fic: So Haunted (1/2)
SO HAUNTED
Frank/Gerard, AU, NC-17
18,300 words
Summary: Gerard doesn't believe in this shit, not ghosts, not spirits, not Ouija boards or séances or talking to the goddamned dead, but Mikey doesn't look like he's fucking around and Gerard honestly can't come up with a better explanation for what's been happening to him.
Notes: This was written for the mcr4u fic exchange. My recipient is nokomis305 and the prompt was An AU that involves the supernatural - MCR could fight some sort of creature, be one, haunted house story, whatever, I'd just like to see some monsters. Any pairing or gen. I interpreted it a bit liberally, I suppose, but I really hope you enjoy it!
Huge thanks go out to sociofemme and burgaw, the best cheerleaders I could ever hope for. More huge thanks are due to ignazwisdom for the beta-read. This story would be neither good nor done without them. Any remaining fuckery is totally my fault.
WARNINGS: You know what happens in horror movies, right? Yeah, that. Lots of that. Proceed with caution, or check out the very spoilery detailed warnings in this separate post. There's some graphic sex, too. Also: Drinking and allusions to drug use, both Gerard's. Furthermore: Emetophobes will be bothered by a couple bits.
Eta July 5: Whoops, sorry about all the lack of initial capitals on the sentence-intial "fuck"s. It's a dumb story why (explained in a comment in the second part), and it's all fixed now. THIS IS MY EMBARRASSED FACE.
* * *
Tuesday
"So the weirdest fuckin' thing happened to me last night," Gerard says around his cigarette, which he's trying to light with a lighter that repeatedly fails to cooperate.
"Yeah?" Bob from Advertising, or maybe Accounts-Gerard has never been entirely sure but he knows it's something with an A-raises an eyebrow and offers Gerard his lighter.
"Thanks," Gerard says, sucking in a huge lungful of glorious smoke and holding it for a second. "Yeah, I did this painting, and it's totally not my normal style at all, I don't know where it came from."
"Oh." Bob shrugs. "What was it of?"
"It was less figurative than I normally do... it was darker. Kind of spooky. It looked like a person, I guess, but more impressionistic. Kinda unearthly, like a demon or something, something evil. Motherfucker looked mean."
"Anyone in particular?"
Gerard shakes his head. "It was a man, and he looked a little familiar, but I don't think it was anyone. Maybe just a face I've painted before."
"So what's weird about this, exactly?"
"I, uh," Gerard flicks his cigarette harder than is strictly necessary, "I don't remember painting it. At all."
"Why not?" Bob frowns at him.
Gerard shrugs.
"You drinking last night?"
"A few beers," Gerard concedes. "Oh, and I guess I started a new bottle of vodka. But seriously, Bob, I don't black out when I'm drinking. But I woke up this morning and found a finished canvas on my desk. I never paint when I'm that drunk, and especially not anything as good as that canvas."
"Sounds like you just did a lot of things you never do," Bob says carefully. "But, I mean, who knows what happened, right?"
"No-I mean, okay, I black out sometimes, but I really never paint when I'm that drunk. I usually can't even get my shit together to get the palette set up, you know? I just draw instead, or use pastels or something."
"Are you sure you painted it?"
Gerard frowns, then puts his hands right in Bob's face. "I still have paint under my nails, and I woke up with it up and down my arms, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I painted it."
"Oh," Bob says again. "Yeah, that is pretty weird."
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, stubbing out his cigarette. He squints over his shoulder at the office building where he works-where he really needs to get back to work, actually, because he has two dozen more cells to do today for this stupid new cartoon they're trying to pilot, and they aren't going to draw themselves. He'll be lucky if he gets out in time to swing by Frank's to eat dinner with him.
They stand in silence for a while, and then Bob says, "Dude, blackout drunk on a Monday night? Seriously?"
"Fuck you on a Monday night," Gerard mutters.
Gerard picks at the paint under his nails as he waits for Bob to finish his cigarette, and then they head back in in silence.
* * *
Gerard's shoulders are knotted tight and burning from spending too many hours hunched over the light table, but he's finally finished his last cell for this fucking project and he's only running-he glances at the clock on the wall-forty-five minutes late.
He throws his stuff back into his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then nearly runs through the halls in his haste to get the hell out and see Frank. He's starving, too, and really hopes Frank has dinner ready when he gets there-not that it's Frank's job to feed him or anything, but he really needs to eat before he passes out and withers away to nothing and dies.
He's halfway to Frank's place when he gets stuck in traffic. After half an hour of nerve-wracking stop-and-go, he gets to Frank's just in time to eat the last two slices of the pizza Frank ordered.
Gerard looks down at the lonely slices in the greasy box, then slides them onto the plate Frank had put out for him.
"Is that going to be enough dinner?" Frank eyes Gerard's plate with concern.
"I don't know," Gerard says. "You could have saved me more."
Frank shrugs. "You could have left work earlier."
"No, I couldn't have," Gerard groans, and then shoves like half of one of the slices into his mouth.
"Do you want me to make you a sandwich?" Frank offers.
"Yeah," Gerard says.
Frank pretends to gag. "Do you want to maybe not show me your mouthful of food?"
Gerard opens his mouth wider and tries to stick out his tongue. A half-chewed bite of pizza falls out and lands on top of the slice still on his plate.
Frank looks like he can't decide if he wants to laugh hysterically or be seriously grossed out. "Okay, just for that? You can make your own sandwich," he says.
Gerard closes his mouth, finishes chewing, swallows deliberately, and then grins his biggest grin at Frank. "You love me," he says, "don't deny it."
"I plead the Fifth," Frank tells him, then throws a roll of paper towels at him. "Here, you might need these."
Later, after Gerard is finished eating and the empty pizza box is crammed indelicately into the recycling, they settle in to watch a movie.
Frank stands in front of the TV and holds up a DVD in each hand. "Suspiria or Frankenhooker?" he asks.
"Suspiria," Gerard says, and Frank nods and hums to himself as he sticks it in the tray and starts the movie.
Frank turns off the lights on his way back to the couch, and then throws himself across its length and nestles his head in Gerard's lap.
"Comfy?" Gerard peers down at him.
"Very," Frank smiles up at him.
"Good, me too."
They stay mostly silent once the movie gets going. Gerard slides further and further forward on the couch until he's almost totally horizontal himself and Frank has to move his head or fall off. Frank settles his head onto Gerard's stomach, and then laughs.
"I can hear you making noises in there," he tells Gerard. "God, why do I have to keep experiencing your food?"
Gerard shrugs with one shoulder and smiles to himself as he pets Frank's hair. "You could sit up," he notes dryly, and he can feel it against his stomach as Frank shakes his head no.
* * *
Wednesday
Gerard arrives at work to find a manila folder on his desk with a bright pink Post-It note stuck to the front. "Meeting 10am", the note says. Gerard groans. He carefully slides the envelope's contents free, and it's four of the cells he did yesterday and a loose sheet of lined paper. "These need redoing," the latter announces.
"Motherfuck," Gerard tells the ceiling. He counts to five twice, taking deep breaths between numbers, and then turns on his light table.
The rest of the day isn't any better, and when Gerard gets home he pulls a six-pack out of the fridge and sets to it.
He's halfway through the third can when the phone rings. He somehow manages to answer before it stops ringing and mumbles something resembling a "hello."
"Jesus, how drunk are you?" Mikey asks him.
"I'm getting there," Gerard tells him. "I'm pretty fuckin' tired, though."
"Bad day?"
Gerard grunts something to the affirmative.
Mikey makes a soft noise of concern. "Hey, so, I want you to come to this show with me this week."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I told you about this girl I met, Alicia?"
"Once or twice," Gerard says, then thinks, once or twice, times a hundred.
"So she's in a band. And she's-they're-playing on Thursday. Which is tomorrow, I guess. And she asked me to come, and I said I would, but I don't know if it's because she wants me to be there, or if she just invited me like she'd invite anyone she just made friends with, or-"
"So, wait a minute, she possibly invited specifically you, but you want me to tag along? Does that make sense to you at all?"
"Um," Mikey says, and laughs a little. "No, I don't think it makes sense, actually. But you should still come. You need to get out of the house. And you can keep me company while she's playing so I don't just stand there totally by myself and stare at her like a creep." Mikey trails off and Gerard makes a face at the wall.
"You want me to come to make you look cool?"
"...I guess so?"
Gerard laughs so hard he almost knocks his beer over. "Okay, you sold me on it, I'll come."
"Thanks," Mikey sounds relieved.
"Can I bring Frank?"
"If you want to, I guess, um, sure?"
"Are you nervous?" Gerard snickers at him.
"Shut up," Mikey mumbles.
"Oh my god, you're so nervous, and you want to impress her, don't you."
"Shut up," Mikey says again. "I'm hanging up on you."
"Goodnight, Mikey, and get some beauty sleep before your big date!" Gerard sing-songs as he imagines the face Mikey is probably making at him.
"Shut uuuuuup," Mikey groans. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, okay? I'll call you after work."
"Okay," Gerard says, and then drains the last of his beer. "See you tomorrow."
* * *
Friday
Gerard jerks awake with a gasp, clammy and sticky with a cold sweat. His heart beats wildly against his ribs as he tries to get his bearings, tries to figure out where he is and what time it is and what the hell is going on.
He doesn't remember going to bed, doesn't remember coming home-doesn't remember anything past going to the bar to see Mikey's friend's-girlfriend's?-band play. He doesn't remember a single thing about their set.
He's in his room, he realizes when he finally collects himself enough to look around. The dark shapes of his furniture are familiar in the weak light of early sunrise, and the clock ticking somewhere in the other room must have caught him between sleep cycles and woken him up.
Wait, Gerard thinks, straining to hear the ticking more clearly. I don't own any clocks that tick. What the fuck?
He yawns then, and he puts a hand over the bottom half of his face by reflex to cover his mouth. His fingers come away dark and sticky. The fuck, he thinks again, and reaches his other hand out to fumble at the lamp on his night table. When the light clicks on, his fingers gleam red in the glare.
Gerard lifts them to his nose again, sniffs. It smells like blood, stale and hours old. "Fuck," he whispers to himself, and then traces the edge of his nostrils. There's a thin crust around the rim, and the feeling under his fingertip brings back a flood of memories, of mornings after the nights before he got clean. The bottom drops out of his stomach as he realizes that he just doesn't remember what happened last night.
By the time he thinks to listen for the clock again, the ticking has stopped.
Gerard lies back and stares at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and trying to think about nothing, in hopes that maybe he'll get a flash about something from last night.
He doesn't have anything by the time his room is fully light and he's skirting dangerously close to being late for work. He sighs, throws back the covers, and leans off the edge of the bed, rifling through the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed for a shirt that doesn't smell too offensively bad.
His morning routine goes by quickly-shower, toast, coffee-and it isn't until he's grabbing his bag off his desk chair that he notices there's another new canvas lying flat on his desk.
One more thing on the list of shit he doesn't remember from the night before.
He picks it up and squints at it. It's smaller than the last one, and the paint is piled on thick and heavy, much more angrily than the last one, though just as dark and creepy. It's another person, another man, different from first one, and familiar, too, more than its predecessor. There are more reds in this one, and more black, and-
Gerard's watch beeps the hour and he drops the painting onto his desk and books it out the door. He is going to be so late.
* * *
Bob's not outside when Gerard gets out for his mid-afternoon smoke break, so he pulls out his phone and calls Frank instead.
"Good timing," Frank says when he answers, "I just got out of class and turned my phone back on."
"Good," Gerard echoes. He glares at his lighter-it's not working again today, and he wishes Bob was here, if only so he could steal his lighter.
"So what's up?" Frank asks.
"'M smoking, or at least, I would be if my fucking lighter would light." Gerard shakes his lighter vigorously.
"You could get a new lighter." Frank sounds appallingly reasonable. "You've been complaining about that one dying for weeks now."
"But I like this one!" Gerard keeps thumbing the wheel, trying and trying to convince it to light. Nothing happens except that his thumb starts to chafe.
"But it doesn't work!"
A feeble flame springs to life and Frank's words fall away in the background as Gerard leans into it with his cigarette and sucks in a huge lungful of smoke.
"It just worked," he says smugly when he exhales.
"One day it won't," Frank says, "mark my words."
"Whatever," Gerard tells him. "So, look, I have a question for you. It might be a bit weird, but, um. What happened last night?"
"What happened?" Frank repeats, bewildered.
"Yeah, what happened. I remember getting to the bar with Mikey, and I remember when you arrived, but after that? Hell if I know."
"Um." Fuck, Gerard thinks, that's Frank's unhappy voice.
"What?"
"About that." Frank's voice is cold. Gerard winces and waits for it. "How much did you drink last night?"
"I don't remember," Gerard groans, "but I know I only had two beers before you got there."
"Because I have to say, you were acting really weird last night, dude. And you were kind of a dick."
"Oh." That definitely isn't what Gerard was hoping to hear.
"And you disappeared for a while, right when Alicia's band was going on, and I had to stand with your brother, and, okay, it was funny watching him stare at her, but seriously, where were you?"
Gerard's stomach drops. He feels sick and dizzy all of a sudden, like he might fall over if he doesn't sit down. He sinks awkwardly onto his heels, presses the hand not holding the phone against the asphalt for balance, and then finally says, "I don't know. I don't remember."
Gerard can tell that Frank is angry, he knows the tone of voice. Frank is probably scowling too, his eyebrows drawn in close together, his nose wrinkled, his lips pressed thin, and he's probably fretting guitar chords against his thigh like he does when he's thinking.
"That's really... that's really not good," Frank says, finally.
Gerard's stomach rights itself when he hears that Frank sounds worried rather than mad, and he gets unsteadily to his feet again.
"I'm going to quit drinking," he declares even as the thought pops into his head, "or at least, I'm going to fucking try."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Fuck, I've blacked out twice this week, okay? That shit has got to stop."
"Yeah," Frank says softly, "I hear you."
* * *
Saturday
Saturday afternoon finds Gerard sitting on his couch in his underwear, smoking and doodling half-heartedly in an old sketchbook. It's almost full of cartoon monsters, pictures of Frank as a superhero (the point is the skin-tight spandex in particular, Gerard grins to himself as he flips by seven pages full of variations on the theme), drawings of zombies dressed as the Village People (but not the Village People as zombies), a few more-or-less realistic still life studies, just to keep his hand in practice (although there's one page where he couldn't resist giving a coffee mug beady little eyes and dripping fangs), and all sorts of scribbled notes to himself that he may or may not have forgotten ever existed.
Gerard sighs wistfully when he flips past a few pages of sketches of the Breakfast Monkey. I really need to get off my ass and do something about pitching that, one of these days. He sighs. Maybe when this freaky shit-whatever it is-blows over, I'll get on that.
He's just flipping to a new page to start in on a drawing of the most bad-ass vampire hamster ever when someone pounds on his door.
"Fuck," Gerard mutters, then yells "Hold on!" at the door.
He leaves his sketchbook on the couch and runs into his room to put on a shirt. He's halfway back to the door when he realizes he needs to put on pants, too. "Sorry! Just a sec!" he yells again, and tries to find a pair of jeans in the mess that is his bedroom floor.
Pants are eventually located and put on, and he rushes back out to open his door as far as his chain lock will allow.
Mikey is standing in the hallway, twirling his car keys around one finger and looking equal parts bored and amused.
"Sorry," Gerard says, "I had to find my pants."
Mikey raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. What he says instead is, "You need more socks so we're going to the mall."
"Okaaaaaay," Gerard blinks at him while he waits for his brain to catch up. "Wait, I do need more socks, how did you know that?"
"You told me," Mikey tells him, "on Thursday. And made me promise to come to the mall with you."
"Oh. I don't remember that." Gerard runs a hand through the back of his hair and starts looking around for his shoes. He can only see one of them and has no idea where the other one could be hiding.
"Whatever," Mikey says, "I'm here, so get your shit and let's go, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I can't find my fucking shoe."
Mikey stands around and watches while Gerard wanders through his tiny apartment looking for his shoe. It eventually turns up in the bathroom, and Gerard tries to jam it onto his foot even as he walks back towards his front door.
"Don't laugh," he tells Mikey when he almost falls over.
Mikey shrugs, his expression totally indifferent. "You ready yet?"
"Geez," Gerard says, "you got plans later or something?
Mikey's cheeks go ever-so-slightly pink at Gerard's question.
Gerard cackles in triumph. "Hot date?"
Mikey doesn't answer out loud, but his scowl speaks volumes.
"Alicia again?" Gerard wags his eyebrows at Mikey, or tries to. He's never sure if they actually move or not.
"Can we go now? Please?" Mikey's strategy for changing the subject involves turning around and heading down the hallway, and Gerard has to scramble to get his jacket on and his apartment door locked before Mikey leaves without him, which Gerard isn't entirely sure he wouldn't do.
The drive to the mall is relatively smooth, considering it's Saturday afternoon and every fucking car in Jersey is on the road. They have to park in the furthest corner of the parking lot, but whatever, it's still nice out, so Gerard almost doesn't mind the walk. It gives him a chance to smoke a cigarette and a half, which he knows he's going to need.
Once they push through the crowd of teenagers clustered around the door, Gerard and Mikey exchange half a glance before turning and making a beeline for the Starbucks.
"Fuck yes," Gerard breathes in the steam from his coffee as he clutches it close to his face.
Mikey smirks at him from around the straw of his ridiculous venti iced mocha whatever.
They wander together through the mall, trying to find somewhere to sit and drink their coffees in peace, even though peace is not so much to be had at the mall on a Saturday. Gerard finally shrugs and leans against a tiny slice of wall between stores near the far end of the mall, where there's just slightly less traffic than in the middle of the mall.
Mikey shoves him over to make room and leans against the wall next to him, their shoulders pressed together.
"So, hey," Gerard says between sips of blessed, blessed coffee, "what did you think of Alicia's band the other night?"
"They were good," Mikey says after a moment. He eyes his drink before he takes another sip. "Not exactly my usual thing, but," he waves vaguely with the hand not holding his coffee, "you know. I'd see them again. What did you think?"
Gerard snickers at him. "Any excuse to see her, huh?"
Mikey gives him a look. Gerard is very familiar with this look. "Come on, Gerard. You saw her. As if I'd turn down the chance to see her again before she realizes that she's way too good for me."
"Don't say that!" Gerard chides him, and contemplates punching Mikey in the arm or something. He'd do it, but it would probably result in the spilling of one or both of their coffees, so it wouldn't be worth it.
"What did Frank think?" Mikey peers intently at the black marks down the side of his coffee cup as if they hold the secret to life's mysteries, or they're going to offer their own opinion of Alicia's band, or something.
Gerard shrugs. "I don't know, it didn't come up when I talked to him yesterday. I can ask him, though, if you want. If I remember."
"Sure," Mikey says. "It was nice of him to come. Sometimes I feel like I never see him."
"Well, you could call him," Gerard suggests. "But not on Tuesday. We have plans on Tuesday."
"Plans being what, monster movies and takeout?" Gerard has no idea how Mikey perfected a tone of voice that's the audio equivalent of an eye-roll, but fuck, it's really something.
"Pretty much," Gerard admits.
They finish their coffees and head back into the bustle of the mall.
Mikey gets distracted by a record store and Gerard follows him in, smiling a little to himself as he watches Mikey stare at the wall of new releases for a full minute without moving before he turns and heads to the import section. Gerard putters around and looks at album covers while he waits for Mikey to pick something and pay for it.
After that, they wander around for almost an hour before they head out to the parking lot, and they're halfway back to the car before Mikey stops dead and says, "Fuck."
"What?" Gerard stops a step later and turns to look at him.
"You didn't actually buy any socks," Mikey tells him.
Gerard thinks about that for a second and then snorts out a laugh. "Fuck, you're right. Whatever, we're almost at the car."
"No way," Mikey says, pulling at his sleeve and starting to drag him back towards the mall. "If we leave without socks, you're going to start complaining about it, and you're probably going to try to make me come to the mall with you again, and seriously, we are here already so you are going to buy some fucking socks, okay?"
"Okay," Gerard says, ducking his head so Mikey can't see him laughing.
But then Mikey punches his shoulder and Gerard knows he saw it anyway. Oh well.
They turn around and go back in for socks.
Half an hour later they're back in Mikey's car and on their way out of the mall for real.
When they're stopped at a red light guiding traffic in and out of the parking lot, Gerard turns the volume down on the stereo and turns to Mikey. "Hey, do you want to go see a matinée of the new Halloween movie before we go to Ma's for dinner tomorrow?"
"Oh man, that's going to be so bad," Mikey says gleefully. Even the glare off his glasses isn't enough to mask how his eyes are all lit up at the thought.
"I know," Gerard grins, "it'll be awesome. I'll look up the show times and call you later, okay?"
"Cool," Mikey agrees.
"Light's green," Gerard points out, and Mikey swears under his breath and hits the gas.
* * *
Wednesday
Gerard somehow gets his cigarette lit on the first try, which he counts as a supreme victory because he's in the habit of taking wins wherever he can get them. It's raining and a bit windy, so the weather is working against him. It's a real triumph over the odds.
"So," he says after his second exhale, "it happened again last night."
"What did?" Bob asks, and tries to pull back further into the doorway's alcove to avoid getting rained on.
"It, you know, it," Gerard says.
Bob's face clearly says that he doesn't know.
"Come on, Bob, it, with the blackouts? And the paintings?" Gerard adds the last bit as a whisper.
"You sound freaked out." Bob sounds concerned.
"It's the third time it's happened, now," Gerard tells him.
"Weird," Bob agrees.
"I wasn't drinking last night," Gerard says.
"Really?"
"I wasn't," Gerard insists, "not at all. And I still don't remember shit after I got to Frank's last night. No idea what we did, no idea how I got home, fuck all."
"Huh," Bob says. "I have no idea what to suggest, then. But hey, you know what, my buddy Ray is probably the guy to help you."
Gerard raises an eyebrow.
"He was my roommate in college," Bob explains, "and he's always been into weird shit like ghosts and hallucinations and out-of-body experiences, right. You should talk to him, he could tell you."
"I don't believe in that fuckin' stuff," Gerard scowls.
Bob shrugs. "You got any better explanations right now?"
Gerard sighs and shakes his head, and lets Bob hand him a business card that he's just pulled out of his wallet. Gerard glances down at it and barely manages to stifle his laugh when he sees what's printed on it.
"I know," Bob grins at Gerard. "He claims he's just working there right now to pay the bills. But seriously, go see him, it might help."
"Okay," Gerard says, and then looks down at his watch. "Back to work?"
"Back to work," Bob groans.
* * *
Gerard can't stop thinking about his conversation with Bob, thoughts running through his mind in endless loops like a hamster on a wheel. He calls Frank on his lunch break, a little desperate for anything to help calm him down.
"Hey," Gerard says, "do you, um, do you remember what time I left your place last night?"
Frank is quiet for a few seconds as he thinks. "Around ten-thirty, I guess? You wanted to be home in time to watch The Daily Show in bed."
"Oh," Gerard says. "That makes perfect sense."
"Why do you ask?" Frank sounds- he sounds distant, not like he's on a phone on the other side of the world, but like he'd rather be there, or anywhere, just not talking to Gerard.
"Um, no reason." Gerard is really a terrible liar and he hopes Frank doesn't call him on it.
"Gerard." Fuck. Frank is totally calling him on it.
"It's just-" Gerard has no idea how to finish his sentence, so he just stops talking.
It takes Frank a moment to pick up the silence. "It's just what, Gerard?"
Oh, fuck, Gerard thinks in a panic, that is not a good tone of voice on Frank, oh fuck.
"It's just," he tries again, "it's just that, well, I don't remember anything I did last night, and it's fucking bizarre. No, you know what, bizarre isn't even the right word for it. It is fucking creepy."
"Again?" Frank's voice is hard.
"Yeah," Gerard can barely get the word out audibly.
"I thought you were sober last night!" It turns out Frank does disappointed really well-insane guilt-trip levels of well. Gerard would definitely feel super guilty if he had anything to feel guilty about. He's kind of starting to feel guilty anyway.
"I was," Gerard snaps back, "that's why it's so creepy."
A cold silence fills the phone line between them.
"I don't lie to you, Frank," Gerard says eventually, and if his exasperation comes through in his voice, he hopes it makes Frank feel bad. "You know that. Fuck, come on, I'm really freaked out here, can you please not be mad at me for something I didn't even do?"
"Gerard," Frank starts, but doesn't finish his sentence.
"I keep getting nosebleeds. I keep waking up with a bloody nose and it's really gross and it's happened four times now. It scares the shit out of me every single time it happens." Gerard's skin just crawls as he remembers the panic he'd felt when he jolted awake, the vague looming terror lurking around the edges of his awareness as he came into full consciousness and discovered a thick trail of blood dripping down his chin onto his pillowcase.
"Oh my god," Frank groans, "Gerard, please, please tell me you aren't-"
"I'm not," Gerard cuts him off, "I promise, I swear, and I haven't even had a drink in-" he pauses to count, "-five days now. Since I told you I was going to quit."
"Wait, really?"
"Yes, really, I really haven't."
"Um. Wow. That's- that's great, Gerard, seriously. Five days? Really?"
"Yeah," Gerard says. "Which is great, I guess, but the problem is that I am still not remembering entire nights even when I'm sober."
"That's pretty fucked up. You got any ideas what the hell is going on?"
"Well, this guy I work with, Bob, he thinks I'm maybe getting haunted or having a paranormal experience or some shit."
"Yeah?" Frank sounds really interested for a guy who professes not to believe in that shit, Gerard thinks darkly.
"Yeah, he told me I should talk to this friend of his who works at this new-age store, because he might know what's going on."
"Will you?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe this weekend, if I have time."
"I wanna hear about it if you go. Promise you'll tell me what he says?"
"Yeah," Gerard says, "I promise."
"Sweet! It would be totally cool if you were haunted, don't you think? It would be like in a movie or something, you know?"
"Yeah, Frank, it would be totally cool. Wouldn't it be great if people fuckin', fuckin' died? I'm so excited to be totally scarred for life!" Gerard huffs smoke out his nose and rolls his eyes.
"Gerard, come on. I don't believe in that shit anyway, okay? And you don't either, because it's not real. Nobody's going to die."
"I know," Gerard says, "but that doesn't make this any less freaky to me, okay?"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to piss you off. But, um, do you think you should see a doctor instead of some crazy dude who believes in ghosts?"
"The better question," Gerard snits back, "is can I afford to see a doctor? Big hint, the answer is no."
"I think it would be worth it," Frank says, guardedly.
"Maybe if it hasn't stopped by next week or the week after." Gerard frowns down at his neat row of pencils. "Maybe it will just go away before then."
"Maybe," Frank agrees, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Look, why don't you come over on Friday, okay? I'll make you dinner and we can- um, well, I was about to say we could stay up late watching bad horror movies on the Sci-Fi Channel, but maybe that's not such a good idea right now. We'll think of something, though."
Gerard laughs. "Sounds good to me. Man, I wish people were always offering to make me dinner and entertain me to solve my problems."
"Don't get used to it," Frank warns, but his voice is light.
Gerard smiles when he hangs up. He may have no idea what in the fuck is going on, but at least he has Frank.
* * *
Friday
Frank has an electric guitar slung across his chest when he opens the door for Gerard on Friday night.
"Hey," Gerard starts to say, and then he notices what Frank is wearing. "Oh, sweet! You finally got it! That's the guitar you've been talking about for months, right?"
Frank nods enthusiastically, his grin stretching all the way across his face. "Isn't she great? I'm trying to come up with a name for her, but nothing really speaks to me yet."
Gerard leans forward to peer at it. It puts his face pretty close to Frank's crotch, but whatever, it's not like they won't probably be doing that later anyway.
The guitar is pristine white, with a black pickguard and four knobs and a beautiful dark fretboard. It's so shiny that Gerard can see his reflection looking back at him.
"It's- she's really pretty," Gerard says, and gently runs a finger along the top curve near the neck, the finish glossy and smooth under his touch.
"Yeah," Frank breathes, sounding as proud as if he'd just given birth to the thing.
"Can you play me something?" Gerard asks, straightening back up.
"Sure, like what?"
Gerard starts to think, but Frank interrupts before Gerard can even say anything. "And no, I still haven't learned any Morrissey for you, and I never will, okay?"
Gerard gives him an exaggerated pout. "But 'Every Day Is Like Sunday' is-"
Frank cuts him off by starting to play something else. The guitar isn't actually plugged in so the chords sound tinny and small, but Gerard recognizes the chugging chords of "We Are 138" and starts singing along.
Frank grins at him and starts speeding up too soon in his enthusiasm, and when Gerard gets flustered and loses track of the song, Frank stills the strings with the side of his hand to cut off the sound.
"Well," Gerard says, "if that's how you're going to be, you could at least play me 'Teenagers From Mars'."
Frank launches right into the song, spinning away from Gerard and jumping on the couch while still playing. Gerard trails after him so he can still hear the guitar, singing along all the while. He laughs when Frank starts flailing around, windmillling his strumming arm and jumping up and down on the beat.
"Don't hurt yourself," Gerard says.
Frank sticks his tongue out at him.
"Thanks," Gerard says, "don't mind if I do." He grins wide and jumps up onto the couch, putting his hands on Frank's shoulders as he pulls him in for a kiss.
There's a squeak from the strings as Frank's hand jerks down the frets, and then a moment later Gerard feels Frank's hand sliding up under his t-shirt, palm pressed hot and sweaty to the small of his back.
"Mmmmf," Gerard says into Frank's mouth.
"Mmnnghgmf," Frank agrees, then pulls back so far that Gerard can actually focus his eyes on Frank's face.
"What?" Gerard asks.
"Dinner is in the oven," Frank says, "and I slaved away to make it for you, so I'd rather not get so distracted it burns, okay."
"But-" Gerard starts to say, but his stomach rumbles so loud that Frank hears it and starts laughing at him. "Fine, I can wait," he gives in. "What are we having?"
"You'll find out when it's ready."
"And when's that?"
Frank glances down at his watch. "Soon," Frank says. "The timer should probably-"
The timer goes off and interrupts Frank, which Gerard has to admit was a pretty fucking cool bit of timing.
Frank very carefully lifts his guitar strap over his head and presses the guitar into Gerard's hands. "Can you put this away? Don't drop her or I'll fucking kill you," he says, then kisses the side of Gerard's mouth and jumps off the couch to run into the kitchen.
After they polish off the surprisingly delicious vegetable curry Frank claims to have made from scratch, Gerard gets up to do the dishes.
Frank slides up behind Gerard when he's about halfway done and presses his hips to Gerard’s ass. “Hey,” he says against Gerard's ear as he plants a hand on the counter on either side of Gerard’s waist. “Thanks for the help.”
“Yeah,” Gerard manages to get out. He tries not to drop the pot onto a stack of very breakable dishes when he feels Frank roll his hips, feels Frank’s dick rubbing against the top of his thigh through his jeans. “It’s my pleasure.”
“I bet,” Frank grins. His breath is hot on the side of Gerard’s neck, a little damp. Part of Gerard wants to turn and grab Frank and blow him right there against the counter, but a bigger part wants to appreciate the way Frank’s got his hands more or less around him now, his body pressed up against Gerard’s back. The warm weight is kind of comforting, actually, and the body contact is really nice.
Gerard smiles and keeps scrubbing.
Frank goes up on his toes to tuck his chin over Gerard’s shoulder and peer down at the status of the dishes. The stretch pushes Frank’s dick up against Gerard’s ass, and Gerard grins wider and presses right back against it. Gerard can feel how hard Frank is getting, and for that matter, things are getting kind of tight in his own pants.
Gerard drops the sponge into the sink when Frank rubs against him again; his fingers twitch at the same time his cock jerks in his shorts. Gerard shifts so he’s rubbing himself back against Frank, and he reaches to pick up the sponge again, trying to fake like he’s still washing the dishes, like he isn’t completely distracted and waiting for Frank to make the next move.
The lights flicker then, and Gerard tips his head back, resting it on Frank’s shoulder as he looks up at the fixture in the ceiling.
“What?” Frank asks.
“Nothing,” Gerard says, even though he’s still squinting at the light. “I thought the bulb was going to go out, but I guess not.” He straightens and looks back down at the sink. He only gets another couple scrubs at the pot before Frank interrupts.
“I would say the dishes look pretty done,” Frank says, and his tongue is creeping up the edge of Gerard’s ear and fuck, yeah, Gerard is very willing to agree that the dishes are done.
Gerard puts the pot down on the counter and turns around, squirming up against Frank as he moves but not breaking the circle of his arms. “Hi,” he says, and then tips his face down and kisses Frank.
It’s wet and messy right from the moment their lips touch. Gerard opens his mouth when Frank does, and he runs his tongue along Frank’s bottom lip before pulling back slightly to bite it gently, just pressing his teeth into the flesh of Frank’s lip for a moment.
Frank moans, and it turns almost into a giggle when Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist, his fingers tracing lightly over the bare skin where Frank’s shirt is riding up.
“Tickles,” Frank mumbles.
Gerard smirks at him for a moment before pulling him in close so they’re pressed tight, chest to chest, hip to hip. Gerard works a hand up under Frank’s t-shirt and runs his fingertips up his spine.
Frank shivers, presses his face into Gerard’s shoulder and tilts his hips so he can rub himself against Gerard’s leg.
Gerard shifts his weight so he can press his leg forward, and he slips a hand down to tuck into the back pocket of Frank’s jeans and hold him in close. He leans in and nuzzles against Frank’s ear for a moment before murmuring, “Want to do this naked and in bed?”
“Yes,” Frank says, and Gerard grins and nips at Frank’s earlobe before pushing off from the edge of the counter and steering them towards Frank’s bedroom.
They fall together onto the bed, Frank twisting around in Gerard’s lap as he shucks his shirt and throws it across the room. Gerard sits up to watch appreciatively as Frank’s muscles flex and lines of tendon pop up in his forearms. Gerard admires the shape of the muscles in Frank’s back, the little pockets of fat at his waist, and the dark lines of ink curving this way and that across Frank’s skin, holding him forever in their own peculiar embrace.
Then Frank turns back to face Gerard again, grinning widely as he reaches for the bottom button of Gerard’s shirt and undoes it carefully. He moves slowly upwards, slipping buttons through their holes one at a time. Gerard watches his fingers, the back and forth of nail and knuckle, and when Frank reaches the top button, Gerard tucks in his chin and leans in to press a kiss to the tops of Frank’s fingers.
Frank reaches up to cup Gerard’s face, his hand splayed wide to press fingers to both sides of Gerard’s jaw, and he holds Gerard still as he leans in to kiss him hard.
“Take your shirt off,” Frank says against Gerard’s lips, and Gerard kisses him back even as he shrugs his shoulders to get the sleeves of his shirt to slide down his arms and bunch up around his wrists. He yanks the cuffs over his hands and then shoves the shirt off to one side of the bed.
Hands now freed, Gerard puts them on Frank’s hips, his fingers digging in a little. He can feel the muscles in Frank’s stomach twitching under his thumbs and he gives in to the temptation to draw a finger along the line of coarse hair running from Frank’s navel into his pants.
When Gerard’s finger reaches the button of Frank’s jeans, Frank’s hand closes over his, squeezing briefly before pushing Gerard’s hand out of the way to pop the button open with a flick of the wrist. Gerard watches as Frank eases his fly down, and then Gerard hooks a finger through one of Frank’s belt loops and helps to shove his jeans down his hips, pulling on the legs once they’re down and loose around Frank’s knees.
Frank tips over sideways, rolls onto his back, and sticks his feet in the air and points his toes. Gerard laughs and tugs Frank’s pants the rest of the way off, yanking hard to get them over Frank’s feet. He drops them onto the bed and looks down at Frank. Their eyes lock and they smile stupidly at each other. Gerard reaches down to tuck a curl of hair back behind Frank’s ear before tugging at the waistband of Frank’s boxers. There’s already a wet spot visibly getting bigger on the front of them, and Gerard wants to taste it. He licks his lips in anticipation as he slides a finger in through the slit in Frank’s boxers to touch the slick pre-come at his crown.
“Hey, hey, come on,” Frank says, reaching up to grab at the bottom hem of Gerard’s undershirt. “Take this off first so I have something to look at, okay?”
“Fine,” Gerard shrugs and pulls the shirt over his head, dropping it on Frank’s face. “Happy?”
“Hells yeah,” Frank leers. He balls Gerard’s undershirt up and throws it off to the side.
Gerard smiles at him and starts pulling at Frank’s boxers more seriously this time, fingers tucking under the elastic waist and yanking. Frank lifts his hips to help, arching up beneath Gerard.
Gerard’s mouth goes dry at the sight but he keeps going, shifting one hand so he can pull harder at the very front to stretch the elastic and get it over Frank’s cock without catching.
When Frank is finally naked, Gerard tugs Frank’s legs apart and kneels between them. He sits back on his heels and looks up the length of Frank’s body for a moment and then puts his hands at the tops of Frank’s thighs, leans in, and exhales heavily against the head of Frank’s cock.
“Fuck,” Frank gasps, his whole body jerking like he's just barely avoiding jumping out of his own skin.
Gerard grins and squeezes Frank’s thigh briefly. Then he licks his lips, leans in, and wraps his lips around Frank’s cock, sucking at the head for a moment before taking Frank so far into his mouth that Frank’s pubic hair brushes the tip of his nose.
Gerard just tightens his grip as Frank starts writhing, holds him down when his hips start bucking up.
“Jesus, I- fuck, Gerard, fuck,” Frank is getting incoherent the way he always does, and Gerard just smiles to himself around Frank’s cock and sucks a little harder.
Frank groans when Gerard pulls back a bit to start flicking at the underside of Frank’s cock with the edges of his tongue. Gerard hums a bit, then pulls back further to wrap his tongue around the head of Frank’s dick and then trace the slit with the tip of his tongue.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Frank chokes out, and when Gerard laughs with his mouth still around Frank’s cock, Frank’s leg thrashes out and Gerard has to press it down hard into the mattress so it doesn't catch him in the stomach.
When Frank settles back down again, Gerard runs one hand down Frank’s leg, pausing to draw circles around his kneecap, and then reaches down to unzip his own pants and shove his hand down the front. He lowers his head again, keeping up the suction as his lips slide wetly down Frank's length, and he wraps his hand around his own cock and starts stroking firmly in time with the rhythm he's got going with his tongue.
Gerard keeps going until the sensation gets to be too much, until his palm is slick with his own pre-come and he can hear the little wet noises every time he closes his hand around the head of his dick and twists. He sits up then, Frank's dick sliding free of his mouth and smearing a thick trail of spit down his chin, and he shoves his pants down his hips and wiggles out of them.
He moves up the bed to press his whole body against Frank's, and their hips move together, the friction slicked just enough with the spit that's still wet on Frank's cock.
Their kiss then is less a kiss and more the pressing of two open mouths together, tongues meeting in the middle to push against each other. Gerard pulls back to run his tongue along Frank's lower lip, to trace the sharp line of his top teeth, and his mouth slides down the side of Frank's face when Frank turns beneath him, extending his arm towards the bedside table.
"Here, hey," Frank says as he presses a thing of lube into Gerard's hand. It's sticky against Gerard's fingers as he flips it around and pops it open.
Gerard settles back between Frank's thighs and watches intently as Frank spreads his legs wide, bends one to nudge Gerard's knee with his toe.
"This okay?" Frank asks. Gerard nods, so Frank pulls the other pillow over from the other side of the bed and fusses with it, arranging it beneath the one he's already got while Gerard warms some lube between his fingers.
The lights flicker again, dropping out for almost a full second before weakly coming back on again. They flicker briefly once more before reaching full brightness.
"Gerard?" Frank asks, looking concerned. "What's up?"
Gerard shakes his head, scowls at the lamp on the bedside table. "Nothing," he says, "I'm just..." If Frank didn't notice the lights go out, then maybe they didn't and he's actually going crazy or something. Now is not the time to worry about that, though.
Frank just nods and smiles up at Gerard. Gerard leans in and runs one of his dry fingers down from just behind Frank's balls. Frank twitches a little, but holds mostly still as Gerard palms Frank's thigh and then reaches down with his other hand to work two slick fingers in.
Gerard looks up and catches Frank's eye, raises an eyebrow. Frank just nods at him and Gerard pushes his fingers in past the knuckle, twisting his wrist a little once they're in. Minutes drift past as Gerard moves his fingers and eventually works a third in, as he touches Frank lightly with his other hand-his thigh, his balls, the round curve of his ass.
"Now," Frank finally gasps, pulling his knees up towards his chest and rocking his hips toward Gerard.
Gerard pulls his fingers free and reaches for the lube again, squirts a bunch into his palm and then grabs his dick, jerking himself a few times before wiping his hand off on the sheets. He grabs Frank's thighs again, his fingers pressing white circles into Frank's skin, and rubs himself against Frank, the head of his cock slipping up against the back of Frank's balls. Gerard groans softly, rolling his hips a couple of times, and then stops to line himself up properly and push in.
Frank sighs as he relaxes into Gerard's thrust, his head falling back so all Gerard can see is the stubbled underside of his chin and the peak of his nose. Frank tilts his hips up once Gerard's all the way in, and touches Gerard's hand on his leg. Gerard lifts his fingers to brush them against Frank's, then pulls almost all the way out.
Gerard watches what he can see of Frank's face as he thrusts all the back way in, fast and a little hard, and the line of Frank's jaw as it falls open sends tingles chasing each other around Gerard's stomach. Frank's Adam's apple bobs as he breathes deep, his inhalations starting to get a little ragged. Gerard slides his hands a little further down until the swell of Frank's ass is soft against his fingers, and he holds on tight as he leans in against Frank's bent legs, using the weight of his own body to force them up a little higher and get the angle just right.
"Fuck!" Frank grunts at Gerard's next thrust, and Gerard grins and rolls his hips until his hipbones press into the soft skin of the backs of Frank's thighs.
The light flickers again, but Gerard pushes it out of his mind and concentrates on watching Frank's face, keeping up the rhythms that make him squeeze his eyes shut and gasp in heavy breaths and make the best noises. He keeps thrusting, his fingers curling into Frank's flesh.
And then the light goe-
-ard, dude, stop it," Frank is saying when the light pops back on.
"Wha?" Gerard manages to ask.
"Get your hand off my throat," Frank tells him, his voice hard.
"I'm not," Gerard starts, but then he looks down and his hand is on Frank's throat. He pulls it away and puts it firmly back where it was before-where it should have been-his fingers pressing into the top curve of Frank's thigh maybe a little harder than they need to.
Gerard rocks his hips again, emphatically, at an angle he's hoping he's correctly remembering as a good one. He slides one hand up to curl around Frank's cock and stroke it casually, his thumb tracing around the edge of the crown. Frank hisses in a breath but Gerard keeps the pace of his hand slow, wanting to draw i-
-eriously, stop it, what the fuck are you doing," Frank is spitting the words at him, and Gerard blinks to clear his vision and Frank is still beneath him.
His hand is on Frank's throat again. Gerard snatches his hand back as if he'd just touched a hot stove, plants it firmly on Frank's hip.
"I told you I don't like that," Frank says, "so come on, just stop it, okay?"
I'm not doing it, Gerard wants to say, but that's a pretty hard sell when he clearly was just doing it. He can see two finger-shaped red marks on the curve of Frank's throat.
He has no idea what the fuck he's doing.
He has no idea what the fuck is going on.
Gerard stops moving, just kneels between Frank's feet and looks down at him. "I can stop," he offers.
"No," Frank says, "keep going, jus-
-hips pressed tight against Frank's ass, holding him down as he thrashes, his leg jer-
-ey, come on, I said stop it, wha-
-ches him right in the stomach, pain blooming hot and sick and spiraling outwa-
-warm under his hand, can feel the pulse in Frank's neck under his fingers, the wild throbbing of his jugu-
[ part two]
Frank/Gerard, AU, NC-17
18,300 words
Summary: Gerard doesn't believe in this shit, not ghosts, not spirits, not Ouija boards or séances or talking to the goddamned dead, but Mikey doesn't look like he's fucking around and Gerard honestly can't come up with a better explanation for what's been happening to him.
Notes: This was written for the mcr4u fic exchange. My recipient is nokomis305 and the prompt was An AU that involves the supernatural - MCR could fight some sort of creature, be one, haunted house story, whatever, I'd just like to see some monsters. Any pairing or gen. I interpreted it a bit liberally, I suppose, but I really hope you enjoy it!
Huge thanks go out to sociofemme and burgaw, the best cheerleaders I could ever hope for. More huge thanks are due to ignazwisdom for the beta-read. This story would be neither good nor done without them. Any remaining fuckery is totally my fault.
WARNINGS: You know what happens in horror movies, right? Yeah, that. Lots of that. Proceed with caution, or check out the very spoilery detailed warnings in this separate post. There's some graphic sex, too. Also: Drinking and allusions to drug use, both Gerard's. Furthermore: Emetophobes will be bothered by a couple bits.
Eta July 5: Whoops, sorry about all the lack of initial capitals on the sentence-intial "fuck"s. It's a dumb story why (explained in a comment in the second part), and it's all fixed now. THIS IS MY EMBARRASSED FACE.
* * *
Tuesday
"So the weirdest fuckin' thing happened to me last night," Gerard says around his cigarette, which he's trying to light with a lighter that repeatedly fails to cooperate.
"Yeah?" Bob from Advertising, or maybe Accounts-Gerard has never been entirely sure but he knows it's something with an A-raises an eyebrow and offers Gerard his lighter.
"Thanks," Gerard says, sucking in a huge lungful of glorious smoke and holding it for a second. "Yeah, I did this painting, and it's totally not my normal style at all, I don't know where it came from."
"Oh." Bob shrugs. "What was it of?"
"It was less figurative than I normally do... it was darker. Kind of spooky. It looked like a person, I guess, but more impressionistic. Kinda unearthly, like a demon or something, something evil. Motherfucker looked mean."
"Anyone in particular?"
Gerard shakes his head. "It was a man, and he looked a little familiar, but I don't think it was anyone. Maybe just a face I've painted before."
"So what's weird about this, exactly?"
"I, uh," Gerard flicks his cigarette harder than is strictly necessary, "I don't remember painting it. At all."
"Why not?" Bob frowns at him.
Gerard shrugs.
"You drinking last night?"
"A few beers," Gerard concedes. "Oh, and I guess I started a new bottle of vodka. But seriously, Bob, I don't black out when I'm drinking. But I woke up this morning and found a finished canvas on my desk. I never paint when I'm that drunk, and especially not anything as good as that canvas."
"Sounds like you just did a lot of things you never do," Bob says carefully. "But, I mean, who knows what happened, right?"
"No-I mean, okay, I black out sometimes, but I really never paint when I'm that drunk. I usually can't even get my shit together to get the palette set up, you know? I just draw instead, or use pastels or something."
"Are you sure you painted it?"
Gerard frowns, then puts his hands right in Bob's face. "I still have paint under my nails, and I woke up with it up and down my arms, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I painted it."
"Oh," Bob says again. "Yeah, that is pretty weird."
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, stubbing out his cigarette. He squints over his shoulder at the office building where he works-where he really needs to get back to work, actually, because he has two dozen more cells to do today for this stupid new cartoon they're trying to pilot, and they aren't going to draw themselves. He'll be lucky if he gets out in time to swing by Frank's to eat dinner with him.
They stand in silence for a while, and then Bob says, "Dude, blackout drunk on a Monday night? Seriously?"
"Fuck you on a Monday night," Gerard mutters.
Gerard picks at the paint under his nails as he waits for Bob to finish his cigarette, and then they head back in in silence.
* * *
Gerard's shoulders are knotted tight and burning from spending too many hours hunched over the light table, but he's finally finished his last cell for this fucking project and he's only running-he glances at the clock on the wall-forty-five minutes late.
He throws his stuff back into his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then nearly runs through the halls in his haste to get the hell out and see Frank. He's starving, too, and really hopes Frank has dinner ready when he gets there-not that it's Frank's job to feed him or anything, but he really needs to eat before he passes out and withers away to nothing and dies.
He's halfway to Frank's place when he gets stuck in traffic. After half an hour of nerve-wracking stop-and-go, he gets to Frank's just in time to eat the last two slices of the pizza Frank ordered.
Gerard looks down at the lonely slices in the greasy box, then slides them onto the plate Frank had put out for him.
"Is that going to be enough dinner?" Frank eyes Gerard's plate with concern.
"I don't know," Gerard says. "You could have saved me more."
Frank shrugs. "You could have left work earlier."
"No, I couldn't have," Gerard groans, and then shoves like half of one of the slices into his mouth.
"Do you want me to make you a sandwich?" Frank offers.
"Yeah," Gerard says.
Frank pretends to gag. "Do you want to maybe not show me your mouthful of food?"
Gerard opens his mouth wider and tries to stick out his tongue. A half-chewed bite of pizza falls out and lands on top of the slice still on his plate.
Frank looks like he can't decide if he wants to laugh hysterically or be seriously grossed out. "Okay, just for that? You can make your own sandwich," he says.
Gerard closes his mouth, finishes chewing, swallows deliberately, and then grins his biggest grin at Frank. "You love me," he says, "don't deny it."
"I plead the Fifth," Frank tells him, then throws a roll of paper towels at him. "Here, you might need these."
Later, after Gerard is finished eating and the empty pizza box is crammed indelicately into the recycling, they settle in to watch a movie.
Frank stands in front of the TV and holds up a DVD in each hand. "Suspiria or Frankenhooker?" he asks.
"Suspiria," Gerard says, and Frank nods and hums to himself as he sticks it in the tray and starts the movie.
Frank turns off the lights on his way back to the couch, and then throws himself across its length and nestles his head in Gerard's lap.
"Comfy?" Gerard peers down at him.
"Very," Frank smiles up at him.
"Good, me too."
They stay mostly silent once the movie gets going. Gerard slides further and further forward on the couch until he's almost totally horizontal himself and Frank has to move his head or fall off. Frank settles his head onto Gerard's stomach, and then laughs.
"I can hear you making noises in there," he tells Gerard. "God, why do I have to keep experiencing your food?"
Gerard shrugs with one shoulder and smiles to himself as he pets Frank's hair. "You could sit up," he notes dryly, and he can feel it against his stomach as Frank shakes his head no.
* * *
Wednesday
Gerard arrives at work to find a manila folder on his desk with a bright pink Post-It note stuck to the front. "Meeting 10am", the note says. Gerard groans. He carefully slides the envelope's contents free, and it's four of the cells he did yesterday and a loose sheet of lined paper. "These need redoing," the latter announces.
"Motherfuck," Gerard tells the ceiling. He counts to five twice, taking deep breaths between numbers, and then turns on his light table.
The rest of the day isn't any better, and when Gerard gets home he pulls a six-pack out of the fridge and sets to it.
He's halfway through the third can when the phone rings. He somehow manages to answer before it stops ringing and mumbles something resembling a "hello."
"Jesus, how drunk are you?" Mikey asks him.
"I'm getting there," Gerard tells him. "I'm pretty fuckin' tired, though."
"Bad day?"
Gerard grunts something to the affirmative.
Mikey makes a soft noise of concern. "Hey, so, I want you to come to this show with me this week."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I told you about this girl I met, Alicia?"
"Once or twice," Gerard says, then thinks, once or twice, times a hundred.
"So she's in a band. And she's-they're-playing on Thursday. Which is tomorrow, I guess. And she asked me to come, and I said I would, but I don't know if it's because she wants me to be there, or if she just invited me like she'd invite anyone she just made friends with, or-"
"So, wait a minute, she possibly invited specifically you, but you want me to tag along? Does that make sense to you at all?"
"Um," Mikey says, and laughs a little. "No, I don't think it makes sense, actually. But you should still come. You need to get out of the house. And you can keep me company while she's playing so I don't just stand there totally by myself and stare at her like a creep." Mikey trails off and Gerard makes a face at the wall.
"You want me to come to make you look cool?"
"...I guess so?"
Gerard laughs so hard he almost knocks his beer over. "Okay, you sold me on it, I'll come."
"Thanks," Mikey sounds relieved.
"Can I bring Frank?"
"If you want to, I guess, um, sure?"
"Are you nervous?" Gerard snickers at him.
"Shut up," Mikey mumbles.
"Oh my god, you're so nervous, and you want to impress her, don't you."
"Shut up," Mikey says again. "I'm hanging up on you."
"Goodnight, Mikey, and get some beauty sleep before your big date!" Gerard sing-songs as he imagines the face Mikey is probably making at him.
"Shut uuuuuup," Mikey groans. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, okay? I'll call you after work."
"Okay," Gerard says, and then drains the last of his beer. "See you tomorrow."
* * *
Friday
Gerard jerks awake with a gasp, clammy and sticky with a cold sweat. His heart beats wildly against his ribs as he tries to get his bearings, tries to figure out where he is and what time it is and what the hell is going on.
He doesn't remember going to bed, doesn't remember coming home-doesn't remember anything past going to the bar to see Mikey's friend's-girlfriend's?-band play. He doesn't remember a single thing about their set.
He's in his room, he realizes when he finally collects himself enough to look around. The dark shapes of his furniture are familiar in the weak light of early sunrise, and the clock ticking somewhere in the other room must have caught him between sleep cycles and woken him up.
Wait, Gerard thinks, straining to hear the ticking more clearly. I don't own any clocks that tick. What the fuck?
He yawns then, and he puts a hand over the bottom half of his face by reflex to cover his mouth. His fingers come away dark and sticky. The fuck, he thinks again, and reaches his other hand out to fumble at the lamp on his night table. When the light clicks on, his fingers gleam red in the glare.
Gerard lifts them to his nose again, sniffs. It smells like blood, stale and hours old. "Fuck," he whispers to himself, and then traces the edge of his nostrils. There's a thin crust around the rim, and the feeling under his fingertip brings back a flood of memories, of mornings after the nights before he got clean. The bottom drops out of his stomach as he realizes that he just doesn't remember what happened last night.
By the time he thinks to listen for the clock again, the ticking has stopped.
Gerard lies back and stares at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and trying to think about nothing, in hopes that maybe he'll get a flash about something from last night.
He doesn't have anything by the time his room is fully light and he's skirting dangerously close to being late for work. He sighs, throws back the covers, and leans off the edge of the bed, rifling through the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed for a shirt that doesn't smell too offensively bad.
His morning routine goes by quickly-shower, toast, coffee-and it isn't until he's grabbing his bag off his desk chair that he notices there's another new canvas lying flat on his desk.
One more thing on the list of shit he doesn't remember from the night before.
He picks it up and squints at it. It's smaller than the last one, and the paint is piled on thick and heavy, much more angrily than the last one, though just as dark and creepy. It's another person, another man, different from first one, and familiar, too, more than its predecessor. There are more reds in this one, and more black, and-
Gerard's watch beeps the hour and he drops the painting onto his desk and books it out the door. He is going to be so late.
* * *
Bob's not outside when Gerard gets out for his mid-afternoon smoke break, so he pulls out his phone and calls Frank instead.
"Good timing," Frank says when he answers, "I just got out of class and turned my phone back on."
"Good," Gerard echoes. He glares at his lighter-it's not working again today, and he wishes Bob was here, if only so he could steal his lighter.
"So what's up?" Frank asks.
"'M smoking, or at least, I would be if my fucking lighter would light." Gerard shakes his lighter vigorously.
"You could get a new lighter." Frank sounds appallingly reasonable. "You've been complaining about that one dying for weeks now."
"But I like this one!" Gerard keeps thumbing the wheel, trying and trying to convince it to light. Nothing happens except that his thumb starts to chafe.
"But it doesn't work!"
A feeble flame springs to life and Frank's words fall away in the background as Gerard leans into it with his cigarette and sucks in a huge lungful of smoke.
"It just worked," he says smugly when he exhales.
"One day it won't," Frank says, "mark my words."
"Whatever," Gerard tells him. "So, look, I have a question for you. It might be a bit weird, but, um. What happened last night?"
"What happened?" Frank repeats, bewildered.
"Yeah, what happened. I remember getting to the bar with Mikey, and I remember when you arrived, but after that? Hell if I know."
"Um." Fuck, Gerard thinks, that's Frank's unhappy voice.
"What?"
"About that." Frank's voice is cold. Gerard winces and waits for it. "How much did you drink last night?"
"I don't remember," Gerard groans, "but I know I only had two beers before you got there."
"Because I have to say, you were acting really weird last night, dude. And you were kind of a dick."
"Oh." That definitely isn't what Gerard was hoping to hear.
"And you disappeared for a while, right when Alicia's band was going on, and I had to stand with your brother, and, okay, it was funny watching him stare at her, but seriously, where were you?"
Gerard's stomach drops. He feels sick and dizzy all of a sudden, like he might fall over if he doesn't sit down. He sinks awkwardly onto his heels, presses the hand not holding the phone against the asphalt for balance, and then finally says, "I don't know. I don't remember."
Gerard can tell that Frank is angry, he knows the tone of voice. Frank is probably scowling too, his eyebrows drawn in close together, his nose wrinkled, his lips pressed thin, and he's probably fretting guitar chords against his thigh like he does when he's thinking.
"That's really... that's really not good," Frank says, finally.
Gerard's stomach rights itself when he hears that Frank sounds worried rather than mad, and he gets unsteadily to his feet again.
"I'm going to quit drinking," he declares even as the thought pops into his head, "or at least, I'm going to fucking try."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Fuck, I've blacked out twice this week, okay? That shit has got to stop."
"Yeah," Frank says softly, "I hear you."
* * *
Saturday
Saturday afternoon finds Gerard sitting on his couch in his underwear, smoking and doodling half-heartedly in an old sketchbook. It's almost full of cartoon monsters, pictures of Frank as a superhero (the point is the skin-tight spandex in particular, Gerard grins to himself as he flips by seven pages full of variations on the theme), drawings of zombies dressed as the Village People (but not the Village People as zombies), a few more-or-less realistic still life studies, just to keep his hand in practice (although there's one page where he couldn't resist giving a coffee mug beady little eyes and dripping fangs), and all sorts of scribbled notes to himself that he may or may not have forgotten ever existed.
Gerard sighs wistfully when he flips past a few pages of sketches of the Breakfast Monkey. I really need to get off my ass and do something about pitching that, one of these days. He sighs. Maybe when this freaky shit-whatever it is-blows over, I'll get on that.
He's just flipping to a new page to start in on a drawing of the most bad-ass vampire hamster ever when someone pounds on his door.
"Fuck," Gerard mutters, then yells "Hold on!" at the door.
He leaves his sketchbook on the couch and runs into his room to put on a shirt. He's halfway back to the door when he realizes he needs to put on pants, too. "Sorry! Just a sec!" he yells again, and tries to find a pair of jeans in the mess that is his bedroom floor.
Pants are eventually located and put on, and he rushes back out to open his door as far as his chain lock will allow.
Mikey is standing in the hallway, twirling his car keys around one finger and looking equal parts bored and amused.
"Sorry," Gerard says, "I had to find my pants."
Mikey raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. What he says instead is, "You need more socks so we're going to the mall."
"Okaaaaaay," Gerard blinks at him while he waits for his brain to catch up. "Wait, I do need more socks, how did you know that?"
"You told me," Mikey tells him, "on Thursday. And made me promise to come to the mall with you."
"Oh. I don't remember that." Gerard runs a hand through the back of his hair and starts looking around for his shoes. He can only see one of them and has no idea where the other one could be hiding.
"Whatever," Mikey says, "I'm here, so get your shit and let's go, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I can't find my fucking shoe."
Mikey stands around and watches while Gerard wanders through his tiny apartment looking for his shoe. It eventually turns up in the bathroom, and Gerard tries to jam it onto his foot even as he walks back towards his front door.
"Don't laugh," he tells Mikey when he almost falls over.
Mikey shrugs, his expression totally indifferent. "You ready yet?"
"Geez," Gerard says, "you got plans later or something?
Mikey's cheeks go ever-so-slightly pink at Gerard's question.
Gerard cackles in triumph. "Hot date?"
Mikey doesn't answer out loud, but his scowl speaks volumes.
"Alicia again?" Gerard wags his eyebrows at Mikey, or tries to. He's never sure if they actually move or not.
"Can we go now? Please?" Mikey's strategy for changing the subject involves turning around and heading down the hallway, and Gerard has to scramble to get his jacket on and his apartment door locked before Mikey leaves without him, which Gerard isn't entirely sure he wouldn't do.
The drive to the mall is relatively smooth, considering it's Saturday afternoon and every fucking car in Jersey is on the road. They have to park in the furthest corner of the parking lot, but whatever, it's still nice out, so Gerard almost doesn't mind the walk. It gives him a chance to smoke a cigarette and a half, which he knows he's going to need.
Once they push through the crowd of teenagers clustered around the door, Gerard and Mikey exchange half a glance before turning and making a beeline for the Starbucks.
"Fuck yes," Gerard breathes in the steam from his coffee as he clutches it close to his face.
Mikey smirks at him from around the straw of his ridiculous venti iced mocha whatever.
They wander together through the mall, trying to find somewhere to sit and drink their coffees in peace, even though peace is not so much to be had at the mall on a Saturday. Gerard finally shrugs and leans against a tiny slice of wall between stores near the far end of the mall, where there's just slightly less traffic than in the middle of the mall.
Mikey shoves him over to make room and leans against the wall next to him, their shoulders pressed together.
"So, hey," Gerard says between sips of blessed, blessed coffee, "what did you think of Alicia's band the other night?"
"They were good," Mikey says after a moment. He eyes his drink before he takes another sip. "Not exactly my usual thing, but," he waves vaguely with the hand not holding his coffee, "you know. I'd see them again. What did you think?"
Gerard snickers at him. "Any excuse to see her, huh?"
Mikey gives him a look. Gerard is very familiar with this look. "Come on, Gerard. You saw her. As if I'd turn down the chance to see her again before she realizes that she's way too good for me."
"Don't say that!" Gerard chides him, and contemplates punching Mikey in the arm or something. He'd do it, but it would probably result in the spilling of one or both of their coffees, so it wouldn't be worth it.
"What did Frank think?" Mikey peers intently at the black marks down the side of his coffee cup as if they hold the secret to life's mysteries, or they're going to offer their own opinion of Alicia's band, or something.
Gerard shrugs. "I don't know, it didn't come up when I talked to him yesterday. I can ask him, though, if you want. If I remember."
"Sure," Mikey says. "It was nice of him to come. Sometimes I feel like I never see him."
"Well, you could call him," Gerard suggests. "But not on Tuesday. We have plans on Tuesday."
"Plans being what, monster movies and takeout?" Gerard has no idea how Mikey perfected a tone of voice that's the audio equivalent of an eye-roll, but fuck, it's really something.
"Pretty much," Gerard admits.
They finish their coffees and head back into the bustle of the mall.
Mikey gets distracted by a record store and Gerard follows him in, smiling a little to himself as he watches Mikey stare at the wall of new releases for a full minute without moving before he turns and heads to the import section. Gerard putters around and looks at album covers while he waits for Mikey to pick something and pay for it.
After that, they wander around for almost an hour before they head out to the parking lot, and they're halfway back to the car before Mikey stops dead and says, "Fuck."
"What?" Gerard stops a step later and turns to look at him.
"You didn't actually buy any socks," Mikey tells him.
Gerard thinks about that for a second and then snorts out a laugh. "Fuck, you're right. Whatever, we're almost at the car."
"No way," Mikey says, pulling at his sleeve and starting to drag him back towards the mall. "If we leave without socks, you're going to start complaining about it, and you're probably going to try to make me come to the mall with you again, and seriously, we are here already so you are going to buy some fucking socks, okay?"
"Okay," Gerard says, ducking his head so Mikey can't see him laughing.
But then Mikey punches his shoulder and Gerard knows he saw it anyway. Oh well.
They turn around and go back in for socks.
Half an hour later they're back in Mikey's car and on their way out of the mall for real.
When they're stopped at a red light guiding traffic in and out of the parking lot, Gerard turns the volume down on the stereo and turns to Mikey. "Hey, do you want to go see a matinée of the new Halloween movie before we go to Ma's for dinner tomorrow?"
"Oh man, that's going to be so bad," Mikey says gleefully. Even the glare off his glasses isn't enough to mask how his eyes are all lit up at the thought.
"I know," Gerard grins, "it'll be awesome. I'll look up the show times and call you later, okay?"
"Cool," Mikey agrees.
"Light's green," Gerard points out, and Mikey swears under his breath and hits the gas.
* * *
Wednesday
Gerard somehow gets his cigarette lit on the first try, which he counts as a supreme victory because he's in the habit of taking wins wherever he can get them. It's raining and a bit windy, so the weather is working against him. It's a real triumph over the odds.
"So," he says after his second exhale, "it happened again last night."
"What did?" Bob asks, and tries to pull back further into the doorway's alcove to avoid getting rained on.
"It, you know, it," Gerard says.
Bob's face clearly says that he doesn't know.
"Come on, Bob, it, with the blackouts? And the paintings?" Gerard adds the last bit as a whisper.
"You sound freaked out." Bob sounds concerned.
"It's the third time it's happened, now," Gerard tells him.
"Weird," Bob agrees.
"I wasn't drinking last night," Gerard says.
"Really?"
"I wasn't," Gerard insists, "not at all. And I still don't remember shit after I got to Frank's last night. No idea what we did, no idea how I got home, fuck all."
"Huh," Bob says. "I have no idea what to suggest, then. But hey, you know what, my buddy Ray is probably the guy to help you."
Gerard raises an eyebrow.
"He was my roommate in college," Bob explains, "and he's always been into weird shit like ghosts and hallucinations and out-of-body experiences, right. You should talk to him, he could tell you."
"I don't believe in that fuckin' stuff," Gerard scowls.
Bob shrugs. "You got any better explanations right now?"
Gerard sighs and shakes his head, and lets Bob hand him a business card that he's just pulled out of his wallet. Gerard glances down at it and barely manages to stifle his laugh when he sees what's printed on it.
"I know," Bob grins at Gerard. "He claims he's just working there right now to pay the bills. But seriously, go see him, it might help."
"Okay," Gerard says, and then looks down at his watch. "Back to work?"
"Back to work," Bob groans.
* * *
Gerard can't stop thinking about his conversation with Bob, thoughts running through his mind in endless loops like a hamster on a wheel. He calls Frank on his lunch break, a little desperate for anything to help calm him down.
"Hey," Gerard says, "do you, um, do you remember what time I left your place last night?"
Frank is quiet for a few seconds as he thinks. "Around ten-thirty, I guess? You wanted to be home in time to watch The Daily Show in bed."
"Oh," Gerard says. "That makes perfect sense."
"Why do you ask?" Frank sounds- he sounds distant, not like he's on a phone on the other side of the world, but like he'd rather be there, or anywhere, just not talking to Gerard.
"Um, no reason." Gerard is really a terrible liar and he hopes Frank doesn't call him on it.
"Gerard." Fuck. Frank is totally calling him on it.
"It's just-" Gerard has no idea how to finish his sentence, so he just stops talking.
It takes Frank a moment to pick up the silence. "It's just what, Gerard?"
Oh, fuck, Gerard thinks in a panic, that is not a good tone of voice on Frank, oh fuck.
"It's just," he tries again, "it's just that, well, I don't remember anything I did last night, and it's fucking bizarre. No, you know what, bizarre isn't even the right word for it. It is fucking creepy."
"Again?" Frank's voice is hard.
"Yeah," Gerard can barely get the word out audibly.
"I thought you were sober last night!" It turns out Frank does disappointed really well-insane guilt-trip levels of well. Gerard would definitely feel super guilty if he had anything to feel guilty about. He's kind of starting to feel guilty anyway.
"I was," Gerard snaps back, "that's why it's so creepy."
A cold silence fills the phone line between them.
"I don't lie to you, Frank," Gerard says eventually, and if his exasperation comes through in his voice, he hopes it makes Frank feel bad. "You know that. Fuck, come on, I'm really freaked out here, can you please not be mad at me for something I didn't even do?"
"Gerard," Frank starts, but doesn't finish his sentence.
"I keep getting nosebleeds. I keep waking up with a bloody nose and it's really gross and it's happened four times now. It scares the shit out of me every single time it happens." Gerard's skin just crawls as he remembers the panic he'd felt when he jolted awake, the vague looming terror lurking around the edges of his awareness as he came into full consciousness and discovered a thick trail of blood dripping down his chin onto his pillowcase.
"Oh my god," Frank groans, "Gerard, please, please tell me you aren't-"
"I'm not," Gerard cuts him off, "I promise, I swear, and I haven't even had a drink in-" he pauses to count, "-five days now. Since I told you I was going to quit."
"Wait, really?"
"Yes, really, I really haven't."
"Um. Wow. That's- that's great, Gerard, seriously. Five days? Really?"
"Yeah," Gerard says. "Which is great, I guess, but the problem is that I am still not remembering entire nights even when I'm sober."
"That's pretty fucked up. You got any ideas what the hell is going on?"
"Well, this guy I work with, Bob, he thinks I'm maybe getting haunted or having a paranormal experience or some shit."
"Yeah?" Frank sounds really interested for a guy who professes not to believe in that shit, Gerard thinks darkly.
"Yeah, he told me I should talk to this friend of his who works at this new-age store, because he might know what's going on."
"Will you?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe this weekend, if I have time."
"I wanna hear about it if you go. Promise you'll tell me what he says?"
"Yeah," Gerard says, "I promise."
"Sweet! It would be totally cool if you were haunted, don't you think? It would be like in a movie or something, you know?"
"Yeah, Frank, it would be totally cool. Wouldn't it be great if people fuckin', fuckin' died? I'm so excited to be totally scarred for life!" Gerard huffs smoke out his nose and rolls his eyes.
"Gerard, come on. I don't believe in that shit anyway, okay? And you don't either, because it's not real. Nobody's going to die."
"I know," Gerard says, "but that doesn't make this any less freaky to me, okay?"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to piss you off. But, um, do you think you should see a doctor instead of some crazy dude who believes in ghosts?"
"The better question," Gerard snits back, "is can I afford to see a doctor? Big hint, the answer is no."
"I think it would be worth it," Frank says, guardedly.
"Maybe if it hasn't stopped by next week or the week after." Gerard frowns down at his neat row of pencils. "Maybe it will just go away before then."
"Maybe," Frank agrees, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Look, why don't you come over on Friday, okay? I'll make you dinner and we can- um, well, I was about to say we could stay up late watching bad horror movies on the Sci-Fi Channel, but maybe that's not such a good idea right now. We'll think of something, though."
Gerard laughs. "Sounds good to me. Man, I wish people were always offering to make me dinner and entertain me to solve my problems."
"Don't get used to it," Frank warns, but his voice is light.
Gerard smiles when he hangs up. He may have no idea what in the fuck is going on, but at least he has Frank.
* * *
Friday
Frank has an electric guitar slung across his chest when he opens the door for Gerard on Friday night.
"Hey," Gerard starts to say, and then he notices what Frank is wearing. "Oh, sweet! You finally got it! That's the guitar you've been talking about for months, right?"
Frank nods enthusiastically, his grin stretching all the way across his face. "Isn't she great? I'm trying to come up with a name for her, but nothing really speaks to me yet."
Gerard leans forward to peer at it. It puts his face pretty close to Frank's crotch, but whatever, it's not like they won't probably be doing that later anyway.
The guitar is pristine white, with a black pickguard and four knobs and a beautiful dark fretboard. It's so shiny that Gerard can see his reflection looking back at him.
"It's- she's really pretty," Gerard says, and gently runs a finger along the top curve near the neck, the finish glossy and smooth under his touch.
"Yeah," Frank breathes, sounding as proud as if he'd just given birth to the thing.
"Can you play me something?" Gerard asks, straightening back up.
"Sure, like what?"
Gerard starts to think, but Frank interrupts before Gerard can even say anything. "And no, I still haven't learned any Morrissey for you, and I never will, okay?"
Gerard gives him an exaggerated pout. "But 'Every Day Is Like Sunday' is-"
Frank cuts him off by starting to play something else. The guitar isn't actually plugged in so the chords sound tinny and small, but Gerard recognizes the chugging chords of "We Are 138" and starts singing along.
Frank grins at him and starts speeding up too soon in his enthusiasm, and when Gerard gets flustered and loses track of the song, Frank stills the strings with the side of his hand to cut off the sound.
"Well," Gerard says, "if that's how you're going to be, you could at least play me 'Teenagers From Mars'."
Frank launches right into the song, spinning away from Gerard and jumping on the couch while still playing. Gerard trails after him so he can still hear the guitar, singing along all the while. He laughs when Frank starts flailing around, windmillling his strumming arm and jumping up and down on the beat.
"Don't hurt yourself," Gerard says.
Frank sticks his tongue out at him.
"Thanks," Gerard says, "don't mind if I do." He grins wide and jumps up onto the couch, putting his hands on Frank's shoulders as he pulls him in for a kiss.
There's a squeak from the strings as Frank's hand jerks down the frets, and then a moment later Gerard feels Frank's hand sliding up under his t-shirt, palm pressed hot and sweaty to the small of his back.
"Mmmmf," Gerard says into Frank's mouth.
"Mmnnghgmf," Frank agrees, then pulls back so far that Gerard can actually focus his eyes on Frank's face.
"What?" Gerard asks.
"Dinner is in the oven," Frank says, "and I slaved away to make it for you, so I'd rather not get so distracted it burns, okay."
"But-" Gerard starts to say, but his stomach rumbles so loud that Frank hears it and starts laughing at him. "Fine, I can wait," he gives in. "What are we having?"
"You'll find out when it's ready."
"And when's that?"
Frank glances down at his watch. "Soon," Frank says. "The timer should probably-"
The timer goes off and interrupts Frank, which Gerard has to admit was a pretty fucking cool bit of timing.
Frank very carefully lifts his guitar strap over his head and presses the guitar into Gerard's hands. "Can you put this away? Don't drop her or I'll fucking kill you," he says, then kisses the side of Gerard's mouth and jumps off the couch to run into the kitchen.
After they polish off the surprisingly delicious vegetable curry Frank claims to have made from scratch, Gerard gets up to do the dishes.
Frank slides up behind Gerard when he's about halfway done and presses his hips to Gerard’s ass. “Hey,” he says against Gerard's ear as he plants a hand on the counter on either side of Gerard’s waist. “Thanks for the help.”
“Yeah,” Gerard manages to get out. He tries not to drop the pot onto a stack of very breakable dishes when he feels Frank roll his hips, feels Frank’s dick rubbing against the top of his thigh through his jeans. “It’s my pleasure.”
“I bet,” Frank grins. His breath is hot on the side of Gerard’s neck, a little damp. Part of Gerard wants to turn and grab Frank and blow him right there against the counter, but a bigger part wants to appreciate the way Frank’s got his hands more or less around him now, his body pressed up against Gerard’s back. The warm weight is kind of comforting, actually, and the body contact is really nice.
Gerard smiles and keeps scrubbing.
Frank goes up on his toes to tuck his chin over Gerard’s shoulder and peer down at the status of the dishes. The stretch pushes Frank’s dick up against Gerard’s ass, and Gerard grins wider and presses right back against it. Gerard can feel how hard Frank is getting, and for that matter, things are getting kind of tight in his own pants.
Gerard drops the sponge into the sink when Frank rubs against him again; his fingers twitch at the same time his cock jerks in his shorts. Gerard shifts so he’s rubbing himself back against Frank, and he reaches to pick up the sponge again, trying to fake like he’s still washing the dishes, like he isn’t completely distracted and waiting for Frank to make the next move.
The lights flicker then, and Gerard tips his head back, resting it on Frank’s shoulder as he looks up at the fixture in the ceiling.
“What?” Frank asks.
“Nothing,” Gerard says, even though he’s still squinting at the light. “I thought the bulb was going to go out, but I guess not.” He straightens and looks back down at the sink. He only gets another couple scrubs at the pot before Frank interrupts.
“I would say the dishes look pretty done,” Frank says, and his tongue is creeping up the edge of Gerard’s ear and fuck, yeah, Gerard is very willing to agree that the dishes are done.
Gerard puts the pot down on the counter and turns around, squirming up against Frank as he moves but not breaking the circle of his arms. “Hi,” he says, and then tips his face down and kisses Frank.
It’s wet and messy right from the moment their lips touch. Gerard opens his mouth when Frank does, and he runs his tongue along Frank’s bottom lip before pulling back slightly to bite it gently, just pressing his teeth into the flesh of Frank’s lip for a moment.
Frank moans, and it turns almost into a giggle when Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist, his fingers tracing lightly over the bare skin where Frank’s shirt is riding up.
“Tickles,” Frank mumbles.
Gerard smirks at him for a moment before pulling him in close so they’re pressed tight, chest to chest, hip to hip. Gerard works a hand up under Frank’s t-shirt and runs his fingertips up his spine.
Frank shivers, presses his face into Gerard’s shoulder and tilts his hips so he can rub himself against Gerard’s leg.
Gerard shifts his weight so he can press his leg forward, and he slips a hand down to tuck into the back pocket of Frank’s jeans and hold him in close. He leans in and nuzzles against Frank’s ear for a moment before murmuring, “Want to do this naked and in bed?”
“Yes,” Frank says, and Gerard grins and nips at Frank’s earlobe before pushing off from the edge of the counter and steering them towards Frank’s bedroom.
They fall together onto the bed, Frank twisting around in Gerard’s lap as he shucks his shirt and throws it across the room. Gerard sits up to watch appreciatively as Frank’s muscles flex and lines of tendon pop up in his forearms. Gerard admires the shape of the muscles in Frank’s back, the little pockets of fat at his waist, and the dark lines of ink curving this way and that across Frank’s skin, holding him forever in their own peculiar embrace.
Then Frank turns back to face Gerard again, grinning widely as he reaches for the bottom button of Gerard’s shirt and undoes it carefully. He moves slowly upwards, slipping buttons through their holes one at a time. Gerard watches his fingers, the back and forth of nail and knuckle, and when Frank reaches the top button, Gerard tucks in his chin and leans in to press a kiss to the tops of Frank’s fingers.
Frank reaches up to cup Gerard’s face, his hand splayed wide to press fingers to both sides of Gerard’s jaw, and he holds Gerard still as he leans in to kiss him hard.
“Take your shirt off,” Frank says against Gerard’s lips, and Gerard kisses him back even as he shrugs his shoulders to get the sleeves of his shirt to slide down his arms and bunch up around his wrists. He yanks the cuffs over his hands and then shoves the shirt off to one side of the bed.
Hands now freed, Gerard puts them on Frank’s hips, his fingers digging in a little. He can feel the muscles in Frank’s stomach twitching under his thumbs and he gives in to the temptation to draw a finger along the line of coarse hair running from Frank’s navel into his pants.
When Gerard’s finger reaches the button of Frank’s jeans, Frank’s hand closes over his, squeezing briefly before pushing Gerard’s hand out of the way to pop the button open with a flick of the wrist. Gerard watches as Frank eases his fly down, and then Gerard hooks a finger through one of Frank’s belt loops and helps to shove his jeans down his hips, pulling on the legs once they’re down and loose around Frank’s knees.
Frank tips over sideways, rolls onto his back, and sticks his feet in the air and points his toes. Gerard laughs and tugs Frank’s pants the rest of the way off, yanking hard to get them over Frank’s feet. He drops them onto the bed and looks down at Frank. Their eyes lock and they smile stupidly at each other. Gerard reaches down to tuck a curl of hair back behind Frank’s ear before tugging at the waistband of Frank’s boxers. There’s already a wet spot visibly getting bigger on the front of them, and Gerard wants to taste it. He licks his lips in anticipation as he slides a finger in through the slit in Frank’s boxers to touch the slick pre-come at his crown.
“Hey, hey, come on,” Frank says, reaching up to grab at the bottom hem of Gerard’s undershirt. “Take this off first so I have something to look at, okay?”
“Fine,” Gerard shrugs and pulls the shirt over his head, dropping it on Frank’s face. “Happy?”
“Hells yeah,” Frank leers. He balls Gerard’s undershirt up and throws it off to the side.
Gerard smiles at him and starts pulling at Frank’s boxers more seriously this time, fingers tucking under the elastic waist and yanking. Frank lifts his hips to help, arching up beneath Gerard.
Gerard’s mouth goes dry at the sight but he keeps going, shifting one hand so he can pull harder at the very front to stretch the elastic and get it over Frank’s cock without catching.
When Frank is finally naked, Gerard tugs Frank’s legs apart and kneels between them. He sits back on his heels and looks up the length of Frank’s body for a moment and then puts his hands at the tops of Frank’s thighs, leans in, and exhales heavily against the head of Frank’s cock.
“Fuck,” Frank gasps, his whole body jerking like he's just barely avoiding jumping out of his own skin.
Gerard grins and squeezes Frank’s thigh briefly. Then he licks his lips, leans in, and wraps his lips around Frank’s cock, sucking at the head for a moment before taking Frank so far into his mouth that Frank’s pubic hair brushes the tip of his nose.
Gerard just tightens his grip as Frank starts writhing, holds him down when his hips start bucking up.
“Jesus, I- fuck, Gerard, fuck,” Frank is getting incoherent the way he always does, and Gerard just smiles to himself around Frank’s cock and sucks a little harder.
Frank groans when Gerard pulls back a bit to start flicking at the underside of Frank’s cock with the edges of his tongue. Gerard hums a bit, then pulls back further to wrap his tongue around the head of Frank’s dick and then trace the slit with the tip of his tongue.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Frank chokes out, and when Gerard laughs with his mouth still around Frank’s cock, Frank’s leg thrashes out and Gerard has to press it down hard into the mattress so it doesn't catch him in the stomach.
When Frank settles back down again, Gerard runs one hand down Frank’s leg, pausing to draw circles around his kneecap, and then reaches down to unzip his own pants and shove his hand down the front. He lowers his head again, keeping up the suction as his lips slide wetly down Frank's length, and he wraps his hand around his own cock and starts stroking firmly in time with the rhythm he's got going with his tongue.
Gerard keeps going until the sensation gets to be too much, until his palm is slick with his own pre-come and he can hear the little wet noises every time he closes his hand around the head of his dick and twists. He sits up then, Frank's dick sliding free of his mouth and smearing a thick trail of spit down his chin, and he shoves his pants down his hips and wiggles out of them.
He moves up the bed to press his whole body against Frank's, and their hips move together, the friction slicked just enough with the spit that's still wet on Frank's cock.
Their kiss then is less a kiss and more the pressing of two open mouths together, tongues meeting in the middle to push against each other. Gerard pulls back to run his tongue along Frank's lower lip, to trace the sharp line of his top teeth, and his mouth slides down the side of Frank's face when Frank turns beneath him, extending his arm towards the bedside table.
"Here, hey," Frank says as he presses a thing of lube into Gerard's hand. It's sticky against Gerard's fingers as he flips it around and pops it open.
Gerard settles back between Frank's thighs and watches intently as Frank spreads his legs wide, bends one to nudge Gerard's knee with his toe.
"This okay?" Frank asks. Gerard nods, so Frank pulls the other pillow over from the other side of the bed and fusses with it, arranging it beneath the one he's already got while Gerard warms some lube between his fingers.
The lights flicker again, dropping out for almost a full second before weakly coming back on again. They flicker briefly once more before reaching full brightness.
"Gerard?" Frank asks, looking concerned. "What's up?"
Gerard shakes his head, scowls at the lamp on the bedside table. "Nothing," he says, "I'm just..." If Frank didn't notice the lights go out, then maybe they didn't and he's actually going crazy or something. Now is not the time to worry about that, though.
Frank just nods and smiles up at Gerard. Gerard leans in and runs one of his dry fingers down from just behind Frank's balls. Frank twitches a little, but holds mostly still as Gerard palms Frank's thigh and then reaches down with his other hand to work two slick fingers in.
Gerard looks up and catches Frank's eye, raises an eyebrow. Frank just nods at him and Gerard pushes his fingers in past the knuckle, twisting his wrist a little once they're in. Minutes drift past as Gerard moves his fingers and eventually works a third in, as he touches Frank lightly with his other hand-his thigh, his balls, the round curve of his ass.
"Now," Frank finally gasps, pulling his knees up towards his chest and rocking his hips toward Gerard.
Gerard pulls his fingers free and reaches for the lube again, squirts a bunch into his palm and then grabs his dick, jerking himself a few times before wiping his hand off on the sheets. He grabs Frank's thighs again, his fingers pressing white circles into Frank's skin, and rubs himself against Frank, the head of his cock slipping up against the back of Frank's balls. Gerard groans softly, rolling his hips a couple of times, and then stops to line himself up properly and push in.
Frank sighs as he relaxes into Gerard's thrust, his head falling back so all Gerard can see is the stubbled underside of his chin and the peak of his nose. Frank tilts his hips up once Gerard's all the way in, and touches Gerard's hand on his leg. Gerard lifts his fingers to brush them against Frank's, then pulls almost all the way out.
Gerard watches what he can see of Frank's face as he thrusts all the back way in, fast and a little hard, and the line of Frank's jaw as it falls open sends tingles chasing each other around Gerard's stomach. Frank's Adam's apple bobs as he breathes deep, his inhalations starting to get a little ragged. Gerard slides his hands a little further down until the swell of Frank's ass is soft against his fingers, and he holds on tight as he leans in against Frank's bent legs, using the weight of his own body to force them up a little higher and get the angle just right.
"Fuck!" Frank grunts at Gerard's next thrust, and Gerard grins and rolls his hips until his hipbones press into the soft skin of the backs of Frank's thighs.
The light flickers again, but Gerard pushes it out of his mind and concentrates on watching Frank's face, keeping up the rhythms that make him squeeze his eyes shut and gasp in heavy breaths and make the best noises. He keeps thrusting, his fingers curling into Frank's flesh.
And then the light goe-
-ard, dude, stop it," Frank is saying when the light pops back on.
"Wha?" Gerard manages to ask.
"Get your hand off my throat," Frank tells him, his voice hard.
"I'm not," Gerard starts, but then he looks down and his hand is on Frank's throat. He pulls it away and puts it firmly back where it was before-where it should have been-his fingers pressing into the top curve of Frank's thigh maybe a little harder than they need to.
Gerard rocks his hips again, emphatically, at an angle he's hoping he's correctly remembering as a good one. He slides one hand up to curl around Frank's cock and stroke it casually, his thumb tracing around the edge of the crown. Frank hisses in a breath but Gerard keeps the pace of his hand slow, wanting to draw i-
-eriously, stop it, what the fuck are you doing," Frank is spitting the words at him, and Gerard blinks to clear his vision and Frank is still beneath him.
His hand is on Frank's throat again. Gerard snatches his hand back as if he'd just touched a hot stove, plants it firmly on Frank's hip.
"I told you I don't like that," Frank says, "so come on, just stop it, okay?"
I'm not doing it, Gerard wants to say, but that's a pretty hard sell when he clearly was just doing it. He can see two finger-shaped red marks on the curve of Frank's throat.
He has no idea what the fuck he's doing.
He has no idea what the fuck is going on.
Gerard stops moving, just kneels between Frank's feet and looks down at him. "I can stop," he offers.
"No," Frank says, "keep going, jus-
-hips pressed tight against Frank's ass, holding him down as he thrashes, his leg jer-
-ey, come on, I said stop it, wha-
-ches him right in the stomach, pain blooming hot and sick and spiraling outwa-
-warm under his hand, can feel the pulse in Frank's neck under his fingers, the wild throbbing of his jugu-
[ part two]