me and Gerard wanted to ask you first."

"Wait," Frank said. He sat up so quickly his head hit the top of the bunk. Ray cringed in sympathy, but Frank didn't even feel it. "Wait, wait, wait. You guys want me to play for you? With you? Seriously?"

"Seriously." Ray grinned, hair bobbing along with his enthusiastic nodding. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a 'fuck yes,' are you kidding?"

"Cool," Ray said, like he meant it. "The guys won't be back for a bit, but you wanna maybe come over to the bus and mess around a little?"

Frank couldn't get out of his bunk and into his shoes fast enough, grabbing his guitar on the way out.

They went over the setlist, making sure Frank felt comfortable with all the songs they'd be playing. Ray was impressed and more than a little surprised that Frank knew which backup parts were Matt's and which were Ray's, and Frank had to explain that no, really, he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Ray how much he loved My Chemical Romance.

Frank's band was really fucking indulgent of him the next day when he couldn't sit the fuck down, literally. Spencer fashioned a sort of a sling out of some of Ryan's scarves to keep Frank from hitting his head on the ceiling when they were watching cartoons at breakfast and Ryan very patiently sat aside his novel to listen to Frank ramble at him for nearly a fucking hour about how he'd dreamed of this moment his entire life, even making appropriately interested humming noises at all the right intervals.

Jon didn't bat a lash at Frank climbing all over him while Jon calmly and deftly rolled a joint. Then he and Brendon each got Frank by an arm and dragged him off the bus before the other half of their band resorted to homicide. They found an empty, and more importantly air-conditioned room in the basement of the venue, passing the joint around. It didn't do much to stop the jittery excitement that had kept Frank from sleeping last night and kept him from staying still, now.

Brendon was going to sprain his eyeballs from rolling them so hard at everything Frank said, but Jon looked thoughtful and when Frank drew a breath, he asked, "What would you do if Matt couldn't play for good?"

That shut Frank up. He closed his mouth with a click and darted a quick look at Brendon, whose eyes had gone wide. "Jon," Frank said. "I wouldn't--I mean, that's never gonna happen. I wouldn't want it to happen."

"Yeah," Jon said. "But they play the kind of music you really love, and you're good at it."

"Yeah," Frank said. He waved a hand through the air, searching for the right words, dragged it through his hair. "But you guys are my band. I wouldn't do that to you."

Jon's lips twisted to the side and he blew out a steady stream of smoke. "Brendon could play your parts. He used to play guitar all the time before you showed up."

"Are you--" Frank's heart had dropped somewhere down near his toes. "Are you saying you don't need me?"

"No," Jon said. "I'm saying you should do what makes you happy."

"This is stupid, I don't know why we're even talking about it. Matt's fine." Frank crossed his arms over his chest, slouching low against the wall.

"Frank," Brendon said, in that delicate way he had that let Frank know he was about to say something that was probably going to piss Frank off. "We love you, and we're really glad you're in our band. But we don't want you to feel obligated--" he stopped short, like he had no idea how to continue.

Jon sighed and put an arm around Frank's shoulder. "We just want you to make the music that makes you happy."

"You guys make me happy," Frank muttered, embarrassed by how soft his voice came out. "Playing with My Chem, that's just. That's like winning the fucking lottery, or scoring your dream girl, or something, and if they asked me to do it again, fuck yeah I would, but you guys are my band."

"Okay," Brendon said, and kissed Frank's cheek. "But if you ever change your mind, we'll still love you."

"I'm not changing my mind!" Frank insisted.

Brendon laughed and hugged Frank tightly, face pressed into this throat. Half in annoyance, half in affection, Frank sent a shock of cold between them. Brendon just made a contented, delighted sound, and sent back his own burst, sharp enough to frost the tips of Frank's hair. Like Frank could fit in anywhere else.

With their new stage time, Downpour actually had a longer set. They'd started covering a Third Eye Blind song and rotating in some of their songs that hadn't made it into the original cut. They did I Write Sins Not Tragedies for the first time that night and the crowd's reaction was instantaneous and fucking insane, helped in large part no doubt by Brendon camping it up.

They were as affectionate with each other on stage as they were off--kisses to cheeks and foreheads, soft touches and shoulders pressed together, sharing mics more often than not. Most of their fans seemed to dig it, but when, after playing Nine in the Afternoon for the first time, Ryan sat on the bench beside Brendon and gave him a slow kiss, the high-pitched squeals of approval from the female portion of the audience was deafening.

There were a few mutinous cries of "fag" carrying over, and Frank thought fuck that, grabbing a very surprised Jon by the back of his neck and hauling him into a wet kiss. Jon caught himself on Frank's hips and gave in after a second, parting his lips, tasting vaguely of beer and gin (Frank suddenly realised what Gerard was actually smelling). Frank would have thought it impossible, but the squealing just got higher. After, when Frank turned to grin at him, Spencer looked fairly pleased by how inaccessible his drum kit made him to the rest of his band.

Apparently, Gabe, Ryland, and William saw this display as some sort of challenge to their gay stage cred, or something. Gabe and Ryland were up in each others' and Alex's business way more than usual and when William came out for Snakes On a Plane he and Gabe moved together in a way that was downright obscene. Frank whole-heartedly approved.
"Does this mean I need to step it up tonight?" Gerard asked, as they were getting ready to go on stage. "Because my normal partner in gay is laid up at the moment, which leaves me with my brother, and you."

Frank almost swallowed his own tongue at the insinuation. "I'm not sure it'd count with me, since I sort of started the whole thing," he said.
Gerard gave him a bright-eyed, mischievous look, and didn't say anything else on the matter, striding out to the microphone.

Frank had a moment of almost crippling nerves, looking out at the darkened stage and the sea of people beyond it. They were already going wild, seeing Gerard's silhouette. Mikey bumped his shoulder against Frank's and gave him the barest beginnings of a smile on his way onstage, and Frank took a centering breath and followed him out.

Even with the lights down, the kids in the pit looked at him in recognition and surprise. Frank had to close his eyes, listening to the crash of the symbols as Bob began to play and the rest of them dove in all together, opening with This is How I Disappear. He felt the lights come up just as Gerard began to sing and had to taking a few gulping breaths before joining in on backup.

Around the second verse Frank finally opened his eyes, glad that his fringe was still long enough to fall in his face. Through it he could see the surge of the crowd towards the stage and when he turned to the side, Gerard all the fuck over Mikey--hands in his hair, around his neck, down his shirt. Mikey was handling it like a pro, laughing into his shoulder, spreading his legs so Gerard could get right up behind him and hook an arm around his shoulders. It continued like that all through Dead! as well, then Gerard went back to his stand, sliding the mic in place.

"I think you all know our friend Frankie," he said. Frank threw a hand up in greeting when the crowed screamed their affirmative. There were still some confused faces, but Frank knew he'd rocked the shit out of the first two songs, and that had to have won most of them over. "Let's give him a big hand for helping us out tonight!"

They went into I'm Not Okay and Frank finally managed to unglue himself from position in front of his mic and move around. If he just focused on Gerard's voice he could imagine he was still back in his bedroom in Christmastown, music blasting from the stereo, writhing around on his floor with his guitar. It made it easier to let go here, getting on his knees, licking down the fret, jumping around like a fucking monkey.

Gerard passed him by, running a hand through Frank's hair on his way to molest Mikey some more and Frank thought why the hell not? What other chance was he ever gonna get? So when Gerard came over to share his mic with Frank for Matt's "trust me," Frank didn't even think about it, just went up on his toes, cradled Gerard's head in one hand and pressed his lips firmly to Gerard's cheek, right at the corner of his lips.

Gerard went entirely still and let out a surprised breath that hung visibly in the air. Frank saw it with a feeling of reckless daring, wondering how Gerard would explain that, or the surge of cold that made him shiver before he started singing again, fumbling to find his place in the song that had continued without him.

After that, Gerard split his time equally between strutting across the stage, feeling up Mikey, and getting in Frank's personal space. Or maybe it wasn't that equal at all--Frank's perspective could have been skewed by the fact that his brain stopped working every time Gerard licked him or stroked his head or tugged on his shirt. Thank god he'd played these enough that his body was autopilot.

Sometime around Cemetery Drive Frank's brain finally got on board again. Downpour was watching from backstage, Brendon bouncing along cheerfully, Ryan and Spencer giving Frank these equally mocking looks, and Jon sort of confused as if to say you'll shove your tongue down my throat but you can't do more than give him a kiss on the fucking cheek?

And really, there was no way anyone was going to undermine Downpour's gay cred, no matter what Frank got up to on stage with MCR, so again, why the fuck not? He spent the rest of the set doing his best to outgay Gerard Way, which was actually quite an intimidating task. Like, Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon were legitimately gay, and Jon was the next best thing since he'd probably never sleep with another woman in his life. Yet somehow, 95 % of the time Gerard managed to come off as more authentically gay than all of Frank's band combined. But Frank never backed down from a challenge.

Gerard was a way better jungle gym than Spencer or Jon; for one thing, he didn't seem long-suffering about it, but rather enthusiastic, bending at the knees to give Frank better leverage, or slinging a leg over Frank's shoulders when Frank got between his knees. He threaded his fingers through Frank's hair and pushed his head down and Frank made his best porn face, to top the ones even from the Cobra bus, mouth open, lips swollen from his biting, eyes closed in an expression of bliss. The My Chem fans were loving every fucking second of it.

Then, after the encore, it was like someone had flipped a switch and Gerard went from being smoking hot, sexually confident (potentially incestuous) lead man to plain old dorky Gerard Way, laughing a snorting laugh and slinging an arm over Mikey and Frank as he walked. Mikey gave them both an indulgent little smirk before ducking out from under Gerard's arm and heading for the Cobra bus.

"You were so fucking hot out there," Gerard said cheerfully. It was nice to hear, but it was also so casual, like Frank's hotness had had absolutely no effect on Gerard whatsoever. "You know you have to come back, now. I bet Matt would totally be cool with you doing a number per show."

Frank didn't know how to respond to that, too busy worrying about what Jon had said earlier. Luckily Ryan and the rest of Downpour where suddenly there alongside them and Ryan said, "Only if you come out to sing for one of ours."

Gerard agreed with a surprising enthusiasm and the fans in Cleveland went crazy when he came out halfway through Downpour's set, sharing the mic with Brendon during There's a Reason These Tables are Numbered. It wasn't any big surprise to Frank that Gerard rocked it like it'd been written just for him to sing, but it was still surreal to watch and to hear. Gerard caught his eye and grinned, and Frank made his way over there, leaning against Gerard's side as he played. Okay, it was fucking awesome, too.

​*

Gerard hadn't brought up the onstage cold flash, which was a relief in some ways, and disappointing in others. Part of Frank thought I have to come clean at some point while the rest of him went why, what does it hurt to let him keep thinking you're sort of crazy, or whatever? After all, Gerard clearly wasn't put off by insanity. It all would have been fine, except then My Chem decided to play one of their new songs in Charlotte.

Frank hadn't seen Gerard since the day before last; there'd been a hotel night for My Chemical Romance, and Downpour probably could have insisted on a suite, but their label was being pretty cool so far, and their bus was comfortable enough for now. They could wait until they had an actual cd and their own tour to start making demands. Then the next day had been an off day and Spencer and Jon had insisted on site-seeing. The rest hadn't minded. Charlotte had a lot of cool historical buildings and monuments, and they found this little ice cream boutique that had non-dairy vegan options that were like the taste equivalent to a wet dream.

Gerard had texted him most of the day and well into the evening, truly inane and random comments. Frank's traitorous band had taken to giggling at him every time his phone chimed with a new message, and Frank was now just preemptively flipping them off every time he sent a response.

mom invited you guys over to dinner when we get to jersey Gerard wrote him, after a long break. Frank told the others and Ryan started going on about how awesome Donna Way was, even though he wasn't too sure about her cooking skills.

Frank was distracted thinking about the fact that yeah, they'd been in Jersey in a couple days, and a couple days after that the tour would be over, and then what? Gerard and his band would be going back to California and Frank and his band would be going back to Vegas. And sure, it wasn't that far apart, but it just wouldn't be the same as getting to see each other every day.

bet you're excited it's almost over, Frank wrote, swallowing past his dismay, get to go home to your gf Even though Gerard never spoke of her, ever. Maybe he figured that wasn't any of Frank's business.

The pause this time was the longest ever, and then: ???? followed shortly by it was a hypothetical girlfriend Frankie

Then Frank couldn't stop smiling, wandering around in a daze, bumping into Brendon and trash cans and random passers-by, wishing he could see Gerard's stupid face. Like he'd read Frank's thoughts, Gerard sent a picture of himself with a towel piled on his head like a turban, red stains around his neck and cheek, giving the camera a slightly dismayed look. dyeing your own hair is *tricky* it read, and Frank laughed in glee, and sent back D: though he didn't doubt Gerard's ability to tell that Frank was thoroughly amused.

So Frank was expecting the hair. He just wasn't expecting the rest of it.

He got back to the stage sort of late after letting Gabe drag him off following the Cobra set. He wasn't really upset over the fact, because apparently Gabe had found a nice alternative for getting clean to his slip 'n slide, which involved sweet talking one of the venue workers who lived in a loft down the street to let them use his bathroom. Vicky had claimed first shower and then Nate and Alex had been wrestling each other over who got to go second and were distracted enough that Frank managed to slip in after her.

The water was delicious on his over-heated, slightly sun-pink skin, and the guy's soap left him smelling clean without much of a lingering scent, and overall it left him feeling more refreshed than a full night's rest. He felt a little guilty over taking the beer Gabe offered him out the guy's fridge, but Gabe left a wad of very large bills on the kitchen counter, so it sort of made up for the theft.

Ryan was waiting for them by the gate when they got back and gave Frank an exasperated look. Honestly, Frank was a little bewildered by it, and the way that Ryan grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him off for the stage, refusing to explain what the hell was going on. It wasn't like he was going to miss going on stage, or something. He usually went on for one of the last couple songs in MCR's set, and there was over an hour before it got to that point. But Ryan had this little secret smile around his lips that reminded Frank unnervingly of Mikey Way.

Downpour wasn't actually backstage, but in the little VIP section off to the side of the pit by the crowd, reserved for friends and family members, and some of the press. The bands didn't usually go down there--there was security, but the fans got distracted to see other famous people so close by and could get kind of stupid. No one paid them any attention, though, and a glance at the stage made it obvious why.

Apparently, Gerard's hair wasn't the only thing that had gotten a make-over.

A crimson spotlight swept frantically across the stage, almost like a searchlight, occasionally catching on faded American flag suspended over the stage. There was a dark form in the centre, difficult to make out in the shadows, but it stretched out over the flag in a vaguely sinister way. Frank knew it immediately from Gerard's sketches and began to bounce on his toes, excited and curious.

It wasn't too big of a surprise, that they would debut their new look or a new song or two to stir up publicity for the new album. The tour would be over in just about a week, and then back into the studio for a few weeks to finalise their record, which was going to be released in early autumn. It made sense to get people excited about it now. But Gerard had been weirdly shy about the actual music, for all that he'd rambled excitedly for hours on end about the universe it took place in, and Frank just wanted to hear it.

After what seemed like forever, the music started, a high-pitched squeal like feedback evening out into a single low tone, and then a voice began to speak. It was difficult to hear over the roar of the crowd, full of drunken idiots, but he got enough to know this album was going to be fucking epic. The band were caught in flashes of light, taking their spots. Frank's heart sped up at the sight and he felt like just another fan, and the thought didn't bother him.

Then the lights came up, illuminating the stage and catching on the vibrant, cherry-red shade of Gerard's hair. He was wearing his pretty much trademark by this point tight black pants that made Frank think vividly dirty thoughts about what he would do between those thighs, but now it was paired with a ripped and faded tank top showing off a lot of chest and a hint of nipple from the side.

Frank could only stare for the entire length of the first song, fucking captivated by the sight and the sound, felt every lyric like a punch to the gut, especially when Gerard caught his eye and winked as he sang about Batman.

They segued into Teenagers from what Frank was going to call the 'Na Na Na' song until he had something better to go on, and Frank realised why Ryan had brought him out here, so he could see the whole thing from the proper perspective, but now he wanted to get to the backstage. To be closer.

Ryan caught him by the beltloop before he could get very far and said, "Wait."

Now Frank was more than a little intrigued. He jumped over the barrier between the VIP section and the crowd, putting himself in the pit. Ryan looked startled at that, but Frank just pushed his way closer to the stage. Gerard watched him with a smile and knelt down at the edge of the stage when Frank got close, singing "tell me I'm an angel, take this to my grave," then tipped his microphone towards Frank.

Frank pushed up on his palms against the top of the barrier and sang "yes I am, oh yes I am," grinning so widely it hurt, uncaring of the fans around them, pressing in close at Frank's side like they wanted a piece of him, uncaring who of them noticed the way the mic frosted over when Frank reached out to put wrap his hand around it below Gerard's.

Gerard straightened back up and strutted over to Matt, slinging an arm casually along his shoulders and wriggling his hips in time to the beat. His head was thrown back as he sang and Frank just watched him hungrily. It'd been a while since he'd watched Gerard from the crowd and it was so different, intoxicating, almost. Frank felt want throb low and visceral in his stomach, and it was probably a good thing he couldn't get any closer at this point, because Frank wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from doing--what, he wasn't sure, but something that was sure to fuck up their friendship.

"You mother fuckers want another new song?" Gerard screamed, when the music ended. The crowd showed their approval and Gerard turned to Ray, leaning out of range of the mic to say something before turning back to the audience. "This song is about never giving up, even when ya know you're gonna lose, and finding that one person to be your light in the dark, right up until the end."

Frank listened in rapt silence, letting the crowd jostle him, moving with the continuous forward surge. Then Gerard got the chorus, singing about stealing cars and saving yourself while he held them back and Frank had to look around in disbelief to find Ryan giving him a knowing look. The lyrics fit into the Killjoy 'verse, and it made more sense that Gerard had just been referencing this song during that conversation with Frank than the idea that Gerard had written this song after.

Except then Gerard cocked a hip and pointed a finger at Frank and sang you're a heart-attack in black hair dye and before Frank even had a chance to absorb or process that, be a burning star if it takes all night.

It ended and Frank gave up trying to push his way back towards VIP after a couple seconds. Instead he waved over a very indulgently put-upon Worm to pull him over the barrier and made his way along the edge of the stage towards the backstage area. Downpour was waiting for him in the backlot, with matching, shit-eating grins.

"What?" Frank demanded, because he hadn't even told any of them about that conversation with Gerard.

Ryan gave him a knowing look. "Come on, man."

"What?" Frank repeated.

"Mikey said you had to hear the songs they were playing tonight. That it was important that you personally hear them."

"Because I'm such a huge fan," Frank said.

"Oh my god, how are you so stupid?" Spencer said, and easily dodged the punch Frank threw at his arm.

"I don't know what you guys are trying to say, but whatever it is, you're wrong," Frank said. "They wrote this album before they came on tour. Hell, they recorded it before the tour."

Spencer put his hands on his hips. "You know they have a recording studio in the back of their bus?"

"And they're going back in the studio the week after next to add two more songs to the cd," Brendon added.

"Mikey said Gerard's original version of your Killjoy character glowed," Ryan said pointedly and Brendon gave Frank a little smirk. "And that's just the most obvious thing. I'm an English professor, Frank. I could bust out my close reading skills if you need me to spell this out for you."

Frank opened his mouth to protest and heard Vampires drawing to a close on stage. He closed his mouth with a click and cleared his throat. "I have to--I'm supposed to go on for the next song," he said.

Really, there was no reason for his band to look so fucking smug as he made his excuse and almost tripped on his own feet running towards the stage.

He had no idea how he made it through his song that night; the fans had to know something was going on, between the way Gerard had pointed at him in the audience and shared his mic, where Gerard kept getting up in his space--not in his normal campy, over-the-top way, but with purpose. With intent. Prowling close like he was circling his fucking prey or something, pressing his nose to the skin of Frank's neck and breathing deep and heavy into the mic while Frank struggled to keep his fingers steady on the strings. Thank god for his fucking guitar, or the kids in the front would know just what it was doing to Frank.

Frank all but bolted off the stage when he finished, brushing past his stupid band who were standing on the sidelines with seriously annoying knowing looks on their faces. It wasn't until he was in the cool dark of the bus that he realised he was glowing, and how brightly. The normal post-show buzz was dull yellow at best, radiating maybe a few centimeters from his skin. Now he shone a brilliant gold, and when Frank noticed it, it flared even brighter, extending in a corona all around, lighting up the entire front lounge.

It didn't make any fucking sense. Frank wasn't happy. He was turned-on--which, okay, could have explained it--but that should have been negated by the almost paralysing confusion and uncertainty and not a little bit of fear. But rationalising it didn't dim the glow. Frank cursed under his breath and went into the back lounge where all the shades and curtains were drawn and flopped back on the sofa. He cursed again when instead of the cushion catching him, his body was buoyed up by the air.

This was fucking ridiculous.

Ryan Ross wasn't as smart as he thought he was. That song couldn't be about Frank. Well. If it was true that Gerard wrote the lyrics while on tour, it was possible that parts of the song were inspired by the conversation they'd had. Sure, most song-writing was personal, but every once in a while a lyricist got suck, and then they took inspiration from all sorts of things that happened in their everyday life. Gabe swore by getting toasted with strangers in New York City; Bill liked roaming the streets of Chicago people-watching; Ryan liked going on roadtrips, stopping at little hole-in-the-wall diners and antique malls. None of it meant that the entirety of the song was meant for Frank, or even that the part of it was held any sort of significance.

But--Mikey had told Ryan it was important for Frank to see, and if anyone knew what was going on in Gerard's brain, it would be his brother. Of course, no one really knew what was going on in Mikey's brain, either. He could have thought it was important for Frank to hear the Na Na Na song because of the Batman line, or so he could see their new backdrop, or something.

But the way he was touching you his very unhelpful inner Brendon voice piped up. Only Gerard was always like that on stage, and if Frank took that as any indication of Gerard's true feelings, then the Ways were a lot closer family than Frank ever could have guessed.

Frank's thoughts kept circling like that, and no matter how he tried to rationalise it, his stupid body wouldn't listen. His skin went on glowing like it hadn't received the message. With a sigh, he rolled over, chin propped in one hand, and traced his finger through the air, watching the trails of light. He couldn't get the song out of his head, bits and pieces looping like a cd on repeat. Something about the broken glass in morning light drew him back again and again, though he carefully didn't think about what came next in the song. Gerard didn't even believe him about the whole elf thing. Maybe he'd meant the lyrics to be an inside joke between them?

Brendon came in and floated alongside him in a contemplative silence, very pointedly not remarking on their alternative light source. "I'm starting to think you're confused about how dating works."

"What?" Frank put as much venom in the single syllable as he could, glaring at Brendon from the corner of his eye.

"I think it's from one too many of Pete and Greta's rom-com marathons," Brendon said. He turned lazily onto his back. If Frank was a violent sort of person, he might want to smack the smirk off Brendon's stupid face. "But you know, in real life you don't have to play hard to get. When the guy expresses interest by, oh say, telling you he liked your playing, or getting your email address, or writing you a fucking song you don't have to be a bitch to, like, get his attention, or make him like you, or whatever. You've already got it and he already does."

"First of all, I resent being cast as the heroine in this little scenario of yours. Secondly, dating three guys at the same time is not the same as having been in three different relationships, and you guys have been together for, what? Half a year? You're not exactly a relationship expert."

"Dude, it is totally the same as being in three different relationships," Brendon said. "Actually, it's being in like...seven different relationships, if you think about, because--"

"Brendon."

"You're missing the point, anyway. I'm not trying to give you advice, I'm just stating the facts, and they are: he's into you, you're into him. You're making it so much harder than it needs to be."

"Okay, thanks for that," Frank said.

Brendon huffed a sigh and dropped to his feet. "Fine, whatever. Stay in here being a stupid emo kid because the guy you like likes you back. I'm gonna go back to the party."

Frank waved him off. After Brendon was gone, door slid shut behind him, it seemed darker. Maybe Frank should have let him stay, see if he could dim the glow some more. Outside there was a loud crash of glass on pavement and raucous laughter; just another night on tour with this group.

They were parked next to Peelander-Z's bus, and those guys always got the party started as early as possible, and usually in ways that got them in trouble with the venue, and sometimes banished to second lots at the next city. Usually it was pretty funny to watch, and they were okay dudes, so normally Frank would go out to see what they were up to, but even if he hadn't been a human fucking glo-stick, he just wasn't in the mood.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the weird--but catchy--Japanese rock music coming from just outside the window, and sagged a little lower to the ground, like there was a mattress losing air beneath him. What if? a traitorous, hopeful voice was whispering in the back of his mind. What if Brendon was right?

Frank wasn't going to admit it to Brendon's face, because even though Brendon was his best friend, he could also be an obnoxiously smug bastard, but...for all that Frank owned in the bedroom department, Brendon really did have three-up on Frank's relationship experience (four, if you counted those three months he and Greta had tried "dating" when they were thirteen). The elves Frank had hooked up with back home had never really liked him, and he'd mostly been in it because his options had been limited, and sex was fun.

So he'd had...fuck-buddies, he supposed, except for the fact that they never hung out with each other outside of sex, but he'd never been on a date, or tried to build a romantic relationship, or what the fuck ever. The closest he'd ever come to that sort of thing was Brendon. He could acknowledge now, looking back on it, how their relationship at the North Pole probably looked to outsiders. But that intimacy had been easy--Frank hadn't ever wanted to fuck Brendon. That was so obviously not the case with Gerard. How did you put the two together and not fuck everything up?

Assuming, of course, that Gerard even wanted that.

Outside the door to the lounge, Frank heard Jon's low rumbling voice and then, in response, Gerard's, higher and clearer. Completely without his permission, the glow brightened, throbbing in time to his suddenly racing heartbeat. Jesus Christ, he wasn't twelve. It was just ridiculous, and on top of it, his stomach was twisting up so much he thought he might actually be sick.

"Chill the fuck out," he whispered, drawing in a deep breath through his nose and puffing it out his mouth. Tomorrow, once he had this glowing/floating thing under control, he'd go talk to Gerard and he'd realise he'd been right to begin with, the song wasn't about him, it was all a huge misunderstanding, and he would laugh about it. Then he could go back to being able to have an unrequited crush on an unattainable Gerard fucking Way, instead of worrying about the possibility of a very messy relationship with the stupid weirdo he might have maybe actually fallen in love with.

It was quiet on the bus now, Jon no doubt making up some excuse for Frank's absence. The lounge door slid open, and Frank lifted his head to tell which ever bandmate it was to fuck off. He froze, mouth hung open, when he caught sight of Gerard. Gerard didn't look particularly shocked, but his face split in a wide grin and he said, "You're fucking floating. Holy shit--Are you a fairy?"

"No," Frank said, and swung around so that his feet were parallel to the ground, even if they hovered several inches above it. It put him just above eye-level with Gerard. "I'm an elf." He honestly didn't mean for it to come out in such a pissy tone of voice, but he'd tried to explain this already.

"Oh, shit, yeah," Gerard said. He gave Frank an embarrassed look. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend--I mean there isn't any bad blood between the two races, is there? I'm so sorry."

Frank laughed, because there really wasn't any other way to react. "You're so fucking--" He shook his head. "I told you I could float."

"Yeah," Gerard agreed sheepishly.

"You didn't offend me," Frank said with a resigned sigh, because Gerard really worried about that kind of shit.

"You took off so fast after the show," Gerard said. There was something strange in his voice that made Frank's throat ache. So they were moving past the elf thing, then? Frank knew he shouldn't be surprised that Gerard was taking it in stride, but still.

"Just really tired," Frank lied. He couldn't tear his eyes off Gerard--the way the red seemed to make his skin glow a pale white and brightened his eyes, the way the dye had stained along his jaw and down his neck, smudged high on his cheek bone, made him look like someone's half-finished pastel painting. Frank wanted to see if the dye would smear under his touch.

"Frank," Gerard said, soft and even higher-pitched than normal. He took a step closer and laid his hand against Frank's cheek, let out a sharp gasp as the touch lifted him up. Frank had seen Brendon's floating transfer to Ryan and Spencer and Jon enough not to be surprised by it. He reached out a hand to Gerard's elbow to steady him, and it lifted them both higher. Gerard bit his lip and looked down between them at the floor. "We're floating."

"Gee, that song," Frank said and Gerard's head flew back up. His lip was still caught between his teeth, and Frank's heart and gut lurched all at once with intense want. His fingers tightened around Gerard's elbow and he gave a sharp tug.

Gerard caught himself with his free hand on Frank's shoulder and opened his mouth eagerly the moment their lips met, letting out a low groan that shot straight to Frank's dick. Frank took the invitation, licking into Gerard's mouth, tasting the sweat around his lips and the faintest tang of nicotine under fresh toothpaste. Gerard had just brushed his teeth. There was no reason that realisation should make Frank kiss him harder, but he couldn't help it.

"Frank," Gerard whispered into his mouth, pulling away gently. For a second, Frank thought he had it all wrong, that Gerard hadn't come here with this very goal in mind. But then Gerard glanced upward and Frank looked up, too, to see the crown of Gerard's head pressed to the ceiling.

"Sorry," Frank said, and silently screamed at his body to get the fuck under control. Somewhat predictably, nothing happened. "I can't--"

Gerard giggled. "We're floating," he said. His fingers fluttered against Frank's cheekbone, eyes darting over his face. "You're so cold."

"I don't really notice it unless someone else does," Frank said apologetically.

Gerard kissed him, hard and so fast Frank didn't have time to respond. "It's amazing, Frankie. You're amazing." When he drew Frank into a kiss for the third time it was slow and wondering and made Frank's stomach wriggle. Gerard kissed like he was trying to warm Frank up with it, and it was the strangest sensation, burning up on the inside, skin frosting over on the outside.

"I--I didn't realise," Gerard said, between kisses. "I'll change the lyrics, I didn't realise you were honestly worried--"

And somewhere, Frank had known already, no matter how he'd tried to convince himself otherwise, but still, hearing from Gerard directly was different. "I was being stupid," Frank interrupted. "Don't change the song, I love it." He kissed the corner of Gerard's mouth. "It's so badass." The spot of dye on his jaw. "This album's going to be epic."

Gerard grinned and dipped his head to catch Frank's mouth again. His hand snaked up Frank's throat, sinking into the hair at the back of his neck, gave a little tug to tilt Frank's head back, let Gerard kiss him deeper. Floating was nice and all, and Gerard was into the novelty of it, clearly, but Frank would actually prefer some gravity in this situation so he could have some goddamn leverage to move. And just like that, his body finally listened. Their feet hit the floor with a jolt that shuddered up Frank's legs and Gerard pulled away, startled.

"Is something wro--" he started to ask, and Frank lunged at him, knocking him back against the wall, wrapped his fists in Gerard's tank top, and went up on his toes, smashing their mouths together. This was more like it. He could feel Gerard pressed against him from head to toe, hard-on digging into Frank's thigh, the inviting tilt of his hips.

Gerard lifted the hem of Frank's tee, slid his hands underneath to Frank's back. His touch was shockingly warm on Frank's skin and Frank gasped. Gerard answered by sinking his teeth into Frank's bottom lip and tugging. He left hot, open-mouthed kisses across Frank's cheek, bit hard on his earlobe. Frank's hips jerked in answer and let his head fall back as Gerard trailed his mouth down Frank's neck, paying special attention to his scorpion, tonguing the spot over and over. Frank squirmed against him and made a high, desperate noise.

There was a sharp rap at the lounge door and Frank actually fucking jumped, catching Gerard's look of wide-eyed surprise.

"This is why you should always listen to me!" Brendon called.

Gerard hid his laughter in Frank's neck, palms resting flat against the small of his back. "Fuck off, Brendon," Frank said.

"Remember the rules about sex on the bus," Spencer shouted.

"I wrote those rules!" Frank shouted back. "They're my rules. And they explicitly allow sex in the back lounge, so I repeat, fuck off."

"But we're on the bus," Ryan said, in a reasonable tone of voice.

"Oh my god, so get off the fucking bus, you assholes." Frank gave Gerard an apologetic look.

Gerard's cheeks were bright red from blushing. "We could go to my bus," he said. "The guys aren't around, and they don't care, anyway."

"Um," Frank said. He waved his hand fast enough to cause light trails to blur between them.

"Oh." Gerard smiled. "Right." He was so fucking cute Frank had to kiss him again.

Only a short peck turned long and searching turned desperate, and Frank finally broke away long enough to say, "Fuck it; if they wanna hang around, we can give 'em a show."

Gerard wrinkled his nose. "Really?"

Frank pushed his hips up, rubbing his dick in the groove of Gerard's thigh. "Really," he said, and leaned in for another kiss.

It took a minute; Gerard was clearly hesitant about the idea of others listening in. But Frank could be really fucking insistent, and a good kisser, besides. He reached between their bodies and popped the button on Gerard's jeans, worming a hand inside. Gerard wasn't wearing anything underneath, which made Frank grin into their kiss.

"We're leaving," Spencer said.

"But I'm taking your bunk," Jon said, and Frank could just see the stupid, shit-eating look on his face.

"And I'm taking the last beer," Brendon added.

Frank could not possibly care less and mumbled something to that affect around Gerard's tongue. His fingers brushed over Gerard's dick before he closed his fist around it. Gerard let out a high-pitched whine that should not have been so sexy, and yet, Frank was already thinking of ways to hear it again. "I would really love to blow you right now," he said.

Gerard nodded his head a little frantically, fingers tugging on the long ends of Frank's hair. "I'd really like that, too," he said, and swallowed hard.

Frank wiggled his brows and dropped to his knees, grabbing the opening of Gerard's pants and tugging apart and down, watching as more and more pale skin was bared. Gerard swallowed audibly above him and Frank shot him a quick, quirky smile before taking Gerard's cock in hand and sinking his mouth down the length all at once. Gerard let out another one of those gorgeous sounds. Frank looked up to see Gerard's eyes closed, head thrown back, hands fumbling at the wall like he was trying to find a place to hang on. "Frankie," he whimpered, "fuck."

Frank hummed his agreement and Gerard's hips twitched forward. "S-sorry," Gerard said, fingers stroking softly down Frank's cheek. He stopped, pressing in where he could feel his own dick in Frank's mouth and let out a helpless little moan.

Frank pulled back, letting Gerard go with a popping sound and arched a brow up at him until Gerard managed to open his eyes and look down. He looked unsure and hesitant and fuck, Frank loved that about him, that Gerard was always so worried about others, and soft, and gentle. But Frank really didn't want Gerard to be that way with him. With Gerard still watching, Frank took his hands from Gerard's skin and put them behind his own back, holding his right wrist in his left hand.

"Go on," Frank said. He leaned in, mouthing lightly down the side of Gerard's cock, swirling his tongue around the head. Gerard exhaled a shuddering breath. His hand on Frank's cheek tucked back a bit of fringe behind his ear, sunk gently into his hair and guided him forward. Frank obligingly opened his mouth. He had to fight the urge to go lower when Gerard set up a slow, shallow rhythm; it was just a challenge. Frank was good at those.

It had been a while since Frank had last done this, and he'd forgotten how much he liked it, which was part of the reason he was so good at it. He pushed his tongue against the underside, moaning at the silky texture, the sharp tang at the back of his throat. Gerard's hips jumped again and Frank moaned again, in appreciation, in goading.

"Jesus, Frank," Gerard hissed, but at least he got the fucking idea, hesitantly rocking back and then in again a little faster, a little harder. Frank sucked around his mouthful, humming a little whenever Gerard finally found a new tempo or depth, and each time Gerard's thrusts were less controlled. Each one made Frank's cock throb in response; he could almost imagine how it would be to have Gerard fucking his ass instead of his mouth, his hole clenching in anticipation of it.

Gerard's fingers tightened in Frank's hair, and Frank was willing to bet Gerard didn't even realise it, which sort of made it hotter. Frank knew he had to be close, and still he wasn't completely letting go. Sometime, Frank was going to have to pin him down and press his nose to Gerard's skin, Gerard's cock down his throat. Show Gerard just how much he could take.

"Frank," Gerard said urgently. He pulled up on Frank's hair and Frank sat back on his heels, watching as Gerard fisted his own cock, jerking fast and rough. Frank leaned in to swipe the flat of his tongue just under the head and Gerard stuttered a groan and came just like that. Frank closed his eyes reflexively and opened his mouth to catch what he could. He'd never had anyone come on his face, but he'd seen enough porn to think it looked pretty hot, and yeah. Feeling the warm strips of come catch his cheek, the corner of his eye, his bottom lip. Yeah. Seriously fucking hot.

"Frank," Gerard said again, breathless and a little wondering, and maybe slightly dismayed.

Frank licked his lips and blinked open his eyes, smiling when he caught Gerard's. "It's seriously okay," he said. "Way fucking better than okay."

Gerard's legs were trembling and he slid down the wall, landing with his knees pressed against Frank's. "You're unbelievable," he moaned, fingers reaching out to touch Frank's face, hesitating before carefully dabbing the come away from Frank's eye. "So unbelievable."

Frank didn't know where it came from, the soft whimper that passed his lips, except he was so fucking hard and ready to come, and everything Gerard did just made it about fifty fucking times worse. Gerard kissed him, tongue slicking deep, and his hands were quick and nimble undoing Frank's belt and jeans, fishing into his boxers to close around his dick.

Frank whined Gerard's name into his mouth, thrust up as much as he could in his current position, his thighs and knees burning, screaming in protest, and he didn't fucking care so long as Gerard kept jerking him like that, rough and desperate, like he hadn't just come himself, like he needed it.

It took Frank like less than a minute to come, which was pretty mortifying. He didn't usually have a problem with stamina, but there was Gerard's mouth, okay. His weirdly tiny, full mouth and his sharp little fucking teeth catching Frank's tongue, and his hand, smooth and uncallused and so fucking hot on Frank's cool skin. Frank thought about his come alongside the red dye stains in the curve of Gerard's thumb and index, and that image was enough to fucking do him in, hips stuttering up with each pulse of his orgasm. Even with his eyes closed he could see the soft yellow light coming from his skin.

The kiss slowed, turned sloppy; Frank was too relaxed to put any real effort into it. He drew back with a dopey smile, opened his eyes to see Gerard watching him, cheeks bright red. "I--" Gerard reached out, combing his fingers through Frank's hair. "There's--you have my jizz in your hair."

​Frank shrugged. "I'll just smell like the rest of my fucking band."

​"I'm sorry," Gerard said.

​ "Jesus Christ, how are you so fucking cute?" Frank said. He was feeling inordinately fond of Gerard, which was saying something, because he was always exceptionally fond of Gerard, and this. This was way stronger. "Are you always so polite after sex?"

​Gerard coloured brighter and shoved at Frank's shoulder. "Fuck you."

​ "No," Frank said. He caught Gerard's wrist in his hand and pulled it to his face. "I like it. I like every single ridiculous thing about you, Gerard Way."

"Yeah," Gerard said, palm cupping Frank's cheek. He looked suddenly serious, which made Frank nervous, but he didn't want to pull away. "I like every fucking thing about you, too, Frankie."

There were maybe a million ways Frank wanted to respond to that, but he couldn't get any of them past his lips. It felt small and hot and claustrophobic in the lounge. He got to his feet, wobbling a little as the blood rushed back into his legs and shoved himself back in his pants before doing them up. He needed the fresh air. He slid back the locks and pushed the window open, drawing a deep breath with his face pressed close to the screen. When he turned back, Gerard was watching him with a wary expression and Frank was at a fucking loss for what he was supposed to say or do next.

Gerard got to his feet, hand braced against the wall, a strange, worried expression on his face.

And okay, Frank didn't know what happened next, but he knew he really didn't want Gerard to leave. He sunk down onto the couch and made grabby hands. "I was gonna watch The Sarah Connor Chronicles. Join me?"

Gerard sat next to him and Frank thought about what Brendon said, about making things harder than they needed to be. So Frank just told his brain to shut the fuck up and leaned in, hand catching on Gerard's cheek and turning his face into the kiss. Gerard relaxed little by little against him. He let out a sigh when Frank drew back to grab the remote.

Twenty minutes in, Frank couldn't have possibly told the plot of the episode, but he was learning the shape of Gerard's lips against his and the planes and dips of Gerard's back by touch, so it was totally a compromise he was willing to make.
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