Fic: Skin of the Canvas, 4/6
The Skin of the Canvas 4/6
part one -- part two -- part three -- part four -- part five -- part six
---
"Is that a hickey?" Maja says. She's smiling over the edge of her cup, the surface of her milky-brown tea denting and shifting with her breath.
"No," Gerard says automatically, then puts his hand up to the side of his neck. "Where?"
"Here." Maja's fingertips are hot from holding her cup of tea. The spot of skin she touches is sore. Gerard shivers, involuntarily.
"Guess so," Gerard says. He doesn't remember Frank giving him a hickey, but it might have happened. Or he banged his neck into something, poked himself. "Maybe I poked myself? Or it's a zit," he offers, and lifts his chin. She peers in and giggles, shaking her head.
"No, it's a hickey."
"Huh."
Maja bubbles quietly for a few moments, and then says, "Well? Who is it?"
Gerard bites his lip, but he can feel a goofy, tiny smile working its way out across his face. "You remember Frank? The model? With the tattoos?"
"Ooh," she says, and giggles again. "Ooh, ooh."
"Ooh," he agrees. "You ready to go back in?" Maja shrugs, still beaming at him, and Gerard holds open the door for her.
"He must be a good kisser. He looked like a good kisser," Maja says, bumping companionably into Gerard's space. She's got four skinny scarves wound haphazardly around her neck -- the weather's been getting warmer, but there's still a nip in the air -- and her hair's back in a spiky short ponytail. She's beautiful, Gerard can see that. He's not that gay.
"He is a really good kisser," Gerard agrees, and thinks of Frank's mouth. Maja giggles and looks up at him, and Gerard grins back at her. "I don't know if he likes me, though."
"He likes your neck well enough," Maja points out, and shoulders open the door to their classroom.
"Well, he likes me like that," Gerard says, and touches the tender spot again. "But I don't know if he likes me, likes me." Maja just rolls her eyes and flaps her hand at him. "I don't know," he says, moving to unzip the zipper of his portfolio. "I just want to give it time."
Molko doesn't make them draw on the days when they turn in work. For the midterm, though, he's having each one of them pin their work up, one person at a time, so that the class can do a group critique. Maja went before the break, with careful portraits that sectioned off her model's body into parts. It made her model seem lanky, even grotesque. Gerard was pretty sure that she was trying to work through what style she wanted to use on her senior projects. The other students had been nasty about it, but that's kind of normal; other art students are why Gerard hates art school.
Gerard slides his own work out with a sense of inevitability; he knows that they won't like it. Gerard takes out his sketchbook, turns to a fresh page, and starts a careful record of the critique:
MIDTERM CRITIQUE
The last one is Maja's comment. Gerard underlines it twice and doodles a tiny star next to it.
Molko's comments are brief, and even though Gerard's stomach clenches and rolls, he's actually pretty positive. He agrees with Maja about the ink wash for the background, and then he says, "If you're going to invoke the graphic novel, you should do it intentionally, Gerard. There's no problem with the style, as long as it's done with intent."
Gerard looks at his pictures again, tacked up on the wall, and Frank stares back. He looks like he's thinking I told you so, and Gerard has to hold back the urge to stick out his tongue.
Dave puts his work up after Gerard takes his down. It's a glorious finish, for Gerard at least; Molko totally rips Dave a new one for one of his portraits, which is basically a bland, simplistic series of lines. Gerard manages not to smirk at Dave while Molko yells at him, but it's rough going, especially when Dave starts to whine.
At the end of class, Gerard glances over to make sure Dave isn't paying attention and says to Maja, "But I was trying to work with the space of the page," in falsetto. Maja snickers, and Gerard feels like overall he's come out on top.
They turn in their portfolios, stacking their work together in one corner. His hands feel empty afterwards, without his kit or his drawing pad in hand. He fidgets with his coat lapels as he walks out with Maja. "So how are you feeling?" she says, when they pause outside the front door to light their cigarettes. Gerard shrugs, and she smiles.
"Do you want to get a coffee?" he asks. Maja blinks at him, obviously startled. "You offer every class," he says, tentatively, and she shakes her head.
"You just never-- no, of course I'd like to," she says, "As long as you're okay with meeting the boys, too." He nods, and she loops her arm through his. "So tell me about this hickey."
"Oh my god," he says, and pulls away from her. "No!" She's laughing at him, and he can't help but giggle. "I'm not telling you about my sex life."
"Oh, so it's a sex life?" Maja laughs, cocking an eyebrow. "Not just kisses?"
"Oh my god," Gerard repeats. She looks at him expectantly, and he coughs delicately and takes his time smoking. "I guess, sure. Does a handjob count?"
She shrieks and waves her hands. Gerard has to hide his face in his arm, and he nearly trips over the curb in front of the coffee shop. Maja catches his elbow. "Don't die," she says, "You lucky devil, don't die."
"I blew him, actually," he admits, and she tugs him closer to her, giggling again. "I am so easy."
"Easy doesn't matter. Was it good?" she whispers, tilting her head close to him. "Did you like it? Did he like it?" She turns her head to take a drag from her cigarette, exhales, and then turns back to him, expectant.
Gerard pushes his hair out of his face. "I liked it a lot," he says, feeling giddy and stupid. "He's so pretty. He's really funny, and really, like, critical? But in this really cool way, like he gets it and he cares. And he--" He pauses, "He has great hands. I mean, even apart from the. Y'know."
"I'm sure," she says, and leans back. She's laughing at him, but Gerard doesn't mind. "Oh, Gerard," she says, and he smiles at her around his cigarette, tucking his hair behind his ears again.
When they go into the coffee shop, Maja heads straight for a table in the back of the room. There are two men sitting there, with coffee cups sitting in front of them. One's a skinny white guy, wearing an obscenely purple jogging suit; the other's a skinny black guy, in a baggy white shirt and jeans. The black guy has his feet up on the white guy's lap. "I'm telling you, there was naked Twister," he says as they walk up to the table, "Right hand on green has been redefined."
"Hello boys," Maja says. She bends to kiss first one, then the other, stretching across the table to reach. "This is Gerard, my friend from school." Maja gestures back at Gerard, and Gerard gives them both a little wave.
"Hi," he gets out, and then the white guy is standing up and enveloping him in a full-body hug. "Nice to meet you," Gerard says to the guy's armpit.
"That would be Gabe," Maja says, laughing. Gabe pulls back and makes the horseshoe crab hand sign Maja had shown him. Gerard does jazz hands back, and Gabe gives him a thumbs up.
"And this is Travis," Maja says. Travis doesn't get up, but he shakes Gerard's hand firmly and says, "Gabe, could you get this man a coffee?"
"I won't even put anything in it," Gabe says, "But the day is young." He runs his hand over Gerard's shoulder before he leaves.
Travis snorts, and Maja rolls her eyes. "He's always like that," she says.
"How do you know him?" Gerard says tentatively.
"We started making time with the same woman," Travis says, and puts his feet up on Gabe's chair. Gerard blinks, opens his mouth, and shuts it again. They don't seem to notice; Maja tsks at Travis, and Travis grins back at her. "It's true," Travis says. "I only put up with him because of you, baby."
"Of course," she says, "You're not friends at all."
"Not at all," Travis agrees, and then shouts, "Get me a swizzle stick!" to Gabe.
"I didn't know you were with both of them," Gerard says. He feels dumb, but Maja just shrugs and smiles ruefully.
"I don't talk about it much," she says. "Mostly because people don't get it, yeah? But kind of because they're exhausting."
"I can imagine," Gerard says. "Are you-- I mean. This is kind of rude."
"Okay," Maja says, her mouth tilting up on one side.
"You're, like. You're all together?" Gerard wants to make some sort of hand gesture, but he can't think of what it should be. His hands twitch restlessly on the table. Apparently he didn't need a gesture, though, because Travis is shaking his head. "Oh, so not you and Gabe," Gerard says.
"No way," Travis says. "Not my type at all." He stops, and seems to be considering Gabe. "Gabe's not bitchy enough," he says, and Maja nods her confirmation.
"Isn't it hard?" Gerard blurts out.
Maja hesitates, and then shrugs. "Like I said, tiring," she says. Travis laughs. "And sometimes people say boring things."
"'I couldn't do that,'" Travis says, his eyes wide, and after a beat Gerard realizes he's imitating what people say. "'Don't you get jealous?'"
"They just imply that I'm a slut," Maja tells him, "Much easier to deal with. Those are the only downsides of having both of them in my life," she continues, turning back to Gerard, "the stupid shitheads and how much energy it takes. They're worth it, but." Travis rubs the back of her neck, and she puts her head down on her folded arms and gives a dramatic groan. He rubs his thumb along the side of her neck.
"We're definitely worth it," Travis says. "Don't lie to me, we're more than worth it."
Gabe puts Gerard's coffee down in front of him with a flourish, and hands Travis a swizzle stick. Travis pops it in his mouth. The two of them hold a complicated conversation with their eyebrows, and Gabe says, "Do I need to promise not to do something again? 'Cause I will, I'm primed. Get your promises while they're hot."
"I don't know," Travis says, "But I think we're good for the moment." He looks over at Maja again. His expression is warm and watchful. "She's just tired," he says, voice slightly softer. Gabe shoves Travis' feet off of his chair and sits down. Maja peers up at him through her hair, and when he puts his hand out palm up on the table, she reaches out and puts her hand in his.
That's what Gerard remembers about them, later. "They just looked peaceful," he says. The phone receiver is damp against his lips, but he doesn't pull it away from his face. "They looked like they were all supporting each other, that it didn't matter what people said about them, or how bad it got." Mikey is silent. "I just think that maybe Frank can be that, for me, maybe. I kept thinking about him, when they were talking to each other, and I think maybe he could be a friend. Too, like, a boyfriend and a friend."
"He likes comic books?" Mikey asks doubtfully.
"He really does, I promise. Doom Patrol, he likes Doom Patrol."
"Did you ask him whether he likes Batman or Superman better?"
"I was too scared," Gerard admits. "I think I would be into him even if he liked Superman."
"Okay, wow," Mikey says, and they both laugh for a long minute.
"I know!" Gerard says, when they've mostly stopped. "I would want to kick my ass, too. It's like, 'way to give up your principles.' But he's really-- he's really--"
"He's really Frank," Mikey interrupts.
"Yeah," Gerard says slowly. "Yeah, that's the thing." They're silent again, the both of them breathing. "Mikey, you'll tell me when you fall in love, right?" Gerard whispers, finally.
"I will," Mikey says, matter of fact, and Gerard breathes a little easier.
"I think I could be," he stutters out. "Getting there, I mean. Eventually." Mikey just breathes. "It's weird."
"Yeah," Mikey says. "Yeah, I know."
"Thanks," Gerard whispers. "I love you, Mikey."
"Love you too," Mikey says, "Gotta go, 'bye." It takes him a few seconds to hang up the phone, though. Gerard knows how he feels.
---
"Do you want to hang out?" Gerard says, and shakes his head. "Okay, okay. Do you maybe want to go to a movie?" He shakes his head again, and then tips his head back to get his hair out of his face. "How about dinner and a movie?" he tries. "Ice cream and a movie? Tacos and a movie? Salad and-- fuck."
The picture of a hamster he has taped to his wall is unimpressed.
She started out looking kind of hopeful, but Gerard has been disappointing her. "Screw you," Gerard tells her. "Frank likes me. And awkward is charming." It comes out a little weaker than he wishes it would, probably because of the hamster's disbelieving expression. Gerard pushes himself up from his bed and goes out to the kitchen, where she can't condescend to him. The phone's out there, anyway.
He's getting better at this; it's only been a couple of weeks since he and Frank first started hanging out, but Gerard only frets for ten minutes now before he calls.
He calls, too. Gerard isn't usually the guy who calls. Not because he thinks he's hot shit -- though Bert had suggested that a couple of times -- but because he's forgetful. He zones out, has work to do, gets distracted by people who see him every day, goes to meetings instead of calling, calls his sponsor instead of calling, doesn't feel like it, it's been too long since he last called--
But Gerard calls Frank.
"Hello," Bob says, and Gerard says, "Hi! Is--"
"Hi, Gerard," Bob says. They sit for a moment in mutual silence. "I beat the level that was screwing me over on Zelda," Bob says, and Gerard makes an appreciative sound. "Frank's home, let me get him."
"Okay," Gerard says, but he's talking to dead air. Bob's amped about something; probably Legend of Zelda. Frank picks up after a second, and he hears shuffling in the background. "Can you tell Bob congratulations?"
Frank says, "Hey Bob, congrats." Gerard hears Bob say something back. "He says thanks," Frank tells him. "Did you call to talk to Bob or me?"
"You," Gerard says, "Don't be a dumbass. Do you want to go to a movie?" It's maybe not the way he meant to approach it. He can feel the hamster's disapproval through the wall.
Frank says, "Sure, what movie?" and Gerard blinks.
"Um," Gerard says, and laughs. "I hadn't thought that far."
"Why?"
"You might play hard to get," Gerard says, pawing through the papers on the kitchen counter to see if a weekly paper is mixed in there. There isn't. "Then I would be all disappointed that I'd picked this awesome movie and had nobody to see it with."
"When have I played hard to get?" Frank asks, like he's genuinely curious.
"I guess never," Gerard says, "but I've only got myself for a standard, and I'm way easier than you."
Frank scoffs. "As if!"
"But I tell people I'm a slut when I meet them," Gerard says. "Just ask Bob."
Gerard rolls his eyes when Frank immediately says, "Bob?" Frank is incredibly literal, Gerard is learning that. Frank continues, "Did Gerard tell you he was a slut when he met you?" Gerard smothers his laughter in his hand, just to hear Frank's laugh when Bob responds. "Oh my God, a 'hot slut'?" Frank says, giggling high and stupid. "You can't just go around saying that to my roommates." Bob starts talking in the background again. Gerard stretches the phone cord into the entryway of the bedroom and kicks around the mess there, back to looking for a paper. "Bob says it's okay, actually, because it's important to be honest, if you're going to be a hot slut and all," Frank tells him. Gerard hmms thoughtfully, and finds a paper he'd picked up at his meeting the day before. "Are you paying attention?" Frank asks him.
"Yup," Gerard says. "I'm a hot slut, Bob speaks the truth, and you're helping me decide on a movie."
"Right on the nose," Frank says. Gerard goes back to the kitchen and flips open the paper on the counter. "Let's go to the theater by your place," Frank says, "I love the screens at that place, they're fucking ridiculous."
"You are so weird," Gerard says absently. "You're just catering to my agoraphobia, don't pretend you care about the screen size." Still, he runs his finger down to the theater nearest his house and meditates on their choices.
Frank chatters, "If we're going to see something awesome, it's really crucial that you get the full and complete awesomey goodness. Getting full goodness includes maximal screen size."
"And now you're trying to distract me," Gerard tells him, scowling down at the paper. "At least stop being obvious about it."
"Shut up," Frank says easily, "I like catering to your freakish fears, Gerard. It's why I'm your boyfriend."
Gerard's heart goes from first to fourth gear without even using the clutch, and his breath stalls in his chest. He coughs, bringing his lungs back on line, and says, "Well, good. Good for you. We're seeing Shakespeare in Love." In his head, a tiny fireworks show is taking place, spelling out BOYFRIEND in glittery pink lights.
"Does it have explosions?"
Gerard starts, and then remembers the movie. "Uh, yes?"
"Okay then."
The movie doesn't have explosions. The movie does have period dress, Gwyneth Paltrow's breasts, and witty banter, but there is a categorical lack of explosions.
Gerard only gets to see little pieces of the movie, though, over Frank's shoulder. It's entirely possible there was an explosion while Frank was distracting Gerard with his tongue.
"An explosion in your pants," Frank says, poking at the bottom of his soda glass.
"That, too. But there could have been an explosion on screen while we weren't looking." Frank's straw stops mid-poke, and Frank looks up and raises an eyebrow. "Probably not," Gerard admits.
Frank goes back to his ice cube excavation. "Definitely not. I have a sixth sense for approaching cinematic explosions." He puts down his soda, finally. "Can I put out now?"
"What?"
"TV tells me that if my boyfriend treats me to dinner and a movie, I have to put out," Frank says, looking at Gerard with big soulful eyes. Gerard gets distracted by the shine on his lower lip. Frank clears his throat pointedly, and Gerard starts, trying to pay attention. "TV's always right," Frank says.
"Right," Gerard says. "I-- what?" Frank's lower lip is soft and wet. Gerard wants to lick it.
"You suck at this." Frank digs in his pocket, slides some money onto the diner table, and grabs Gerard's hand. "C'mon, now you have to put out, too."
Then Gerard sneezes on Frank's dick.
Obviously there's some other stuff before that. There's running through the dark streets, laughing breathlessly, drawing catcalls from the people hanging out on their front stoops, Gerard feeling young and daring and completely sober.
There's the trip up the stairs, Frank's ass in front of him, switching back and forth under the baggy denim of his jeans until Gerard can't take it anymore. There's Gerard hauling Frank back by his belt loops on the landing before his floor and grinding up against him. There's Frank reaching back and dragging Gerard's head down, and Gerard kissing him hard, enjoying the happy hum Frank always makes when he does it.
And there's his apartment, finally, and remembering to close the door so they don't scandalize Mrs. de la Cruz more than they already have, and yanking off Frank's shirt and licking his gorgeous throat and unbuttoning his jeans. There's Gerard dropping down on his knees with a thud.
Then there's Frank's hands tangled in his hair, urging him forward just enough, and there's Gerard looking up, taking just the head of Frank's cock in his mouth--
And then he sneezes.
He doesn't bite, but that's about the only saving grace. Gerard sneezes again, wipes at his nose with his sleeve, and looks at Frank. Frank is gazing down at him with an unreadable expression. "You sneezed on my dick," Frank says.
"Yes," Gerard says. He can feel all of the blood in his body rushing to his face. Frank's hard-on is definitely going away. Gerard feels so unsexy right now, he thinks he may die. Maybe murder Frank to keep him quiet, wipe his snot off of Frank's dick, and then die. Gerard closes his eyes and wishes very, very hard.
"You--" Frank gets out. Gerard opens his eyes and chances a look up at Frank. Frank is shaking.
"I hate you," Gerard says preemptively, and Frank bursts into wild laughter.
"You sneezed on my dick!" Frank howls, and then he actually falls over laughing. Gerard punches him in the leg, and Frank curls up protectively. "Oh my God!"
"Oh my God," Gerard echoes, and slumps back until he's sitting against the far wall.
Frank is writhing around on the floor, gasping and red-faced. He is such an asshole.
"You're such a jerk," Gerard says, and nudges Frank with his foot. Gerard's smiling, though, a tiny little bit. Frank looks ridiculous.
"Sneezed!" Frank yells, and Gerard laughs before he can stop himself. He stifles it with his hand, but Frank points and yelps, and Gerard gives it up and just laughs along with him.
When they've finally laughed themselves out -- Gerard maybe prolonged it by saying "snotty dick" a bunch of times -- Frank is lying on his back, holding his stomach and saying, "whoooo" over and over, giggling in between repetitions.
"Oh man," Gerard says. "Can I ever blow you again?"
"Any time you want," Frank says, with satisfying speed. "But maybe you're allergic."
"I'll get shots or pills or something," Gerard says dismissively, flapping his hand.
Frank says, "That's so sweet," and leans over to bite Gerard's ear. Gerard just leans his forehead against Frank's chest and giggles.
Gerard finally whispers, "I've never done something that embarrassing while I was sober before." He picks up his head and rests his chin on Frank's chest. "Not since I was a little kid." Frank grins at him.
"It was awesome," he says. When Gerard looks doubtful, he says, "That's the whole point of sex, I think."
Gerard blinks. "What," he says, "dick snot?" Frank curls up laughing again, bumping the top of Gerard's head with his chin.
"No!" Frank says. "The embarrassing stuff. That's the whole point of sex, it's embarrassing." Frank lies back down, looking up at the ceiling. "When my high school girlfriend and I were trying anal for the first time ever, I couldn't stay hard."
"At all?"
"My dick was fucking floppy. No real reason why -- she was hot, I had no problems with my dick in her ass -- just couldn't do it." Frank wiggles his arm out from where it's pinned under Gerard's chest so he can push his fingers through Gerard's hair. "And then once I went down on a girl for, like, an hour, and it wasn't doing anything. Like, nothing. And then she finally gets fed up and yanks up on my hair, and I was like, 'oh, whoops, there's your clit! Hi!'"
Gerard gasps a little laugh, squeezing his eyes shut. "I used to get whiskey dick all the time," he says, and turns his head to rest his cheek over Frank's heart. "I would get hard, but then if I got distracted at all--"
"Limp city," Frank says. "I have so been there."
"And then one time," Gerard says, "I sneezed on my boyfriend's dick." Frank laughs again, and Gerard grins, feeling warm and weirdly perfect. "And I wanted to die," he says, "But I'm glad I didn't."
"Me, too. Success all around."
"Definitely."
They lie there for a while, sprawled half-clothed on Gerard's messy, messy floor.
Eventually Gerard manages to blow Frank without sneezing. Frank does a naked victory lap around Gerard's apartment, while Gerard curls up on his bed and giggles.
---
So Gerard is Frank's boyfriend. It's perplexing, the experience of really being someone's boyfriend; Gerard's never really done it before, not like he is now. It's terrifying. All he's got is blurry memories of what he did wrong when he was three sheets to the wind and what he's seen in movies and TV.
Gerard starts keeping a list, because lists are good, lists are solid and reliable. Frank hasn't looked behind the edge of Gerard's curtains yet, so Gerard tapes his list underneath the first sketch he did of Frank. Thus far he has "flowers: whatever," "asking him out: yay (remember to pick a movie first)," and "no spider jokes."
Gerard's not sure how to rank "going to special events," though. He knows that if Frank were keeping a list on Gerard like Gerard is for Frank, that item would be "oh, how nice." When Frank asks him to come to a party at his house, though, he asks with a weird sort of formality, which makes Gerard suspect that it's a "kiss me now" sort of thing for Frank. It's unconfirmed, though -- Frank just smiles and nods when Gerard says he'll go -- so Gerard doesn't write it in just yet.
It's the first party Gerard will have gone to since he got sober, so Gerard calls Brian. Brian rattles off a list: stay away from the side of the house with the beer, talk to people you know, don't be afraid to leave, call me whenever you get home, Jesus princess one of these days you're going to give me an ulcer, make sure you eat well before you get there.
Then Gerard calls Mikey. Mikey tells Gerard about his history project and a record shop he found in the next town over. Gerard tells Mikey all about the party, and Mikey coaches him through what to do and when to go and what to wear. Gerard has to go to work before they can really talk about the party like Gerard wants to, but Mikey says, "Leave early if you want to," before they hang up, and it feels like enough.
Frank told him that the party started at nine. Gerard has a shift at the art store that ends at eight, but he jumps on the subway right afterwards, and he gets home in pretty decent time. He gets home and eats a giant bowl of cereal, and then forces down a bowl of canned soup on top of that. He takes a quick shower, even though he already showered three days ago, and he even washes his hair.
He decided to wear all black, even though Brian's always telling him to add color to his wardrobe. He figures a bunch of Frank's punk rock friends will be fine with an all black outfit. Anyway, Gerard's white and red shirts are both in the laundry pile, which is a definite sign that they won't pass a sniff test.
Even after all of that preparation, Gerard's still got a half hour before he's supposed to leave. He doesn't want to get there early -- he wants to get there late, actually, Mikey told him that, too -- so Gerard sits on his bed and reads comics for a while, then paints his toenails hot pink. Once they've dried, he's actually running sort of later than he wanted, which he figures has to be good. Gerard checks for his wallet and his keys one last time, grabs the new trade collection of Transmetropolitan, and leaves the house. He buys a bag of skittles to eat on the subway, and then heads for the train that will take him to the train that will take him to Frank's house.
Gerard's stomach is turning over and over on itself. He catches a glimpse of himself in the subway safety mirror, and his eyeliner looks too thick on one eye. Once he's on the subway car, he checks himself in the window unobtrusively, wetting his fingertip with his tongue and trying to even it out. He brought his sunglasses, but Brian told him not to wear them inside anymore, even though it makes Gerard look like a vampire and is therefore excellent. Gerard gives up on fixing his eyeliner after he realizes that it isn't going to budge -- he'll just have an excuse to put on his sunglasses if someone says something -- and flips open the trade on his lap.
He's gotten himself in a worried mindset, though. He can't concentrate on the comic; he's too busy worrying that his clothes are too art school, and then that maybe Frank's friends will think he's a goth. He doesn't want them to think he's a goth, Gerard thinks sadly. Not that there's anything wrong with goths, but Gerard isn't one. Not really.
Gerard finally rips open the Skittles he bought, and spills them out in his palm. He counts how many there are of each color, and begins eating them in descending order of frequency; it keeps him busy enough to avoid worrying until he gets to the right stop.
When Gerard gets to Frank's place, there are a couple of kids sitting on the front stoop, smoking and sharing a bottle in a brown paper bag. "Apartment four?" one of them says, as Gerard walks up, and Gerard jerks his head in a nod. The kid pushes open the door. "Head right up," he smirks.
"Thanks," Gerard says, and catches the edge of the door so he can slip through. The kids are murmuring, and before the door swings shut he hears them snigger. He can already feel a blush working its way up into his cheeks, but he squares his shoulders. "At least I looked like I was going to apartment four," he says to himself, and starts up the stairs.
The door to Frank's apartment is banging open and shut. Gerard approaches it warily, but when he gets in front of it the guy who's been slamming it holds it open and says, "Percussion, sorry! Come on in!"
"Cool," Gerard says, and hooks his hair behind his ears. He gives the guy a smile, hoping it doesn't make him look like a tool. He asks, "Is Frank here?"
"Are you the boyfriend?"
"Yes, I'm the boyfriend," Gerard says. He clears his throat at the guy's grin. "Who're you?"
"Dan," the guy chirps. "I've heard some things about you, you're like a star in all the drama, hey?"
"Drama?" Gerard says faintly, but Dan is already shoving through the people crammed in the front hall. Gerard scrambles to follow in his wake. Everyone is staring at him, it feels like, but when he tries to make eye contact they turn away like they were never looking at all. There are a lot of faux hawks and edgy dye jobs. Gerard pats nervously at his hair with the hand not holding his comic book.
When Dan leads him into the living room, Frank is sitting on the back of the couch. Gerard stops and looks at him, appreciating the sweaty strands of his hair, the way his shirt clings to his body. Frank looks up, then, and he grins when he sees Gerard. "Hi!" he says, and he gets up to kiss Gerard hello. His mouth tastes like beer, and Gerard startles back. "Oh, sorry," Frank says. "Whoops. You look pretty."
"It's cool," Gerard says, trying not to screw up his mouth with distaste. "And thanks." He wipes at his mouth covertly with the back of his hand. "Is there juice?"
"Sure, other room," Frank says, and then turns back to whatever he was doing on the couch. Gerard stands there a moment longer, waiting for something, and then finally turns and walks into the kitchen.
He gets a glass of orange juice from the collection of mixers, stashes his comic book with the coats, and then walks around, searching for people he knows. He finds Ray at one point, and they talk amiably about guitars and high school again. Ray even tells him about the last gig Frank's band played.
"Frank pretty much dedicated a song to you," Ray half-shouts. "You've really done a number on him." Gerard blushes and preens. Ray toasts him mock-seriously.
Eventually Ray gets recruited to play flip cup, but Gerard feels pretty good about the conversation. He's feeling a little bolder, so he talks to a couple of new people, joining a conversation about electronica and one about fantasy novels. He makes people laugh a couple of times, which gives him a happy rush. He's actually feeling pretty confident by the time he bumps into Bob, so he exclaims, "Hi! Bob!"
"Hi," Bob says seriously. They look at each other for a beat.
"How's the Legend of Zelda?" Gerard asks, with more caution.
"Okay." Bob shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't say anything more.
Gerard says tentatively, "Is everything all right?" and Bob blows out a breath.
"Look--" Bob stops. "I like you, but I can't talk to you tonight."
"What?" Gerard bites his lip and pushes his hair out of his face. "Okay?"
"I'm dating Jepha," Bob says, "And--"
Gerard takes a stumbling step back, feeling unreasonably betrayed. "No, it's cool, I get it," he says. Bob looks sorry, but Gerard still feels like he should get out of there soon. He escapes to the kitchen to refill his glass.
"What're you drinking?" a guy asks him. His eyes are bright, and his smile is a little too loose. "What's your poison?"
Gerard holds himself back from sneering, but it's a very near thing. "I've got it, dude," he says, and grabs the orange juice.
"Add the liquor first!" the guy says. Gerard rolls his eyes and pours the juice in, picks it up and smiles at the guy.
"Perfectly mixed," he says, camping it up just a bit.
The guy is not impressed. "Bogarting the mixer, so uncool," he tells Gerard.
"I'll buy more later," Gerard says. The guy ignores him, heading back out of the kitchen and into the mass of people in the hallway. "And go fuck yourself," Gerard mutters.
Gerard turns to the window. There are people in the kitchen, but it's a little quieter, and the lights are bright. Gerard really doesn't want to go back out to the living room right now.
There is a six pack of beer on the table, with four bottles left. It is Brooklyn Lager. Gerard does not particularly like Brooklyn Lager, but he'll drink it if it's the only thing around. He could take one of those beers right now, and no one would notice. Just one beer, if he drank it fast enough, would make him a little silly. Two would be okay, two to make him feel loose and easy, and he knows he hits the sweet spot at three. Three beers makes him the life of the party, makes everyone love him, makes him funny. There are four beers on the table, for anyone to take.
Gerard doesn't know why he does this, staying sober. He doesn't know why it matters so much. It's not like he's getting anything done anyway, or doing anything better than he did when he was a drunk. People like him better when he's drunk -- people have said so, even.
Gerard closes his eyes, sips his juice, and waits for the wanting to pass, waits for the surge of disgust that eventually wells up. Yeah, he could go back to drinking. He could go back to living at his mother's house, too, and being too scared to step off the front porch.
Gerard open his eyes. He focuses on the dark shape of the skyline, on the sound of his steady breathing, on the bite of the juice on his tongue.
"I brought rum!" someone shouts into the kitchen. Gerard turns away from the window, mouth half-open to respond, but then snaps it shut again. It's Jepha standing there.
"Hi," Gerard says stupidly. Jepha sizes him up, and thunks the bottle of rum down on the counter. Gerard turns around. His hands are already shaking, and he sets down his cup carefully.
"Well, then," Jepha says. Gerard feels fat, and frail, like he's curling up and sweating in the face of Jepha's anger. The few people that were congregated in the kitchen have already sidled out; someone else glances in, looks at the back of Jepha's head, and ducks back out. Gerard presses his back against the kitchen wall and squares his shoulders.
"Yeah," Gerard says, uselessly. "Hi."
"Remind me not to bring Quinn by here, I guess," Jepha says, with false humor.
Gerard coughs, and squares his shoulders again. "I won't remind you," he says, "I'm not planning on running into you again."
"You will. I mean, if you plan on actually sticking around this time. I kind of live here," Jepha says. He gives Gerard a nasty smile, then turns and taps his cigarette over the ashtray on the kitchen counter. "I kind of knew Frank first," he finishes.
"You did," Gerard admits, though he wants to spit something back. Jepha's back is tense; Gerard can see through the thin fabric that his muscles are tightly wound. Jepha's not the kind of guy to get in a fight, but if they even shove each other Jepha will tell Quinn. If Quinn finds out that Gerard's around, Gerard might die.
"I know," Gerard says, "I know I'm not someone who you'd want dating another one of your friends." Gerard presses his palms flat against the wall, spreading his fingers. Jepha doesn't move. "I remember what I did to Bert," he says, "I know it seems like I didn't care, but I do. I did. I just didn't--" He breaks off, frustrated, and slaps his palms against the wall. "I wasn't there," Gerard says, "I mean, I couldn't be where he was."
Jepha takes another long drag. When he finally turns around, his mouth is an ugly, crooked line. "Why don't you go home?" Jepha says, his voice rising. "Why can't you stay gone?"
"Jeph?" Bob leans around the doorway, looking concerned. His expression goes still and watchful when he sees Gerard against the wall. "Hey, Gerard," he says, cautiously. "Are you guys okay?"
"I'm going to go," Gerard says, and pushes himself away from the wall. "Can you tell Frank I had to go?"
"What--" Bob starts, and Jepha cuts in to say savagely, "Let him run."
"Fuck you," Gerard says, "Just fuck you." He pushes past Bob. Gerard hears him say, "Babe, you promised--", but he shoulders through the people grouped by the kitchen, wading through the crowd towards the door. Someone spills a drink on his arm, and someone else nearly burns him with their cigarette, but Gerard ignores it and keeps pushing forward.
When he finally gets out, the door bangs closed behind him, muting the sound of the party. The hallway is copper green under the fluorescent light. Gerard is trembling; it feels like his hands are made out of wires, and it takes him two tries to get the door to the building open. "Home," he says, out of nowhere, like the word has risen unthought out of his body. Gerard points his feet in the right direction, and he sets them in motion; they do the rest.
---
Next
part one -- part two -- part three -- part four -- part five -- part six
---
"Is that a hickey?" Maja says. She's smiling over the edge of her cup, the surface of her milky-brown tea denting and shifting with her breath.
"No," Gerard says automatically, then puts his hand up to the side of his neck. "Where?"
"Here." Maja's fingertips are hot from holding her cup of tea. The spot of skin she touches is sore. Gerard shivers, involuntarily.
"Guess so," Gerard says. He doesn't remember Frank giving him a hickey, but it might have happened. Or he banged his neck into something, poked himself. "Maybe I poked myself? Or it's a zit," he offers, and lifts his chin. She peers in and giggles, shaking her head.
"No, it's a hickey."
"Huh."
Maja bubbles quietly for a few moments, and then says, "Well? Who is it?"
Gerard bites his lip, but he can feel a goofy, tiny smile working its way out across his face. "You remember Frank? The model? With the tattoos?"
"Ooh," she says, and giggles again. "Ooh, ooh."
"Ooh," he agrees. "You ready to go back in?" Maja shrugs, still beaming at him, and Gerard holds open the door for her.
"He must be a good kisser. He looked like a good kisser," Maja says, bumping companionably into Gerard's space. She's got four skinny scarves wound haphazardly around her neck -- the weather's been getting warmer, but there's still a nip in the air -- and her hair's back in a spiky short ponytail. She's beautiful, Gerard can see that. He's not that gay.
"He is a really good kisser," Gerard agrees, and thinks of Frank's mouth. Maja giggles and looks up at him, and Gerard grins back at her. "I don't know if he likes me, though."
"He likes your neck well enough," Maja points out, and shoulders open the door to their classroom.
"Well, he likes me like that," Gerard says, and touches the tender spot again. "But I don't know if he likes me, likes me." Maja just rolls her eyes and flaps her hand at him. "I don't know," he says, moving to unzip the zipper of his portfolio. "I just want to give it time."
Molko doesn't make them draw on the days when they turn in work. For the midterm, though, he's having each one of them pin their work up, one person at a time, so that the class can do a group critique. Maja went before the break, with careful portraits that sectioned off her model's body into parts. It made her model seem lanky, even grotesque. Gerard was pretty sure that she was trying to work through what style she wanted to use on her senior projects. The other students had been nasty about it, but that's kind of normal; other art students are why Gerard hates art school.
Gerard slides his own work out with a sense of inevitability; he knows that they won't like it. Gerard takes out his sketchbook, turns to a fresh page, and starts a careful record of the critique:
MIDTERM CRITIQUE
- looks like a comic book
- or graphic novel
- or maybe an Archie comic
- "nice enough"
- fuck you Dave you're a hack
- derivative moments whatever that fucking means
- eat Dave's dick Jenn seriously
- need more background shading, maybe in ink?
The last one is Maja's comment. Gerard underlines it twice and doodles a tiny star next to it.
Molko's comments are brief, and even though Gerard's stomach clenches and rolls, he's actually pretty positive. He agrees with Maja about the ink wash for the background, and then he says, "If you're going to invoke the graphic novel, you should do it intentionally, Gerard. There's no problem with the style, as long as it's done with intent."
Gerard looks at his pictures again, tacked up on the wall, and Frank stares back. He looks like he's thinking I told you so, and Gerard has to hold back the urge to stick out his tongue.
Dave puts his work up after Gerard takes his down. It's a glorious finish, for Gerard at least; Molko totally rips Dave a new one for one of his portraits, which is basically a bland, simplistic series of lines. Gerard manages not to smirk at Dave while Molko yells at him, but it's rough going, especially when Dave starts to whine.
At the end of class, Gerard glances over to make sure Dave isn't paying attention and says to Maja, "But I was trying to work with the space of the page," in falsetto. Maja snickers, and Gerard feels like overall he's come out on top.
They turn in their portfolios, stacking their work together in one corner. His hands feel empty afterwards, without his kit or his drawing pad in hand. He fidgets with his coat lapels as he walks out with Maja. "So how are you feeling?" she says, when they pause outside the front door to light their cigarettes. Gerard shrugs, and she smiles.
"Do you want to get a coffee?" he asks. Maja blinks at him, obviously startled. "You offer every class," he says, tentatively, and she shakes her head.
"You just never-- no, of course I'd like to," she says, "As long as you're okay with meeting the boys, too." He nods, and she loops her arm through his. "So tell me about this hickey."
"Oh my god," he says, and pulls away from her. "No!" She's laughing at him, and he can't help but giggle. "I'm not telling you about my sex life."
"Oh, so it's a sex life?" Maja laughs, cocking an eyebrow. "Not just kisses?"
"Oh my god," Gerard repeats. She looks at him expectantly, and he coughs delicately and takes his time smoking. "I guess, sure. Does a handjob count?"
She shrieks and waves her hands. Gerard has to hide his face in his arm, and he nearly trips over the curb in front of the coffee shop. Maja catches his elbow. "Don't die," she says, "You lucky devil, don't die."
"I blew him, actually," he admits, and she tugs him closer to her, giggling again. "I am so easy."
"Easy doesn't matter. Was it good?" she whispers, tilting her head close to him. "Did you like it? Did he like it?" She turns her head to take a drag from her cigarette, exhales, and then turns back to him, expectant.
Gerard pushes his hair out of his face. "I liked it a lot," he says, feeling giddy and stupid. "He's so pretty. He's really funny, and really, like, critical? But in this really cool way, like he gets it and he cares. And he--" He pauses, "He has great hands. I mean, even apart from the. Y'know."
"I'm sure," she says, and leans back. She's laughing at him, but Gerard doesn't mind. "Oh, Gerard," she says, and he smiles at her around his cigarette, tucking his hair behind his ears again.
When they go into the coffee shop, Maja heads straight for a table in the back of the room. There are two men sitting there, with coffee cups sitting in front of them. One's a skinny white guy, wearing an obscenely purple jogging suit; the other's a skinny black guy, in a baggy white shirt and jeans. The black guy has his feet up on the white guy's lap. "I'm telling you, there was naked Twister," he says as they walk up to the table, "Right hand on green has been redefined."
"Hello boys," Maja says. She bends to kiss first one, then the other, stretching across the table to reach. "This is Gerard, my friend from school." Maja gestures back at Gerard, and Gerard gives them both a little wave.
"Hi," he gets out, and then the white guy is standing up and enveloping him in a full-body hug. "Nice to meet you," Gerard says to the guy's armpit.
"That would be Gabe," Maja says, laughing. Gabe pulls back and makes the horseshoe crab hand sign Maja had shown him. Gerard does jazz hands back, and Gabe gives him a thumbs up.
"And this is Travis," Maja says. Travis doesn't get up, but he shakes Gerard's hand firmly and says, "Gabe, could you get this man a coffee?"
"I won't even put anything in it," Gabe says, "But the day is young." He runs his hand over Gerard's shoulder before he leaves.
Travis snorts, and Maja rolls her eyes. "He's always like that," she says.
"How do you know him?" Gerard says tentatively.
"We started making time with the same woman," Travis says, and puts his feet up on Gabe's chair. Gerard blinks, opens his mouth, and shuts it again. They don't seem to notice; Maja tsks at Travis, and Travis grins back at her. "It's true," Travis says. "I only put up with him because of you, baby."
"Of course," she says, "You're not friends at all."
"Not at all," Travis agrees, and then shouts, "Get me a swizzle stick!" to Gabe.
"I didn't know you were with both of them," Gerard says. He feels dumb, but Maja just shrugs and smiles ruefully.
"I don't talk about it much," she says. "Mostly because people don't get it, yeah? But kind of because they're exhausting."
"I can imagine," Gerard says. "Are you-- I mean. This is kind of rude."
"Okay," Maja says, her mouth tilting up on one side.
"You're, like. You're all together?" Gerard wants to make some sort of hand gesture, but he can't think of what it should be. His hands twitch restlessly on the table. Apparently he didn't need a gesture, though, because Travis is shaking his head. "Oh, so not you and Gabe," Gerard says.
"No way," Travis says. "Not my type at all." He stops, and seems to be considering Gabe. "Gabe's not bitchy enough," he says, and Maja nods her confirmation.
"Isn't it hard?" Gerard blurts out.
Maja hesitates, and then shrugs. "Like I said, tiring," she says. Travis laughs. "And sometimes people say boring things."
"'I couldn't do that,'" Travis says, his eyes wide, and after a beat Gerard realizes he's imitating what people say. "'Don't you get jealous?'"
"They just imply that I'm a slut," Maja tells him, "Much easier to deal with. Those are the only downsides of having both of them in my life," she continues, turning back to Gerard, "the stupid shitheads and how much energy it takes. They're worth it, but." Travis rubs the back of her neck, and she puts her head down on her folded arms and gives a dramatic groan. He rubs his thumb along the side of her neck.
"We're definitely worth it," Travis says. "Don't lie to me, we're more than worth it."
Gabe puts Gerard's coffee down in front of him with a flourish, and hands Travis a swizzle stick. Travis pops it in his mouth. The two of them hold a complicated conversation with their eyebrows, and Gabe says, "Do I need to promise not to do something again? 'Cause I will, I'm primed. Get your promises while they're hot."
"I don't know," Travis says, "But I think we're good for the moment." He looks over at Maja again. His expression is warm and watchful. "She's just tired," he says, voice slightly softer. Gabe shoves Travis' feet off of his chair and sits down. Maja peers up at him through her hair, and when he puts his hand out palm up on the table, she reaches out and puts her hand in his.
That's what Gerard remembers about them, later. "They just looked peaceful," he says. The phone receiver is damp against his lips, but he doesn't pull it away from his face. "They looked like they were all supporting each other, that it didn't matter what people said about them, or how bad it got." Mikey is silent. "I just think that maybe Frank can be that, for me, maybe. I kept thinking about him, when they were talking to each other, and I think maybe he could be a friend. Too, like, a boyfriend and a friend."
"He likes comic books?" Mikey asks doubtfully.
"He really does, I promise. Doom Patrol, he likes Doom Patrol."
"Did you ask him whether he likes Batman or Superman better?"
"I was too scared," Gerard admits. "I think I would be into him even if he liked Superman."
"Okay, wow," Mikey says, and they both laugh for a long minute.
"I know!" Gerard says, when they've mostly stopped. "I would want to kick my ass, too. It's like, 'way to give up your principles.' But he's really-- he's really--"
"He's really Frank," Mikey interrupts.
"Yeah," Gerard says slowly. "Yeah, that's the thing." They're silent again, the both of them breathing. "Mikey, you'll tell me when you fall in love, right?" Gerard whispers, finally.
"I will," Mikey says, matter of fact, and Gerard breathes a little easier.
"I think I could be," he stutters out. "Getting there, I mean. Eventually." Mikey just breathes. "It's weird."
"Yeah," Mikey says. "Yeah, I know."
"Thanks," Gerard whispers. "I love you, Mikey."
"Love you too," Mikey says, "Gotta go, 'bye." It takes him a few seconds to hang up the phone, though. Gerard knows how he feels.
---
"Do you want to hang out?" Gerard says, and shakes his head. "Okay, okay. Do you maybe want to go to a movie?" He shakes his head again, and then tips his head back to get his hair out of his face. "How about dinner and a movie?" he tries. "Ice cream and a movie? Tacos and a movie? Salad and-- fuck."
The picture of a hamster he has taped to his wall is unimpressed.
She started out looking kind of hopeful, but Gerard has been disappointing her. "Screw you," Gerard tells her. "Frank likes me. And awkward is charming." It comes out a little weaker than he wishes it would, probably because of the hamster's disbelieving expression. Gerard pushes himself up from his bed and goes out to the kitchen, where she can't condescend to him. The phone's out there, anyway.
He's getting better at this; it's only been a couple of weeks since he and Frank first started hanging out, but Gerard only frets for ten minutes now before he calls.
He calls, too. Gerard isn't usually the guy who calls. Not because he thinks he's hot shit -- though Bert had suggested that a couple of times -- but because he's forgetful. He zones out, has work to do, gets distracted by people who see him every day, goes to meetings instead of calling, calls his sponsor instead of calling, doesn't feel like it, it's been too long since he last called--
But Gerard calls Frank.
"Hello," Bob says, and Gerard says, "Hi! Is--"
"Hi, Gerard," Bob says. They sit for a moment in mutual silence. "I beat the level that was screwing me over on Zelda," Bob says, and Gerard makes an appreciative sound. "Frank's home, let me get him."
"Okay," Gerard says, but he's talking to dead air. Bob's amped about something; probably Legend of Zelda. Frank picks up after a second, and he hears shuffling in the background. "Can you tell Bob congratulations?"
Frank says, "Hey Bob, congrats." Gerard hears Bob say something back. "He says thanks," Frank tells him. "Did you call to talk to Bob or me?"
"You," Gerard says, "Don't be a dumbass. Do you want to go to a movie?" It's maybe not the way he meant to approach it. He can feel the hamster's disapproval through the wall.
Frank says, "Sure, what movie?" and Gerard blinks.
"Um," Gerard says, and laughs. "I hadn't thought that far."
"Why?"
"You might play hard to get," Gerard says, pawing through the papers on the kitchen counter to see if a weekly paper is mixed in there. There isn't. "Then I would be all disappointed that I'd picked this awesome movie and had nobody to see it with."
"When have I played hard to get?" Frank asks, like he's genuinely curious.
"I guess never," Gerard says, "but I've only got myself for a standard, and I'm way easier than you."
Frank scoffs. "As if!"
"But I tell people I'm a slut when I meet them," Gerard says. "Just ask Bob."
Gerard rolls his eyes when Frank immediately says, "Bob?" Frank is incredibly literal, Gerard is learning that. Frank continues, "Did Gerard tell you he was a slut when he met you?" Gerard smothers his laughter in his hand, just to hear Frank's laugh when Bob responds. "Oh my God, a 'hot slut'?" Frank says, giggling high and stupid. "You can't just go around saying that to my roommates." Bob starts talking in the background again. Gerard stretches the phone cord into the entryway of the bedroom and kicks around the mess there, back to looking for a paper. "Bob says it's okay, actually, because it's important to be honest, if you're going to be a hot slut and all," Frank tells him. Gerard hmms thoughtfully, and finds a paper he'd picked up at his meeting the day before. "Are you paying attention?" Frank asks him.
"Yup," Gerard says. "I'm a hot slut, Bob speaks the truth, and you're helping me decide on a movie."
"Right on the nose," Frank says. Gerard goes back to the kitchen and flips open the paper on the counter. "Let's go to the theater by your place," Frank says, "I love the screens at that place, they're fucking ridiculous."
"You are so weird," Gerard says absently. "You're just catering to my agoraphobia, don't pretend you care about the screen size." Still, he runs his finger down to the theater nearest his house and meditates on their choices.
Frank chatters, "If we're going to see something awesome, it's really crucial that you get the full and complete awesomey goodness. Getting full goodness includes maximal screen size."
"And now you're trying to distract me," Gerard tells him, scowling down at the paper. "At least stop being obvious about it."
"Shut up," Frank says easily, "I like catering to your freakish fears, Gerard. It's why I'm your boyfriend."
Gerard's heart goes from first to fourth gear without even using the clutch, and his breath stalls in his chest. He coughs, bringing his lungs back on line, and says, "Well, good. Good for you. We're seeing Shakespeare in Love." In his head, a tiny fireworks show is taking place, spelling out BOYFRIEND in glittery pink lights.
"Does it have explosions?"
Gerard starts, and then remembers the movie. "Uh, yes?"
"Okay then."
The movie doesn't have explosions. The movie does have period dress, Gwyneth Paltrow's breasts, and witty banter, but there is a categorical lack of explosions.
Gerard only gets to see little pieces of the movie, though, over Frank's shoulder. It's entirely possible there was an explosion while Frank was distracting Gerard with his tongue.
"An explosion in your pants," Frank says, poking at the bottom of his soda glass.
"That, too. But there could have been an explosion on screen while we weren't looking." Frank's straw stops mid-poke, and Frank looks up and raises an eyebrow. "Probably not," Gerard admits.
Frank goes back to his ice cube excavation. "Definitely not. I have a sixth sense for approaching cinematic explosions." He puts down his soda, finally. "Can I put out now?"
"What?"
"TV tells me that if my boyfriend treats me to dinner and a movie, I have to put out," Frank says, looking at Gerard with big soulful eyes. Gerard gets distracted by the shine on his lower lip. Frank clears his throat pointedly, and Gerard starts, trying to pay attention. "TV's always right," Frank says.
"Right," Gerard says. "I-- what?" Frank's lower lip is soft and wet. Gerard wants to lick it.
"You suck at this." Frank digs in his pocket, slides some money onto the diner table, and grabs Gerard's hand. "C'mon, now you have to put out, too."
Then Gerard sneezes on Frank's dick.
Obviously there's some other stuff before that. There's running through the dark streets, laughing breathlessly, drawing catcalls from the people hanging out on their front stoops, Gerard feeling young and daring and completely sober.
There's the trip up the stairs, Frank's ass in front of him, switching back and forth under the baggy denim of his jeans until Gerard can't take it anymore. There's Gerard hauling Frank back by his belt loops on the landing before his floor and grinding up against him. There's Frank reaching back and dragging Gerard's head down, and Gerard kissing him hard, enjoying the happy hum Frank always makes when he does it.
And there's his apartment, finally, and remembering to close the door so they don't scandalize Mrs. de la Cruz more than they already have, and yanking off Frank's shirt and licking his gorgeous throat and unbuttoning his jeans. There's Gerard dropping down on his knees with a thud.
Then there's Frank's hands tangled in his hair, urging him forward just enough, and there's Gerard looking up, taking just the head of Frank's cock in his mouth--
And then he sneezes.
He doesn't bite, but that's about the only saving grace. Gerard sneezes again, wipes at his nose with his sleeve, and looks at Frank. Frank is gazing down at him with an unreadable expression. "You sneezed on my dick," Frank says.
"Yes," Gerard says. He can feel all of the blood in his body rushing to his face. Frank's hard-on is definitely going away. Gerard feels so unsexy right now, he thinks he may die. Maybe murder Frank to keep him quiet, wipe his snot off of Frank's dick, and then die. Gerard closes his eyes and wishes very, very hard.
"You--" Frank gets out. Gerard opens his eyes and chances a look up at Frank. Frank is shaking.
"I hate you," Gerard says preemptively, and Frank bursts into wild laughter.
"You sneezed on my dick!" Frank howls, and then he actually falls over laughing. Gerard punches him in the leg, and Frank curls up protectively. "Oh my God!"
"Oh my God," Gerard echoes, and slumps back until he's sitting against the far wall.
Frank is writhing around on the floor, gasping and red-faced. He is such an asshole.
"You're such a jerk," Gerard says, and nudges Frank with his foot. Gerard's smiling, though, a tiny little bit. Frank looks ridiculous.
"Sneezed!" Frank yells, and Gerard laughs before he can stop himself. He stifles it with his hand, but Frank points and yelps, and Gerard gives it up and just laughs along with him.
When they've finally laughed themselves out -- Gerard maybe prolonged it by saying "snotty dick" a bunch of times -- Frank is lying on his back, holding his stomach and saying, "whoooo" over and over, giggling in between repetitions.
"Oh man," Gerard says. "Can I ever blow you again?"
"Any time you want," Frank says, with satisfying speed. "But maybe you're allergic."
"I'll get shots or pills or something," Gerard says dismissively, flapping his hand.
Frank says, "That's so sweet," and leans over to bite Gerard's ear. Gerard just leans his forehead against Frank's chest and giggles.
Gerard finally whispers, "I've never done something that embarrassing while I was sober before." He picks up his head and rests his chin on Frank's chest. "Not since I was a little kid." Frank grins at him.
"It was awesome," he says. When Gerard looks doubtful, he says, "That's the whole point of sex, I think."
Gerard blinks. "What," he says, "dick snot?" Frank curls up laughing again, bumping the top of Gerard's head with his chin.
"No!" Frank says. "The embarrassing stuff. That's the whole point of sex, it's embarrassing." Frank lies back down, looking up at the ceiling. "When my high school girlfriend and I were trying anal for the first time ever, I couldn't stay hard."
"At all?"
"My dick was fucking floppy. No real reason why -- she was hot, I had no problems with my dick in her ass -- just couldn't do it." Frank wiggles his arm out from where it's pinned under Gerard's chest so he can push his fingers through Gerard's hair. "And then once I went down on a girl for, like, an hour, and it wasn't doing anything. Like, nothing. And then she finally gets fed up and yanks up on my hair, and I was like, 'oh, whoops, there's your clit! Hi!'"
Gerard gasps a little laugh, squeezing his eyes shut. "I used to get whiskey dick all the time," he says, and turns his head to rest his cheek over Frank's heart. "I would get hard, but then if I got distracted at all--"
"Limp city," Frank says. "I have so been there."
"And then one time," Gerard says, "I sneezed on my boyfriend's dick." Frank laughs again, and Gerard grins, feeling warm and weirdly perfect. "And I wanted to die," he says, "But I'm glad I didn't."
"Me, too. Success all around."
"Definitely."
They lie there for a while, sprawled half-clothed on Gerard's messy, messy floor.
Eventually Gerard manages to blow Frank without sneezing. Frank does a naked victory lap around Gerard's apartment, while Gerard curls up on his bed and giggles.
---
So Gerard is Frank's boyfriend. It's perplexing, the experience of really being someone's boyfriend; Gerard's never really done it before, not like he is now. It's terrifying. All he's got is blurry memories of what he did wrong when he was three sheets to the wind and what he's seen in movies and TV.
Gerard starts keeping a list, because lists are good, lists are solid and reliable. Frank hasn't looked behind the edge of Gerard's curtains yet, so Gerard tapes his list underneath the first sketch he did of Frank. Thus far he has "flowers: whatever," "asking him out: yay (remember to pick a movie first)," and "no spider jokes."
Gerard's not sure how to rank "going to special events," though. He knows that if Frank were keeping a list on Gerard like Gerard is for Frank, that item would be "oh, how nice." When Frank asks him to come to a party at his house, though, he asks with a weird sort of formality, which makes Gerard suspect that it's a "kiss me now" sort of thing for Frank. It's unconfirmed, though -- Frank just smiles and nods when Gerard says he'll go -- so Gerard doesn't write it in just yet.
It's the first party Gerard will have gone to since he got sober, so Gerard calls Brian. Brian rattles off a list: stay away from the side of the house with the beer, talk to people you know, don't be afraid to leave, call me whenever you get home, Jesus princess one of these days you're going to give me an ulcer, make sure you eat well before you get there.
Then Gerard calls Mikey. Mikey tells Gerard about his history project and a record shop he found in the next town over. Gerard tells Mikey all about the party, and Mikey coaches him through what to do and when to go and what to wear. Gerard has to go to work before they can really talk about the party like Gerard wants to, but Mikey says, "Leave early if you want to," before they hang up, and it feels like enough.
Frank told him that the party started at nine. Gerard has a shift at the art store that ends at eight, but he jumps on the subway right afterwards, and he gets home in pretty decent time. He gets home and eats a giant bowl of cereal, and then forces down a bowl of canned soup on top of that. He takes a quick shower, even though he already showered three days ago, and he even washes his hair.
He decided to wear all black, even though Brian's always telling him to add color to his wardrobe. He figures a bunch of Frank's punk rock friends will be fine with an all black outfit. Anyway, Gerard's white and red shirts are both in the laundry pile, which is a definite sign that they won't pass a sniff test.
Even after all of that preparation, Gerard's still got a half hour before he's supposed to leave. He doesn't want to get there early -- he wants to get there late, actually, Mikey told him that, too -- so Gerard sits on his bed and reads comics for a while, then paints his toenails hot pink. Once they've dried, he's actually running sort of later than he wanted, which he figures has to be good. Gerard checks for his wallet and his keys one last time, grabs the new trade collection of Transmetropolitan, and leaves the house. He buys a bag of skittles to eat on the subway, and then heads for the train that will take him to the train that will take him to Frank's house.
Gerard's stomach is turning over and over on itself. He catches a glimpse of himself in the subway safety mirror, and his eyeliner looks too thick on one eye. Once he's on the subway car, he checks himself in the window unobtrusively, wetting his fingertip with his tongue and trying to even it out. He brought his sunglasses, but Brian told him not to wear them inside anymore, even though it makes Gerard look like a vampire and is therefore excellent. Gerard gives up on fixing his eyeliner after he realizes that it isn't going to budge -- he'll just have an excuse to put on his sunglasses if someone says something -- and flips open the trade on his lap.
He's gotten himself in a worried mindset, though. He can't concentrate on the comic; he's too busy worrying that his clothes are too art school, and then that maybe Frank's friends will think he's a goth. He doesn't want them to think he's a goth, Gerard thinks sadly. Not that there's anything wrong with goths, but Gerard isn't one. Not really.
Gerard finally rips open the Skittles he bought, and spills them out in his palm. He counts how many there are of each color, and begins eating them in descending order of frequency; it keeps him busy enough to avoid worrying until he gets to the right stop.
When Gerard gets to Frank's place, there are a couple of kids sitting on the front stoop, smoking and sharing a bottle in a brown paper bag. "Apartment four?" one of them says, as Gerard walks up, and Gerard jerks his head in a nod. The kid pushes open the door. "Head right up," he smirks.
"Thanks," Gerard says, and catches the edge of the door so he can slip through. The kids are murmuring, and before the door swings shut he hears them snigger. He can already feel a blush working its way up into his cheeks, but he squares his shoulders. "At least I looked like I was going to apartment four," he says to himself, and starts up the stairs.
The door to Frank's apartment is banging open and shut. Gerard approaches it warily, but when he gets in front of it the guy who's been slamming it holds it open and says, "Percussion, sorry! Come on in!"
"Cool," Gerard says, and hooks his hair behind his ears. He gives the guy a smile, hoping it doesn't make him look like a tool. He asks, "Is Frank here?"
"Are you the boyfriend?"
"Yes, I'm the boyfriend," Gerard says. He clears his throat at the guy's grin. "Who're you?"
"Dan," the guy chirps. "I've heard some things about you, you're like a star in all the drama, hey?"
"Drama?" Gerard says faintly, but Dan is already shoving through the people crammed in the front hall. Gerard scrambles to follow in his wake. Everyone is staring at him, it feels like, but when he tries to make eye contact they turn away like they were never looking at all. There are a lot of faux hawks and edgy dye jobs. Gerard pats nervously at his hair with the hand not holding his comic book.
When Dan leads him into the living room, Frank is sitting on the back of the couch. Gerard stops and looks at him, appreciating the sweaty strands of his hair, the way his shirt clings to his body. Frank looks up, then, and he grins when he sees Gerard. "Hi!" he says, and he gets up to kiss Gerard hello. His mouth tastes like beer, and Gerard startles back. "Oh, sorry," Frank says. "Whoops. You look pretty."
"It's cool," Gerard says, trying not to screw up his mouth with distaste. "And thanks." He wipes at his mouth covertly with the back of his hand. "Is there juice?"
"Sure, other room," Frank says, and then turns back to whatever he was doing on the couch. Gerard stands there a moment longer, waiting for something, and then finally turns and walks into the kitchen.
He gets a glass of orange juice from the collection of mixers, stashes his comic book with the coats, and then walks around, searching for people he knows. He finds Ray at one point, and they talk amiably about guitars and high school again. Ray even tells him about the last gig Frank's band played.
"Frank pretty much dedicated a song to you," Ray half-shouts. "You've really done a number on him." Gerard blushes and preens. Ray toasts him mock-seriously.
Eventually Ray gets recruited to play flip cup, but Gerard feels pretty good about the conversation. He's feeling a little bolder, so he talks to a couple of new people, joining a conversation about electronica and one about fantasy novels. He makes people laugh a couple of times, which gives him a happy rush. He's actually feeling pretty confident by the time he bumps into Bob, so he exclaims, "Hi! Bob!"
"Hi," Bob says seriously. They look at each other for a beat.
"How's the Legend of Zelda?" Gerard asks, with more caution.
"Okay." Bob shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't say anything more.
Gerard says tentatively, "Is everything all right?" and Bob blows out a breath.
"Look--" Bob stops. "I like you, but I can't talk to you tonight."
"What?" Gerard bites his lip and pushes his hair out of his face. "Okay?"
"I'm dating Jepha," Bob says, "And--"
Gerard takes a stumbling step back, feeling unreasonably betrayed. "No, it's cool, I get it," he says. Bob looks sorry, but Gerard still feels like he should get out of there soon. He escapes to the kitchen to refill his glass.
"What're you drinking?" a guy asks him. His eyes are bright, and his smile is a little too loose. "What's your poison?"
Gerard holds himself back from sneering, but it's a very near thing. "I've got it, dude," he says, and grabs the orange juice.
"Add the liquor first!" the guy says. Gerard rolls his eyes and pours the juice in, picks it up and smiles at the guy.
"Perfectly mixed," he says, camping it up just a bit.
The guy is not impressed. "Bogarting the mixer, so uncool," he tells Gerard.
"I'll buy more later," Gerard says. The guy ignores him, heading back out of the kitchen and into the mass of people in the hallway. "And go fuck yourself," Gerard mutters.
Gerard turns to the window. There are people in the kitchen, but it's a little quieter, and the lights are bright. Gerard really doesn't want to go back out to the living room right now.
There is a six pack of beer on the table, with four bottles left. It is Brooklyn Lager. Gerard does not particularly like Brooklyn Lager, but he'll drink it if it's the only thing around. He could take one of those beers right now, and no one would notice. Just one beer, if he drank it fast enough, would make him a little silly. Two would be okay, two to make him feel loose and easy, and he knows he hits the sweet spot at three. Three beers makes him the life of the party, makes everyone love him, makes him funny. There are four beers on the table, for anyone to take.
Gerard doesn't know why he does this, staying sober. He doesn't know why it matters so much. It's not like he's getting anything done anyway, or doing anything better than he did when he was a drunk. People like him better when he's drunk -- people have said so, even.
Gerard closes his eyes, sips his juice, and waits for the wanting to pass, waits for the surge of disgust that eventually wells up. Yeah, he could go back to drinking. He could go back to living at his mother's house, too, and being too scared to step off the front porch.
Gerard open his eyes. He focuses on the dark shape of the skyline, on the sound of his steady breathing, on the bite of the juice on his tongue.
"I brought rum!" someone shouts into the kitchen. Gerard turns away from the window, mouth half-open to respond, but then snaps it shut again. It's Jepha standing there.
"Hi," Gerard says stupidly. Jepha sizes him up, and thunks the bottle of rum down on the counter. Gerard turns around. His hands are already shaking, and he sets down his cup carefully.
"Well, then," Jepha says. Gerard feels fat, and frail, like he's curling up and sweating in the face of Jepha's anger. The few people that were congregated in the kitchen have already sidled out; someone else glances in, looks at the back of Jepha's head, and ducks back out. Gerard presses his back against the kitchen wall and squares his shoulders.
"Yeah," Gerard says, uselessly. "Hi."
"Remind me not to bring Quinn by here, I guess," Jepha says, with false humor.
Gerard coughs, and squares his shoulders again. "I won't remind you," he says, "I'm not planning on running into you again."
"You will. I mean, if you plan on actually sticking around this time. I kind of live here," Jepha says. He gives Gerard a nasty smile, then turns and taps his cigarette over the ashtray on the kitchen counter. "I kind of knew Frank first," he finishes.
"You did," Gerard admits, though he wants to spit something back. Jepha's back is tense; Gerard can see through the thin fabric that his muscles are tightly wound. Jepha's not the kind of guy to get in a fight, but if they even shove each other Jepha will tell Quinn. If Quinn finds out that Gerard's around, Gerard might die.
"I know," Gerard says, "I know I'm not someone who you'd want dating another one of your friends." Gerard presses his palms flat against the wall, spreading his fingers. Jepha doesn't move. "I remember what I did to Bert," he says, "I know it seems like I didn't care, but I do. I did. I just didn't--" He breaks off, frustrated, and slaps his palms against the wall. "I wasn't there," Gerard says, "I mean, I couldn't be where he was."
Jepha takes another long drag. When he finally turns around, his mouth is an ugly, crooked line. "Why don't you go home?" Jepha says, his voice rising. "Why can't you stay gone?"
"Jeph?" Bob leans around the doorway, looking concerned. His expression goes still and watchful when he sees Gerard against the wall. "Hey, Gerard," he says, cautiously. "Are you guys okay?"
"I'm going to go," Gerard says, and pushes himself away from the wall. "Can you tell Frank I had to go?"
"What--" Bob starts, and Jepha cuts in to say savagely, "Let him run."
"Fuck you," Gerard says, "Just fuck you." He pushes past Bob. Gerard hears him say, "Babe, you promised--", but he shoulders through the people grouped by the kitchen, wading through the crowd towards the door. Someone spills a drink on his arm, and someone else nearly burns him with their cigarette, but Gerard ignores it and keeps pushing forward.
When he finally gets out, the door bangs closed behind him, muting the sound of the party. The hallway is copper green under the fluorescent light. Gerard is trembling; it feels like his hands are made out of wires, and it takes him two tries to get the door to the building open. "Home," he says, out of nowhere, like the word has risen unthought out of his body. Gerard points his feet in the right direction, and he sets them in motion; they do the rest.
---
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