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Gerard wasn't like every other person that Frank had seen inside the walls of Our Lady of Sorrow, and the years of his parents dragging him – sometimes literally – to every Sunday service and summer youth group meant Frank had seen a lot of people in those walls over the years.
It was a couple of years ago the Ways – Gerard, his little brother Mikey, and their parents – had moved to town and Frank had first seen the mysterious older sibling settled next to his mother a few pews down from Frank and his family. He was only sixteen back then, but he was already the family disappointment with his home-job hair cuts and point-blank refusal to wear pants without holes in them. Except for Sunday service, because the weekly screaming matches over tattered denim got really old fast. Frank knew how to pick his battles by now.
He was hoping there wouldn't be too many more battles to fight. He was eighteen now, sitting on the back of Mikey's shitty emerald green sedan in the church car park, passing a joint back and forth. Service had ended half an hour ago, the carpark now empty, but Frank had convinced his mom by now that Mikey was a respectable young man, a good influence – something he most definitely wasn't – and that they were gonna go get pancakes as a Sunday treat.
Frank couldn't fucking wait until he saved up enough cash from short shifts at the local coffee shop. As soon as they both had some decent savings behind them, he and Mikey were getting the fuck out of dodge. This guy who used to hang out in the cafe all the time, Ray, he was a mad guitarist and would sometimes play a set on a Saturday morning, had a place a couple of hours away. Before he'd left – and time and time again in phone conversations and Myspace messages in the few months since – he'd offered a couch as a temporary place if they needed it. Ray was good people, and Frank remembered how psyched Mikey had been on the idea of running into the sunset with a curly-haired guitar genius, until the reality hit that to survive, to even get to Ray, they'd need a safety net. A safety net of dollars.
As his parents had left in the fucking boat of a station wagon his mom drove, she'd screamed out the window at him. “If you don't go to confessional, I'll know!”
Frank had shuddered, because he hated that shit. Being in a claustrophobic box, reciting the same script at Father Jones, who always fucking smelled like pickled onions, that he'd recited so many times he didn't even have to think about it any more. At first it'd been weird telling an old guy he'd discovered porn and how his dick worked, but by now it was so rinse-and-repeat. His mom was right though, Father Jones was a narc and though confessional was sacred, apparently it wasn't confidential if he just didn't go.
Again, Frank knew how to pick his battles. And with he and Mikey's bank accounts slowly starting to grow, he knew there was a fuck-off big battle coming. In the meantime, he'd put up with almost whatever his parents so demanded, and maybe it'd even throw them off their whole plan.
Mikey handed him the joint, and Frank took a couple drags before movement near the front door of the church caught his eye. It was Gerard – his hair dark, long enough to hide his face a little from this angle, flipping the latches that held the double door open. Mikey didn't bother hiding the joint that was very obviously in his mouth, just waved at his brother as he exhaled a cloud of thick, green-scented smoke. Frank saw the smile on Gerard's face when he waved back, the kind of oh you kids smile he recognized by now.
Gerard was... a long and strange story.
“One day you're gonna get him in trouble with Jones,” Frank murmured, taking the joint back from Mikey's fingertips.
Mikey scoffed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I think it's more likely you're gonna get yourself in trouble, walking in half baked.”
Frank rolled his eyes, blowing out a plume of smoke and handing what little remained back to Mikey. “Finish it. I don't even think Jones has any smell receptors left man, the amount that guy thinks nobody sees him picking it up there.”
Mikey hopped off the trunk as he exhaled and ground the roach into the carpark gravel under his sneaker. Frank watched him open the driver's side door and grab the ever-present deodorant, dousing himself in clean-smell and tossing it to Frank to do the same. Mikey's deodorant taste seemed to change every week – this week it was some bright orange can that smelled vaguely spicy, and it wasn't the worst he'd had. The worst was when Mikey accidentally bought bubblegum scent and he had to explain to his dad exactly why he came home at midnight smelling like a girl. Frank was a well-versed liar by now, a bullshit artiste if he said so himself.
“True,” Mikey murmured as Frank slid off the car and gave him back the deodorant. “I gotta hang back for Gee anyway, so don't rush.”
Frank rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair and bracing himself for the inescapable smell of onions. At least he'd get to hang out with them both after, and not that he'd admit it to anyone but Mikey in the dead of night when the entire town was asleep around them, but he'd take any and every opportunity to hang out with Gerard.
Gerard was complicated, and Frank had been utterly fascinated by him since he'd first seen the mop of black hair next to his mother's impeccable blonde set curls. The reason Mikey had to hang back today was Gerard's car being in the shop, and their parents currently in Florida visiting some distant relative. At least the Way parents took vacations, Frank was damn lucky to get so much as a weekend home alone.
It'd been a long, long time ago now. He still remembered, clear as day, Mikey's frantic call to meet them at The Spot. The Spot was at the top of a large hill a twenty-minute walk from the Ways' front door, where it was usually dead quiet except for birds in the trees and maybe a dog walker on a rare occasion. When he'd arrived Gerard was a sobbing mess in Mikey's arms, totally fucking inconsolable, speaking so fast even Mikey couldn't understand him and Frank swore they had some weird telepathic communication thing going on. The only time Frank had ever seen anyone in such a state was actually twelve months before that incident, shortly after he'd met the Ways, when the brothers lost their grandma and had no friends to call on but the scrawny little punk kid from church.
As he kicked a bottle cap and followed it up the kerb, then to the path to the church's entrance, he couldn't help but remember how fucking chaotic that night had been in stark contrast to the smile and wave Gerard had given earlier.
He remembered sitting down on the other side of Gerard in the waist-height grass, awkwardly wrapping an arm around his shoulder on top of Mikey's. For a long time the three of them had just sat, Mikey and Frank in stunned silence, Gerard's whole body fucking shaking with every breath he took.
Eventually, he started to breathe a little easier, and Mikey had looked up and made eye contact with Frank.
“Mom and Dad, they found out-” Mikey started, but was interrupted by something that even now Frank could only describe as a desperate wail from Gerard. The kind of guttural, raw, purely emotional scream of someone totally fucking lost and totally losing hope. He'd heard that wail when their grandma died, but now... it was almost like that scream cut into Frank's skin when it tore its way out of Gerard's lungs, now they'd known each other a while. Mikey had tears streaming down his cheeks and a jaw clenched in anger at their parents, his eyes shiny behind those thick black frames.
“They. They f-found out,” Gerard started, taking a shuddering breath and grabbing Frank's hand with one of his own. “F-found out I'm f-fucking gay.”
“Oh fuck, Gee,” was all Frank could think to fucking say in that moment. That'd been Gerard's grand coming-out moment and it fucking sucked. Now, he wished he'd had some smart response, something that would've been of more use or comfort, but he'd never been great with words.
Mikey shook his head, and Gerard was shaking again, trying to hold in the gut-wrenching sobs. “It gets worse.”
“T-they're m-making me join the f-fucking priesthood.”
It still made Frank kind of sick when he thought about it. Realistically, he could see his parents doing the same damn thing if they ever caught on to his preferences and proclivities. Priesthood or the military, he imagined. His parents were somewhat oblivious though in that regard, even if his dad did mention every couple of months that he was surprised Frank hadn't found a nice girl yet and his mom was starting to name-drop her book club's daughters. He'd dated a girl or two back in high school, just for a couple months, but he always knew kissing girls felt weird. Until they were out of this po-dunk town Frank was quite happy to sustain himself on muted bootleg pornos Ray left them, and his overactive imagination. It wasn't like anyone around here held his interest like that anyway. Well, nobody who Frank had any chance in hell with.
He sighed heavily as he trudged up the concrete steps to the front doors, wrenching one side open with a flourished salute to Mikey as he stepped inside. He heard a screech and the blare of a car horn as the door slammed shut behind him, making him jump a little.
Churches were weird places, and they were even weirder when they were so quiet. There was a soft recording of some hymn playing over the crackly PA, probably off a recording older than Frank was. There were candles flickering everywhere, the smell of hot wax and the remnants of old lady perfume and too-strong aftershave from the congregation. Better than the fucking onion-stench he was about to deal with up close and personal, but Frank still scrunched up his nose and sighed heavily as he plodded towards the confessional.
He slipped the thin wood door open and stepped inside with a roll of his eyes, pulling it shut behind him. He settled on the uncomfortable wooden seat and crossed himself with a murmur before coughing to clear his throat.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned – it's been a week since my last confession...” Frank rattled off the same old fucking script he'd rattled off for years now. “I have looked upon some of the girls with lust, and find myself tempted by the sin of the world...” Watered down nonsense that had kept him coasting under the radar of his parents and Father Jones.
Frank paused as an involuntary yawn escaped his mouth, and in that moment he realized this fucking booth didn't have the overwhelming, nose-burning stench of onions.
He heard a sniffle from the other side of the curtain. No way. No fucking way.
Then Frank hesitated for a moment. If he was getting a headcold, that would explain the lack of stench. But he hadn't so much as sneezed in the last two days, and after so many years of his mother dragging him to this stupid fucking box he knew that smell like he knew the smell of the coffee shop or Mikey's bedroom. It was unmistakable, and at that moment it was missing. It was like rocking up at a pool and not smelling chlorine – vaguely off-putting, out-of-place.
He raised his hand and paused again. It was just a velvet curtain, a deep, faded purple, worn on the edges from years of use. The same thing he'd looked at every godforsaken Sunday for at least the last eight years. If he was wrong, if by some miracle Jones discovered Tic-Tacs, he could expect an angry lecture about protocols and shit and even half baked, Frank wasn't sure he was up to dealing with that today. But if he was right... well, he didn't fucking know what that meant.
Frank took a sharp breath in and bit his lip, fingers grabbing the little square of velvet fabric and tugging it open in one movement.
No fucking way.
Except it was.
Gerard looked like a deer in headlights, his face dead-pale and his neck flushed red. His hand shot up to grab the curtain but Frank held it open, shaking his head. He couldn't help but choke out some sort of half-laugh in surprise.
“The fuck are you doing in here, dude?!”
Gerard hissed in response, sliding his hand across his throat in a cut it out motion. “Frank-”
“No, no, dude,” Frank adjusted his grip on the curtain, raising his eyebrows at Gerard. “Why the fuck are you taking confessionals?”
Gerard hesitated, his breath catching in his throat, and he let out a resigned sigh. He knew Frank was stubborn, even moreso than Mikey. “Father Jones' mom is in town.”
Frank blinked dumbly at him, because sure, that was an explanation. Maybe that had been the brief ruckus outside when he came in. “Okay, fair,” he said, but he was fairly sure they didn't just let any old priest-in-training or whatever do these things and Jones was a stickler for rules. He hated to admit the twist in his gut, the question of what the fuck it meant if Gerard was at this level. “But why are you in here?”
“I dunno. Things are going well and he really wanted to see his mom, so he asked if I could handle it and, well,” Gerard shrugged, gesturing at the box. He didn't really talk about this church shit much,
Frank stuck his head closer to the little window, pinning the curtain open with his fingers. “Fuck off, that side is so much bigger!”
“Frank!” Gerard hissed, pressing his hand over Frank's mouth and okay, yeah, that was totally his bad and maybe he was slightly more than half baked and had no filter.
Frank apologized, his words muffled against Gerard's palm as he got pushed back into his side of the booth. “It is a lot roomier though,” he murmured when Gerard let him go.
“I need you to let the curtain go,” Gerard said, his voice monotone almost, so even and calm it was unnatural coming from him. Frank shook his head when Gerard tugged at the fabric. “Frank, please.”
Frank looked up at him through the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I don't want to. We both know now.”
“I need you to let go and we... we need to finish this.” Gerard's voice was so fucking devoid of emotion. He was staring pointedly at one spot on the door in front of him, refusing to meet Frank's eyes. “You said you were experiencing lust and temptation-”
“Gerard.” Frank tried to catch his eye, his fingers twitching against that gross, worn velvet and smooth wood.
And then he felt Gerard's hand on his for just a split second, enough to make his nerves spark, shoving his hand off the curtain and yanking it shut. When Frank immediately tried to yank it open again Gerard's arms were pinning it to the front and back walls of the confessional. He went for the bottom edge but Gerard had pulled it through to his side and Frank's fingers wouldn't fit to wrench it up.
“Frank, please.”
Gerard's voice cracked as he spoke, and Frank stopped trying to get it open, because when Gerard's voice went like that it meant something was not right. For what felt like forever the booth was silent, save for Gerard's badly-hidden deep breaths and the faintest sound of the hymn on the PA.
“What's wrong?” Frank asked, his voice small and definitely guilty. He'd freaked Gerard out, something he never wanted to do. He'd seen Gerard at his lowest and most raw self and hearing his own name in that scared, stuttered voice made every fucking organ in his body tense and cringe and fall out of him.
He heard a sniffle, and fuck, he'd made Gerard cry. Frank was the worst person on the planet in that moment and boom, there was a confession.
“I don't know,” Gerard murmured weakly, and if Frank had been the second-worst liar in all of New Jersey, Gerard was the first.
“You don't have to talk about it,” Frank mumbled, staring at his nails. He wished the seat was big enough to pull his knees up to his chest, but there was no chance. “I... messed up, sorry.”
The silence settled again and Frank brought his thumb to his mouth, biting at his thumbnail like a goddamn rat. This was definitely worse than any lecture from Jones. He didn't want to just get up and leave because there was no way he could just walk away from Gerard when he was obviously going through some kind of emotional turmoil.
There was another sniffle from behind the curtain, and the sound of Gerard clearing his throat. “I thought I could do it, but it's... I don't know.”
“Do what?” Frank raised an eyebrow, wishing he could burn holes with his gaze.
“This,” Gerard mumbled. It was strange not being able to see him as he talked because he was so animated even when he was talking about the most mundane topics. “Any of this.”
Frank swallowed, because it felt like the switch had flipped, that suddenly Gerard was the one doing the confessing. He knew the whole deal with the Way parents was beyond fucked up. They'd threatened to move cross-country and take Mikey with them, and a slew of other threats about the items he inherited from his grandma. It was so beyond fucked up that they used shit like that against their own kid just because they weren't perfect.
“Did I ever tell you how they found out?”
Frank could've sworn the whole fucking world paused in that moment. His heart stopped and jumped right up into his throat. His ears rang with the inflection of Gerard's voice at the end of the question. He definitely didn't know that story, and honestly, he'd never asked because he didn't want to rub salt in wounds or drudge up old memories.
He shook his head, speechless for a moment or two. “N-no. I don't think you ever did.”
Frank heard Gerard shift on the other side of the confessional, his arms still firmly planted against the curtain.
“T-they weren't due back from Ohio til the next morning, so me and M-Mikey decided to go... go grab a p-pizza and rent a couple movies. We were gone maybe, uh, an hour, and I needed cigarettes on the way back so we s-stopped at the 7-11. They got home m-maybe t-t-twenty minutes before us, mom's handbag was s-still on the counter. She'd bought us little s-souvenirs so she went into our rooms – my room – to leave it on the desk.”
Frank really fucking wished he could see Gerard's face. Even though he was crying, tripping over his words, all Frank wanted to do was see his face, look him in the eyes, and say anything to give him some kind of comfort. He wanted to throw the wooden doors open and drag Gerard out into the stained-glass lined nave – how the fuck did he remember that word from Sunday school? - and wrap his arms around him as tight as he physically could.
“B-before we left, I'd been drawing,” Gerard continued, his voice soft. “And t-they were... pretty explicit, to... to say the least. Like.. really explicit, and really, r-really messed up, some of them.”
Frank reached one hand out, taking his finger and tracing over the bottom edge of the window, the fabric still pulled taut against the wood. He was probably going to make the thumb he was biting bleed, but he could barely feel the sharpness of his own teeth. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, and he was fucking graceless and bad at advice.
Gerard took a deep, shuddered breath and Frank could picture his eyes pressed shut. “Andtheywereofyou.” It was punctuated by the sound of Gerard's head hitting the back of the booth.
Frank's breath hitched in his throat, because Gerard's words were so slurred together that he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard any of it right.
“W-what?”
“You,” Gerard choked out. “I-I had a s-sketchbook... o-of you. And she... huh. She r-really did not like w-what she saw. When we got home... t-they were sitting on the couch w-with it wide open on the... uh, coffee table. D-Dad screamed so l-loud I was w-worried next d-door would call 911. He... he threw it, at... right at my head, it skidded into t-the hall near t-the stairs. M-Mikey was a ninja and swiped it on h-his w-way up.” There was a slight smile in that last sentence, some small sliver of positivity in an insanely fucking heavy moment.
“T-they said t-they were gonna... gonna t-talk to your p-parents about it but b-between us, we talked them o-out of that. I knew... knew they w-would not like that, a-and I didn't w-w-wanna mess up you and M-Mikey either. T-then n-next thing we did w-was go to meet you.”
Frank's ears were fucking ringing, the static in his ears drowning out any hymns or Gerard's muffled, shallow hyperventilating. The world seemed to white out for what felt like forever. It was a deafening silence and it made him dizzy.
He watched the stiffness in Gerard's arms ease, and maybe he'd be able to see him again, but part of him wanted to be able to hide for what he wanted to say so he let his arm drop back to his lap.
“You want a confession?” Frank asked, letting a half-laugh out of his mouth on the last word.
It was silent again for a moment. “M-maybe? Yes.” Gerard murmured, his voice juat audible over the ringing in Frank's ears.
“I can't draw for shit,” he said, thumb still in his mouth, and he tasted the faintest hint of copper suddenly.
“Ha ha,” Gerard huffed. “You d-don't-”
“I wasn't finished,” Frank interrupted. “I can't draw, but I've kinda written a dumb song or two about you. I never told Mikey, because you're like... you're his... his brother, and it'd be weird, maybe. I don't know. And I didn't want him to think I was weird or whatever. Or you. But like... do you, do you remember the first Sunday service you had here?”
Gerard was probably shaking his head. “No.”
“I do,” Frank continued. And he was definitely drawing blood on his thumb, so he swapped to the other hand. It was a nervous habit and it was better than some alternatives, he'd convinced himself. His mom hated it. “You sat two pews down from us, and I hate that the first time I saw you was in this place. I've literally been crushing on you since I saw the back of your head but that's super weird, even for me, and well, you know my darling folks...”
Gerard's arms fell from the window entirely, and Frank heard his head hit the wall with a dull thud once again. He paused for a moment, catching his breath, feeling like he'd run a mile, then tugged the curtain open again.
There were tears streaking down Gerard's face in fucking rivers, his eyelashes girlish and stuck together. For a long moment they just stared at each other, eyes raking over the other before they settled into solid eye contact. Frank knew this wasn't bullshit, none of it. This was shit getting real. This was life-changing, earth shattering, front page oh the humanity news. Two years was a long time to be hung up on someone who'd been battling insane grief the first year and thrown into a priesthood he didn't want to join the second. There hadn't been a right time, or if there had been, they'd been too subtle for Frank to notice before he was lying in bed hours later and realized what he could've said. Hindsight, twenty-twenty, all that shit.
Their eyes were locked and Frank's brain-to-mouth filter shorted out. “Can I come in there?”
Gerard started biting his lip, and Frank had to break eye contact because that was just... fuck. “I-if... if something... something happens, F-Frank...” he trailed off, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his long sleeved black jacket. “It'll... it'll be bad. F-for both of us. Once... once we start, I don't think I could just... go back to n-normal.”
Frank shook his head, looking up at him again. Fuck normal. There was too much fucking normal and he was sick of it. “So... so we take off then. Mikey told you about our plan with Ray, right? Once we've got four grand each? I'm sure if-”
Gerard shook his head violently. “Even if Mikey's with you... my grandma, Frank.”
Frank could see the fucking brokenness in Gerard's eyes and it made a slurry of emotions deep in his guts. He wanted to scream at the Way parents, send them flaming dog shit, slash a tyre or four. He wouldn't, for the brothers' sakes, but that didn't stop the feeling. He caught Gerard's eyes again, his face dead-serious, his voice low. “I promise you, that if we all leave together, I will make sure everything from her is with us.” Gerard opened his mouth to protest, interrupt, something, but Frank raised his voice ever so slightly and continued. “I've got two grand so far, Mikey's at two and a half. If we've got you, it's an extra person to contribute and Ray's a good dude, he even asks how you are.”
Gerard's eyes dropped to the floor again.
“Can I come in there, Gerard?” Frank repeated, because he needed his arms around Gerard, and got a small nod in response. He slipped out of the booth and back in the other door, Gerard squeezing up against one side to make as much room for Frank as possible. It was still tiny, especially with two people, but still felt less claustrophobic than the other side.
He was about to sit down when his phone buzzed in his butt pocket. “Ah, shit,” he murmured, pulling it out as he sat down. “Mikey.”
Wtf are you doing man?!
Frank made some noise that he hoped conveyed a mild ahh shit kind of vibe. Gerard frowned, confused, but nodded when Frank let him read the text.
“What're you going to tell him?” he asked.
Frank shrugged, typing out his response. “I'm helping you clean candles and having a deep and meaningful conversation, if he doesn't wanna wait we'll catch up.”
An almost-immediate response from Mikey declared the younger brother was going to get gas in his car and more cigarettes, but he'd be back to wait. Frank knew the mention of any kind of chore, especially a church related one, was going to make Mikey balk and walk the other way.
Frank shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked Gerard dead in the eye again. “So.”
“So.”
There was another silence, and Frank couldn't help focusing on Gerard's lip between his teeth because now it was bleeding. Not a lot, not enough to drip down his chin, but enough for frank so see the bright red against the pink of his lips, a tiny smear on one of his teeth briefly.
“Do you reckon we can do it?” Frank asked, moreso because he wanted to hear what was ticking over in his brain.
Gerard's eyes dropped and darted across the floor, like he was trying to visualize lists and sums in his head. Frank could almost see him thinking, the focus so intense, the decision so fucking heavy and he was carrying it in his entire body.
Frank snaked one hand to tangle in Gerard's hair, the heel of his palm resting on the back of his neck. There was some intimacy in that small touch that Frank felt. It was tangible, warm, electric – he was hoping he wasn't just making things worse but Gerard made no effort to move away from his touch.
“When?” Gerard choked out, and Frank pressed his face into his shoulder.
“We can work that out later. Soon. We just gotta give Ray a couple days notice, and give me a few days to work out a plan for your grandma's stuff.”
Gerard let out what Frank could only describe as a soul-shaking sob of relief. The kind of sound Frank imagined a drowning victim made when they woke up coughing water from their lungs. The thick black fabric was kind of nice against his face as he felt Gerard slowly start to calm down, his breathing becoming more steady.
Frank sat upright again, watching Gerard rub at his eyes with his sleeve. “I gotta say, I didn't wake up expecting this,” Gerard murmured, visibly trying to collect himself and his thoughts. “I wanna show you something.”
“Yeah?”
Gerard stood up awkwardly so he could reach into the inside pocket of his jacket a little easier. It must've been a decent sized pocket, because he pulled out a reasonably-sized bible and that thing was thick. It had to be uncomfortable feeling the corners poke into him all day. He sat back down and flicked to a random page.
Between the pages were sketches, a few in pencil, most in ink, two or three experiments in watercolor. Frank recognized Gerard's style a mile away, the sharp angles, abstract shapes, high contrast with a dark or morbid twist. Even with Gerard's heavy stylization he could recognize himself. Himself from behind, the individual vertebrae outlined down the center of his back, the pattern of the underwear he definitely owned in real life visible over a pair of pale blue pants. In another, his mouth was in close up, canine teeth extra pointed like a Lost Boy, like a snake ready to strike.
The most explicit drawings were buried between pages towards the center, and Frank could feel the shiver run down his spine. Frank was in more precarious situations than he could count on both hands, and Gerard was flushing bright red when Frank reached out a hand to stop him skimming through so fast. One where he was on his knees, a red tie around his wrists attached to some anchor out of frame and his cock obscene in the middle of the sketch. Another where Frank was bent over Gerard clad in black, with another figure that was definitely Gerard kneeling before him holding what looked like a silver goblet. Frank held out a finger and made Gerard pause on an image which was most definitely Frank sucking dick in nothing but a rosary and knee socks. His eyes darted to look at the rosary hanging loosely around Gerard's neck.
“Fuck,” Frank whispered, because he really didn't know if there was any other response his brain was capable of. He adjusted himself in his seat because fucking of course he was getting hard in a goddamn confessional, but when he sneaked a glance at Gerard's crotch in those black suit pants, they were doing a far worse job of hiding things than his jeans.
“Yeah,” Gerard murmured, closing the book and shoving it back in its pocket. “So, um-”
“Gee,” Frank interrupted, resting his hand on Gerard's thigh. “Please let me suck your fucking dick.”
Gerard choked on his own spit. “H-here?”
Frank shrugged, a glint in his eye. It was kinda hot, the whole corruption thing. Desecration? Sacrilege? Blasphemy? All of them probably applied in one way or another. “It's Sunday. Nobody's gonna be here til Jones is back, we'll hear the door if he rocks up. Worst case, you distract him and I sneak out.”
Gerard sighed, because Frank had a point. Sunday afternoons were often the quietest, everyone had done their godly deed of the day so they dispersed across town into restaurants and knitting clubs and playgrounds, their souls satisfied for at least the next twenty-four hours.
He let his head hit the wood once more, and had the brief thought that he was gonna end up bruising himself by the end of it.
“O-okay. But... be careful.”
Frank wasn't sure if that sentiment was more directed at him or Gerard himself. But that okay had passed Gerard's lips, and Frank awkwardly sank to the ground, his legs on a weird angle and pressed tight against the sliding door of the confessional. It was graceless and uncomfortable, but Frank rested his chin on Gerard's thigh, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “I wanna make you feel better,” Frank murmured, one hand making its way up Gerard's leg to the button of his stupid slacks.
Frank had done this exactly once before, when he and Mikey had sneaked over to a party in the next town over a few months after they met. It had been in the laundry, the guy sitting on top of the running washing machine while Frank sucked his dick in the darkened room, the nerves and inexperience combined with the alcohol leading his instincts. He was nothing if not enthusiastic, and maybe his technique wasn't perfect. Despite his sloppiness the guy eventually came into a random article of clothing Frank grabbed off the floor next to his knees, mumbling something about Frank being almost a natural. He wasn't really up to hang around for long with a dude whose name he wasn't sure he'd ever asked, and definitely didn't remember if he had, so he'd cleaned himself up and bailed before there was any reciprocation.
Gerard's hand came to settle gently on Frank's head, and he could feel himself flush red. “You can pull my hair if you want,” he suggested, trying to get the stupid fucking button open with one hand. He'd done it a thousand times to himself but somehow it just wasn't working and he didn't mean to let out the little frustrated whine that escaped the back of his throat. Gerard gave him a smile, tangling his fingers in the layers of Frank's mohawk and getting the button open with his other hand.
Frank's eyes fluttered closed as he felt the sharp tug at the back of his head, the zipper on Gerard's pants infinitely easier than the buttons. He hesitated, just for a moment, before he felt Gerard's grip tighten even more – and he was gonna take that as a yes.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, and slipped his hand under the waistband of Gerard's underwear, and he swore he felt his mouth water. It kind of made Frank want Gerard ass-naked but he knew that was logistically not going to happen. “Fuck,” he murmured, looking up at Gerard ad he stroked him slowly, almost lazily.
“Frank, c'mon,” Gerard murmured, rolling his hips into Frank's hand. Frank bit his lip again, tasted blood. “It's dangerous.”
“Which makes it funner,” Frank smiled, dragging his tongue dramatically from the base of Gerard's cock all the way to the tip, and fucking swallowing him on the way back down. Gerard let out a shocked gasp, his hips bucking up into Frank's mouth, making him gag slightly and pull back.
“Fuck, sorry,” he whispered, wiping spit from the corner of Frank's mouth, down across the little split in his lip.
“'S okay, I like that shit,” Frank said, his voice dark and heavy. “Go... go as hard as you want.”
Gerard moaned, a proper fucking porno level moan, arched back and his thighs tensing where Frank's arms rested on them. He could listen to that on repeat for hours quite contentedly, especially if it was coming from his actions.
Frank started tracing patterns with his tongue, forcing himself as far down as he could take it. Gerard needed a little encouragement to really give in and start fucking his throat, but by fucking God when he did Frank never wanted to be without this feeling again. He snaked his hand up the front of Gerard's starched black shirt, wrapping his fingers around the silver and black rosary he always had around his neck in this fucking place. He tangled his fingers in the metal and beads and tugged hard, forcing Gerard to make inconsistent eye contact because his eyes kept closing when he hit the back of Frank's throat. Frank wanted, needed, to see him. There was something fucking transcendental in that moment, the harsh, stuttered pace Gerard's hips kept knocking at his gag reflex and making him drool. Gerard was going to have a massive wet patch on those pressed pants and Frank was briefly grateful priests wore black so it was a little harder to show up.
When he pulled back for a breather and made eye contact with Gerard again, wordless and breathless, he didn't break it as he sucked Gerard into his mouth again, just tightened his fingers even more in the rosary til Gerard was almost hunched over to keep it from breaking.
“Yeah,” Gerard whispered, and Frank could tell he was consciously keeping his voice as quiet as possible, never breaking eye contact and suddenly Frank didn't dare to either. “I... I feel like a loser but I am... fuck, not gonna last, Frankie.”
“Not a loser,” Frank mumbled around the head of Gerard's cock. “Want... fuck my throat, Gee. I want... that's what I want.”
Gerard let out a high pitched whine and tangled his other hand in Frank's hair too, pulling harder than ever and it was sending shockwaves down his spine. Frank didn't even bother unbuttoning his jeans, he didn't need to. Just needed friction, some kind of friction, and rubbing his cock against Gerard's leg through his jeans was just enough.
He was being throatfucked by the sole star of the last two years of his dreams, his fantasies. In the confessional he'd lied in so many times, dragged to sometimes kicking and screaming.
The eternal rebel in Frank swelled, and he struggled to keep his eyes open as he started getting close, Gerard's cock hitting the back of his throat at a desperate pace, and Frank felt his fingers tighten and his legs start shaking and Gerard was coming down his throat, bitter and not exactly what Frank expected, but he couldn't deny he definitely liked it, which was maybe... a little weird, at least.
Then one of Gerard's hands was at his throat, forcing eye contact again, his grip hard enough to cut off oxygen and his vocal chords just-enough and Frank's hips were stuttering against Gerard's leg, fingers starting to get marks from the vice-grip on the chain around Gerard's neck. His body shuddered and a whole lot of broken curse words all blended together as he fucking came in his jeans on the floor of the fucking confessional.
They sat in silence again, and Frank wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. He looked up at Gerard, chin on his knee. “I... I think we should get outta here,” Frank said between deep, tired breaths. “Partly because my feet are numb.”
“Oh shit,” Gerard murmured, grabbing Frank by the upper arms and helping him off the tiny hardwood floor. “We should.... we should.”
“What do you have to do?”
“Candles, oddly enough,” Gerard said, running a hand through his hair and getting his stupid, drooly pants back on properly. “You came up with the right excuse.”
Frank laughed, and he knew it was a terrible joke before he said it, but that's why he had to. “Well, you might notice I'm good at blowing things.”
Gerard snorted, shaking his head, and let Frank lead the way out of the confessional. The PA still had the hymns crackling, but Gerard mumbled something about not knowing how to work that yet. He led the way and Frank crossed the room, each going down one side and extinguishing every flame in the room. He wasn't sure if this was strictly in the rules, but he supposed modern fire safety code kind of deemed it a major hazard if left unattended.
Hey, if the goddamn Vatican rocked up for an audit, it wasn't gonna be their problem for much longer at all.