Archive of Our Own

There's zero privacy on tour. Gerard knows this, he's been doing it long enough. But when he'd been drinking, he hadn't cared, and since he'd been sober, he hadn't been fucking around, so it hadn't mattered.

Now? It matters.

He’s got this thing with Frank – and it is a thing, a real, actual something going on between them, even though they haven't told anybody yet. Gerard hasn't found the word for it. It's not dating, because Christ, they're grown men and together all the fucking time, and this isn't as simple as dating, it's not as clear-cut as that. It's not just fucking around either – that's part of it, though, because all Gerard wants to do in life is fuck around with Frank. He wants to put time on hold, take a month and just try to get through every totally awesome fantasy he's come up with and put them to good use with Frank. And then do them all over again.

Maybe they'd need more than a month.

But it's not just that. He's been trying to come up with a way to define it for a few weeks now, but all he can come up with is: it's Frank, it's him and Frank, and they're in it together. That's good enough, for now. That's amazing, actually.

"Fuck," Gerard gasps out now, low, muffled against Frank's mouth. Frank has him pinned against a wall in a back corridor of the venue. They'd been walking for a while to get here and they hadn't seen anyone for the last half-dozen twists and turns, but still. People are always around. "Fuck," he says again, as Frank surges against him, up on his toes, his tongue in Gerard's mouth, grinding against Gerard hard.

"I know." Frank grabs Gerard's hand, his fingers sweaty and hot. "God, just fucking –" He drags Gerard's hand down to the front of his jeans, pressing it against his cock. It feels so fucking good under Gerard's hand that his mouth is watering. He wants to drop to his knees so fucking bad - just rip those jeans open and suck Frank’s cock into his mouth.

"Fuck, I want to suck you off so fucking bad," he says against Frank's lips, and Frank whines in response, shoving his hips against Gerard's hard, twisting his fingers in Gerard's hair.

"Do it, fucking do it," he pants.

It's a fucking terrible idea. This isn't the place but it sure as fuck is the time. Gerard's halfway to his knees, his heart pounding, so turned on he can't think straight, when they hear voices right nearby.

"What the fuck, what the fuck," Frank hisses, as Gerard scrambles to his feet. Frank grabs Gerard, dragging him back into the shadows by a haphazard stack of boxes in the corner. They'd barely gotten back there, Gerard trying to breathe as quietly as possible, his heart pounding in his throat, when Frank breathes out, "Shit, fuck," and starts dragging him back out.

"What are you doing?" Gerard hangs onto him, keeping him in the shadows. The voices are really close now; what the fuck is anybody else doing back here, anyway?

"Spiders," Frank whispers frantically. "I felt spiders, there was something, it's all just –"

"Shhh," Gerard says, still hanging onto him tight. Frank freezes against him as they hear, "So then Tommy said he didn't fucking think so, but I took a picture, and tweeted it at him, just to prove my fucking point, right?"

Frank is standing very still, with his head ducked against Gerard's shoulder, his hands clenched in Gerard's jacket, while Gerard frantically tries to figure out how obvious their hard-ons are going to be when they get caught, because they are so very definitely going to get caught. The voices are right there, and Frank isn't being very quiet, his breathing on the edge of hysteria. Gerard’s tugging his shirt down and trying to steady his breathing when...he's not positive, but it really seems like – yes, yes, the voices were veering off, heading away from them.

"Oh thank fucking god," he breathes against Frank's hair.

Frank tugs himself away, and Gerard lets him go this time. Frank stumbles backwards away from Gerard and the dark corner and the boxes, brushing wildly at his hair and his shoulders and his face, breathing hard and making small, frantic noises in his throat. "Ugh, god, Gee, get them off, get them off, is there anything on me, fucking help, would you?"

Gerard pats at Frank's head distractedly, still listening to make sure the voices are still receding. "There weren't any spiders."

"You don't know." Frank shudders, his whole body moving with it, and Gerard watches him, and moves closer again.

"Uh-uh." Frank pushes him back, shuddering again and making his way cautiously down the corridor. "Close encounters with spiders equals me without a boner."

"Fuck." Gerard sighs, tugging his jacket back into place and following behind Frank, kicking at the ground as he goes. "It's like fucking high school."

"You never got this lucky in high school." Frank peers around the corner. "Coast is clear." He looks back at Gerard with some sympathy. "I never did, either." He leans up and brushes his lips against Gerard's and Gerard's instantly turned on again. Frank's wrong - that part of it is kind of exactly like high school. "Let's go. Hotel night, soon."

"Not soon enough."

Frank takes his hand, squeezes it, then drops it as they head around the corner.

By the time they get back to the bus, Gerard and Frank are arguing over the possibility of radioactive spiders actually existing and if they would be more or less scary than real ones, as they climb on board. The rest of the guys are there already – they're late for bus-call actually, but that's nothing new. Worm gives them both a Look and a lecture, but Frank shrugs it off, throwing himself down on the couch next to Mikey and nudging at his hand holding the Xbox controller, trying to make him fuck up.

Gerard pats Worm's shoulder apologetically and settles in on Mikey's other side. He grabs his sketchbook from the floor and resolutely doesn't draw Frank, settling instead for random sketches of superheroes with hair that curled down over their eyes on one side and with tattoos in unusual places.

Frank heads to his own bunk, yawning, on the early side. Gerard sort of loses track of time, getting sleepier and sleepier there on the couch until he actually does get up and stumble to bed when Mikey pokes him. Of course Gerard wakes back up in the short trip to his bunk and after climbing up, he turns on the light and keeps sketching for a while, the rhythm of the road under the bus sort of soothing and steady.

He's just flipped to a new page, humming quietly to himself, when he hears it: a quiet moan, bitten off. It's not loud – barely audible over Ray's snoring in the bunk beneath him – but he'd definitely heard it.

And it's definitely Frank.

He's heard that moan. He knows that moan. It's the one that comes when they've been making out for a while, when Frank is hard and insistent against Gerard's thigh, when the two of them are so fucking turned on they can't even think.

Gerard freezes there, listening intently. His pencil is clutched in his sweaty hand so hard it hurts, but he just bites his lip in the dim of his bunk and listens.

Between the sound of the road beneath them and the quiet hum of...Gerard's not sure, probably Mikey and Bob still talking out in the lounge, he can't hear much. But after a few moments, there's another stifled moan and – oh yeah, Gerard could pick out that gasp from a line-up. Frank thinks if he opens his mouth wide, draws in deep breaths like that, no one can hear, but Gerard knows that sound. He knows how Frank looks when he does that, mouth wide, eyes tight shut, his whole body tense and wound up, his cock so fucking hard that sometimes Gerard thinks Frank might come if he even just brushes against it.

Jesus. Frank's down there, across the aisle, jerking off like his life depends on it. Gerard wants to see, wants to at least shift onto his side, get a better angle for listening, but he's afraid to move. He feels as frozen as he had in the corridor earlier, hiding behind the pile of boxes with Frank, his heart beating so hard he can feel it against his chest.

"Uh."

That's all it is, just the slightest moan, just that one sound escaping, barely, but loud enough for Gerard to hear. Fuck, he's so fucking hard and there isn't a fucking thing he can do about it. Gerard digs his teeth into his lip and presses the palm of his hand against the front of his pants.

There's no way he can hear the slap of skin on skin, of Frank stroking himself, but he can picture it, he can see it in his mind's eye. Frank, hand tight around his cock, jerking himself with quick strokes, trying to keep it quiet, make it good, make it last – he'd better not fucking make it last too long; Gerard's going to ignite here, seriously. He's sweating and his eyes hurt from staring into the darkness, like he'll be able to see if he just tries hard enough.

He takes a chance – he has to, he has no fucking choice – and rolls over, closer to the edge of his bunk, quiet as he can. He stills himself against the sheets - fuck, this angle presses his cock against the mattress, and it feels so fucking good, he's leaking all over the place, he knows it, and if he presses down, right there, oh fuck, oh fuck. He jams one hand over his mouth, pressing his lips against his skin to keep back the sound. He has to listen; he has to hear.

Straining his ears, Gerard hears Frank make this soft gasp, really quiet, something he'd never even notice usually, or would chalk up to normal bus sounds. But that's it, the sound of Frank yanking air into his lungs as he comes – Gerard knows it, he fucking knows it, Frank is shaking and sweating and coming all over himself down there.

Gerard stays where he is, frozen, his aching cock pressed hard against the bed, his hand still pressed to his mouth, skin damp and salty against his lips. And he's right – a handful of seconds later, he hears sound again from Frank's bunk, the rustle of sheets and blankets being rearranged, then the quiet clicking of an iPod – normal sounds, bunk sounds, Frank no longer trying to be quiet now that he's done.

Gerard lies there, sweating and hard in the dark, before rolling over the other way in one quick motion. Fuck keeping quiet – Frank has his iPod on, Ray's snoring, and obviously if what just happened is anything to go by, keeping quiet just makes it more obvious. He buries his face in his pillow and shoves his hand in his pajama pants, wrapping it around his leaking cock, hot and so fucking hard. He tries to keep his hips still, but loses it towards the end, thrusting into his fist hard and thinking about Frank's wide-open mouth, panting into the closeness of the bunk, as he comes, shaking, all over his own hand.

Gerard's hard and horny all the time. This is fucking torture. Excellent, hot, fucking fantastic torture, but if he doesn't get a night alone with Frank soon, he's going to die.

"You're not going to die," Frank says against his lips. "You'll just get blue balls." Frank has both hands up under Gerard's shirt, pressing hot against his skin. They're in the backseat of someone's car - Gerard hadn't been listening when Frank told him who, all he knows is that Frank had gotten someone's keys somehow and that the car is parked in the very back of a lot, under a streetlight that's out.

It's stupid and dangerous and Gerard doesn't fucking care. He'd slid into the backseat and tugged Frank in after him, kissing him before he'd even gotten the door fully closed. They're still sitting up, which is a fucking waste of time in Gerard's opinion, and he shifts on the seat until he's on his back, his head pressed against the hard plastic of the door but he doesn't care, he does not fucking care.

Frank crawls on top of him. "God," he says, his voice low and so fucking hot it sends a shudder through Gerard's entire body. "Jesus, Gerard, come on, fucking –" He trails off with a small whimper as he settles down against Gerard. Their legs are tangled up in each other, and neither one of them can stop shifting, stop moving against each other. They're both hard – fuck, Gerard can feel Frank's cock against his hip, and he just wants him so fucking much he can't take it.

"Frank," he says, his voice desperate. "Oh fucking just –" They don't have time, they don't have time. Even here, in the quiet darkness of the car, anyone could find them, anyone could come looking for them, and they have to make the most of their fucking time together. If Gerard doesn't get his hands on Frank, doesn't get his mouth on Frank's cock, he is, in fact, going to die of blue balls. "Come here, fuck, god, Frank, come here, I need, I want –"

He's babbling and he can't stop. Frank – thank fucking god – Frank is right there with him.

"Yeah, fucking, yeah, Gerard, can you – I need you to – I fucking –" Frank moves, then, letting Gerard shove him back. Gerard's making embarrassing whining noises in his throat, moving down Frank's body, pressing his face into his neck, panting against the skin there, before moving down further, until he's half in the footwell.

He scrambles at the buckle on Frank's belt, fumbling it open finally, as Frank lifts his hips helpfully, breath coming fast and hot. The windows in the car are already steaming up, the air in here is thick and smells like sex and sweat. "Fuck, Frankie." Gerard breathes it out, looking up at Frank. He knows his eyes are wide and frantic and he probably looks ridiculous, but he doesn't care.

"I know," Frank grits out, thumbing open his jeans and shoving them down his hips. "I know, Gerard, I fucking need your mouth, I need –"

Gerard's breath catches in his throat, strangled, as Frank wraps his hand around his own cock. Gerard needs it, Gerard needs his mouth on Frankie, fuck. He pushes himself up on his knees, covering Frank's hand with his own, and swallowing Frank down. God, his mouth fucking floods with that taste, with the scent of soap and sex, with Frank, leaking and hot for it, fucking close already.

"Oh," Frank's saying, soft above him. "Oh your fucking mouth, Gee." He's thrusting up into Gerard's mouth, fucking into him slow and steady. He's making these noises in his throat, biting back sounds, like he's so used to keeping it quiet he doesn't know how to let go now that they're alone.

It's turning Gerard on like nobody's fucking business.

He's so fucking hard in his jeans he feels dizzy. His mouth is filled so fucking perfectly with Frank's cock and he has one hand wrapped around Frank's dick, his fingers still tangled with Frank's, his other hand keeping him steady against the seat, in his weird angle in the footwell. It's so fucking good and he wants to tell Frank that, but all he can do is moan around his cock.

"Yeah, Gee." Frank has his other hand tangled in Gerard's hair, not pulling it but holding on, and Gerard moans again, going down deep enough that his lips meet their hands. "Uh," Frank says, low, quiet, bitten-off, just the way it was in his bunk the other night when Gerard listened, sweating and hard in his own bunk, holding his breath.

It’s the exact same sound - Frank getting close - and it hits Gerard right in the gut, hard. He's ten times as turned on as he had been a minute ago and he pulls off for a second, jacking Frank with both their hands clutched together, as Gerard sucks in air. Frank is staring down at him, his mouth hanging open, so fucking obscene, wet and dirty and perfect.

Gerard pulls in as much air as he can, then drags both their hands away from Frank's cock and takes him in deep, going all the way down. Oh fuck, so fucking good, so motherfucking good. Frank's losing it above him, practically keening in his throat and Gerard can feel the tension in his hips as he struggles not to fuck Gerard's mouth. He's holding back because he knows Gerard can do this, can take him down deep and keep him there, and it's so good, it's them, they're together in this.

"Oh," Frank breathes, "Oh my fucking –" He cuts off, sucking in air in huge mouthfuls, that almost-silent gasp of being so close, so close. Gerard pulls back a little just as Frank's cock swells in Gerard's mouth, and Frank comes, thrusting up helplessly and gasping for breath.

Gerard pulls off before Frank is entirely finished, panting brokenly and fumbling for his jeans, too late, too fucking late, all he can do is press his palm hard against the denim as he comes right there, fucking losing it on the floor between Frank's spread thighs.

"Fuck." He lets his face drop to Frank's leg, breathing out against his skin, his breath coming fast and rough. He's fucking shaking here, just from giving a backseat blowjob, what the fuck.

Frank still has one hand tangled in Gerard's hair. He's petting it softly, and his voice comes out quiet and amused as he says, "I was going to offer to trade off, after, but I guess you're…all set?"

He giggles, then, as Gerard raises one hand and gives him the finger, without lifting his head from Frank's thigh.

"Fuck." Frank runs one finger over the edge of Gerard's mouth, then licks it. "Sorry," he says, sounding not one bit sorry. "You pulled off too soon."

"Fuck you," Gerard mumbles against Frank's leg, licking at his own lips. He tastes like Frank. He loves that taste. He pulled off just in time.

The windows are entirely steamed up now and it feels like privacy even though it so totally isn't. Gerard climbs out of the footwell – the life of a rock star, so classy – and Frank helps him, tugging him up onto the seat beside him and climbing on top of him. He kisses Gerard, clumsy and intent, and all Gerard can do is tilt his head up into the kiss and ignore the clammy mess in his jeans. Because: Frank.

They get back well before bus call – really, the whole thing didn't take very long – and Frank is in an obnoxiously good mood, annoying everyone and talking too much and mocking Gerard for heading out in search of a quick shower before they have to take off. "Do you have your soap? Do you even own soap?" he calls after him, as Gerard heads down the stairs in his sticky jeans.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," Gerard chants back over his shoulder, but he can't even work up much of a fuss. It had been a really good orgasm.

He gets back to the bus just in time, rinsed off and in clean jeans and he hadn't even had to get his hair wet, so he's pretty happy and comfortable. Mikey's in the lounge with his cell phone and Scream on the TV and even though the movie's pretty misogynist, it's still a fucking good time to watch. He settles in next to Mikey on the couch, nudging him until he makes room for Gerard's feet between his back and the couch.

The end of the movie leaves him tense and wound up, but Mikey's half-asleep on the couch and stays there, flopped over, when Gerard eases out from under him. Gerard sighs and heads to his bunk – he should be tired, and he is tired, but he's too wound up, too on, too much energy. He just needs to chill out, draw a little, work on something to redirect his focus just enough to calm him down.

He levers himself into his bunk – why, why, why did he end up with a top bunk this bus? – and spends a while getting the covers to his liking before he snags his sketch pad from where he'd carefully stowed it between the mattress and the wall. He's studying his pencil, wondering if it needs to be sharpened, and if he'll be able to find the sharpener if it does – maybe his eyeliner sharpener will work? – when he hears it.

Fuck. "Fuck," he whispers at the top of the bunk. "Fuck you, Frank."

"Oh."

There it is again – the slightest sound, really fucking quiet, and if he wasn't in fucking tune with Frank's sex noises the way he is, he would have missed it. But no, oh fucking no, now that he knows, he knows, and that's Frank jerking off right now, below him and across the way.

Jerking off. When Gerard had just blown him not two hours ago.

Gerard lies there, staring at the ceiling, his pencil clutched tight in his hand, just fucking listening, hearing the oh-so-quiet slip of skin on skin, picturing Frank's face, into it, head thrown back against the pillow, jerking off fast and perfect, and not even knowing that he's making Gerard so fucking goddamn hard that he'll never get to sleep like this, not ever.

There's the gasping sound of a quick intake of breath through a wide-open mouth and then – oh man, Frank's losing it fast tonight, there's a quick, loud moan, cut-off, but definitely there, and then – nothing. Quiet.

And all Gerard can fucking picture is Frank's body, strung bow-string tight, arched up and coming hard all over his fist, all over his stomach, mouth open and wet, his whole body shuddering with how hard it hits him.

Fuck. Gerard stares down at the wide blank sheet of paper in front of him, at his fingers clutched white around the pencil, trying to ignore his pounding heart, his fucking throbbing cock. Fuck, fuck, fuck his fucking life. This is insane.

It's getting worse instead of better and they're still a week out from their next hotel night. Gerard might actually die before then, no matter what Frank says. He can't stop fucking thinking about Frank – about Frank's cock – about Frank jerking off – about Frank. He's on a hair-trigger all the fucking time lately – he's getting hard when Frank so much as brushes up against him.

It sucks. It sucks so hard and he's trying to just let it go – he's gone a week without sex before. He's gone a lot – a lot - longer than a week without sex before, actually.

But the thing is, he has Frank right here. And Frank keeps looking at him when Gerard least expects it, shooting him these hot glances during sound check at the venue, from his spot on the stage. It only lasts a few seconds each time, but it leaves him dry-mouthed, half-hard, and fumbling with his mic. He fucks up a bunch of lyrics, which is so ridiculous he can't even take it, he knows these songs like the back of his hand.

They have hours to kill after sound check. Gerard is fine. He's fine. Except for how he's so hard he can barely walk and Frank's too close to him, joking with Mikey about something but brushing up against Gerard with every step, smelling like smoke and sweat and soap.

Gerard can't take it. He can't. He lets his steps falter, falls back, as the rest of the band heads around the corner to their dressing room. Frank disappears with them, then peers back curiously around the corner a few seconds later. Gerard tilts his head to the side, his hair falling in his eyes a little bit. He knows he looks good and he knows that Frank's noticed. He's wearing these old jeans, worn smooth and thin, that cling in all the right places. His black t-shirt is clean and unstained and the new denim jacket he got is so hot that Gerard wants to fuck himself in it whenever he catches a glimpse in the mirror.

And then there's the killer: Gerard showered at the venue last night after the show. He even washed his hair. Gerard is fucking irresistible to Frank right now.

Frank raises an eyebrow and comes back down the hall towards Gerard, just as Gerard slips into an unmarked dressing room. His plans are the best plans.

The room is dim and deserted and it’s got a weird lay-out, sort of an L-shape, with the dressing tables and mirrors along the long wall, a sofa and chairs centered on the floor, and a TV high on the wall in front of that. The short wall of the L has a long catering table back against the wall, covered with a thick white tablecloth, partially blocked by the huge metal crates with the band's supplies.

And the door has a lock. It's fucking perfect.

Frank nudges the door open behind Gerard a few seconds later and Gerard drags him in, pushes him up against the door, and kisses him. It's hot and dirty and messy from the get-go, and it's exactly what Gerard needs. Exactly what both of them need, because Frank is all-in, whining in his throat and shoving himself against Gerard. He's hard already – Gerard knew it, he knew it, it's just that Frank wears looser jeans so he can hide it better. Gerard is pressing up against Frank as hard as he can get – he wants to fuck him through the fucking door – but Frank is pushing his hands between them.

"Fuck," he's panting against Gerard's cheek, "Fuck, Gee, come on, let me fucking – come on -" He digs his hands into Gerard's hips, does a quick reverse – fucker is stronger than he looks – so that Gerard is pressed up against the door. Frank leans up on his toes, licks a hot wet stripe up Gerard's neck, which sends a shudder down the length of Gerard's spine, and drops to his knees.

"Fuck yes," Gerard says, tangling his fingers in Frank's hair while Frank struggles with Gerard's pants, wedging the button open, dragging the zipper down, carefully, because fuck, fuck, Gerard is so fucking hard, every brush of Frank's fingers is making him buck and moan. All he wants is his cock out of his jeans.

Frank gets his jeans open, edges them down Gerard's hips by tugging hard with both hands – "Jesus, Gerard, what did you do, lie down to get these on?" – which, yeah, Gerard totally had, whatever.

Finally, finally, his jeans are down around his thighs and Frank moans and sucks Gerard's cock in, wet and hot and slow. Jesus, it's so fucking hot – Gerard knows his cock is kinda big, but Frank just takes it in slow, getting it really wet, really slick. He wraps his fist around the base and jacks it, tight and perfect and god, this is just what Gerard needed, this is just what he's been fucking needing for days.

Gerard has his head tilted back against the door and he's thrusting forward into Frank's mouth in short little pushes – not hard, he doesn't want to choke him, but his hips just want to move. Frank has one hand anchored on Gerard's hip, and it's so fucking good, the pressure on his hip, the hotness of Frank's mouth.

He hangs onto Frank's hair with both hands and tugs, and Frank gives this fucking heartfelt moan around Gerard's cock that just kills him. It's so good, it's so fucking good, and –

The door rattles behind them.

"Fuck," Gerard hisses, freezing and staring down as Frank lets his cock slip out of his mouth and sits back on his heels.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Frank gets up from his knees and grabs Gerard's arm.

"It's locked," they hear really fucking clearly from the other side of the door.

"Jimmy's got the keys. Where's he at?"

Frank stares frantically around the room, then gestures with his hands, come on. Gerard hauls his jeans up as far as he can and stumbles across the room after Frank. They round the corner of the L and Frank slides to his knees, hauling up the thick white tablecloth that goes all the way down to the floor. He rolls under the table in one quick movement, disappearing from view.

Gerard stands there for a second, holding up his pants with one hand, and then he hears a rattle at the door again.

Frank hisses, "Get down here," holding up the tablecloth with one hand, and Gerard crawls under the table, somewhat more awkwardly than Frank. Frank's lying on his side and he grabs onto Gerard and tugs him all the way under, just as the door across the room opens and voices pour in.

Gerard's staring at Frank – or at where he thinks Frank is. It's dark under the table – they're in the corner and the fabric of the tablecloth is pretty thick – and his eyes haven't adjusted. He can't see a fucking thing. They're on their sides on the carpeted floor, frozen and silent. Gerard is afraid to even breathe.

The band is chatting, settling in on the couches, flipping on the TV to some sports game, loud. Gerard hears one of them say, "He says to be back in twenty – they're working on the system."

Okay. Okay. That's okay. Twenty minutes means they're not back for good – all he and Frank have to do is keep quiet until they go and everything'll be fine.

Gerard blinks at Frank – his eyes are adjusting and he can kinda see him now – and shifts a tiny bit, trying to get more comfortable.

"Shhh." Frank barely breathes it out, his breath hot against Gerard's face, and his hand lands hard on Gerard's hip, holding him in place.

Gerard freezes again and nods silently. Quiet. He can do quiet.

They lie there staring at each other in the darkness. This is so fucking ridiculous, it's beyond words. Gerard's pants are still open, though his erection is long gone – stark terror will do that to a man – and he and Frank are just lying there staring at each other. Gerard blinks at him comfortingly and Frank rolls his eyes.

There's enough conversation going on and the TV is loud enough that Gerard risks shifting again – his jeans are digging into him. Frank presses his hip warningly and Gerard sighs silently and stills himself.

Frank's hand stays where it is. His shirt has ridden up a little and Frank's thumb is against his skin, right above the line of his jeans. He's moving it a tiny bit, brushing it back and forth against the sensitive skin there. He's staring over Gerard's shoulder, like he can somehow see through the tablecloth, so it's probably just a nervous tic or something, but – it's fucking distracting. It's...hot. It's a spot no one usually touches, and definitely not this soft and steady, and Gerard can't help but hiss in a breath.

Frank jerks his gaze back to him and Gerard breathes out, "Stop," nodding his head down towards his hip.

Frank glances down and scrunches his mouth apologetically. "Sorry," he mouths and stops moving. He keeps his hand, heavy and warm, on Gerard's hip – there's really no other place to move it, they're crammed together so close. A few seconds later, though, his thumb starts moving again, a slow steady slide against Gerard's skin, and Gerard glares at him again.

"Sorry," Frank mouths, again, but he bites his lip and breathes out through his nose and doesn't stop moving his thumb.

Gerard stares at him in the darkness and Frank shrugs helplessly. Gerard's dick, which was already primed and ready from the interrupted blowjob, is getting hard again, which is awkward and uncomfortable in his half-open jeans. Frank isn't helping with the situation at all – he's got his whole palm pressed against Gerard's hip now, warm and firm, nudging the waist of his jeans down a little bit.

"Frank," Gerard whispers, trying to sound stern.

Frank nods, jerkily, and stops moving again, but his hand is hot and damp against Gerard's hip. Gerard can't breathe right – there isn't enough air under this goddamn table – and he can still hear the roar of the football crowd, the chatter and laughter of the band not that many feet away. This is so fucking stupid. Frank needs to stop.

Gerard puts his hand on Frank's side, to push him away. But the second his hand lands on Frank, Frank hisses in a gasp – quiet, but still too fucking loud for their situation – and his eyes flutter shut. Gerard blinks. He's just got his hand on Frank's side, against his t-shirt, for crying out loud.

"Stop," Gerard breathes again.

Frank opens his eyes and looks at Gerard, his mouth open, his cheeks flushed. He shifts forward the tiniest bit in the darkness and presses himself up against Gerard's hip. Frank's hard. Frank's seriously fucking hard, like, he's packing heat, there. Frank frowns apologetically again and he shakes his head.

"Fuck," Gerard whispers. His cock is so fucking hard and Frank is inches away from him, breathing hot and heavy, his hand clutching and releasing at Gerard's hip. This is a bad idea; this is such a bad idea.

Gerard moves his hand, sliding it down just enough that his fingers edge up under Frank's t-shirt. Frank gasps when Gerard's fingers touch his skin and they both freeze, but there's no break in the conversation from across the room. Frank's staring at Gerard, helpless, in the dark and Gerard makes a Shh face at him.

Frank nods several times in a row and Gerard takes a breath and slides his fingers along the line of Frank's waist, skating along the denim as Frank stares at him, biting his lip and breathing in silently through his nose. When Gerard's hand gets to the front of his jeans, he can't help it - he has to just slide his fingers into the waist, brushing lightly against Frank's skin.

Frank moans, almost completely silently – Gerard only knows because he can feel the vibration in Frank's chest. And fuck, fuck – Gerard is fucking lost here, or fucking crazy, or both. Whatever it is, he's so not in charge of anything anymore – his thumb is flipping open the top button of Frank's jeans, while Frank pants quietly against Gerard's face, his whole body tense and still against him. They're staring at each other, waiting to see what comes next.

Gerard moves his hand down. Button-fly. He flips open another button, feeling Frank hard as a rock under the denim.

Frank bits his lip, hard, his eyes wide and hot.

Gerard gets the next button open, and the next, and Frank is hard and hot in his hand.

"Jesus," Gerard hisses at him.

Frank jerks his hips forward, grinning at Gerard.

Fucker. Gerard tightens his grip as Frank rocks forward again. Too much, too risky, too loud. Gerard stills him with an anxious whispered, "Frank."

Frank stops, completely, and nods stiffly, his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his breath working in his throat. He looks fucking…obscene like this, laid out in front of Gerard, hard and leaking in his hand, every muscle tense, his whole face wide-open and turned-on. Gerard is so fucking hot for him like this, he can't even take it. He can still hear the band talking, it's so beyond stupid, but Frank's dick is in his hand and he can't stop. He can't.

He starts jerking Frank off again, firm and as quiet as he can. Frank's hands are clutching at Gerard's shoulders and his mouth is open and wet, panting silently into the closeness. He keeps his hips still, lets Gerard's fist do the work but oh, it's costing him, Gerard can see that. His hairline is damp with sweat and he's doing this silent gasping thing that's getting Gerard going so hard he thinks he could come right fucking now, just from that.

Gerard twists his fist around Frank's cock and runs his thumb over the head where it's so fucking slick. Frank twists his hips then and blinks his eyes open, staring at Gerard and panting brokenly. Gerard can't do anything but gasp back at him in the dim light. He's so fucking hard and he's so fucking close and all he wants in his entire life is to make Frank come all over his fist.

He can hear the band talking, but it's dim and far away behind the rush of blood in his head, the beating of his heart so loud in his ears he thinks it could give them away. Gerard's palm is fucking slick with how much Frank is leaking and he watches as Frank raises his hand, presses it to his mouth.

Gerard's heart kicks up a notch and his dick jerks with it. He speeds up his strokes on Frank, rolling closer, jerking him hard and fast, feeling Frank's heart beat in his chest, watching as Frank squeezes his eyes shut and bites hard against his hand. Gerard keeps working him and oh god, Frank has his head pushed back hard against the floor, his whole body tense, and Gerard just wants to hear him, fuck, fuck, he just wants to hear him, loud and crazed and losing it as he comes.

Instead, he gets the almost-silent groan of, "Uh," as Frank comes all over Gerard's fist, pulse after pulse, his whole body shaking with it, his head coming off the floor with a jerk, his teeth sunk in to the skin of his hand.

It's so fucking goddamn hot. Gerard is going to burst out of his own skin. He's so hard and Frank is still shuddering against him, his dick slowly going soft in Gerard's hand. Gerard lets him go gently, lifting his hand up to his own mouth to lick the come off. Frank, watching him, moans way too loudly, and they both freeze, Gerard with his hand still in his mouth.

Nothing happens. The game is still on in the background, the band is still talking, and Frank and Gerard lay there, a ridiculous tableau, until suddenly the sprightly sound of a cell phone goes off, and they hear, "Fixed. We gotta get back to the stage."

Frank and Gerard stare at each other, pressed close together, as the band files out. They stay there, still, as the door closes, and silence falls. They wait, because – who knows? But it's all quiet out there, not a sound, not a breath.

Finally, Gerard can't stand it a single second longer. "Fuck," he bursts out, loud and sounding crazed to his own ears. He doesn't care. He's been hard for what feels like hours, for what feels like days. "Fuck, Frank, fucking just – " He pushes himself up and over Frank, shoving his own jeans down and wrapping his hand around his cock, hard enough and hot enough that he feels like he's going to die before he comes.

He's jerking himself off, hard and fast, over Frank, his head brushing the bottom of the table, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care. "Fuck, Frank, your face, your fucking face when you come, the sounds you make, I can't even take it, I can't fucking take it." He can't seem to stop talking, now that he can. Frank is hanging onto his hips and grinning up at him and that's it, it hits Gerard like a fucking freight train, and he's shaking and coming all over Frank's stomach, so hard he feels like he's going to fall to fucking pieces.

His arm is trembling and he's bracing himself over Frank, panting down at him. Frank reaches up, pushes at him and rolls him over onto the floor, out from under the table.

The room is in fact deserted, thank fucking god.

Frank crawls out from under the table behind him, grinning still, and fastidiously holding his t-shirt up as he grabs a napkin from the table and starts wiping off his stomach.

Gerard is still on the floor and he arches himself up so he can wiggle his jeans back into place, carefully tucking himself away and sucking in his breath so he can get the zipper up without causing any permanent bodily injury.

When he gets the button done up, he lets himself fall back to the floor with a sigh, and looks up to where Frank is watching his contortions and giggling like a crazy person. Frank holds out his hand and Gerard takes it grumpily, letting Frank haul him to his feet. Frank keeps the momentum going, dragging Gerard in close and kissing him.

"That was so dumb," Gerard mumbles against Frank's lips, but he crowds up close against him even though they really, really need to get out of this dressing room before anything else goes wrong.

"I know," Frank says. His voice is still thick with amusement, but when he says, "I couldn't help it," a shudder runs down Gerard's spine and his dick twitches in his pants.

He is so fucking screwed here.

Later that night, Gerard lies with his arms wrapped around his pillow in the darkness of his bunk. He'd been fucking exhausted after the show, felt worn-out and wrung-out, like he could collapse right there, sleep for hours, for days. By the time they had gotten back to the bus, he had been completely shot and had gone to bed even before Frank did.

He wraps his arms tighter around his pillow, sinking into it. His head feels heavy; his whole body is thick with exhaustion and his brain caught in this thumping rhythm. He's so fucking tired he can't move, but he's not falling asleep. He’s still lying there, willing his brain to stop thrumming, when he hears Frank come in and climb into his own bunk. Frank was pretty shot after the show, too - Gerard’s not surprised he’s the second one to bed.

He wishes they weren’t on a bus. He’s still not ready to tell the rest of the guys about them - it seems too trite or like it might cheapen it, or something, to have to come out to them about this all officially and, like, by the book. Gerard is anything but by the book, and for right now, he wants to keep this between Frank and himself.

Nights like this are tough, though. He bets he’d be able to fall asleep real quick if he could wrap himself around Frank for a while. Maybe Frank is thinking the same thing. Maybe he’s wound up, too. Maybe he needs something to loosen himself up, chill himself out enough to go to sleep.

Gerard’s too tired to move, his eyes so heavy he doesn't think he could open them if he tried, but his brain is still going, caught in this loop, when he hears a low moan, fuck, like Frank was reading his thoughts, knew what Gerard was hoping for.

It's quiet, but it jolts through Gerard. It's Frank; obviously it's Frank, and all Gerard can see in his head is Frank's face, shadowed under the table that afternoon, when he pressed forward against Gerard's hip. Frank's eyes - huge and apologetic but desperate - Frank, unable to hold back.

There's another moan, now, not loud, but louder than the first, and then Gerard hears a quiet gasp, and then another. Gerard's face is hot as he presses it into the pillow, his hands sweaty as they clutch at it. Frank’s going at it down there, hot and heavy. Gerard would bet cash money that Frank's remembering this afternoon, same as him, that he’s thinking about the two of them pressed close, having to bite back every sound, every breath, knowing it’s fucking stupid but not being able to stop.

He hears it – Frank is panting down there, and it's so fucking obvious, it's so much louder than he usually is, like he can't hold back. There’s another moan, sharp and cut off, like Frank jammed his hand against his mouth, knowing he was getting too loud. Gerard’s listening breathlessly, when the door to the bunk area suddenly swings open and Gerard jumps a mile.

He’s frozen there, breathing hard, as he hears Bob and Ray talking quietly to each other about the gig as they make their way to their bunks, climbing in, pulling their respective curtains shut. Silence falls again, and Gerard lies there, listening, but it's real silence this time; no sounds from Frank’s bunk at all. Gerard wonders if he came while the guys were coming in, or just gave it up as a lost cause, and went to sleep still turned on and frustrated.

God. Gerard is hard – he's still on his stomach, his face pressed against the pillow, his dick pressed against the bed. He wants to make something of this - he almost doesn’t care if anyone hears him. He wants to roll over, jerk off – maybe be loud, louder than Frank gets, even, maybe make up for all those swallowed moans this afternoon, every noise he’d had to bite back.

He moves his hips a little and it feels good, but he's so fucking worn-out, still. He's going to turn over in just a minute, jerk off quick and hard and dirty, and that'll definitely put him to sleep. It's just exactly what he needs. Yeah. Yes. He'll take care of that in just a minute…

He wakes up not enough hours later, bewildered and still exhausted, from epic dreams of bizarre car chases. His dick is hard again – or maybe still hard, he doesn't even know. He stumbles to the bathroom, flips on the water in the sink, and jerks off, hard and quick, coming over his own fist in about a minute and a half, staring at his own sleep-creased face in the mirror and thinking about Frank's moans.

They're still two days away from a hotel night and Gerard is going to lose his mind before then, he's pretty sure. Or maybe he already has. It feels like it, a little. The show's over, they've just packed up the dressing room, and cars have already been called. Mikey and Bob are already outside smoking, and Gerard watches Ray's hair as it bounces out the door.

Frank slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and starts to follow. Gerard grabs his arm without actually making a decision about doing it. Frank turns, looking curious, and Gerard reaches over Frank's shoulder to shove the door shut, using the momentum to keep moving forward and press Frank against it.

"Gerard," Frank laughs, squirming and trying to pull away. "We're gonna miss our ride."

Gerard shrugs. He pins Frank against the door harder, and when Frank raises an eyebrow at him, he kisses him, hard and hot and serious, right out of the gate. Frank pushes against him a little bit but gives in pretty much right away. Gerard has his thigh in between Frank's legs, rocking against him. He kisses him until Frank's gasping for breath and hard against Gerard's thigh.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Frank pants when Gerard finally pulls away, moving his mouth down, messy and wet, to Frank's neck. Frank's got his hands digging into Gerard's shoulders, holding on tight as Gerard grinds up against him, so hot for this, so into this, wanting this so bad.

Gerard presses his mouth low against Frank's neck and Frank groans frantically, his hips stuttering forward. "You," he manages. "You – fucking –"

Gerard digs his teeth in, just a little, just enough, and Frank loses all breath for speaking, his whole body tense against Gerard's. Gerard slides one hand down his body, goes right for Frank's crotch. He presses his hand over Frank's hard-on, curving his palm around it. Frank's shaking against him, his head tilted back as Gerard works his mouth against the soft skin of his throat. Frank’s hips are pressing forward into Gerard's hand, and his mouth is open, like he's trying to say something, but Gerard bites down just a little more, and Frank snaps his mouth shut, dragging in air through his nose.

They both jump when there's a loud bang on the door they're pressed against.

"If you're not in the car in thirty seconds, I am abso-fucking-lutely sending them on without you," Brian yells through the door.

Gerard steps back, breathing hard and running his hand through his hair. Frank is slumped back against the door, staring at him. His hair is wreck, his hard-on is really fucking obvious in his jeans, and the spot on his neck where Gerard had his mouth is dark and getting darker.

Gerard zips up his hoodie, pulls it down over his hips, and smiles. "He means it," he says. "We should get going."

"You-" Frank says, his voice coming out rough and breathless. "You aren't fucking serious, you –"

Gerard tugs at the door behind Frank, pulling it open with Frank still half-leaning against it. "We gotta go, dude." He takes a breath and saunters out, leaving Frank behind him in a t-shirt and an obvious hard-on.

"I hate you," Frank hollers down the hallway. "So fucking much!"

Gerard looks at Brian, standing at end of the hallway with his arms crossed and a frown on his face, and shrugs. "He'll be right here," he says, scooting past Brian to get out the door.

"I'm leaving him here," Brian states grimly. "I can find another rhythm guitarist. Real easy."

"Fuck you." Frank hurries down the hallway, a little hunched over, arms crossed, looking stormy.

"Get in the goddamn car, Iero." Brian looks at him a little more closely. "Oh fucking hell, are you getting sick again? You don't look so good."

"No. Fuck you. I hate you both." Frank gives Gerard a hard elbow to the side as he goes past, and Gerard widens his eyes innocently at Brian and heads after him.

Frank doesn't talk to Gerard for the rest of the night. He's seriously pissy about it, actively ignoring Gerard except to make biting comments about divas and drama queens whenever Gerard says anything at all.

Gerard feels a little bit bad, but mostly he can't stop thinking about Frank’s frantic gasps for air as Gerard pressed his mouth against Frank's skin. Frank's had his hoodie on all night, hood up, so no one has seen the mark he'd made.

All that does is make Brian even more sure than before that Frank is getting sick. He orders Frank to bed early, like he's a little kid. Frank actually doesn't fight it much, which leaves Brian with this great look on his face - a cross between vindicated and worried - and he heads up to sit with their driver, clutching his cell phone and his organizer, clearly trying to plan ahead in case Frank goes under again.

Mikey looks at Gerard. "Are you just fucking with Brian?"

"No!" Gerard says, offended.

Mikey keeps looking at him, passive expression unchanging.

"...I’m maybe fucking with Frank."

Mikey nods, and looks back down at his phone.

"A little." Gerard shoots Mikey a quick look.

Mikey shrugs this time, and the corner of his lips quirks up a tiny bit. "Okay."

"Okay," Gerard says in relief, and scoots closer, sitting with his head on Mikey's shoulder, watching him text for a while without actually seeing any of the words. He makes it ten minutes before heading back to the bunks; he knows he's pushing it, but he can't wait any longer. He tries to be quiet getting into his bunk but he probably fails. He strips off his hoodie before he gets in - he's too hot now, too turned on, like things got reversed somehow, like the only person he was teasing was himself. He's sweating even in just his t-shirt and pajama pants.

There's no sound from Frank's bunk at all. Not the rustling sounds of reading or playing with his phone, not the steady quiet breathing that would mean he was sound asleep, and definitely not the almost-silent panting of Frank jerking off that Gerard is so fucking desperate to hear.

Gerard shifts in his bunk. It feels too fucking small and all he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears. Just walking through the door to the bunk area has gotten him all revved up. It's so stupid - he's half-hard in his bunk, and it's way too early for bed. Frank is lying there silently in his own bunk, maybe still annoyed at Gerard for leaving him hanging, or maybe he really is getting sick the way Brian thinks and Gerard is more of a douchebag than he'd previously given himself credit for.

Gerard sighs and turns over on his side, then onto his back again, struggling with the covers, kicking them down to the bottom of the bunk. He's too hot; he's too hard. He can still taste Frank's skin on his tongue. He's got one hand stroking over his cock through his pajama pants, keeping his fingers light, teasing himself, and god, he can't fucking take this. He bites his lip, pressing his palm against his hard-on, and tries to just breathe silently.

That's when he hears Frank.

It's a moan - bitten off, yeah, but not quiet. Gerard's breath catches in his throat and his hand tightens around his cock. Fuck. Fuck. Frank was – not asleep. Gerard listens, his heart beating even more wildly in his ears, and he hears – god, the rough sound of sheets moving, imagines Frank's feet working against the bunk, looking for traction as he lies there, knees up, thighs tight and tense, laid out, just skin and ink, his hand around his cock.

Gerard lifts up his hips and slides his pajama pants down around his thighs. He wraps one hand around his cock and bites his lip hard at how fucking good it feels. He can't quite stop the groan that slips out when he rocks up into his own fist.

He holds his breath, listening, listening, and is rewarded with a quiet, sucked-in, "Ah, ah," from across the aisle. Gerard knows Frank's trying to be quiet, and that’s loud, that’s so fucking loud - that's Frank losing it as he rocks up into his own fist. Gerard can picture it: Frank's head thrown back hard, mouth open wide, not enough air, not enough control to choke back the sounds.

Gerard wants to see that. Gerard wants to be there, wants to crawl between Frank's legs and swallow him down. He needs Frank to sink his fingers into Gerard's hair, hold on tight, drag Gerard's head in the exact rhythm he wants, fuck his mouth and come without warning down Gerard's throat.

Fuck. Fuck. Gerard slides his other hand up to his mouth, sucks two fingers in and gets them wet, then slides his hand around behind him, bending his knees and lifting his hips up just enough. He runs his fingers over his ass and his whole body shudders. He fists his cock hard, leaking enough into his own hand to make the stroking smoother. He doesn't have lube handy and he's cursing himself. He doesn't care about quiet or subtle or dignity. He's fucking aching for this; he wants to slip one finger, two, inside himself, open himself up while he fucks his own hand.

All he can do right now, though, is tease. Stroke over his asshole as he shoves his hips up and try so fucking hard to keep quiet and swallow down moans. Not for any sense of self-preservation; just so that he can hear what Frankie is doing.

Frank is hissing in breath right now and his mattress is creaking in a rhythm Gerard knows. He's not being quiet or careful - he needs this bad. Gerard speeds up his own rhythm, wanting to keep up, wanting to get there with him. His eyes are shut tight and he's dipping the tip of his finger inside himself, just the tip, and just a little, and it feels so fucking good, and it's nowhere near enough. He can hear Frank panting, can picture him, frantic and sweating. He's so close, fuck, it's so close, he's not going to make it, he's going to come, he has to – he hears Frank moan, quiet but long, drawn out, and Gerard jerks hard and gasps way too fucking loud, and spills hot and hard all over his fist, all over his stomach.

Jesus. Jesus. It takes him a while to come back to himself, and when he does, he's still sort of trembling, and he's spread out in the bunk, and he cannot believe he came that much, that hard, that intense. His hands are shaky as he puts himself back together, and he can't even be that quiet about it, he’s so wrecked from coming so fucking hard. Frank knows; Frank has to know.

He hears nothing from the bunk on the other side, not even slow breathing. It's completely quiet again. All Gerard can do is roll over, pressing his hot cheek against his pillow, and try to breathe right again. He's exhausted and he's so fucking done with waiting. Two days until the hotel night. He can make it. He thinks.

He falls asleep with his hands clenched tight around the pillow, wishing he had Frank there to pull close. He’s tired of this. He misses Frank.

Gerard walks off the stage without even looking at Frank. He knows Frank will follow him, too close and ultra-annoying and smelling like soap and sweat. He knows this.

That's why he doesn't even have to turn around. He can't turn around. It's a hotel night. He knows it, and he knows that Frank knows it, and Frank has been counting down the fucking hours the same as Gerard, he's pretty sure. Frank had been all up in his motherfucking business on stage all night and if Gerard even looks at him, they're never going to make it to the hotel.

And Gerard really, really wants to make it to the hotel.

He's been so fucking turned on for so many days now that he can't even remember what it's like to not be ready to go at the slightest fucking thing: Frank's mouth curving up in a grin, Frank's hand brushing up against Gerard's thigh, the sound of Frank's breathing when he's well and truly sound asleep and all Gerard wants to do is wake him up with his mouth and hands and tongue.

Gerard is really careful backstage, keeping his distance from Frank, not even really looking at him, because if he does, he'll be pressing him up against the wall in a second and that's not a great idea. For a whole fucking lot of reasons, not the least of which is that Mikey is in the dressing room, too, and the things Gerard wants to do to Frank are not something Mikey would want to see.

But almost more than that is the fact that Gerard is so fucking tired of corners and alleys and bunks and quick, secret kisses. He wants Frank, and he wants him all to himself, and he wants it now. He wants time to get him naked, not rush this, just spend hours fucking themselves out.

Gerard keeps it together. He gets changed – rinsing off at the shower in the venue, which raises more than a few eyebrows, but whatever, he washes, he just doesn't like public showers, okay? - and he waits for the car outside the venue, leaning against the wall and smoking. He’s got one foot propped behind him, staring at the sky and trying not to think about Frank – Frank, still in the shower, because he has a system to washing and it takes him twice the time of anybody else – Frank, wet and soapy and maybe touching himself, but probably holding back, not letting himself go too far, just maybe hard and hot and sudsy but being good, god, why is that so fucking hot?

He makes it through the car ride, where Frank’s sitting up front, not even near Gerard, talking to the driver like the dude is his best friend, like he’s totally chill and it doesn’t even matter to him if they maybe go out for a drink or maybe to the hotel where he could, oh, whatever, fuck Gerard through the fucking floor. Whichever. Either. Doesn’t matter to him.

Gerard spends the ride staring daggers out the window and chewing on his thumbnail. By the time they all climb out of the van at the hotel, he's half-hard and fuming. Frank is a fucker. Because not only is it a hotel night, it's a hotel night and Alicia's in the city. She and Mikey are sharing – no second looks, no raised eyebrows, they know she's fucking him tonight.

Which means, by default, that Gerard has lost his regular roommate. Frank shrugs and Bob tosses Ray the other room key and they all head upstairs. Gerard and Frank are on opposite sides of the elevator, but they get off at together. Ray and Bob are upstairs and Mikey and Alicia are already making out against the elevator wall and when the door slides closed and Gerard and Frank are suddenly alone together in the too-quiet corridor, Gerard doesn't even know what to do with his hands. He's having a hard time even making eye-contact and oh god, it's high school all over again, but –

"Come on," Frank says, grimly. Like. Urgently. He's not touching Gerard and Gerard's not touching him, but by the time they get to the room and Gerard fumbles with the key-card long enough that Frank yanks it out of his hand, shoving him aside with one hip, and flicking the door open – by then, there is this fucking electric vibe between them that has Gerard's blood running hot and his skin tingling.

They're kissing before they even make it through the door, Gerard's fingers digging into the skin of Frank's hips above his jeans, where it's soft and he can really get a grip. He's so fucking hot for this, kissing Frank too hard, too messy, but all Frank does is groan into his mouth and kick the door shut behind them.

Gerard's back hits the door and Frank's got his pants open in a split-second, before Gerard can even blink. "Fuck, yeah, Frank, god, I'm so fucking hard," Gerard pants against his mouth. He's trying to push Frank to his knees - god, he needs to come so bad - but Frank's pulling away, panting and grinning.

"Uh-uh," he says. "We have a room. We have a bed." He's tugging on Gerard, pulling him forward, and Gerard stumbles after him, so hard and hot for it that he can't focus on anything other than Frank's mouth. They make it to the bed and Gerard's ready to push Frank down and crawl on top of him, but Frank does that quick-reverse thing and suddenly Gerard is sitting on the end of the bed and Frank is dropping easily to his knees in front of him.

"Fuck, yeah," Frank says, yanking on the waist of Gerard's jeans until he lifts up enough that Frank can tug them down his thighs. "Hell of a lot better than a bathroom floor."

"God, just fucking do it, Frank, please, please." He barely gets the second please out before Frank is leaning up and sucking Gerard down fast and hot and so fucking perfect that Gerard's toes are curling in his boots. God, Frank is one hell of a cocksucker, going after it like it’s his favorite thing in the world to do ever. Maybe it is. He’s making these happy moaning sounds in his throat and dragging himself closer on his knees. Gerard’s hands are braced back on the bed behind him, his fingers curling into the covers, his hips rocking up, his cock moving in Frank's hot, perfect mouth.

Frank has one hand wrapped around Gerard's cock, the other one sliding soft and warm over the skin of Gerard's stomach, and he’s just fucking taking Gerard in, sucking him off hard and fast, like he knows how bad Gerard needs it, like he knows there’s no fucking way Gerard’s going to be able to hold on for very long no matter what.

He - really isn’t. Frank's mouth is so hot and his hand is so steady on Gerard's cock and Gerard has been halfway there for hours, fuck, for days. Everything is boiling up inside him and he brings one hand up to clench in Frank's hair, hanging on tight as he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his hips up off the bed, shoving himself into Frank's mouth. So close, so fucking close, god, fuck, fuck, Frank can keep the rhythm up like no one else. Gerard can’t think, can’t breathe, all he can do is fucking lose it, crying out really fucking loud and coming in Frank's mouth.

It goes on for what feels like forever and when he comes back to himself afterwards, it’s because his shoulder muscles are bunched and shaking from holding himself up, his fingers numb from being wrapped in Frank's hair. Frank has slid his mouth off Gerard's cock, but is resting his head on Gerard's thigh, mumbling something against his skin and not trying to get away from the pull of Gerard's fingers in his hair.

Actually, when Gerard clenches his hand more tightly, Frank moans, low in his throat, and oh man, that sends a wave of heat through Gerard's body as though he hadn't just come about thirty seconds before. "Fuck," he breathes. "C'mere, just -" He moves back on the bed, trying to kick his jeans off at the same time, before realizing his boots are still on.

He struggles to unlace them, dragging his foot up on the bed, as Frank toes off his kicks and climbs onto the bed beside him. Frank starts to open his jeans and Gerard looks over at him, biting his lip. Frank’s shirt is pushed up, the black outlines of his tattoos peeking out. "Hang on, okay?" Gerard asks. "Just - wait for me."

Frank stops with his belt undone, the top button of his jeans already open. "Okay," he says. "But hurry the fuck up."

Gerard tries, struggling harder to get his laces undone. He gets one boot off just fine, but Frank is completely hard in his jeans beside him, his erection obvious against the denim, and he's touching it, running his fingers over himself lightly as he waits. Gerard can't fucking look away and it takes him forever to get his second boot undone. He finally rips it off his foot and flings it across the room, then stands up, shoves his jeans down and off, kicking out of them as he crawls up onto the bed beside Frank.

Gerard's still out of it, his cheeks hot, his breath coming fast, uncoordinated and uncaring and unable to take his eyes off of Frank. Frank's eyes are bright and he’s still running his fingers over himself. "Come here," he says, low, and oh god, he is so fucking hot and Gerard wants to just climb on top of him, but -

"Just," Gerard says, and he doesn't fucking mean to say it, wasn't going to say it, it wasn't in his plans. "Just - listen." He stops, swallows, and Frank shifts on the bed, looking up at him, looking interested, his hand stilling on his cock. "Listen," Gerard says again. "Could you - I mean, I want to see how - I want to see -" He stops, helplessly, his hand twitching - he wants to gesture, wants to just show Frank what he's asking for, but it's too profane, too - simple, for everything he is thinking and feeling and wanting right now.

Frank is Frank, though, so he's just waiting, mouth crooked, still interested, still so fucking hard, waiting for Gerard to finish his sentence.

Gerard sighs, closes his eyes for a handful of seconds, before opening them again, leaning into murmur against Frank's ear, "Jerk off for me." He takes a breath, slow and shallow. "Please just -" He can't say it without swallowing first. "Let me watch."

It's worth it, for the hitch in Frank's breath, the tremor that runs through Frank's body.

"Yeah?" Frank's voice sounds light, maybe trying for amused, but his hand as he pulls down his zipper is unsteady and his cheeks get more red, his eyes more bright.

Gerard tries to casually settle in on the bed beside him, stripping off his t-shirt and scrunching up his pillow under one arm, but all of his attention is on Frank. Frank has his jeans pushed down and his shirt pushed up, and fuck, it’s more skin than Gerard’s seen in weeks. Frank’s acting like Gerard isn't three inches from him at all. He's got one hand wrapped around his cock - fucker was going commando again, like he hadn't acted all high and mighty and showered every time Gerard did - and he's stroking himself, slow, all the time in the world.

Gerard’s halfway back to hard again already.

Frank's eyes are closed, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks, as he strokes himself steadily. Gerard's mouth has fallen open and he can't quite manage to close it. Frank is spreading his legs, hitching his jeans further down so they're around his calves, getting his whole hand around his cock. Gerard can’t take his eyes off of him - he keeps getting caught up in the sparrow tattoos low on his stomach, the curve of the "A" in the "and" in the middle. Frank’s got his head pushed back into the pillow, throat exposed, and he's breathing harder, but still quiet, still no real noise. Just the quiet catches of his breath in his throat and fuck if that isn't enough to get Gerard even hotter.

He wants to move closer, but he also wants to see. He's watching as Frank slides his hand up and down, tight, and a little rough, his breath hitching a little when he runs his thumb over the head of his cock every few strokes. He's sweating, just a little - Gerard can see that the hollow of his neck is damp with it, and his hairline, too. He has his eyes closed, not tight, just like he's into it, and Gerard can barely breathe with how hard this is turning him on.

Frank lifts his hips up on the next stroke, a restless, instinctive push, and Gerard makes a noise in his throat. He doesn't mean to, he can't help it, and it's so fucking ridiculous, that Frank can be quiet while he's doing this and Gerard just can't. Frank's mouth crooks in a tiny smile, but in the next second, his mouth drops open, and his hips tilt up again, and - "Oh god, fuck, yeah," Gerard breathes.

He’s completely hard again now, like, fuck, ten minutes after he came, or not even. Frank is going after it now, thrusting up into the circle of his fist, his mouth open as he gasps for air, still so quiet, so fucking quiet.

Before Gerard even makes the fucking decision to do so, he's saying "Please..."

Frank cracks open his eyes and looks at Gerard, his face all hot and distracted.

Gerard can hardly breathe. His hand is wrapped around his cock like he's afraid someone might try to take it away from him. "Louder," he manages, finally, his voice coming out like he's smoked two packs of cigarettes.

Frank groans before Gerard has the word out. It's not even very loud, but after all of this, it sounds it in the quiet of the room. It shakes Gerard, makes his cock jerk in his hand, and he has to stroke himself, just a little, just to take the edge off. Because Frank is going at it now, jerking himself off hard and fast, so fast, and he's got his jaw clenched, and the noises he's making - god, these moans, still soft, but there, in his throat.

Gerard moves closer before he even realizes it, his whole body leaning in, listening, watching as Frank gets louder when his thumb does that stroke over the head of his dick. Frank gasps, then, loud, actually loud this time, and Gerard can't stop the moan that escapes his own throat, can't stop his hand from moving a little faster on his cock. Frank's whole body is tense and tight - he's close. God, there’s that little groan that Gerard is used to listening for when it's barely breathed out, but now it's loud and so much fucking hotter like this, like Frank has no control here, like it's dragging him forward.

Frank’s saying, "Oh god, oh fuck," loud, loud, and then he's shaking and coming, god, so hard, so much, spurting up and over his fist, covering his hand, his stomach, drops of it spattering all over his tattoos, Jesus Christ.

Gerard can't move, can barely breathe. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen. Frank drags in a shuddering breath and opens his eyes. His hand is still gripping his slowly softening cock, covered in his own come, as he says, "Like that?"

"Fuck," Gerard says, his voice raspy. "Fuck yes, like fucking that." He's on top of Frank so quick, Frank is still kicking his jeans the rest of the way off his ankles by the time Gerard is straddling him, shoving his hard cock against the soft skin of Frank's stomach, still slick with his come.

"Yeah." Frank has his hands clutching Gerard's sides, dragging him closer. "Fuck, yeah, fuck, do it harder, just - do it -"

God, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, this thrust of Gerard’s cock against the warm slickness of Frank’s belly. Jesus, he almost wants to do it just like this, just keep up with this slide against Frank until he comes hot and hard, right there, all over Frank.

Gerard wants to, he fucking wants to, but he also wants more than this tease of skin against skin. "Fucking just -" He's pulling Frank's arms over his head, pinning him down by his wrists, while Frank just growls and pushes up under him, kissing him rough and messy and perfect. "Hang on," Gerard says, dragging his mouth away. He's panting for air - the whole room is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, heavy and dense. "Fucking hang on, fuck, fuck, I -"

He's struggling away, trying to fucking think - lube, condoms, lube, fuck - and Frank is fucking laughing at him. Gerard looks around wildly for the bags that were dropped off earlier, lunging out of bed - naked and hard and panting, ridiculous, but he doesn't care, because he's got it, the bottle of lube, the pack of condoms. He brings it all back to the bed, ripping open the box of condoms and dragging out a whole strip, dropping them on the bed next to Frank, who is lying there, grinning and flushed.

"Are we going to need all those?" he asks innocently, twisting to tug his shirt off over his head.

Gerard doesn't even bother to respond - he just flips open the lube and pours way too much on one hand, then shoves Frank over onto his front. Frank is scrambling against the bed, giggling. "Don't get rough, now," he says, but he's pushing his ass up off the bed as he says it. He’s completely bare now, just ink and skin, and Gerard wants to fuck him so bad.

Gerard feels feverish - he can't even form words. His hands are shaking, and all he wants is his cock in Frank. He pushes in with one finger, little finesse, but Frank likes it a little rough and he hisses in a breath, his whole body going still, giggles fading. "Fuck," he says, muffled against the bed, rocking his head back and forth a little. "Fuck, Gerard, just - fucking more, you've gotta-"

Fuck, yes, Gerard's gotta. "Yeah," he says, sounding fucking shattered to his own ears. "Fuck yeah, Frank, here, yeah."

He pulls out and Frank says, "Fucking just -" Gerard pushes back in deep with two fingers, oh god, yeah, it's so good like that. He can get in and he can stroke. Frank is running off at the mouth now, muttering curses against the bed, shoving his hips back against Gerard's hand.

"Like that, yeah, only -" Frank gulps in a breath as Gerard twists his fingers inside him, deep, holding Frank in place with one hand firm right over the crossed guns tattooed into the skin of his back. "Harder," Frank manages, finally. "Harder, okay?"

"Fuck, Frank." Gerard has his cock pressed up against Frank's hip; he can't stop moving against him. He pulls his fingers out, pushes them back in, hard, deep. "Frank," he says again, trying to breathe deep, get some control. "Fuck, Frank, I'm so fucking hard."

"Yeah." Frank is rocking against Gerard's fingers. "Yeah, Gerard, I just -"

"Wanna fuck you so fucking bad." Gerard pulls out again and Frank whines, his hips shoving back, begging for it. Gerard pushes back in with three fingers.

Frank is panting under him now, sweating, his back bowed. "God." He spreads his legs further. "God, just fuck me, Gerard, Jesus, do it."

Gerard is holding on by a thread here, his hand holding onto Frank's hip so hard he's leaving marks, fucking into Frank hard and fast with three fingers of his other hand, his cock leaving slick trails of precome on Frank's hip. He bites his lip, twists his fingers, trying to hold on. It's been too long since they’ve done this and he's too big to go right in without the prep and he really, really doesn't think he's going to be able to control himself once he's got his cock inside.

Fuck. It is like high school - he's seriously not sure he's not going to come just from pressing into Frank, where he's so hot and motherfucking tight.

It's been too goddamn long.

By the time Gerard thinks Frank is ready, Frank is rocking hard against Gerard's fingers, up on all fours, tossing his sweaty hair back from his face and panting at Gerard, asking for it, fucking demanding it. "Gerard," he says, his head dropped down between his arms. "You just - oh. Oh. Oh fuck -" Gerard is twisting his fingers one last time and when he pulls them out Frank whines again, before pulling in a shuddering breath. "You'd better be about to fucking fuck me," he says, and it would sound almost conversational, except for how he's moving forward on the bed, up onto his knees, bracing himself on the headboard.

His face when he looks over his shoulder at Gerard is enough that he drops the condom he's struggling to get open. "Fuck," Gerard hisses. "Just - give me a second - I -"

He rolls the condom on and slicks it up with way too much lube. "Okay. Just - yeah, okay, hang on." He knees his way up behind Frank, runs his hands down Frank's sides. "God, so fucking hot," he mutters.

"Gerard." Frank's voice is shot. "Fucking just -"

Gerard lines himself up, squeezing his cock tight for a second, before pressing up against Frank. "Jesus Christ." Frank is hot against him, so fucking slick and open, and he's pushing back as Gerard’s pressing forward and it's too much, it's so fucking much. Gerard's biting his lip hard and making little moaning noises completely outside his control as he presses the head of his cock inside.

Frank gasps out, "Fuck, motherfucker, come on, more."

And that's it, Gerard is so hot for this he can't even think, the first orgasm seems like it was a week ago. His cock is hard and hot and ready and his hips are thrusting forward before he gives them permission to, not even sliding in, but shoving in, hard and fast. He's in all the way, pressed up against Frank's ass, while Frank's hands are scrabbling for purchase against the headboard. "God." Gerard can't stop. "God, Frank, fuck, I've gotta just -"

He pulls out, almost all the way, and shoves back in, and it's so fucking hot and tight, and Frank is moaning so fucking loud. The bed is creaking under them like it’s going to fall apart any second, a counterpoint to the rhythm of their hips, the sound of their moans. Gerard can't stop fucking Frank, can't stop driving into him, it's so perfect. He just wants to pin Frank against the headboard and fuck him so hard he won't be able to sit down right for a week.

"Jesus, yeah, harder, fucking harder, Gerard, come on, come on." Frank is so into it, he wants it so bad, and Gerard gives it to him, fucking him so hard, dripping sweat down onto his back as he drives in fast and slick. It’s messy and loud and feels fucking fantastic but it's not enough. He pulls out, while Frank curses him in between gasps for breath. Gerard yanks Frank's hands off the headboard, kneeing them both backwards, pressing Frank down against the bed, and pushing right back in. Oh fuck, oh yeah, there’s the angle, yeah, that.

"Oh fuck," Frank is panting. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, Gee, now, just - harder, faster, do it."

It's too much and it's so perfect and all Gerard can do is fuck Frank into the bed, he can't stop, he's so fucking close, he's going to come and there's nothing he can do to stop it, he's going to - "Fuck, Frank, I - fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna -"

It hits him like a truck, and he's shaking and coming, all the way inside Frank, pressed against Frank's ass, while Frank chants, " Yeah, god, yeah, yeah, yeah," underneath him.

Gerard's shot - he's wrung out, he can't even move, can't even think, but Frank is still shoving back against him and Gerard manages to pull out, rolling over onto his back. He's shaking so bad he has a hard time getting the condom off. He drops it over the side of the bed, finally, and when he blinks his eyes into focus, Frank is straddling him, his eyes hot, his hair wet with sweat, his cock so fucking hard as he takes it in his hand and starts jerking off.

Over Gerard. On the bed. Completely naked, everything exposed, skin and ink and sweat. Frank blows his hair out of his eyes and bites his lip, watching Gerard as he rocks forward into his own fist.

If Gerard could get hard again, he'd be pressed up against Frank's ass right fucking now. Jesus Christ.

"God." He can't do anything, can only watch as Frank twists his hand up over himself, gasping loudly. "Oh my god, yeah, I -"

"Tell me," Frank grits out. "Fucking - tell me, I'm fucking -"

"Oh god, yeah, come on, Frank, come all over me," Gerard's babbling before Frank can ask again. "Come on, Jesus, this, just - this."

Frank's hand is a blur over his cock and he's rocking his hips, shoving forward into his fist and groaning out loud and then shouting as he comes, spurting over his hand onto Gerard's stomach, his chest, god, some of it on his chin. It's filthy and it's hot and it's Frank.

"Jesus." Frank is slumped on top of Gerard, still sitting up, hand still wrapped around his softening cock. "Fuck, Gerard."

"Yeah," Gerard says happily. "Come here, Frankie." He tugs Frank down next to him on the bed, rolling over onto his side to look at him.

Frank is slumped, spent, blinking his eyes with exhaustion, the corner of his mouth curved up in a little grin. "You're covered in come."

"I know." Gerard can't help that his voice comes out so content. He leans in and kisses Frank. Frank smells like sweat and sex and Gerard loves it. "God, Frank." He sighs and stretches. "That was fucking amazing."

"Right?" Frank mumbles against the bed. "God." He blinks his eyes open, looking at Gerard. He looks appraising, even with his face smushed against the mattress. "So," he says, stretching, back arched, looking long and lean. "I heard you last night."

"What?" Gerard widens his eyes and wriggles to get more comfortable on the bed. "We should get under the covers - it's chilly," he suggests.

Frank pushes himself up on his elbows, grinning. "Uh-uh, don't change the subject. I heard you. Jerking off." He tilts his head to the side. "You were loud, dude."

Gerard’s blushing even though there is no fucking reason he should be embarrassed about it after everything Frank has done. And besides. "I was not."

"Mm, yeah, you so totally were." Frank grins broadly. "I could hear everything. I gotta say, I enjoyed it." He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that is probably supposed to be sexy and funny, and, well, is. "You gotta learn to be quieter, Gee. Like me."

Gerard sits straight up in bed, pointing at Frank. "Dude." He can hardly speak, he’s so fucking affronted. "Oh my god. You've got to be fucking kidding me. I’ve been listening to you jack off for a week straight."

"Uh-uh." Frank looks at him, frowns. "Seriously?" He slides back a little on his elbows. "You could hear me?"

Gerard stares at him without blinking. Wow. Frank really thinks he’s stealth. He just - "Yeah," he says, tilting his head and looking at Frank through his eyelashes. "Every time."

Frank eyes him, like he’s not sure Gerard is telling the truth.

Gerard rolls closer, runs one hand over Frank's bare hip. "I like it," he admits, low and close to Frank’s ear.

"I -" Frank starts.

"I like listening to you," Gerard continues, cutting him off, letting his thumb run back and forth over Frank's hip. His skin - it is chilly in here - and Gerard lets his hand rest heavy there, to warm him up. "I like the sounds you make, when you're holding back."

Frank bites his lip.

"I like the sounds you make when you come, when you're trying to be quiet, but it's too hot, too good, and you just can't." Gerard is warming to his topic and Frank is watching him, his arms curled around his pillow now, fingers digging in.

"It makes me hard." Gerard shifts closer, sliding his leg between Frank's. "It gets me off."

Frank twists his head into the pillow with a muffled groan. "You're a terrible person," he says into the pillow. "You’re a creep. I can’t believe you’ve been listening and not telling me!"

Gerard kisses the tip of his red ear and grins, delighted. "You love me."

"I really fucking do." Frank sighs. He leans up, kissing Gerard on the mouth.

"Let's get under the covers." Gerard shifts, trying to pull the comforter down without actually getting off the bed first.

"Uh-uh." Frank pushes at him firmly with both hands. "Shower first. Then bed."

Gerard looks at him, amazed. "But - I'm tired," he points out.

"You're also still covered in come," Frank says, shoving at him harder, sliding Gerard's ass closer to the edge of the bed.

"And tired," Gerard tries again, but no good - he's off the bed and Frank is shooing him to the bathroom.

Frank does make it worth his while, Gerard admits grudgingly - he crowds behind Gerard into the shower and washes his hair for him, then uses a washcloth to soap him up and scrub him down and it really is much, much nicer when someone else is doing it for you, Gerard thinks. Frank's all business in there until they're both scrubbed clean and then he pulls Gerard forward under the hot spray and kisses him for so long that the water starts to run cool.

They're both half-hard again by the time they get out of the shower. They stumble to bed together and Frank hits the light and drags the covers over them. Gerard presses up close to him, head on Frank's chest, hand tangled in Frank's hair, sleepily considering making something of his almost-boner against Frank's thigh. But Frank's arm is warm around him, and Gerard’s eyes are so heavy, and he's going to lean up and kiss Frank soon, he thinks, in just a second.

He wakes up to the pale morning light coming in through the hotel curtains, and Frank's tongue in his ass.

Gerard is hard and he's half-humping the bed, has been in his sleep, apparently. Frank is down between his legs, has nudged Gerard's thighs wide open, and he's rimming him with intent. Gerard can barely open his eyes and he hasn't even had coffee and he's so fucking hot and hard all he can do is rock back against Frank's mouth and moan.

Frank takes his tongue out of Gerard's ass. "Oh good," he says roughly. "You're up."

"Fffuck," is all Gerard manages to get out. He pushes himself back, because god, Frank's tongue.

Frank laughs, hot against Gerard's ass, and licks him, a long, hot strip right over Gerard's hole. It's stupidly fucking hot and Gerard's head would be spinning even if he wasn't half-asleep right now. "I -" he says, clutching at the pillow under his head and holding really still, hoping Frank will come back for more. "I - that. Frank. That. "

Frank licks him again, long and slow, a tease, a motherfucking tease, and Gerard groans against the pillow. "Fuck." He wants more; he wants more. "Fuck," he says again.

Frank's hands slide up his hips and Gerard thinks he might be laughing, but then his tongue comes back, licking at Gerard in earnest, and all Gerard can do in the whole motherfucking world is hold on to his pillow and rut against the sheets. He's so hard and Frank's tongue is so hot and he's licking at this slow and steady pace that isn't anywhere near enough. It's killing Gerard, he wants more, fuck, he needs more, and he's maybe babbling against the pillow, Christ, he doesn't even know what he's saying, just that he's asking for it, begging for it, for more.

But Frank keeps up that steady licking and it goes from not enough to almost too much to perfect, fucking - "Yeah, Frank, fucking - yeah, like that, don't stop, don't stop, don't fucking stop, oh -"

Frank isn't stopping, he's not even close to stopping, he's just driving Gerard on and on, steady stroking against him, hard and firm and perfect and oh god, oh - "God," Gerard gasps out against the pillow. "Oh god, Frank, fuck, Jesus, I'm gonna come, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna - come, I -"

He does, because Frank doesn't stop, he doesn't hesitate, he keeps licking as Gerard comes, sweating and shaking and fucking writhing against the sheets.

He's lying there, limp and spent, as Frank crawls up over him, presses against his side, hard and hot and heavy. "See?" he says, voice thick with amusement as he licks Gerard's neck and presses his hard-on against Gerard's thigh. "See what awesome things I do when you shower?"

"Fuck you," Gerard mumbles, still shaking. But, fuck. Being woken up like that was almost worth the shower last night.

"You know I'm right." Frank is half-giggling and so fucking cocky and satisfied with himself that all Gerard can do is roll over heavily onto his back.

"Come here," Gerard says, giving his best pre-caffeine sex look and something about it must work, because Frank sucks in a breath and just does, no arguing.

Gerard props his head up on pillows as Frank straddles him, grinning, and moving forward. He gets his thighs around Gerard’s chest, his cock right up in Gerard’s face, and god, yeah, all Gerard wants in the world is to open up and take Frank in. He lets Frank fuck his mouth and it's the best kind of morning sex, where Gerard doesn't have to really move very much or be very coordinated, because Frank is in charge, panting and cursing and shoving himself into Gerard's mouth, so good and hot and god, Gerard is so loose and ready and wanting this.

Frank's hand is tangled in Gerard's hair and his head is thrown back as he stills, and groans, and comes right there in Gerard's mouth.

"Best morning ever," Gerard says as he tugs Frank down beside him, dragging the covers back over them both and slinging a leg and an arm over Frank to hold him in place.

"Nrgh," Frank says, eyes closed, mouth slack, not looking in any way inclined to get up the way Gerard had worried that he would. The room is chilly and the light filtering in through the curtains is bright, so Gerard tugs the comforter up, folding them into a quiet cave against the chilly hotel room air. It smells like them in there - like sweat and spunk and sex - and Gerard hums happily to himself as he presses his face against Frank's neck.

They fall asleep like that, tangled up together, sticky and stinky in the best possible way. Frank insists on a shower when he finally wakes up for real, disentangling himself from Gerard and refusing to even kiss him before "brushing your ass off my teeth."

Gerard avoids washing by getting up and dressed and even packed before Frank's done with his washing routine, and Frank eyes him all judgmentally, even as Gerard stands there in his worn-to-perfect-comfort jeans, sagging down his hips just right, and his practically clean (last Tuesday) t-shirt.

His bag is at his feet and he blinks at Frank innocently. "What? God, aren't you ready yet?"

"You're so fucking gross," Frank informs him, grabbing his hoodie off the floor and stuffing it into his own bag. "Seriously."

Gerard shrugs, picking up his bag. "You licked my ass earlier."

Frank frowns at him.

Gerard grins. "Seriously."

"I fucking hate you." Frank grabs the keycard off the desk, turns to head out.

"You fucking love me," Gerard says, staying where he is, duffel slung over his shoulder, jeans low on his hips, hair super-clean from last night where Frank washed it like it was his job.

Frank turns at the door, his face a perfect mix of giggles and exasperation. "Shut the fuck up and let's get the show on the road."

Gerard shrugs the duffel higher on his shoulder and brushes by Frank in the doorway. "You really fucking do, you know," he says.

"I know." It's almost lost in the door swinging shut behind them, but Gerard hears it. Frank shoves him forward roughly and Gerard stumbles, catches himself against the wall, and glares back over his shoulder at Frank, so fucking happy he could burst from it.

Frank's messing with the door, turning over the "do not disturb" card so it reads "service please," and he glances up at Gerard. "We don't have another hotel night until next Saturday, you know."

Gerard's heart sinks. Fuck. Another week and a half of waiting, of quick stealthy handjobs and not enough kissing. "Fuck."

Frank gives him the dirtiest possible smile as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder. "I know, right?"

Gerard's heart speeds up a little. Frank knows, now. Frank knows that Gerard can hear him - every sound, every breath, every moan.

Ray pokes his head out of the elevator at the end of the hall, looks up, and waves at them.

Frank puts up his hand in a half-wave. "I'm sure we'll find some way to pass the time," he says conversationally to Gerard. But the look he shoots him sends immediate heat to Gerard's cheeks, down his chest.

"Fuck you," he says, and Frank pushes past him, leaning into him with his duffel as he goes by.

"Fuck you," he responds fondly, and together, they go to find Mikey, and coffee. In exactly that order.

the end