Work Text:
"You're different."
"You mean sober."
Frank huffed. "Yeah, that, too. But it's like—" He took a deep drag off of the cigarette before passing it to Bert. "You've grown up, or something."
Bert laughed, that high-pitched squeaky sound that used to grate on Frank's nerves in the worst way. "Kinda had to, man. Responsibilities, kids, marriage." He tried to blow a smoke ring, and failed. "You know what it's like."
Frank did, and it fueled the constant churning in his stomach. "Yeah." He shifted against the wall they were leaning on, feeling the rough brick catch on the fabric of his hoodie. Bert passed the cigarette back to him. Frank took the last drag and stared at the butt before he flicked it down the alley. "Supposed to have quit," he mumbled.
Bert hummed noncommittally. "Does Jamia still let you off leash if you ask?"
He couldn't help the involuntary sound he made, a sort of sputtering gasp. "Wh-what?"
Bert was staring down at the toes of his sneakers, but he tipped his head as a sly grin crossed his face. "You heard me, Iero. Call your wife and get permission so you can suck me off after the show."
"Fuck you," Frank growled. "I don't get on my knees for just anyone."
"Call your wife," Bert repeated, leaning in and planting a loud, smacking kiss on Frank's cheek before going back into the venue.
"Fucker," he mumbled half-heartedly while checking his watch. He had just enough time to call Jamia before he was due at sound check. Just to touch base with her and the kids, not because Bert told him to.
Sound check went well, even though they were still getting used to each other. Ed watched from side-stage, nodding in time with the music. Frank's played with Rob before, of course, in Leathermouth, and he's known Evan for most of that kid's life. Matt's the only one who's really new, and he fit in perfectly, Jersey born and bred like the rest of them.
He caught Evan out of the corner of his eye as they played and he was somehow surprised that it wasn't Ray. He suspected that it would be while before he stopped looking for the guys from My Chem. The idea made him feel unsettled, so afterward he hung out in the green room, drinking tea and practicing his breathing. It didn't really help the nerves.
The door banged open and there was a flurry of activity as a good portion of the Used and TBS invaded the green room. Frank turned to Evan, about to remind him about the change in the set list when he found himself in a headlock, knuckles rubbing over his head.
"Iero, you motherfucker, I haven't seen you in years!"
"Jeph?" Frank struggled free of Jepha's arm and turned to look at him. Impossibly, he didn't look any older, just more tattooed. He had just enough time to see Jepha's manic grin before he was enveloped in a hard hug.
Jepha lifted him off his feet and spun them around, cackling. Frank couldn't do anything but hold on tight. It felt a little like coming home. "It's good to see you," he whispered, half to himself. They'd had some good times, him and Jepha.
"You, too, Iero," Jepha murmured, setting Frank down on his feet.
Frank looked around, ignoring the tightness in his chest. This was the life of a musician, creating friendships that went dormant when you weren't on tour, but bloomed back to life when you were.
He grinned and waded into the throng of old friends, feeling lighter.
Ed and Evan handled the merch table once the doors opened; Frank hid in the green room and tried to breathe through his anxiety. It helped, a little, but he still felt restless and unfocused.
He paced around the perimeter of the room, drank water, took a piss, paced some more, pissed again, at which point Rob put his hands on Frank's shoulders and pushed him onto the couch. "Stop it."
"Okay," he said, easily enough, but he couldn't keep from bouncing his leg nervously. And before he knew it, it was show time.
The kids had been great, but Frank struggled with his awkwardness, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans repeatedly, and losing track of what he was saying between songs. It seemed okay, because the audience laughed with him, so he called it a win.
He handed off his guitar and drank some water before heading to the merch table.
"You okay?" Ed asked, leaning close to shout in Frank's ear. He had the kind of droopy, sad eyes that made him look concerned all the time, but he knew Frank, had been with him since the start. The concern was real.
Frank just nodded over the sound of the house music as the techs set up for the next band.
He smiled and sold merch, doled out hugs and took pictures. There were more than a few tears, and some so nervous they couldn't talk, and he did his best to listen to them, and thank them. He always made sure to thank them.
The crowd around his table thinned out once the Used took the stage, and it gave him an opportunity to watch their performance.
Somehow, over the years, he'd forgotten what a performer Bert was. He threw himself around on the stage, screaming, pouring his heart into the music. Ten minutes in and Bert was sweat-soaked and grinning, jumping off the monitors and Dan's drum set, crashing into Quinn. Jepha was pretty good at dodging and managed to stay out of the path of destruction.
It made Frank's mouth dry, and he could feel his body responding to Bert's magnetism, even from across the venue.
By the time Bert and his band left the stage, Bert was sporting the start of a black eye and his lip was torn and bloody from a run in with the mic stand. It was ridiculous, but Frank wanted to lick the blood off Bert's face, and leave fingerprint bruises in other places. Frank was used to wanting but it made him jittery.
Jamia had said yes, but that didn't mean he had to do anything.
He knew after the show he should just go back to the motel, take a shower, drink some more tea and go to bed early. But Frank had always been bad at doing what he should.
They were desperate.
Bert's shirt got stretched and torn when Frank manhandled him, pushing him into the motel room and slamming the door shut behind them. It was late, and they were making a commotion, but Frank didn't give a fuck. He didn't wait, just dropped to his knees and started pawing at Bert's stupid camo shorts, pulling them down, down and—"Fuck, you went commando?"
Bert laughed, squeaky and breathless. "Hell, yeah. I—"
Frank stopped listening, just shut Bert up by pulling out his dick and swallowing him down. It'd been a long time since he'd done this, so he choked a little, backed off for a wheezing breath before going back down, as far as he could.
"Fuck—" Bert was squirming against the door, gasping and making little broken sounds that were caught halfway between pain and pleasure.
Frank wasn't careful, just rough and fast, and it didn't take long for Bert to start thrusting his hips a little, trying to get Frank to take him in deeper. "Gonna—"
He could feel it in the tension of Bert's body, the way he trembled, and it pissed Frank off, because he wasn't done yet. "No," he said firmly, grabbing a hold of Bert's balls and squeezing, maybe a little too hard. But he didn't care.
"Iero, Christ, fucking ow," he hissed.
"Shut up," Frank muttered. He kept one hand tight around the base of Bert's cock while he went back to sucking him; the other hand fought with his own belt buckle, button, zipper. His dick was so hard it hurt and it was a struggle to get the zipper down, but Frank was fucking determined. He moaned, fingers tangled in his underwear as he tried to get a good grip on himself.
He finally managed to free his cock and started jacking it, quick and frantic. It was almost too much friction at first, but he was leaking and sweaty so it didn't take long for his hand to slide a little bit. It was good, so fucking good, and every sound he managed to pull out of Bert pushed him closer to coming.
"C'mon, Iero, don't leave me fucking hanging—oh fuck!"
Frank let go of Bert's dick and palmed his balls, letting his fingers slide back and pressing against the sensitive skin behind Bert's sac. Bert jerked like he'd been shocked and Frank pulled off just as Bert came, eyes closed against the streaks of hot wetness on his face. He groaned loudly and stroked himself faster, setting a brutal pace; he was so fucking close, and all he could smell was Bert.
Frank's eyes fluttered open, and Bert pressed his thumb to Frank's bottom lip, stroking softly. "Christ," Frank gasped, sucking on Bert's thumb and coming, hot and thick in his hand, dripping over his fingers and, "Fuck," he mumbled, shuddering. He kept dragging his fingers up and down his dick, sending shocks of almost-too-much shivering down his nerves.
"Jesus, Iero." Bert snorted. "Look at the fucking mess you made."
Frank sat back on his legs and rested his head against Bert's leg. "Fuck off."
Bert managed to get them stripped and into the shower, washing Frank briskly before shoving him out onto the bathmat. His legs felt rubbery and he was silently thankful to be able to lean against Bert as he dried Frank off with a cheap motel towel.
Frank let himself be wrestled under the covers and pulled close; he'd forgotten that Bert was a compulsive cuddler.
He would never admit that it felt good, to be curled up against Bert. He felt safe. Bert lit a cigarette and shared it with Frank, the silence between them somehow comfortable. He dropped the butt into an empty soda can and Frank heard it hisss.
"I was surprised when I heard about My Chem."
Frank rolled his eyes and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable spot to rest his head. He settled on Bert's shoulder, which wasn't half as bony as Mikey's. "I don't wanna talk about it." He didn't. The last thing he wanted was Bert McCracken poking at half-healed wounds.
Bert shrugged, which jogged Frank's head. "I'm just saying. I was surprised. I thought you guys were in it 'til the bitter end."
Frank couldn't help flinching at that. He held his tongue through Bert's dramatic reading of the room service menu and three more shared cigarettes before he worked up the nerve to ask the question that had been haunting him for years. "Do you still love him?"
Lighting another cigarette, Bert nodded and exhaled, squinting through the smoke. "Yeah, I do."
"I don't want to love him anymore." He let his fingers trace idle patterns on Bert's chest. "It hurts."
"Yeah." There was a world of understanding in Bert's voice and it made something inside Frank ache. "I miss him, too."
Frank bit his lip and inhaled carefully through his nose.
"Eventually, you'll see that giving up isn't weak. It just means that you're strong enough to let him go."
"Fucker," Frank breathed.
"Yeah, pretty much." Bert pressed a kiss to Frank's temple and turned out the light.
-fin-