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The hill with The Spot already visible over the rooftops. Frank could feel every bump in the asphalt road as he coasted along on four wheels. Even if Gerard's car had been functional, he probably would've still opted to skate around instead – it helped clear his head when his brain was too chaotic to focus on anything, and he definitely needed some of that. It'd been a good couple of weeks since his board had even left his room, because Mikey had the car and they were always together these days. The bookstore was only a block and a half from Frank's work, and if he was brutally honest, he was lazy and getting a ride was easier. It wasn't that Frank couldn't drive, he could, and in fact he'd scored higher than Mikey when it came to driver's ed, he just didn't hadn't found the right car yet. It was an important choice to him, even though he had to admit he knew fuck all about cars beyond aesthetics.
Daylight savings started a couple weeks ago and he'd left his place just after 7:30, the sun just set below the horizon, little more than a purple glow in the sky and wispy clouds gaining body as night settled in. He yawned as he rounded the corner into the Ways' cul-de-sac, taking it wide and ending up cutting right across the oncoming traffic lane. He slid closer to the kerb and slowed himself down with one foot grazing the edge of the concrete til he slowed enough to hop off and kick the board up into his hands.
It was a Sunday night, and the Ways were all out at their parents' favorite diner. The evening breeze was still just cold enough to be mildly uncomfortable, and Frank shivered a little as he walked down the pavement. He'd sorted his own parents out by buying them Thursday night romantic comedy double-feature movie tickets, something his mom mentioned over dinner a couple of days ago and Frank had grabbed the idea and ran with it, shoving an extra $50 into his dad's hands and telling him to buy his mom a bunch of flowers and her favorite ice cream too. A small financial sacrifice out of what he'd dubbed his bailing budget, but it had to be made. He hadn't kissed ass like that in months, and it'd worked.
Frank had packed his last bag this morning while his mom was at her weekly bookclub and his dad was long-gone at work, and it was stashed under his bed. He'd managed to get everything else into the brothers' possession in bits and pieces over the last week. His guitar was already safely wedged in it's case in Mikey's trunk so it didn't slide around with every corner or sudden brake. His music, the handful of books, the much bigger handfuls of magazines and comics... all of it was stashed in plastic grocery bags in this weirdly shaped space behind the guitar, which at least meant it hadn't been crammed under the seats of the sedan for days. But it felt strange to think that everything important to him was either in the trunk of Mikey's car, or in a duffel bag under his bed right now, packed, dumped out, and repacked, checked against a list he'd actually written down. He'd been writing a lot down lately.
A neighbor's German Shepherd barked from across the street obnoxiously, loud and booming, snapping him out of his daydream. As he approached the Way house he let his hand brush over the bushes that lined the front of their yard, tiptoeing past Mr Way's station wagon as if the sound of his sneakers made any difference to an empty house. It wasn't weird for Frank to let himself in either, not with the Way parents' regular weekends away and his attachment at the hip to Mikey.
He paused at the top of the driveway, where the path to the door branched off, and took a deep breath, quickly darting behind the bin and bingo - Gerard's keyring was right there, stashed under a handful of small, chipped bricks their parents used to weigh down tarps for garage sales. It still had his soon-to-be-useless car key and Freddy Kruger keychain – Man of Your Dreams, it said – attached, as well as his house key and another, much smaller key that Frank assumed was the one to the lockbox in their parents' drawers.
Frank had a list scrawled on paper, and another in sharpie beneath his hoodie sleeve because he didn't trust himself to not accidentally lose it on the ride over and this was their only shot.
He crossed the front yard quickly, unlocking the door with practised ease and making sure it locked behind him. The house was fucking eerie like this, dead silent, not even the background noise of one TV or another and that was almost enough to make Frank's hair stand on end because they always had one going, there was almost one in every room.
Lockbox.
Frank crossed straight from the front door and started up the stairs, cracking his neck as he walked. He'd never been in the Way parents' bedroom at the top of the stairs before. Their door was first on the right, Mikey's at the end of the hall and Mrs Way's study-turned-sewing-room and the bathroom door already open to the left. He knew their bedroom always smelled like potpourri under the persistent smell of nicotine that hung through the entire house, so he never loitered near the door, even if he had to wait for the bathroom. He'd stand in the corner next to Mikey's door, as far away as possible, on the opposite side of a bookcase.
He took a deep breath and braced himself for potentially overwhelming potpourri. It wasn't so bad he could taste it, which was better than he'd anticipated.
Mikey had told him the lockbox was in the third dresser drawer. Frank set his skateboard down against the wall and stepped inside, and the dresser in question was right next to the door. He shoved his sleeve up, frowning a little as he worked out his smudged sharpie notes.
Pearl rosary. Silver watch.
He tugged the third drawer open, and was met with neat piles of sweaters. Sometimes it seemed everyone in this town except the three of them running tonight could all share the same dresser, because he swore he'd seen his own mom in at least a handful of these. He pulled them out gingerly, careful not to mess up the creases too much, stacking a few on top of each other until his fingers hit hard metal.
Two pendant necklaces. Three gold rings.
Frank pulled out the small key and started fiddling with the lock. It was pretty obvious the Way parents didn't access it much, the lock stiff and earning a couple muttered curse words before it clicked open.
There were a few hundred dollar bills stacked together, a rainy day fund, a tempting rainy day fund but that wasn't on the list. This shit was already dangerous as hell and if Frank let himself sit on one thought for too long he'd probably be shitting himself over the whole situation. He promised their grandma's stuff, not their parents' emergency cash.
He'd definitely been watching too many movies lately because it almost felt anticlimactic, shuffling the notes out of the way and everything he was looking for was right there in front of him. No booby traps, no daring escapes through a rapidly closing door. He picked up the rosary, wrapped it carefully around his fingers, and slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie where it was less likely to pull or tangle. The watch was old, older than he'd anticipated, its movement frozen. He slipped it into his jeans, then the two necklaces with tiny, functional hourglasses. He picked up the first and held it up to the light in the middle of the room.
Oh.
Frank set the necklace down gently on top of the dresser for a moment and ducked back across the hall, pulling a handful of toilet paper off the roll. He pulled the rosary back out and wrapped it gently in a couple of layers, then each of the hourglasses, tucking them gently and securely into his pockets. It was the closest he could get to some kind of bubble wrap, just an extra couple layers so nothing got scratched or busted. He had to shuffle around some papers before finding the three gold rings tucked into a corner together, one plain, two with gemstones Frank could totally admire later. He wrapped them in a bundle with what toilet paper he had left, tucked them into the front pocket of his jeans, and replacing the papers and cash he'd disturbed.
Frank paused, tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, doused in an orangey glow. He'd hate to know how much all the jewelry in his pockets was worth, how beyond royally fucked he'd be if the Ways suddenly came home with both parents bounding up stairs two at a time to catch him red-handed. It's not like his coming and going was weird to the neighbors, and only the dog across the road had been outside or lurking near front windows. His imagination was gonna start getting away from him and he needed to not freak out with the sentimental significance of everything in his possession in that moment.
There was little chance Mrs Way would venture into the drawer for one of her cashmeres tonight, but anything visibly out-of-place was a risk. He started retracing his steps, setting the sweaters back in their spots as he'd taken them out, making sure the corners were tucked in so they looked undisturbed. His heart was thrumming in his throat as he closed the drawer softly and glanced at the time on the clock radio next to the bed.
8:13. Mikey would be messaging any minute to say they were leaving the diner.
Frank nudged the drawer closed, making sure it didn't jut out or leave any sign of being touched at all. He tucked his skateboard under one arm as he left the room, flicking off the light and shutting the Way parents' door behind him. The potpourri was starting to make him feel gross and the smell of stale tobacco that permeated the rest of the house was a welcome one. He started down the stairs, fidgeting with Gerard's keys in his hand.
It was kind of starting to hit him – they were finally getting the fuck out of Vineland. This would probably be the last time he stood in the Way house, with the nicotine stained walls and off-white shag carpet in the living room, the kitchen décor twenty years out of date except the brand-new fridge Mr Way insisted on buying whenever a new model caught his eye. Part of him wanted to take his time to say goodbye or something. Take one last look at Mikey's room, so tidy and untouched in the last couple weeks as the two of them had been bee-lining straight to the basement with Gerard instead. He was gonna miss that basement - the shitty TV that didn't get any stable reception, the couch and armchair worn out and sinking in the middle, Gerard's stupid Star Wars sheets littered with TIE Fighters and X-Wings. Frank couldn't help but wonder just what had made it into the brothers' duffel bags, what parts of their lives they deemed important enough to pack up and run with in the middle of the night.
He let out a heavy sigh and slipped out the front door, locking it behind him and feeling his phone buzz in his back pocket as he tried to close the security door gently.
Leaving the diner, 15 out.
Frank couldn't help but smile to himself, because his timing was almost perfect. As planned, he tucked Gerard's keys back under the small pile of bricks near the garage door, fiddling with the last brick for a brief moment as he made sure they weren't easily visible. He made his way back through the Ways' front yard and down the driveway, waiting til he was two doors down to drop the skateboard down on the road and take off.
x x x
Frank was pacing back and forth so much he was sure he'd wear a hole in his rug before the Ways rocked up. It was 2:17AM, and every tiny noise his house made felt like it was amplified a hundred times. His parents were long-since in bed, both of them singing his praises when they got home from their free date night, heading to their room with a bottle of red wine between them.
The plan wasn't to head straight to Ray's. Gerard had pages of directions, a highlighted map, and a plan to make a few pit-stops, to throw them off a bit if anyone did choose to come after them or ask around. They were taking the northwest route out - first stop was Monroeville, then Haddonfield, then Voorhees Township, then onto the turnpike and straight through the rest of the way. It didn't make a lot of sense, but Gerard wanted pictures with the road signs of these random places because he didn't know when they'd all be able to drive through towns with names from horror movies again. There was a plan to pull off for a couple hours near one of the state parks and get some sleep around the halfway point if they needed it, even if it'd be an achievement to get the three of them in positions to sleep with Mikey's sedan packed so full of their lives.
Frank didn't want to rock up at Ray's too early, but if they hit Belleville at an indecent hour he was sure he'd be able to convince the Way brothers to hide out at a coffee shop or something to waste some time.
His duffel bag was on the bed, his final check done, two backpacks leaning against it. He'd raided the bathroom for a first aid kit and toilet paper, because he was not dealing with single-ply sandpaper at every rest stop if he could avoid it. The road trips he'd taken with his parents over the years drummed that thought into his head. Again, his thumb was bleeding as he gnawed at the nail, a rhythmic count in his head every time he took a step.
Outside he saw a flash of bright light, then dark. Frank pushed his curtain aside and fuck, it was go time. Mikey had pulled up behind Frank's mom's car and shut off the headlights, and Frank turned to pick up his shit. He couldn't help but think all the years of carrying groceries or laundry in for his parents in as few trips as possible had served as decent training for getting the fuck out in one go.
Frank patted his pockets before picking up the duffel bag, a backpack awkwardly perched on each shoulder. Phone, wallet, and the Ways' inheritance were safely in their spots, tucked firmly into tight denim so nothing fell out of his hoodie as he awkwardly descended the stairs. His heart was pounding in his throat, his stomach a mess of anxious buzzing. He'd spent almost his whole life in this room, in the four powder-blue walls his dad had last repainted the summer before the Ways moved to Vineland. Almost every night since he was twelve in the double bed that he used to build forts on, and now he'd probably never see it again.
He couldn't deny there was something like sadness in his chest, or sorrow, maybe the slightest guilt that his mom would probably cry her eyes out and make his dad take time off work for the next couple of days. As much as he hated this place, he couldn't deny the idea of losing everything that was so familiar was at least a little terrifying, even though he'd grown to hate it.
Things will work out, be better, he told himself, lifting the duffel bag off the bed awkwardly. It could have boulders in it with how heavy it was. They can't get us once we're gone, we're adults.
Frank sighed heavily, tugging his bedroom door open and tiptoeing through. He set the duffel bag down as he shut the door, adjusting his grip before heading down the all-too-familiar stairs in the dark, careful to not put much weight on the third step from the top. He jumped off the bottom step to avoid the creaky floorboard beneath the carpet right in front of it. He was graceless and awkward but so far the most noise he'd made was the soft thud of the balls of his feet made. It was kind of a surprise to himself that he hadn't brushed against anything with the weight and awkwardness of the three bags.
The backup plan if one of his parents just happened to come downstairs and catch him red-handed was simple, but potentially messy: run and pray they don't catch up.
Frank paused at the entrance to grab his skateboard that was leaning against the small window next to the heavy wooden door, tucking it awkwardly under his arm and adjusting his grip on the duffel bag straps. He took a deep, shuddering breath, just taking in the sight of his childhood home in the dim night-light one last time before he walked out that door. Something in his head said he should've felt a lot sadder than he did.
He tentatively unlocked the front door, maneuvering himself through, careful not to knock the security door with his skateboard or let his grip on the bag slip. Maybe he should've tried harder to shove all the extra jackets and hygiene supplies in one backpack and he'd have one less thing sliding off his shoulders, but it was way too late to be worrying about should haves. The dull thud of the lock clicking shut could've been as loud as a gunshot in the light of the streetlamps against the eerie silence of Frank's street, the only noise the low rumble of Mikey's car at the end of the driveway.
If he hesitated too long he'd start overthinking shit, so he steadied himself and took off towards the car, speeding up as Gerard awkwardly threw the back passenger door open from his spot in the front seat.
Frank tossed the duffel bag in gracelessly, shaking the backpacks off his shoulders and shoving everything in with his whole body as he squeezed into the crowded backseat. His skateboard was at his feet and he pulled the door shut, the sound making him cringe as it broke the silence of the street.
“Go, go, don't turn the lights on til we're outta the street,” he hissed, kicking a backpack on the floor across so he could fit both legs and the board in the small space more comfortably. Mikey and Gerard said nothing, just shared one of their telepathic looks as Frank buckled up and the car jolted out of park and away from the kerb. They crawled out of Frank's street, Mikey tentative on the gas pedal in fear of a rogue cat darting across in front of them in the darkness of the road.
When they stopped on the corner at the end of the street, Frank could see Mikey had tucked the Polaroid they'd taken at The Spot the night before into the sun visor above the driver's seat.
They'd met up there to iron out the final-final details and share a joint in the setting Saturday sun. Mikey had brought out the camera as Frank stubbed the roach out and flicked it off into the grass, and the first shot he took had his thumb across half of it as he fumbled with the angle. The second, Gerard had protested that they didn't even need a photo, and buried himself in Frank's neck, his hair falling across his face. With literal poking and prodding and childish name-calling Gerard had caved eventually, a red flush across his cheeks as he smiled at the camera, Mikey trying not to laugh and Frank's arm across his lower back out of view. Mikey had slipped the blooper version into Frank's hand on the sly, and right now it lived in his wallet.
It really was like, the end of a fucking era.
The car was silent, except for the low, staticky late-night heartbreak radio . Frank couldn't help watching the road behind them, streetlights whipping past as Mikey started on the route out of town. It wasn't til the houses turned to stores that Frank settled down in his seat properly at a set of traffic lights.
“The fuck are you wearing, Gee?”
Gerard's head dropped, like he was trying to hide even though it was hard to see his face in the dim lights, fiddling awkwardly with the rosary around his neck. He was still clad in the same outfit he'd been in at service that afternoon, except he'd ditched the jacket and untucked his shirt. “Mom wanted us to go out dressed nice and I dunno, I figured it'd make good job interview clothes. This shit's expensive.”
“He also couldn't find a fucking paperweight and then realized he'd packed all his pants that still have asses,” Mikey said, pushing his glasses up his nose as the light turned green. Gerard's shoulders moved as he laughed and Frank couldn't help but smile and shake his head. A fucking paperweight.
Frank stretched his arms back behind his head, letting out a yawn as his hands brushed the pillows stuffed against the back window. “Ah, fuck.”
“What?” Gerard turned around in his seat, his eyes just visible over the corner of the headrest.
Frank huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I forgot a fuckin' pillow, man.”
Mikey thudded his forehead on the steering wheel with a groan, and Gerard rolled his eyes. In his defense, a pillow would've taken up two or three hoodies worth of space now he thought about it, and he'd rather have the hoodies. He'd remembered a comforter, the one he'd had since he was twelve with the blue and white lightning bolts, at least.
“Try and remember we need to go to Walmart once we get there,” Gerard muttered, turning back to face the front and leaning his head against the window.
Frank settled back in the seat and shit kind of hit him again. It'd been two weeks since he'd sucked Gerard off in the confessional, but it felt like it could've been months or minutes. He saw Gerard toying with the rosary around his neck in the reflection on the window and kind of felt like a jackass. Sure, this whole escape or whatever had been something he and Mikey had worked towards for a while and talked about twice as long, but for Gerard... it was a scramble, a mad dash to pool together all his funds and all his shit and haul ass out of Vineland at two in the morning.
When Frank rubbed his hands down his thighs he felt the bump in his pocket of the Ways' treasures, still wrapped in their little packages of toilet paper. He pulled them out and leaned forward, poking Gerard softly in the shoulder before he held out his hand with the watch.
“Sorry about the toilet paper, I didn't wanna scratch them,” he murmured as Gerard took the watch, then the rosary, then the necklaces and rings, setting them in his lap and unwrapping them one by one. Frank leaned back into the seat again, letting them have their moment. Gerard handed Mikey the watch and one of the hourglasses, and he just slipped them into the pocket of his hoodie after a moment's hesitation, running his thumb over the watch face.
From this angle Frank's main options were the reflections in the windows and streetlight angles, but he could see the tension in his shoulders clear as day. Nobody said anything for a long time, just the crooner on the radio lamenting lost love or some shit. Gerard just silently toyed with the necklace and rosary, stark silver and white against his black slacks. Neither of them said anything about the contents of the hourglasses, maybe because they thought it'd weird Frank out having him steal them, maybe because they understood they didn't need to.
It hit Frank that it'd been just over a year since Gerard had been shoved into his studies under Father Jones. They'd hung out before, sure, because whenever he was hanging out with Mikey there was a solid chance Gerard would make an appearance. Even back when they first moved to town - before their grandma, before all of this – he was the one they always took dinner down to, who hated leaving the house unless it was for comics, cigarettes or coffee. Before the whole priest thing he'd been the one with the fake ID, not that he needed it now, buying them a bottle of vodka or a six pack and keeping them in supply of cigarettes til the 7-11 stopped checking their licenses.
Then it happened, and suddenly Mikey and Frank had to kind of fend for themselves when it came to indulging in shit they shouldn't have been. Gerard stopped joining them on their walks to The Spot to get high before dinner, and Frank couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Gerard drink anything but foul communion wine. There'd still been the movie nights in the basement with the brothers' treasured horror bootlegs they'd collected before the move, but they became less regular than before. Usually Frank would wind up passed out sitting half upright on the couch with Mikey's legs thrown over his, Gerard either slumped in his armchair or curled into a ball in his bed, almost obscured by his Star Wars sheets. There'd still been cigarettes at The Spot or the empty car park after church, rushed in between Jones' daily demands because at least the church couldn't take their nicotine. Frank and Mikey had had school to finish soon after it all happened, but after graduation Frank couldn't deny it was different to the previous summer. There was a lot more silence, so many times where Gerard was hunched over his desk turned away from the room, Frank and Mikey's TV commentary a white noise to him most of the time. Gerard just... wasn't around like he used to be, every day filled with church activities and most of his evenings studying.
It'd be enough to make Frank want to shoot his brains out. Especially given the circumstances.
“I hope you remembered to piss,” Mikey mumbled, fiddling with the stereo to flick it over to something decent. It took a few moments of increasingly bad static before he swapped it to CD input, the low sound of The Smiths floating through the car, and it seemed to wake Gerard up from his tense, zoned-out state, as he slipped the heirlooms into the pocket of the black slacks. “I ain't stopping til Monroeville.”
Frank was about to defend himself, because the first rule of roadtrips was to piss before you left the house and he wasn't that dumb, but Gerard spoke up first. “I wish they had a mall. Is there a mall there?”
Mikey chuckled softly and shook his head, a small smile for the first time that night. “Nah. It's all farms and wineries and shit.”
A groan of disappointment escaped Gerard's lips and Frank couldn't help but laugh. If they had more fuel and spare money he knew they'd all say fuck it and drive all the way over to Pittsburgh and go to the real Monroeville, but it was entirely impractical for now. He could picture it though, maybe with Ray tagging along, definitely in a bigger car or something so it wasn't so cramped. Just take off one morning and haul ass across Pennsylvania just to hang out at a mall they filmed a zombie movie in.
He was definitely still Gerard.
Frank smiled to himself and let his head fall against the window with a soft thud. They were smiling and laughing now, the initial fearful tension broken, taking off into the great unknown together, but he couldn't help but feel like a jackass. Gerard never talked about the goings-on of his priestly training, not past what Frank saw every Sunday and the small talk if Mrs Way asked them all to eat dinner at the table. Mikey never really talked about it either, but there'd been a handful of times – the most recent a couple months ago – when he'd come to Frank venting about Gerard bottling shit up, something being wrong but the older brother hunkering down in his basement bedroom, leaving only for caffeine and avoiding human interaction.
Mikey never said exactly what was going on, if he even knew, and Frank never asked, just let him rant and rave about fuckin' priestly shit. For him and Mikey the last year or so had been shitty, and they were the ones on the outside. They hadn't had to change every part of their life, give up so much all at once, endure so much fucking one-on-one time with Jones for hours and days and weeks on end. For Gerard it had been inescapable, the pressure unending.
Frank felt like a fucking dickhead. He'd been so caught up in the prospect and preparation of getting out that he hadn't really considered that if it was going to be hard and an adjustment on him, it was gonna be a total helter-skelter for Gerard coming out of the church after over a year of relentless, hardcore priesthood shit. It never stopped for him, not after he walked out the doors of Our Lady, not even when he said his goodnights and descended into the basement just to curl over that fucking bible until his brain fogged and he decided to crawl into bed. It wasn't just Sundays and youth groups and the daily routines that came with being part of a fucking Catholic family. For Gerard it had become everything, because he didn't have a choice, he had to play that part and throw himself into it to survive.
And honestly, sitting in the backseat and watching the brothers light up cigarettes, Frank couldn't help but blame himself a little. The drawings that started all this shit had been of him.
-x x x
“I don't know how you're gonna get a close-up with that,” Frank said, leaning against the hood of Mikey's car. Monroeville was so tiny it was basically a bunch of old farmhouses and a single set of lights, a set of lights Gerard had leapt out of the car at to get the right angle for a photo of the street sign hanging overhead.
Not exactly the smartest thing to do at four in the morning on an unlit country road, but the fact it was a ghost town was part of the reason they picked this route out. The Ways and their fuckin' horror movies.
Mikey had pulled off to the side of the road, headlights still on, blinding against the jet black of the backwoods and was also standing in the intersection, one camera in hand and another dangling from his elbow on a strap. At least it was quiet enough out here that they'd hear any approaching semi trucks or Jersey devils.
“We could stand on the car,” Mikey suggested, shrugging as he changed cameras and Gerard rocked on the balls of his feet next to him. “I have shit zoom.”
Frank rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not spending an hour moving the damn car for a decent shot.”
“Three moves, tops,” Gerard said, making a beeline for the driver's side. “I really thought they'd have like, at least a billboard or something.”
Frank sighed and pushed himself off the hood of the car, going round the back to stand in the ditch on the side of the road. The Ways suddenly had zero sense of self-preservation and he couldn't help but find it equally worrisome and endearing. Rural New Jersey was weird and eerie in the dead of night, and for a couple of horror nerds, the brothers were fearless.
He kicked at a rock as Gerard pulled the car into the middle of the intersection. At least it was a fitting place for death by zombie.
Gerard put the car in park and Frank started up out of the ditch as Mikey's feet hit the hood of the car with a series of metallic thuds. Frank hoisted himself up to sit on the trunk to the sound of Gerard climbing the hood, and turned around to see his outstretched hand and the rosary around his neck glinting in the dim light.
“We look like fucking psychos,” Frank chuckled, letting Gerard help him up.
“Yeah, well,” Gerard began, flicking his hair out of his eyes as they crowded together to get in the shot. “Hopefully Haddonfield has something better.”
Mikey held out the Polaroid camera, managing to nail the shot second time around and Frank swore he could feel the smile on Gerard's face.
Fuck, it'd been a long time – too fucking long - since he'd seen him smile like that.
x x x
By the time they hit Haddonfield, Frank had dozed off for a little while in the backseat and really needed the caffeine to start hitting or he was gonna fall asleep again. And he couldn't fall asleep, because the next leg was his shot driving and Mikey was starting to look pretty drained.
They'd wound up at a cemetery, because of course that's what Gerard asked the 7-11 clerk about when they'd all ducked in to grab some caffeine. They each had their own cheap coffee and having just taken a more-than-adequate amount of photos with the cemetery sign, were nursing the hot paper cups in their hands with cigarettes between their fingers as they stretched their legs. It would've been cool if they'd had a William Shatner mask.
“There's an all-night diner off the 73,” Mikey began, cutting himself off with a yawn and digging one hand into his back pockets in search of the map Gerard had scribbled all over. “Fuck. I was thinking we eat there.”
“Map's in the cup holder,” Gerard said, taking a drag off his cigarette.
Frank leaned back against the car, sipping at his coffee. A diner would be fucking great right now. He realized in that moment that he was running off Cheetos and the Froot Loops he'd made at lunchtime, and that was about it. The idea of not just hot food, but hot food that wasn't just McDonalds or Taco Bell, sounded like the best idea they'd had since deciding to get out of Vineland.
“How far is Voorhees?” Frank asked, flicking his cigarette butt on the ground and grinding it into the asphalt with his foot.
“Like a half hour,” Gerard answered, mimicking his action with his own cigarette. “And the state park is another half hour from there. We don't even have to get on the turnpike til morning.”
“Hell yeah,” Frank murmured, opening the driver's door as Mikey did the same and the Ways started making moves back to the car. “I'm gonna get me some fuckin' truck stop lasagna.”
There was a split-second's silence and a glance between them, and then the night air was rattled with the brothers losing it laughing. Full on, shaking-shoulders, rib-burning fits of fucking giggles.
“What?” Frank asked, and apparently that just added to the hilarity as Gerard rested his head on the top of a car with a soft thud, and if the world went silent it might've looked like he was sobbing. “What's wrong with fuckin' lasagna?”
Mikey took off his glasses to wipe at his eyes, apparently laughing so hard he'd started getting teary. “Gee,” he choked. “You gotta tell him the story.”
Gerard shook his head, flailing his arms in some strange movement that Frank took to mean when I can breathe, and opened his door. Frank just shook his head with a smile, settling into the driver's seat as Gerard slid in next to him taking heaving breaths between fits of giggles, setting both their coffees in the cupholders. He had to admit, even if he was one hundred percent not in on the joke, seeing Gerard and Mikey like this, laughing themselves absolutely stupid at something minuscule, was like coming up for air after being suffocated under the blanket of Vineland for so long.
Mikey got himself situated in the back seat and Frank started pulling out of the cemetery car park, and Gerard finally started to catch his breath again as they got back on the road.
“Alright, alright,” Gerard said a little while later, wiping at his eyes. “The lasagna story.”
“It's so dumb,” Mikey snorted, still trying to stop the tiny chuckles.
“So like, I would've been maybe like... seven,” Gerard started, taking a deep breath to try and quell the giggles. “And we went on holiday with our grandparents right, and we were driving down to Florida.”
“Disneyland?” Frank asked, and Gerard shook his head, fighting back another bout of laughter.
“No, no, Grandma's best friend lived there,” Gerard continued. “But anyway, you know how kids have like, dumb words for things?”
Frank cocked an eyebrow, making eye contact with Mikey in the rear view, who had his hand clamped over his mouth in a failed effort to keep quiet. “Like calling a pussy a front butt?”
Apparently that was enough to earn another unholy eruption of laughter from both Ways.
“Fucking front butt?” Mikey shrieked, clapping his hands together and swaying. “The fuck did you call dicks?!”
Frank looked down for a moment, then back at the road, trying to keep a straight face. “Diddly-doo.”
The pure volume of the laughter went through the roof and this time Frank was in on the joke, laughing so hard his chest hurt, slowing to a stop at a yield sign to rest his head on the steering wheel for a moment and try to breathe. Maybe it was the sleep-deprived state they were all in or the boredom of driving the deserted highways that made everything so much funnier, maybe it was the fact now they were free the laughter came easier.
When the car settled into occasional huffs and snorts again, Gerard braced one hand on the dash and ran the other through his hair, letting out a sigh. “Alright, so, we had a weird word for lasagna,” he said, glancing back to make eye contact with his brother and let out another chuckle. “And nobody ever told us it was wrong until this trip with Grandma and Gramps, right.”
Frank nodded, chucking on the blinker and heading through the intersection.
“So we... we called it pasta cake,” Gerard said, his words punctuated with little giggles.
“Fucking pasta cake,” Mikey wheezed, and Frank couldn't deny he was definitely getting a kick out of it too.
“And they took us to this... this big ass truck-stop diner for dinner on the way down, I've never seen another one so big, and – fuck – they let us order our own food, right,” Gerard continued. “So the waitress, this poor like... sixteen-year-old girl, she asks us what we want. And I was all proud and shit and I pipe up with 'We want pasta cake. Two pasta cakes please!'”
They were all cracking up so much that Frank swore they were loud enough to frighten off potential road-kill that might be lurking out of view of the high beams.
x x x
Forty minutes and two wrong turns later, and Frank could see the red-orange neon lights from the 73. Voorhees Diner.
“D'you think if Mrs Voorhees had a diner, she'd cover up Jason's kills by cooking them?” Frank asked, one arm hanging out the window as he pulled into the slip-lane off the main route.
“Hundred percent,” Mikey and Gerard answered in perfect unison. Weird ass Way telepathy or whatever. Mikey was flicking through one of Gerard's old Doom Patrol comics and Gerard had his knees up to his chest, using his thighs as some weird almost-vertical table as he scribbled in a sketchbook. Neither of them even looked up until Frank pulled to a stop in the parking lot.
“Oh, that's gonna be a neat photo,” Gerard said as they all got out of the car. The smell of comfort food hit Frank like a ton of bricks, his stomach audibly growling.
Frank shook his head as he shut the driver's door, shoving Mikey's keys in his hoodie pocket. “Food first. I'm fuckin' dying.”
He turned on his heel and headed for the diner's door, holding it open as Gerard jogged to catch up and Mikey lagged behind, fiddling with his phone. Frank couldn't help bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, impatient to get some kind of real human food that wasn't fucking Cheetos and coffee into his system.
The diner was big and almost empty, more heartbreak radio on the speakers and a couple of trucker-looking dudes sitting at the far end of the bar and talking in deep southern accents. They could hear the clanging of dishes in the kitchen as they claimed a booth, Frank on one side, Mikey and Gerard opposite, sinking into the deep red leather. The lone waitress wandered over to their booth, a middle-aged woman with curled ginger hair and a smile lined in red lipstick, her black and white striped uniform perfectly pressed beneath her apron. Maybe in a previous life she'd been a pinup girl.
“Welcome to Voorhees,” she said, almost too cheerfully for this ungodly hour, setting down three laminated menus. “Can I get you guys a coffee, water?”
There was a quick glance between them and Gerard answered first. “Coffees would be amazing,” he said, running his finger along the edge of the laminated sheet. “Thank you.”
“Pot'll just be a minute hun,” she smiled as she turned and headed back behind the counter. “Gimme just a moment and I'll be right back.”
Frank started glancing over the menu, even though he knew exactly what he wanted. “Oh damn,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “That veggie lasagna sounds fuckin' good.”
Mikey and Gerard exchanged another look and soft laugh, shaking their heads.
“What?” Frank asked, flipping the menu over to check out the drinks. “I might go vegetarian, y'know. Dad wouldn't let me, but like... I've been thinking about it.”
Mikey pushed his glasses up his nose and shrugged as he put his menu down. “Fuck it, dude. Do it.”
For a moment they didn't say anything, just a comfortable silence settled and Frank couldn't help but let his mind wander as he perused milkshake flavors, not that he really wanted one. Everything felt kinda surreal. Their first proper meal of freedom, in some truck stop at 3:30 in the morning. They'd fucking pulled it off. Every bit of meticulous, hushed planning in the basement, their voices lowered under the TV, or sitting at The Spot if Gerard managed to get home before sundown.
“I had a thought about sleeping,” Gerard said, setting his menu down and crossing his arms on the table. “Like, to make it less creepy sleeping in a state park.”
The waitress walked back around the counter, a tray of mugs and a coffee pot in her hands. She set down the mugs and poured the coffee in as she spoke.
“What can I get you boys?” she asked, a little flourish in her wrist as she finished pouring each cup.
“Uh, I'll have the veggie lasagna, please,” Frank answered, sliding the menu to the edge of the table.
“I'll do the maple bacon pancakes,” Mikey said, sinking lower into the chair as he spoke and Frank felt their legs bump as he stretched them under the table. “Please.”
Gerard bit his lip briefly, his eyes slightly narrowed as he pondered his final decision. “Uh, um. I'll get the maple bacon French toast, please, “ he said, and Frank couldnt help but let out a soft breath of amusement. They tended to order variations of the same thing a lot, he'd noticed, then they'd end up stealing bits from each other. “And could I uh, could I get ice cream with that, please?”
The waitress scribbled down their order quickly on her little notepad. “Any other drinks, or just the coffee for now?”
The three shared another glance, and just shook their heads.
“Alright then, these won't be too long for ya,” she chirped as she collected the menus, and Frank picked up his coffee as she walked back towards the kitchen.
Truck stop coffee was always far superior to 7-11.
Gerard had his mug cradled in his hands, just like he had when they were at the cemetery in Haddonfield. He tended to hold his mugs like that a lot, like his hands were always a little cold, even in the middle of summer. It was something Frank had noticed and he couldn't help but think it was kind of cute.
“I was thinking we should cover the windows,” Gerard continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted by the waitress making her way over. “We could work it out between all the clothes and blankets. I just feel kinda weird trying to sleep if like, anyone can just look right in, y'know?”
Mikey and Frank exchanged another look and shrugged. It wasn't a bad idea.
“It might block the sun out a bit too,” Frank said, blowing across the surface of the burning hot liquid. “Might get us an extra bit of sleep or whatever.”
He still wasn't sure how the hell any of them were going to manage to sleep mostly upright, and now in some weird car-turned-blanket-fort, but even if they did manage to doze off, waking up to blinding, unfiltered sun would not be pleasant.
Mikey thudded his head against the window beside him and shut his eyes, his breath fogging up the glass in front of his face. “I'm so fucking tired, dude.”
Frank couldn't help but think about how weird they'd look if they were in any place other than a truck stop in the middle of the night. Himself, clad in a skeleton hoodie, the knees of his jeans totally gone and the bottom in tatters, his shitty kind-of-mohawk he'd cut in his bathroom mirror at midnight. Mikey, with his glasses sliding down his nose again, his hoodie plain black with a hole in one sleeve and a gray beanie pulled down to almost his eyebrows. And Gerard, shirt untucked but otherwise in his fucking Sunday best minus the jacket, the silver chain between his rosary's beads catching the fluorescent lights of the diner.
It was like they were the milestone markers from punk to monk or some shit.
“At least we timed shit well,” Frank shrugged, taking a sip. “Like, with Ray's roommate ditching out and shit.”
When Mikey had made the call two weeks ago to ask Ray for a couch or floor space to crash on, he'd been in a fluster. Ray's roommate had suddenly bailed a few weeks prior while he was on night shifts, leaving half his furniture and some half-assed excuse on a post-it note. With a cutback in work hours it was all shitty timing, and according to Mikey, he had been in the process of writing a Craigslist ad when he'd called. It had all just fallen into place, and maybe that was some kind of miracle. Definitely the closest thing Frank had seen anyway.
A silence settled over the table and it felt... strange. Mikey's eyes were shut, his temple against the cool glass. Gerard was still pointedly staring at the menu laying on the table, a focus like he had when he was starting at his feet in the confessional. Frank couldn't help but feel tension for some reason, and he set the mug down but started tracing the handle with his thumb.
“You guys aren't like, mad at me, are you?”
They both looked right at him and frowned, and Frank couldn't help but shrink into himself a little bit.
“Why would we be mad?” Gerard asked, setting his own mug down gently on the laminated sheet.
It was Frank's turn to stare at his feet, not exactly sure how to approach it. What had gone down in the confessional was no secret between them. It'd been kind of hard to hide it, Frank had come out of Our Lady with the goofiest grin before Gerard started nudging him and insisting he needed to act cool. Mikey wasn't stupid, especially when it came to his brother. “Fucking finally,” had been his exact response when he'd eventually talked it out of Gerard, refusing to drive them anywhere until he got a straight answer out of one of them.
“I sucked your dick in church and we all had to pack up our lives and haul ass, dude,” Frank murmured, keeping his voice low in the quiet of the diner. “And, y'know.”
Gerard blinked at him, his eyes wide and confused. “And what?”
Frank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe he should've just waited to bring this up after they left, the cooking in the kitchen and soundtrack of the radio the only sound cover to drown out the conversation to the rest of the diner.
“Like, the sketches were of me, so...”
There was a moment of silence and Frank didn't look up.
“So what?” Gerard asked again, and Frank could hear that he was speaking through gritted teeth.
Frank dropped his hands into his lap, picking at his nails. He should've shut the fuck up til after they'd eaten.
“So I kinda feel like it was partly my fault,” Frank said meekly, not daring to look at either of them. “Y'know. The whole... everything.”
The waitress picked that precise moment to arrive with their food and Frank swore she was a blessing in a striped dress. The lasagna looked fucking amazing, and smelled even better. He couldn't help but sneak a glimpse at the brothers' plates, trying not to smile at the absurdly large scoop of vanilla ice cream next to the four thick, cinnamon-and-egg coated slices of toast on Gerard's plate.
“If you boys need anything else just give me a wave,” the waitress smiled, and Frank dared to look up to mumble a thanks.
He started a staring contest with his own food as he took his cutlery out of the napkin, watching the Ways do the same out of his peripheral vision. He was fucking graceless.
“None of this was your fucking fault,” Gerard murmured, and Frank had never heard his voice like that. Even when he'd been telling him to close the velvet curtain back in that confessional his voice hadn't been so low, so serious, and with other words maybe the tone would come across almost venomous.
The table fell silent for a moment, save the clinking of cutlery against plates as they slowly started eating. Frank had only ever had vegetarian lasagna a couple of times when one of the girls he worked with the cafe brought in leftovers, and while that had been nice, he couldn't help but let out a little contented noise when he took the first bite. If every vegetarian lasagna in the world was like this one, he could quite happily live off it forever.
“Can we talk about it later?” Gerard asked softly, cutting his toast into bite-sized squares. Every time he ate he cut everything up into bites before digging in, kind of like how Frank's mom used to cut up his food as a kid. Gerard would then spend the rest of the meal with his elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, lazily picking up each bite as they talked over the food.
“That would be much appreciated,” Mikey said, picking up a forkful of pancake and bacon. “Like, I'm not fucking mad, and I love you guys, it's great you're like... this,” he gestured wildly, pointing at both of them. “And it's great you're both finally getting laid, but. Y'know. TMI.”
Frank wanted to protest, partly because he wasn't sure if a messy, one-sided blowjob and some dry humping really counted as getting laid. He hadn't even taken his jeans off, for fuck's sake. And he wasn't gonna just... stop feeling at least partially responsible from a few words over a truck stop meal. He wasn't going to push his luck though, and when he swallowed the next bite of lasagna it was like he was physically pushing it out of his head for now.
He reached out a grabbed a small piece of bacon from Gerard's plate, already cut to bite-size and sticky with maple syrup, and dipped it in the melting ice cream before he popped it in his mouth. He looked up to see Gerard's mouth slightly open, an overly-offended look on his face and a small, shit-eating smile on Mikey's.
“I thought you were going vegetarian!” Gerard exclaimed, wrapping one arm around his plate to form a wall between it and Frank. “Stealing my fuckin' bacon...”
Frank chuckled, taking another bite of lasagna. “Vegetarian starts tomorrow.”
x x x
By the time they pulled into Rancocas State Park, there were multiple Polaroids tucked into the sun visors and a dead-asleep Mikey using duffel bags as pillows in the back seat. He'd crashed out somewhere around halfway through their debate about the best of the classic slasher villains.
“He's been up like... 19 hours,” Gerard whispered as he closed the trunk as softly as possible, wincing at the sound. He and Frank had their arms full of bedding – two bedsheets, two pillowcases, and Gerard's Star Wars covered quilt. Frank dumped the quilt on the hood and followed Gerard's lead of opening the front doors.
“Do you have safety pins?” Gerard asked, biting at his lip. Frank had to not look at that when they were trying to accomplish something.
He paused for a moment, scrunching up his nose as he thought. “Maybe? I brought a first aid kit.”
“Where is it?”
Frank's face pulled into a grimace, and he nodded towards Mikey asleep in the back. “One of my backpacks.”
Gerard sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I guess we gotta put shit over the windows anyway, just... try and be quiet.”
Frank nodded and picked up the pillowcase Gerard handed him, opening the back door as gently as he could. At least Mikey's weight against it from the other side hadn't pushed everything out onto the gravel. He crouched down and tugged open the zipper on the closest backpack on the floor, trying to stay as quiet as possible as he jostled shit around to pull out the small kit. At least the pillows shoved against the back window hid enough that they didn't have to try and get something up behind the overfull back seat.
He watched Gerard wind down the window just an inch, tuck the pillowcase through and wind it up again so it made a kind of curtain. Fucking genius.
After mimicking the action and both back doors closed, Frank set the first aid kit on the hood and tried to stand out of what little light there was. Plenty of bandages and gauze, none of the bandaids he liked though, just the shitty plastic ones that never stuck right. Medical scissors, a small thermometer, alcohol swabs... and a small ziplock baggie of safety pins.
“You wanna tuck one side of the sheet into the window like in the back,” Gerard explained, rounding the hood and slipping his arm around Frank's hips as he spoke. Frank could feel the tension run up his spine, an electric spark originating where he felt the firm warmth of Gerard's forearm across his tailbone. “Then we'll have them meet in the middle of the windscreen, pin it to the roof where we need to.”
Frank let out a little yawn with a smile and started following Gerard's lead and instructions, and it really was fucking genius. He tucked the first aid kit into the pocket in the driver's door, pointedly not looking at Gerard biting his lip as he focused. This was the closest thing they were going to get to privacy and with all their makeshift curtains shades of dark grey and blue, maybe an extra hour of sleep if they were lucky.
Gerard placed the last safety pin, securing the last point of their custom shanty-town-inspired interior to the fabric ceiling, tossed the quilt in from where it waited on the hood, and pulled the passenger's side door shut behind him. “Boom,” he whispered, a smile on his face.
Frank swung both legs out of the car, and caught a glimpse of Gerard's confusion. “I gotta piss. I'll be back.”
He shut the driver's door gently and couldn't help but admire their handiwork from the outside as he walked in front of the car, stepping between the logs that bordered the parking lot and across a small stretch of grass and into the first few rows of trees, picking a spot out of sight and untouched by the amber glow of the single street light for a mile around. There was no way he was hunting for a bathroom at this time of night, but it'd also be weird to just... go wherever.
Through sub-par night-vision he pissed without getting his shoes and zipped back up, cracking his neck as he made his way back towards the stretch of grass, eyes on his feet so he didn't fall over a stray branch or something. He wasn't entirely sure he'd sleep at all, but he had it better than Gerard. Gerard couldn't lean his seat back without crushing Mikey's legs, and Frank only had bags and the steering wheel to worry about. And much shorter legs. Maybe he'd just leave his seat upright too as some display of solidarity. Maybe they'd both just sit there in their blanket fort on wheels til Mikey stirred with the morning birds, exchanging hushed secrets like kids in movies.
Frank had never had sleepovers til the Ways came to town, so he couldn't really compare it to real life.
He was just approaching the last row of trees before the clearing when suddenly there was an arm wrapping around his waist, yanking him sideways, and he yelped before a hand was clamped over his mouth. Then he heard Gerard laughing, and relaxed into his grip.
Frank had to admit, if only silently to himself, that he kinda liked the whole hand-over-mouth thing once he knew whose hand it was.
“I couldn't see where you went,” Gerard said, his voice low and fuck, there was some edge to it, some dark playfulness to the tone that made Frank shudder. He was expecting Gerard to let go, and when the arm around his waist tightened and he didn't, Frank couldn't help the explicit downward spiral his thoughts took.
“-But while I can get a word in quick,” he continued, the playfulness quickly dissipating into dead-serious. “We're never going to be mad at you. And this shit... it isn't your fault.”
Frank was expecting his hand to loosen but it didn't, Gerard's fingers twitching against his cheek.
“If either of us were mad, if any of this was your fault, in any way... you'd know it. Neither of us would be here, end of.”
There was a finality in Gerard's tone, the seriousness bordering on sinister, beyond his behavior in the confessional or during Frank's shittily timed moment at the diner. Frank turned his head to try and catch Gerard's eyes, little more than shine in the shadows.
“Don't wake up Mikey,” he murmured, letting Frank go and taking a half-step back before taking Frank's hand in his and starting to lead the way back to the car.
Gerard stopped dead in front of the car, tugging Frank so the backs of his knees were against the front bumper and crowding into his personal space. He was warm, solid heat against the cool breeze that had picked up, and Frank could see things a little better up here. There was some desperation in Gerard's eyes, his pupils blown, the same air about him that Frank felt when those fingers wrapped around his throat as he'd rutted pathetically on the floor of the confessional.
“I wanted to like, wait til Ray's,” he whispered, shuffling so his feet were either side of Frank's, their legs pressed together. “But I also really don't want to.”
“Wait for-” Frank began, but Gerard's hands slipped into the back pockets of his torn up jeans, digging his fingertips in, and Frank's breath caught in his throat. “Oh.”
Gerard let out some kind of breathy laugh and buried his face in the crook of Frank's neck, grabbing at his ass again and grinding their hips together. “See, not mad at all.”
Frank wasn't sure if his head was spinning from the all-encompassing smell and warmth from Gerard or the sudden blood rush. Probably both.
“How... how are we gonna-” he tried to talk, but Gerard pressed their mouths together, hot and wet and heavy. Frank's knees gave way against the car, Gerard's hands gripping his ass hard as he hit the hood with a soft thud.
If Mikey woke up, Frank was going to get his fucking ass kicked.
Frank let one hand tangle in Gerard's hair, right at the base of his skull, the dark strands slightly greasy but soft between his fingers. Gerard tasted like cinnamon, coffee and cigarette smoke, suddenly the most addictive, perfect flavor on earth. He tried to grind their hips together, desperate for some kind of contact, but the hands in his back pockets weren't letting him move, and the slope of the hood made angles somewhat difficult and he couldn't get enough.
“Please,” he whined when Gerard pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, breathing heavy. “I don't. I don't-”
Gerard's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Frank couldn't help the tiny noise in his throat that cut off his words. “Hey, Frankie?”
“What?”
“I really wanna suck your dick,” Gerard breathed, and Frank shuddered, pulling him in for another kiss. He needed friction, needed this stupid angle to be better so he could move, so he could grind his hips back against Gerard's with just as much force and fuck, those stupid Sunday best slacks were a dead giveaway.
Frank tangled his free hand in the rosary around Gerard's neck, hearing his breath hitch when the chain of beads tightened. For some reason Frank's imagination was running wild, a chaotic litany of sinful, downright fucking godless things, and he wanted everything all at once. Suddenly his brain was a Ludovico-style montage of all the potential debauchery, of all the two years of silent fantasies and 3AM dreams they were suddenly free to indulge in.
It was so much like that feeling when he'd sunk to his knees, totally without grace, cramped and awkward on the floor of the sacred confessional that they had totally defiled, but somehow, it was like it was amplified now in their newfound freedom.
One of Gerard's hands left his pocket and danced across the top of Frank's jeans as he nodded profusely, fingertips stuttering over the belt loops, and the lack of contact was going to drive him insane. He tried not to think about the fact that a fucking priest-in-training – he didn't really care to know the technical terms - made such quick work of his button and zip and what exactly that might have implied about either of them.
Frank shuddered when Gerard's knuckle brushed over the waistband of his underwear, his hands white-knuckled in their grip on the rosary and Gerard's hair. He wasn't a fucking virgin or anything but aside from the confessional it'd been a long fucking time. And it wasn't... like this, he had to admit his experience was limited. He'd never had his dick sucked, not properly, not for more than about thirty seconds. Before, all that kind of shit wound up awkward, and honestly nothing but anticlimactic and at worst mildly embarrassing and awkward, like that random blowjob he'd given on a washing machine. But with Gerard, well.
Frank had always known Gerard was different.
“Frank?”
He realized he'd let his eyes fall closed when he opened them to look up at Gerard in the dim streetlight, the older Way's face slightly bemused, a smirk Frank wanted to kiss – or maybe fuck - right off his face. He wanted, needed, more light, to really see the sparkle in those hazel doe-eyes properly, see if the constant chewing of his lip all night had drawn blood to mingle with the sticky shine of spit.
“Please,” Frank whined, fingers tugging on the rosary. He thought Gerard was gonna kiss him but instead Gerard's face wound up buried in his neck again, his breath hot and heavy against Frank's skin. He could feel the goosebumps all over, the shudder that ran down his spine as Gerard pressed tiny, fluttering kisses across his throat.
Frank couldn't help the little jump and gasp when Gerard's hand wrapped around his cock, sensitive skin suddenly exposed to the cool night air.
“Shh,” Gerard hushed, delicate fingers starting to move and fuck, Frank needed a better angle, some kind of movement, needed more. “Don't wake Mikey up.”
Gerard sank to his knees and Frank let his head roll back, his grip on Gerard's hair and rosary relaxing. He bit his lip, partly as some alternative to pinching himself because this, this was the kind of shit he read about in smutty magazines and message boards. There was no way in hell he'd expected this, not after his fuck-ups so far tonight. Especially not on the hood of Mikey's fucking car, with him asleep in the back, in the parking lot of some vaguely spooky national park.
Then again, the confessional was probably ten times worse than this when it came to risk and morality, and that had definitely not been planned. Maybe it was gonna become some kinda thing for them. Frank one hundred percent would not complain if it did.
Frank could feel the heat of Gerard's breath on the tip of his cock, warm against the brisk breeze, so close yet so fucking far, maddeningly teasing even as his hand moved. He felt thin fingers wrap around his hand that held the rosary, tightening around his fist so he could feel each bead, each chain link dig in to the flesh of his hand. He swallowed hard and looked down and fuck.
“I... I liked it, last time, a lot,” Gerard said, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown as he looked up at Frank through girlish lashes. “Just... don't break it, yeah?”
If this was what ended up sending Frank's ass straight to hell, so fucking be it.
All he could muster up as a response was a quick, shaky nod, and then his head was rolling back again, biting his lip so hard he was gonna split it. He was on tiptoes, Gerard's hair in his clenched fist as he felt that pretty, perfect mouth he'd stared at for a hundred Sundays take his cock with zero hesitation.
“Fuck,” Frank squeaked, trying to be quiet, and if his cock wasn't hitting the back of Gerard's throat right now maybe he'd laugh at himself. But in that moment, all his brain want-need-demanded was focus on that beautiful, maybe a little broken Gerard and every move he made, every flick of his tongue. He was fast then slow, so fucking sloppy in the best of ways, and Frank could feel the drool dripping onto his jeans. The best kind of messy he'd ever fucking known.
And then... then he felt Gerard's nose hit his lower stomach and he couldn't stop the way his hips twitched, making Gerard gag and pull back, half his face covered in his own spit, eyes teary.
“Fuck, shit, fuck,” Frank whispered, brushing stray strands of Gerard's hair out of his face. “Fuck, 'm sorry, are-”
Gerard let out a soft laugh, resting one hand on Frank's. “My answer's the same as yours.”
Frank frowned, because Gerard's poetics were going straight over his head in that moment. “Huh?”
“Back in church you said to go hard, that you liked it,” Gerard said softly, never breaking eye contact. “I... I can take it, Frankie.”
Frank felt the shudder run down his spine as Gerard placed an elbow on the hood on either side of Frank's legs, the warmth of his forearms solid against Frank's thighs. He just watched, probably looking absolutely stupid with his mouth half-open, eyes locked with Gerard's and he'd never seen anything so dirtybeautifulperfect. The way Frank hit the back of his throat and Gerard just forced himself back down, his fingertips squeaking softly on the car, his eyes blinking back tears and a look in them that was almost begging.
The rosary started slipping between Frank's sweaty fingers and he tightened his grip on the string of beads, tugging it to the side and he finally broke eye contact when Gerard moaned around his cock, the vibrations in his throat fucking electric.
Then Gerard had one arm hooked around the back of Frank's thighs, holding him in place as he fucking choked himself on his cock and Frank couldn't even manage a warning as his hips stuttered forward and he was coming down Gerard's throat.
“F-fuck, Gee,” Frank gasped, twitching as Gerard's nose hit his stomach one last time and the moan he was trying to muffle sent a fucking earthquake through Frank's nervous system and he was pretty sure he blanked out for a hot second.
Gerard rested his head on Frank's thigh, breathing so hard his shoulders were heaving as Frank let go of the rosary and left his hand to rest softly on top of Gerard's head. He was fucking dizzy, his head spinning, because that just fucking happened.
“Shit, Gee, what about-”
“I'm good,” Gerard interrupted, laughing as he blew his hair out of his eyes and looked up at Frank with a smile and a sticky hand. “Gonna need a tissue though.”
Maybe he'd watched too much porn, or maybe he was just weird, but Frank grabbed Gerard's wrist. “Can I be gross?”
Gerard snorted. “If you're thinking what I think you are, please do.”
Frank slid down the hood to rest on his knees next to Gerard, their shoulders against the bumper and dicks still out in the cool breeze as Frank lifted Gerard's hand to his mouth, licking over his fingers and the flat of his palm, making Gerard giggle and shake his head.
“Fuckin' tickles,” he said, and Frank pressed a kiss to his fingertips and let go.
They sat there for a moment after they pulled up their pants, side by side against solid metal, watching the night clouds.
“We should probably at least try and sleep,” Gerard sighed as he got up and dusted the dirt off his pants, offering a hand to Frank once he was on two feet. “It's not gonna be super comfy, but I've got an idea.”
Frank just laughed and shook his head as he took Gerard's hand. Comfy didn't matter. All that mattered was Vineland and all the bad that was in it was in the dust in the rearview mirror.