new fic: a boat that can love the rocks or the shore (gerard/frank/mikey, pg13)
A Boat That Can Love the Rocks or the Shore
by Pearl-o
Gerard/Frank/Mikey, PG-13, van days. ~1900 words.
For my dearest bexless ♥♥♥
Summary: Frank knows a test when he hears one, but he still gets the answer wrong.
*****
So they're at a rest top in the middle of fuck-knows-where. Mikey and Otter have wandered off to get real food, because Otter scrounged up some money under a cushion last stop, and there's a cheap crappy restaurant across the way, the kind that looks it's maybe a strip club (excuse him, gentleman's lounge) at the same exact time, which makes a guy curious. And Ray is -- well, Frank's not exactly sure where Ray is; he might be at the Walmart picking up snacks or he might have gotten lost and fallen asleep behind the gas station, it's even odds either way. The point is, he's not here, in the van. It's just Frank and Gerard right now and it's the first time they've had more than five minutes alone in days, and Frank is fucking on fire.
He has Gerard pushed down against the backseat, dirty hair tangling between his fingers. Gerard's been eating nothing but nacho doritos for the last three days; there's still yellow powder stuck to the cracks of the corners of his mouth, and Frank licks it out for him as Gerard giggles beneath him. They're kissing, and it's hard and fast and it's so fucking good, and this is still so new -- just a couple weeks now since Gerard drunkenly pecked him after the show and stood still and waited and God, Gerard's so fucking brave, braver than Frank, he didn't think he'd ever get up the nerve, not when it was so easy to laugh off as a joke.
Still new, still brand-new, because there's never any time or privacy; Frank can count the number of times they've gotten to really make out on one hand. Gerard's made him come once, a too-fast handjob behind a venue when they went out for a smoke, and Mikey Way had walked out from around the corner almost before Frank was zipped back up, way before he had a chance to get at Gerard's dick. He stood there awkwardly while Mikey bummed a cigarette off Gerard and the two of them chatted about the show, like Gerard wasn't just jerking him off, like he wasn't hard as nails in his pants right then.
It's precious, these caught moments, and that's what makes it so fucking unbelievable that Gerard is pushing him away.
"Frank, wait," Gerard says, and he pushes Frank away, gently, at the shoulders. Frank starts to sit up, but that's too far, apparently, because Gerard's arms go around him. So they're still close, still pressed against each other, but Gerard shakes his head when Frank tries for another kiss.
"No, wait," he repeats. "I need to ask you something."
"What is it?"
Gerard brushes his hand through Frank's hair and looks up at him thoughtfully. "Do you like Mikey?"
Frank blinks down at him. "I - what? Seriously?"
"Seriously," says Gerard. "I need to know, okay. Just."
"Of course I like Mikey," Frank says. "You know that. He's like ... my best friend."
Gerard is shaking his head. His foot is still hooked behind the back of Frank's leg, pulling them down against each other. It's fucking distracting. Frank can feel that Gerard's hard, too, so he's not sure why he's concentrating on talking about his brother instead of that.
"That's not what I mean." Gerard lifts himself up just enough to kiss Frank, soft and sweet and gone immediately. "I mean. Like this. Do you like Mikey like that?"
And okay, Frank is not the most experienced guy in the world, but he's had his share of girlfriends in the past. He knows a test when he hears one. Maybe this is like the guys' equivalent of asking if the dress makes them look fat (although really, he could see Gerard asking that, too). Either way he knows what to say.
"What? No. Don't be silly," he adds, just for extra emphasis. "I like you."
He knows that has to be the right answer, and he waits for Gerard's dazzling shy smile, right on cue, the same one he got the first time they held hands or when Frank bought him the right kind of soda and gum on the convenience store run. But it's not coming: instead, Gerard is actually frowning, squinching up his face.
"Oh," Gerard says, and he sounds more disappointed than anything else. "Okay, then."
There has to be something Frank's missing here, but fuck if he knows what. He's not sure how to get the two of them back on to the making out place, though, and this time Gerard lets him go when he tries to sit up. Frank lets out a sigh and rubs his face with both hands as he slinks back into the seat, his head against the back. Gerard sits up, too, pulling down at his hoodie where Frank's pushed it up to get at his skin. Gerard puts his sunglasses back on and looks out the window, his face still looking sad.
"You have to give me a hint, here," Frank says, finally, when Gerard doesn't say anything.
Gerard looks over at him, surprised. "It's not a big deal, Frank, forget I mentioned it. Don't say anything to Mikey, okay."
"Anything to Mikey about what," Frank says, and he has to grit his teeth a little.
Gerard has one of his hands in the other, twisting them around. He and Frank both look down at them while he talks. "I -- see, the thing is, Frank. It's just. It's Mikey, you know? I love him more than anything, okay, I just want him to-- I want him to have everything he wants. I want him to be happy. And if I can do that and I don't, what kind of brother does that make me? You know? So I thought maybe I could, but I guess I was wrong." Gerard shrugs at the end and looks back up to Frank and waits. Like any of that made any sense at all.
"What does me liking Mikey have to do with Mikey being happy?" Frank says, and he realizes that it's a stupid question about three-quarters of the way through it. "Oh, man. Does -- really? He never said anything. Like, ever."
Gerard shrugs, a little sadly. "You never said anything to me," he points out.
"Shit," says Frank. The truth is -- if Frank is completely, one hundred percent honest with himself -- the truth is, Frank isn't entirely sure what he would have done if he'd had this knowledge a month ago. Before this thing with Gerard. There's something about the Ways that makes him glow and he's never been bothered to sort out what was what. There was never a reason to: they were his friends and he loved them and they loved him. And then Gerard made a move and it was more.
"Yeah," says Gerard. "So."
Frank is replaying the last couple of minutes in his mind, because it still doesn't seem quite right. "So, wait. If you thought I liked Mikey, you would -- what? Give me up? You want me to fuck Mikey instead of you? I'm a person, you can't just give me to him like an old sweater. Fuck."
Gerard's mouth is open in a little o. "Frank! No! I wouldn't -- I like you a lot." He rests his hand on Frank's arm, warm and sweaty. "I just... There's never been anything me and Mikey both wanted that we didn't, couldn't share. I guess."
Frank stares at him for a long second. He's just opening his mouth to reply when the van doors open again, and Mikey Way stands on the pavement, sun framing his head like a halo, his face impossible to see through the glare.
"I brought you the rest of my French fries," he says to Gerard without preamble, and then he climbs over the two of them to the row in front of them.
Gerard says to Frank, "Mikey loves French fries. But he saved some for me." He says it gently, like it's supposed to be an explanation. Like he's pleading with Frank to understand.
There's really nothing Frank can say. He's not a fucking French fry.
But on the other hand, he's looking ahead at the back of Mikey's head, his straight brown hair scraggly down to his puffy jacket collar. And when he extends his hand and strokes at the soft edges, Mikey leans into his touch immediately. Like a cat that wants to be petted. The kind of cat that never asks for it itself.
Frank can feel the pressure of Gerard's hand on his knee: approval and encouragement. The Ways are so fucking weird, he thinks. This is so fucking weird and kind of twisted, even, but he can't deny he wants it. More than anything he's let himself think about.
"Hey, Mikey," Frank says, "turn around."
Mikey's face is expressionless when he turns. Frank stares at him and moves his hand to the side of Mikey's cheek, letting his thumb stroke Mikey's chin, the perfect bow of his mouth.
Mikey's watching him, still and careful, and then he exchanges a long look with Gerard that Frank can't read, not on either side, before he looks back at Frank.
Frank takes a deep breath and lets it out again. He says, "Can I kiss you?"
Mikey doesn't answer, and he doesn't wait: he grabs Frank's head and hauls him in close. It's dirty, aggressive, hungry, nothing like a first kiss at all. Frank doesn't know how long it lasts, but Gerard's grip is tight as a vise on his leg the entire time.
When they break apart, they're both out of breath. Frank turns to look back to Gerard, and it pulls at the grip Mikey still has, tight in his hair. Mikey lets go as soon as he does, but it was nice, that pressure, the slight edge of pain.
Gerard is smiling and his eyes are dark. He says, "Mikey?"
Frank's not sure what question he's asking, but Mikey nods, once, and then says, "Yes," too. Softly but firmly. He smiles back at Gerard.
"Okay," says Gerard. He leans forward to kiss Frank, soft on the lips, like a promise, and then kisses Mikey on the cheek.
"What happens now?" Frank says.
"Well, Otter and Ray are both walking across the parking lot," Mikey says. "I think we're gonna start driving again."
That's not what Frank meant, but maybe it's good enough for now. He sits back in the seat again, leans his head against Gerard's shoulder and closes his eyes while Mikey and Gerard start talking, something about Iron Man, and just listens to the drone of their voices for a while.
by Pearl-o
Gerard/Frank/Mikey, PG-13, van days. ~1900 words.
For my dearest bexless ♥♥♥
Summary: Frank knows a test when he hears one, but he still gets the answer wrong.
*****
So they're at a rest top in the middle of fuck-knows-where. Mikey and Otter have wandered off to get real food, because Otter scrounged up some money under a cushion last stop, and there's a cheap crappy restaurant across the way, the kind that looks it's maybe a strip club (excuse him, gentleman's lounge) at the same exact time, which makes a guy curious. And Ray is -- well, Frank's not exactly sure where Ray is; he might be at the Walmart picking up snacks or he might have gotten lost and fallen asleep behind the gas station, it's even odds either way. The point is, he's not here, in the van. It's just Frank and Gerard right now and it's the first time they've had more than five minutes alone in days, and Frank is fucking on fire.
He has Gerard pushed down against the backseat, dirty hair tangling between his fingers. Gerard's been eating nothing but nacho doritos for the last three days; there's still yellow powder stuck to the cracks of the corners of his mouth, and Frank licks it out for him as Gerard giggles beneath him. They're kissing, and it's hard and fast and it's so fucking good, and this is still so new -- just a couple weeks now since Gerard drunkenly pecked him after the show and stood still and waited and God, Gerard's so fucking brave, braver than Frank, he didn't think he'd ever get up the nerve, not when it was so easy to laugh off as a joke.
Still new, still brand-new, because there's never any time or privacy; Frank can count the number of times they've gotten to really make out on one hand. Gerard's made him come once, a too-fast handjob behind a venue when they went out for a smoke, and Mikey Way had walked out from around the corner almost before Frank was zipped back up, way before he had a chance to get at Gerard's dick. He stood there awkwardly while Mikey bummed a cigarette off Gerard and the two of them chatted about the show, like Gerard wasn't just jerking him off, like he wasn't hard as nails in his pants right then.
It's precious, these caught moments, and that's what makes it so fucking unbelievable that Gerard is pushing him away.
"Frank, wait," Gerard says, and he pushes Frank away, gently, at the shoulders. Frank starts to sit up, but that's too far, apparently, because Gerard's arms go around him. So they're still close, still pressed against each other, but Gerard shakes his head when Frank tries for another kiss.
"No, wait," he repeats. "I need to ask you something."
"What is it?"
Gerard brushes his hand through Frank's hair and looks up at him thoughtfully. "Do you like Mikey?"
Frank blinks down at him. "I - what? Seriously?"
"Seriously," says Gerard. "I need to know, okay. Just."
"Of course I like Mikey," Frank says. "You know that. He's like ... my best friend."
Gerard is shaking his head. His foot is still hooked behind the back of Frank's leg, pulling them down against each other. It's fucking distracting. Frank can feel that Gerard's hard, too, so he's not sure why he's concentrating on talking about his brother instead of that.
"That's not what I mean." Gerard lifts himself up just enough to kiss Frank, soft and sweet and gone immediately. "I mean. Like this. Do you like Mikey like that?"
And okay, Frank is not the most experienced guy in the world, but he's had his share of girlfriends in the past. He knows a test when he hears one. Maybe this is like the guys' equivalent of asking if the dress makes them look fat (although really, he could see Gerard asking that, too). Either way he knows what to say.
"What? No. Don't be silly," he adds, just for extra emphasis. "I like you."
He knows that has to be the right answer, and he waits for Gerard's dazzling shy smile, right on cue, the same one he got the first time they held hands or when Frank bought him the right kind of soda and gum on the convenience store run. But it's not coming: instead, Gerard is actually frowning, squinching up his face.
"Oh," Gerard says, and he sounds more disappointed than anything else. "Okay, then."
There has to be something Frank's missing here, but fuck if he knows what. He's not sure how to get the two of them back on to the making out place, though, and this time Gerard lets him go when he tries to sit up. Frank lets out a sigh and rubs his face with both hands as he slinks back into the seat, his head against the back. Gerard sits up, too, pulling down at his hoodie where Frank's pushed it up to get at his skin. Gerard puts his sunglasses back on and looks out the window, his face still looking sad.
"You have to give me a hint, here," Frank says, finally, when Gerard doesn't say anything.
Gerard looks over at him, surprised. "It's not a big deal, Frank, forget I mentioned it. Don't say anything to Mikey, okay."
"Anything to Mikey about what," Frank says, and he has to grit his teeth a little.
Gerard has one of his hands in the other, twisting them around. He and Frank both look down at them while he talks. "I -- see, the thing is, Frank. It's just. It's Mikey, you know? I love him more than anything, okay, I just want him to-- I want him to have everything he wants. I want him to be happy. And if I can do that and I don't, what kind of brother does that make me? You know? So I thought maybe I could, but I guess I was wrong." Gerard shrugs at the end and looks back up to Frank and waits. Like any of that made any sense at all.
"What does me liking Mikey have to do with Mikey being happy?" Frank says, and he realizes that it's a stupid question about three-quarters of the way through it. "Oh, man. Does -- really? He never said anything. Like, ever."
Gerard shrugs, a little sadly. "You never said anything to me," he points out.
"Shit," says Frank. The truth is -- if Frank is completely, one hundred percent honest with himself -- the truth is, Frank isn't entirely sure what he would have done if he'd had this knowledge a month ago. Before this thing with Gerard. There's something about the Ways that makes him glow and he's never been bothered to sort out what was what. There was never a reason to: they were his friends and he loved them and they loved him. And then Gerard made a move and it was more.
"Yeah," says Gerard. "So."
Frank is replaying the last couple of minutes in his mind, because it still doesn't seem quite right. "So, wait. If you thought I liked Mikey, you would -- what? Give me up? You want me to fuck Mikey instead of you? I'm a person, you can't just give me to him like an old sweater. Fuck."
Gerard's mouth is open in a little o. "Frank! No! I wouldn't -- I like you a lot." He rests his hand on Frank's arm, warm and sweaty. "I just... There's never been anything me and Mikey both wanted that we didn't, couldn't share. I guess."
Frank stares at him for a long second. He's just opening his mouth to reply when the van doors open again, and Mikey Way stands on the pavement, sun framing his head like a halo, his face impossible to see through the glare.
"I brought you the rest of my French fries," he says to Gerard without preamble, and then he climbs over the two of them to the row in front of them.
Gerard says to Frank, "Mikey loves French fries. But he saved some for me." He says it gently, like it's supposed to be an explanation. Like he's pleading with Frank to understand.
There's really nothing Frank can say. He's not a fucking French fry.
But on the other hand, he's looking ahead at the back of Mikey's head, his straight brown hair scraggly down to his puffy jacket collar. And when he extends his hand and strokes at the soft edges, Mikey leans into his touch immediately. Like a cat that wants to be petted. The kind of cat that never asks for it itself.
Frank can feel the pressure of Gerard's hand on his knee: approval and encouragement. The Ways are so fucking weird, he thinks. This is so fucking weird and kind of twisted, even, but he can't deny he wants it. More than anything he's let himself think about.
"Hey, Mikey," Frank says, "turn around."
Mikey's face is expressionless when he turns. Frank stares at him and moves his hand to the side of Mikey's cheek, letting his thumb stroke Mikey's chin, the perfect bow of his mouth.
Mikey's watching him, still and careful, and then he exchanges a long look with Gerard that Frank can't read, not on either side, before he looks back at Frank.
Frank takes a deep breath and lets it out again. He says, "Can I kiss you?"
Mikey doesn't answer, and he doesn't wait: he grabs Frank's head and hauls him in close. It's dirty, aggressive, hungry, nothing like a first kiss at all. Frank doesn't know how long it lasts, but Gerard's grip is tight as a vise on his leg the entire time.
When they break apart, they're both out of breath. Frank turns to look back to Gerard, and it pulls at the grip Mikey still has, tight in his hair. Mikey lets go as soon as he does, but it was nice, that pressure, the slight edge of pain.
Gerard is smiling and his eyes are dark. He says, "Mikey?"
Frank's not sure what question he's asking, but Mikey nods, once, and then says, "Yes," too. Softly but firmly. He smiles back at Gerard.
"Okay," says Gerard. He leans forward to kiss Frank, soft on the lips, like a promise, and then kisses Mikey on the cheek.
"What happens now?" Frank says.
"Well, Otter and Ray are both walking across the parking lot," Mikey says. "I think we're gonna start driving again."
That's not what Frank meant, but maybe it's good enough for now. He sits back in the seat again, leans his head against Gerard's shoulder and closes his eyes while Mikey and Gerard start talking, something about Iron Man, and just listens to the drone of their voices for a while.