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Leeds, 2017.
It hasn’t even been two months since the last time he saw him, but when Frank looks up and sees Gerard approaching, his stomach still drops like it has been years. He doesn’t think he will ever get any other reaction to seeing him. It has been years, and he still reacts the same every damn time. They joke about him being the band’s biggest fan, but sometimes, it hits a little too close to home, especially when it comes to him.
His expectations are through the roof - that’s his problem. When he flew over to Los Angeles in July, things were different. There wasn’t even one instance when they would be alone, just the two of them. They were constantly surrounded by people - Mikey, Ray, Gerard’s family, some more or less distant friends - and it was easy to pretend that Frank was just one of those friends, too. It was easy to pretend the years and years of history were just a fever dream. Frank did an exceptional job at enjoying himself at the barbecue and not spending longer than a second to dwell on what the sound of Gerard’s voice did to him or how acutely aware he was of where Gerard was at all times. Nothing happened in July. They laughed together at a joke Ray made, they clinked their drinks together - a glass of coke for Gerard, a beer bottle for Frank - and that was it.
There are no glasses involved this time, and there are no other people around. It’s just them, and Frank feels unsteady. He isn’t sure if he remembers how to do this, and he’s even less sure if he wants to be reminded.
He buried him, goddamn it. He buried him along with his past, and he moved on. If movies are anything to go by, trying to resurrect the dead probably won’t end well.
But he can’t say no, not anymore. It was agreed back in July that they would meet up, they confirmed the time and place via texts just yesterday, and Frank sent his band to Manchester this morning while he stayed behind. There is no way out of this, even if he wanted one. His train only leaves tomorrow at eight-thirty, and Gerard is here now. There is no running from this.
To make things worse, Gerard smiles when he stops right in front of him. Not one of his signature smiles, either. This one is private, just a slight curling of his crooked lips - the smile that drags Frank back a few years to when he used to watch it half-hidden in some motel pillow or felt it pressed to the crook of his neck backstage. His fingers flex, and he pushes his hands deep into his pockets to stop himself from reaching for him.
All these years down the line, he’s still pathetic. He wishes he didn’t quit smoking.
“Hi.”
Frank forces a smile back.
“Hi.”
He absolutely doesn’t know how to navigate it. He’s an affectionate kind of guy, and if it was anyone else - literally anyone - he would be throwing his arms around their middle and hugging them now, but it’s not just anyone. This is Gerard. A little more disheveled than he was these two months ago, his hair a little longer, his stubble a little less well-kept, but it’s still him. Frank has no fucking idea if he’s still allowed to touch him.
He also has no fucking idea what to say to him. He could write album after album about him, but seeing him standing in the middle of Park Square renders him speechless. Or maybe he has said everything he had to say about him already, and there is nothing left. He shakes his head at himself, bringing the collar of his jacket higher to cover the back of his neck, and looks down. His fingers run over the sculpture he’s sitting on - a black and red ladybug with a screwed-up face, probably created for children’s entertainment - and he feels like a child himself.
When did they forget how to talk to each other?
“You look good,” Gerard says, and his voice carries through the darkening park, between the sculptures and toward the trees and all the lights hanging between them. Frank wishes he meant it in the way he wants him to, but he knows he doesn’t. Proving his point, Gerard clears his throat next and adds. “Healthy, I mean.”
“Yeah, you know. I swallow so many pills that it would be criminal if I wasn’t healthy,” he says, knowing it’s a lie. He’s not healthy. He hasn’t been healthy a day in his entire life, and it’s definitely not going to change. He’s a broken man - in more than one way. He looks at Gerard and wonders if it’s expected of him to reply with something about Gerard’s looks or Gerard’s health, then scoffs. Things used to be so easy. Why aren’t things easy anymore? “It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Frank drags himself up from the sculpture, brushing away the tiny particles of dust from his pants, then sighs. They’re here. They are facing each other in the middle of Leeds, they are looking at each other, so what is there to do next? He wants to say something so badly it hurts, but nothing comes to mind.
“Have you eaten?” is what he ends up with. “We could sit somewhere and talk.”
“The convention has lunch options. I had a little something not long ago.”
Of course it does. Of course he did. If there is one thing about Gerard that is never going to change, it’s that he doesn’t make it easy for Frank. He ignores the rumbling in his stomach, one reminding him that he skipped lunch precisely because he hoped they would have dinner together in the evening, then curses Gerard in his head. It’s nothing new that Frank puts more effort into things, but he really did hope it would be different this time around. He doesn’t really know why. Gerard doesn’t owe him anything, not after Frank has annulled all the debts he has accumulated by breaking them apart. He just had lunch with his friends. Frank has no right to feel bitter about him not skipping it for his sake.
He looks up at the darkening sky, indicating the approaching evening and night. It’s late. In a few hours, Frank will have to lie down in his hotel bed and get enough sleep to get him through tomorrow’s show. He should be looking for ways to calm down after the long day he had, not energize himself further.
“Coffee?”
“I can do coffee,” Gerard agrees. That hasn’t changed, either. It almost makes Frank smile. “I walked past Starbucks to get here.”
Yeah, Frank knows that. He walked past that one, too.
“Lead the way.”
They walk through the park in complete silence. Frank keeps stealing glances at Gerard, and the more he does, the more surreal it feels to be here with him. He can’t quite explain what’s going on inside him. He went through so much excitement when thinking about meeting him one-on-one that now that it’s actually happening, he mostly feels drained. He imagined it differently. He thought– he doesn’t know what he thought. Maybe that they’d fall into each other’s arms immediately, maybe that Gerard would cross the park in long strides, grab him, and kiss him until Frank was breathless. He definitely didn’t anticipate that they would keep such a vast distance between each other when walking. He didn’t think he wouldn’t know how to talk to the guy who, amongst other things, was supposed to be his best friend.
Maybe they really are done. Maybe there is nothing left to save, and Frank is wasting their time.
“How’s the convention going?”
“Oh, you know,” Gerard gestures with his hand. “The same as always, really. Lots of great artists and friends around.”
“Ah,” Frank hums. It makes him sick like he’s watching a deadly car crash and can’t force himself to look away. “Anyone I know?”
“Probably not.”
Of course not. Frank has been out of the loop for so long that he doesn’t know Gerard’s friends anymore. All the mutual friends they have are back in the States, and they’re divided now. Everyone is either more Gerard’s friend than Frank’s or the other way around. Even Ray is more Gerard’s now. It’s the distance. Frank only sees him once a year, if that, but he knows Ray hangs around in Gerard’s place all the time. He probably still knows how to talk to him.
“The show’s been crazy,” he says after a moment. The only thing he can talk about is himself, but he’s not sure if Gerard cares. “They have a different energy on this side of the pond.”
“It’s always been like that.”
Yeah. They would know. They used to experience it together, back when they were still them, not Gerard and Frank separately.
“It’s weird to be playing again.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Gerard nods. He looks at him for a short moment. “You doing alright? Physically?”
“Been better, been worse. I’ll live.”
“Nice.”
And then - silence.
Frank may not be the biggest fan of Starbucks in existence, not even close, but he has never been happier to see that stupid green logo. He overtakes Gerard and yanks the door open like his life depends on it, so fucking grateful to have something to do with his hands and something to say that’s not forced. He has a second to worry about someone recognizing them, but he doesn’t catch any drastic reactions. People look at them and then down into their coffees like they are just some guys. Thank God. Frank wouldn’t be able to explain.
“What do you want?”
“I can get mine, it’s fine.”
No. No, it’s not fine. Nothing is fucking fine.
“Don’t worry about it,” Frank waves him off. He bites his lower lip, considering if he should continue, then sighs. “Black, right? Or did that change?”
“Nah, it didn’t.”
“I’ll get them to go,” Frank informs him. He cannot imagine sitting down with Gerard and looking at him. If he keeps moving and walking around, at least he has something else to look at that isn’t him. “You cool with that?”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be outside.”
It’s so wrong to feel relieved that he’s gone. Frank wants to follow him as much as he wants to bribe the employees to let him escape through the back door. He orders coffee - and a biscuit for himself that he eats when waiting for Gerard’s black coffee to be made because he cannot stand to see pity on Gerard’s face that would undoubtedly be there if he found out Frank skipped that fucking lunch for him. The wait takes forever, the place busting with life, and Frank feels small. Smaller than he usually does. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone stepped on him and squashed him to death. Neither would he particularly mind.
It makes him irrationally angry to see that, for once, Gerard’s name on the paper coffee cup isn’t misspelled.
When he brings it outside and hands it to him, he is temporarily transfixed by Gerard leaning against the wall, smoking. Frank’s craving wakes up from slumber, only he doesn’t really know what he wants more. The rough smoke to scratch his throat or Gerard’s nails to scratch his skin. He plans on making a joke about how they finally understood him when he told them his name, but he can’t get the words out. He hesitates for a moment, then yields.
“Can I bum one?”
Gerard’s eyebrow raises. “Didn’t you quit?”
Frank’s surprised he remembers.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, already reaching for the pack Gerard extends to him. His fingers shake when he grabs a cigarette, the old addiction returning with full force. He doesn’t even have a lighter on him anymore, and he feels a bitter bite of regret when Gerard hands him one instead of lighting the cigarette for him. He used to always light them for him. He swallows his pride and decides to drop the weight on Gerard. “Do you want to do anything in particular?”
“Nope,” Gerard replies. “Whatever you wanna do.”
Frank wants to do a lot of things, but he’s not allowed to do any of them. He grips his coffee cup tighter and looks around, begging Leeds City to give him some ideas. This isn’t a date - it’s as far from a date as it can be - and he doesn’t want to do any sightseeing with Gerard. He mostly wants the Earth to swallow him. He glances at Gerard, knowing he must look pleading, then opens his mouth and waits for the rejection to pour out of him. He tries to remember if his hotel room has an iron so he can tell Gerard that he has forgotten to turn it off and has to run. He ponders the idea of being straightforward and telling him that this isn’t going to work out and that he hopes he’ll enjoy his coffee and convention.
He winces, and Gerard winces back. They lift their coffee cups to their lips, and Frank is sure that this is it. He won’t even have to deliver the final blow - Gerard will do it for him.
He takes a sip. He winces even further. The coffee is boiling hot, which he likes, but it’s also as bitter as ever - which he very much doesn’t like. His gaze jumps back to Gerard’s face when he lowers his cup, nose scrunching in disgust, and Gerard mimics his expression by doing the same. He is utterly adorable like that, frowning at his coffee, and the butterflies in Frank’s stomach start fluttering.
“Ew.”
Gerard’s nose wrinkles even more, and his voice is barely a whisper when he says. “How many sugars did you put in?”
“Two,” Frank replies immediately. Then he thinks back to standing in Starbucks, feeling sorry for himself, and eating that biscuit, and an embarrassed giggle escapes him. “Alright. Maybe one.”
“Jesus, that’s gross.”
“I bought them,” Frank tells him. He takes another sip of his coffee, and it’s still bitter to the point that it makes him shudder. It really is gross. “I’m responsible for paying, you’re responsible for sugar. Besides, it’s not that bad. I think it’s kinda sweet.”
Gerard looks at him like he’s stupid, and the knot in Frank’s stomach releases. This is more feelings than anything he’s gotten from Gerard today, and it feels fucking amazing - because behind that frown, and the scrunching nose, and the raised eyebrows, are tiny glimmers in Gerard’s eyes, and they mean laughter. They mean affection. They mean everything.
“You think this is sweet?”
Frank throws caution out the window. It’s all or nothing.
“I think you’re sweet.”
But Gerard doesn’t take the bait. He looks miserable, all effortless joy disappearing, and when he glances at him next, he looks tired. Exhausted, even. Frank hates knowing that it’s him making him feel so sad.
“Frank.”
“Sorry. Joking,” Frank says immediately, even though it doesn’t save the situation. God, for a split moment, he really thought–
“My hotel is just around the corner. Do you wanna come up to my room?”
Frank stares at him, then stares a little harder.
“What?”
“I’ve been working on something,” Gerard explains, and there it is again - the childish excitement that Frank remembers from the times they used to come up with new songs together. He missed seeing him like this. “The next issue of Doom Patrol. I don’t know if you’re up to date with those.”
“Sort of.”
Not really.
“Yeah, so there’s this thing called Shit, and everyone wants to eat it, and then Lotion goes and sleeps with a chick. It’s awesome.”
Frank stares even harder. “You made your cat– what?”
Gerard shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to drop on someone, then winces again when he tries to take another sip of his coffee. He looks so pitiful that Frank is inclined to turn around and go back to Starbucks to ask for sugar, but Gerard beats him to it.
“I have sugar up there, too. We could make these coffees drinkable, and you could see the ideas. If you want to, of course.”
Does Frank want to go to Gerard’s hotel room? Yes, he does, and at the same time, no, he really doesn’t. Hotel rooms are dangerous. Hotel rooms remind him of late nights they spent writhing together in between the sheets and of Gerard’s broken gasps, which were always louder than Frank’s own grunts. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep his hands away from him if they go there, but he also understands that this is his only chance. If he doesn’t take it, then he will walk away from Gerard, and they won’t plan another reunion. They won’t meet across the world ever again, and probably not in any of their houses, either.
“You made your cat fuck,” he replies, squeezing the cup even harder. “That’s messed up.”
“Sure,” Gerard agrees. “Is that a no? You don’t wanna see it?”
For the first time tonight, Frank’s smile is genuine.
“Are you kidding? Of course I wanna see it.”
Gerard smiles back at him, and for a moment, everything is exactly how Frank had imagined it from the very start. They start laughing together - Frank’s giggling mixed with Gerard’s hiccup-like chuckling - and when Gerard turns around to lead them to his hotel, there isn’t that much space between them anymore. Frank’s arm brushes over Gerard’s with each step they take, and the glances are more frequent, each accompanied by yet another smile.
He doesn’t even try to stop Gerard when he starts talking about his comic again. He’s less interested in the storyline and more interested in listening to the slight changes in the volume of his voice when Gerard gets especially excited about some parts, but he can already tell that the comic will be a success. He remembers the insane things Gerard introduced into their albums back in the day and how their fans ate it all up. This won’t be any different. He’ll get a lot of criticism and even more love, and Frank will be right in the second group, praising him.
He always did. He always will. That’s never going to change.
And he’s right. Gerard opens the hotel room door for him, then leads him inside, then introduces him to his usual mess. There are pens and markers spread everywhere on the table, the floor, and the bed. The bed is unmade - even the cleaning crew gave up. Gerard doesn’t seem to mind, throwing himself on top of it as soon as he makes sure Frank has all the necessary pages displayed on the table, and Frank tries his hardest not to look at him. His stomach has tied itself into a knot, and his hands are sweaty. He can see him from the corner of his eye, lying there on the white sheets, and he wants him like he hasn’t in ages.
“This is amazing,” he says, lifting one of the pages to look below. There is a quickly made sketch of Lotion there, only it’s not really a cat anymore but a humanoid version of one, lying in bed. Frank tries not to think about what happens before or after in the comic. He tries not to think about anything, really. The hotel room is warm, so he shrugs his jacket off and sighs when he hears the bed sheets rustling. “You’re messed up, but it’s great.”
“We’ve always been messed up,” Gerard replies. Frank is inclined to agree. He carefully deposits the papers back on the desk and wonders if that’s his cue to leave or if he should start looking for that sugar Gerard promised him. Once again, Gerard is faster. He heaves a sigh, and Frank can almost physically feel the mood in the room change. He freezes, but it does nothing to prepare him for what Gerard says next. “What happened to us, Frankie?”
Don’t say it, Frank tells himself. Don’t say it. Don’t–
“You broke the band up.”
Fuck.
“You cannot still be pissed about it.”
“Yeah? Well, try me,” Frank scoffs. He drops the papers and turns around, crossing his arms over his chest. The coffee is long forgotten, and so is the sugar. Everything is bitter again, and no amount of sweetener can fix this mess. “‘Cause I am still pissed.”
“It was years ago.”
“Barely four, and a lot happened between then and now,” Frank shrugs. He feels like he’s shrinking, and he’s sure that if they opened him up now, they would no longer find a stomach but a dried-up raisin, instead, with how tightly wound up together it feels. He feels fucking sick. “But it doesn’t matter. I have my band now. You have comics. We’re good.”
“We,” Gerard sits back up and motions between them. “Aren’t good.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Gerard’s eyebrows raise again. “We broke up the band, not us. You can’t blame it on me.”
“I sure as fuck won’t blame it on myself.”
“You’re the one who left.”
Frank snorts. The long-forgotten anger starts pulsing in his veins, and no matter what he does, he cannot stifle it. If he lets it explode, there will be more than one casualty, and the damage will be irreparable. He wants to, though. Oh, how badly he wants to give in to the rage instead of the sinking feeling of exhaustion seeping into his bones. It’s so overwhelming that he has to lean back against the desk, acutely aware that he is bending some of Gerard’s papers.
“I left because there wasn’t anything there for me anymore.”
“I was there,” Gerard says firmly. He, too, looks angry. “I was fucking there.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I was going through a lot, you know that. I– I needed you, and you left.”
“I tried to be there for you for months, Gee,” Frank says, and the anger is gone completely. He’s so weak that he isn’t sure if he won’t tumble to the floor. “I texted, I called, I spent more time at your house than my own. You always pushed me away.”
“You know why.”
“I do, but you weren’t the only one who had to deal with shit. I nearly threw my life away for you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. I always did everything for you, and it always felt one-sided. Always.”
Gerard’s face screws into disgust, yet Frank isn’t sure who he’s disgusted with. Maybe him, maybe himself. Neither of them is perfect, but so many people have told Frank that he was always the puppy in love who got thrown away that, with time, he started believing it, and then he realized they were right. He doesn’t doubt for a second that Gerard loved him. He just loved Gerard more.
“I didn’t want it to be one-sided,” Gerard replies after a moment. His shoulders slump and that, too, is so typical of him. He’s not doing it on purpose, but the kicked-kitten look has always worked in pacifying Frank. It will not work today.
“But it was. And this is, too. I really fucking hoped things would be different today,” Frank shakes his head. He turns around and looks down at the drawings, fighting with himself not to tear them apart. He doesn’t want Gerard to have this. He wants him to lose those drawings, his comic friends, and his comic fame. He wants him to want their band - and Frank - as desperately as Frank wants it. He wants to be Gerard’s only choice, the way Gerard has been his.
“They still can be.”
“I don’t know. It feels like a mistake, and I’ve already made enough of those.”
He reaches for his jacket. It seems to weigh a ton, and he watches how it swings in his hold. Walking away will be final. They have said one too many goodbyes to each other over the years, and Frank can’t handle another one. If he leaves, he will never come back. He looks up and catches Gerard’s gaze, just as scared as his own must be.
“I care for you,” he says - because he cannot get the L word out of his mouth, not now. Maybe not ever. “But it has never changed anything.”
He takes one step toward the door, and Gerard is moving before Frank can even think about it. That, too, makes him angry. He stares at him when Gerard blocks him, standing between him and the exit, and his hands start shaking. It’s once again all about him, like Frank’s decision doesn’t matter, like Gerard will still force him to do what he wants regardless of where Frank stands with it.
“You’re not leaving,” Gerard says. “Not again.”
“Just move,” Frank shakes his head, closing his eyes. He inhales deeply, then exhales even deeper. “Move before I make you.”
“Make me?” Gerard laughs, short and unpleasant. “Make me how?”
Frank takes another step, and Gerard’s hand lands squarely in the center of his chest. He grabs the wrist before he can stop himself and squeezes, meeting Gerard’s eyes. He knows he looks angry, and he knows that Gerard can recognize it, but he doesn’t seem scared. He knows exactly what Frank is capable of - or was when he was less broken and less mature, ready to throw himself into fights and unafraid of getting hurt - but he isn’t scared of him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Frank says quietly, but it’s not entirely true. A tiny part of him really, really wants to hurt him the way Gerard has been hurting him for years. Gerard knows that, too. He braces himself, and when Frank tries to push his hand away, he only half-succeeds. It moves from his chest to his forearm and tightens there. “Fucking– let me go.”
“No,” Gerard says. “I’ve done enough of that, too.”
Then he pushes him, and Frank is too weak to counter it. He lets himself be pushed. He lets himself stumble, hissing when his back hits the desk, then gasping when Gerard traps him against it with his body. His heart is hammering in his chest, and when he puts his hands on Gerard’s chest to push back, he ends up doing nothing. His fingers flex against Gerard’s shirt and stay there as he drinks in the heat coming from him.
He remembers this, too - he remembers knocking everything from the counters in bathrooms and the bus, the feeling of Gerard between his legs, or Gerard around him when Frank lifted him onto tables and desks. He remembers how Gerard sounded when he fell apart in his arms and the feeling of falling apart in his. He shudders and tries again, this time dislodging Gerard just far enough to slither by.
He could run away. He could - but he doesn’t. With his hands still on Gerard’s chest, he turns them around and shivers when Gerard’s whimper echoes through the room. He slams him into the table harder than necessary, but he hopes it will help clear Gerard’s head. He hopes it will help clear his.
Gerard’s mouth parts. Frank’s eyes follow the tip of his tongue when he licks his lips, and his body goes rigid when he feels Gerard’s hands curling around his elbows and sneaking higher, to his arms, then shoulders, then the sides of his neck.
“Please, don’t,” Frank says. It sounds weak, with no confidence left in his voice. He wants this - wants him - too much to be compelling. If he lets it happen, it will be a trainwreck, but he’s craving that disaster. “Gee, don’t–”
“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispers and pulls him in. “I have to.”
Frank can’t fight it any longer. He physically can’t - not when Gerard’s hands are on the back of his neck, not when Frank’s fingers have taken a firm grip of his hips, not when he’s moving him further and further up onto that table. Not when Gerard’s mouth is parted in invitation, not when his eyelids are fluttering. Not when it’s him. The sound that leaves him is a shuddery groan, broken in the middle, then he pushes Gerard all the way up, steps between his spread legs, and crushes their lips together.
His heart stops. His stomach drops. With not even a moment of hesitation and accompanied by a relieved moan, Gerard kisses him back.
Once he has him, Frank isn’t able to let go. The kiss is rough, and Frank is drinking Gerard’s mewls straight from his lips, pushing into him. He’s getting hard alarmingly fast, but he doesn’t think Gerard will mind it. His hips are rocking up, searching for friction, and his hands are everywhere, trying to pull Frank closer, and Frank wants this. He wants this the way it’s always been - fast and messy. He wants to grab Gerard, drag his clothes off, bend him over and fuck him. He wants to see him arching and begging for it.
He wants to love him more, though. He pulls sharply back, breaking the kiss, and Gerard whines.
“No,” he says, eyes snapping open. His grip on Frank’s body tightens. “No, come back–”
“Not like this,” Frank shakes his head. He’s panting now, and it takes everything he has to step away and let Gerard’s legs fall back onto the ground. He already looks ruined - just from one kiss, just from feeling Frank’s touch on him. Frank’s stomach does a flip, and his cock twitches in his pants. He moves further until he feels the edge of the bed against the backs of his knees. “Come here.”
Gerard’s legs wobble when he does. He’s surprised, that much is clear, but he obeys quickly and doesn’t protest when Frank pushes him down onto the bed. Every ounce of him is telling him to follow, slot their bodies together, but he can’t. They’ve done it like that too many times, and it never worked out the way Frank wished it would. Tonight will be different. He will make it different, or he will die trying.
He goes as far as to laugh when Gerard’s thighs fall open the second he sinks to his knees before him.
“What?” Gerard asks. “What’s funny?”
“You are,” Frank says. He lets his hands run from Gerard’s hips, over his thighs and knees to his calves and feels the way the muscles react to the touch, jumping under his palms. He rubs his thumbs over the bones of Gerard’s ankles and takes his time when he slides his shoes off for him. He grins when he sees the socks - mismatched, so very Gerard - and his gaze snaps up. “Really?”
“I’m an artist, I don’t give a fuck about matching socks,” Gerard shrugs. Then he shudders when Frank starts peeling those off and leans back with a sigh. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing you.”
“You don’t have to,” Gerard says, the wobbling of his voice betraying what he’s thinking. Sometimes, Frank is certain that Gerard forgets about the most essential part. Frank knows him. He won’t be able to hide anything from him, not anymore. Especially not this. “Just pull your dick out, we can–”
“No,” he opposes. He gets rid of the shoes and socks, then kicks his own off, not caring where they land. Gerard’s eyes are big when he looks at him from the bed. “Move up.”
“Frankie.”
“If we’re gonna do this again, five fucking years later, then we’re gonna do it right. Move up the bed and lie down.”
“You don’t wanna see it.”
“Trust me,” Frank says, then joins him on the bed when Gerard does as he’s told, scooting up until his head hits the pillow. He looks fucking stunning like that - long hair spilling over the sheets, chest heaving, mouth red from kissing - and Frank really needs him to understand just how beautiful he is. He holds Gerard’s gaze when he drops his hand, palming himself through his jeans, and Gerard’s mouth parts a little further when he inhales sharply. “Yeah, baby,” Frank says, then smiles. “I really do wanna fucking see it.”
“Why, though?” Gerard frowns. He squints when he looks to the side, taking in the light coming from the bedside lamp. “We’ve never done it like that.”
“That’s why,” Frank nods. He leans forward so he can place his hands in the center of Gerard’s chest and stays there, touching him as slowly as he can. He can feel how tense Gerard is, even more so when Frank lets his hands travel lower - to his stomach and hips - and he glances up with a smile. “We always rushed things. With the band, with us, with sex. It fucked us over, Gee, and I don’t want this to be another fuck-up.”
“What do you want it to be?” Gerard asks. He flinches when Frank pops the first button of his shirt, and his cheeks turn crimson. He turns his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. “Frank, don’t, I’m–”
“You’re beautiful,” Frank interrupts. His fingers are working tirelessly now, and he can’t quite stop the way he gasps when he manages to part Gerard’s shirt completely. They have always been the polar opposites, him covered in tattoos and Gerard so absolutely spotless, and his mouth waters when he takes him in. He feels dizzy when he brushes his thumb over Gerard’s nipple, and it hardens, pulling a raspy breath from Gerard’s throat. “Fuck, Gee. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Have you encountered a mirror lately?” Gerard asks. He arches into his touch when Frank slides his hands to the edge of his pants, then groans when he moves them away. He wants nothing more than to yank his clothes off, but he promised himself that he would take it slow, and he will. They aren’t in a rush. Not tonight. Not anymore.
“This morning,” Frank replies. He leans forward and presses a kiss right in the center of Gerard’s chest, hearing his breath hitching. “I spent a ridiculous amount of time in front of it.”
“Ah, did you do your hair for me?” Gerard jokes, then immediately moans when Frank runs his tongue over his nipple. “Fuck–”
“I did do my hair for you,” Frank replies. He’s so hard he thinks he’s about to burst, but he presses further and leans his forehead over Gerard’s sternum, taking a deep breath. It comes out shuddery when he feels Gerard’s fingers sinking into his hair - not pulling, just holding - and he has to take a moment to calm himself. “I always want to look good for you.”
“I meant it before, though. You do look good.”
“Yeah, and so do you,” Frank sighs, pulling back. He rubs his thumb over Gerard’s jawline as gently as he can, feeling his throat close off around all the emotions he’s trying to swallow back down. “As for what I want it to be - I don’t really know. A new beginning?”
“Not fucking for old times’ sake?”
“No, Gee. I buried my past not so long ago. All I have now is the future, and I want you in it.”
Gerard tilts his head on the pillows. “Are you sure?”
“If you’ll have me.”
Gerard pulls him down and Frank is already smiling when their lips meet again. It’s not as desperate as it was before, but it still makes his head spin when Gerard’s tongue sinks into his mouth, curling around his own as he tries to drag the t-shirt over his head. Frank helps the best he can, grunting angrily when he has to pull back for a moment to drop it over the edge of the bed, and then they’re back - kissing long and deep, pressed together, Gerard’s soft mewls ringing between their lips.
He no longer has control over his hands. He wants to touch Gerard everywhere all at once and judging by Gerard’s restlessness, it’s the same for him. His hands are on Frank’s shoulders first, then on his cheeks when he pulls him deeper into the kiss, then on his sides, the nails raking down his skin. It makes him hiss with how fucking good it feels, his entire body breaking out in goosebumps, and his hips jump forward before he can stop them.
It makes Gerard break the kiss to let out a long moan. He’s hard, too - Frank can feel it next to his straining cock - and his heart nearly gives out when Gerard licks his lips and asks.
“What do you want?”
“Everything.”
Gerard has the audacity to roll his eyes at him.
“Choose one thing.”
“Why?” Frank asks. He rocks back onto his knees and smiles when the touch of his hand around Gerard’s cock makes him groan. It feels good in his hand - right and familiar, even through the fabric - and his smile only gets more prominent when he squeezes, making Gerard’s eyes roll for entirely different reasons. “We have the whole night, Gee. We can do everything.”
“We have longer than that,” Gerard breathes out. He seems to have forgotten all about his insecurities because he’s rolling his dick into Frank’s hold, eyelids fluttering, and body rocking on the bed. “I meant it when I said that, too. I’m never letting you go.”
“You’ll have to. I’m not moving back to LA.”
“I don’t care,” Gerard shakes his head. “We’ll make it work, but for now, you gotta choose.”
“What do you want?”
Gerard laughs, short and quiet. “Everything.”
Frank decides to hold his gaze when he pops the button of his pants open, and he doesn’t regret it even for a second. Gerard’s face goes deliciously red, but there is not even a moment of hesitation before he lifts his hips to help Frank undress him fully. Frank appreciates every second of it - the fact that Gerard doesn’t try to cover himself when he sits up to shrug the shirt from his shoulders, that he doesn’t care how silly he looks kicking his pants off, that his legs slide open immediately when he falls onto the bed. Frank has only ever seen him give that amount of trust to him. Never anyone else.
He shimmies down the bed and presses a kiss to one of Gerard’s bent knees.
“I wanna be inside you,” he admits, making Gerard tremble. “Please?”
Gerard drags his legs further up.
“Yeah. Yeah, Frankie.”
“Do you have– fuck, do you have anything on you?”
“You’re not gonna believe it,” Gerard laughs. He throws an arm over his eyes, embarrassed, and Frank just has to kiss him again - over his calf and up to his thigh, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin he finds there, just to feel him shudder again. He is only partially surprised when Gerard points at his suitcase, the contents already half spilling out onto the floor. When he leans over the edge of the bed and opens it, the bottle of lube is right there at the very top.
“Really?”
Gerard shrugs. “I was hoping something would happen.”
“Something, huh?”
“Yeah, I didn’t– I didn’t dwell on specifics, but Jesus, Frankie. You fucking me is long overdue.”
Frank grins. He puts the bottle on the bed, close enough to be able to reach it at any moment, and lowers himself back between Gerard’s legs. His dick is almost fully hard, curling toward his belly, and Frank’s mouth waters.
“Not gonna fuck you tonight,” he murmurs, running his hands on the insides of Gerard’s thighs. The skin is soft, the sparse hair tickling his palms. He breathes in, then breathes out. He squeezes gently, and Gerard understands immediately. He nearly drops dead when Gerard hooks his hands under his knees and drags his legs back, opening himself up. Jesus, it’s been so fucking long since the last time he got to see him like this.
“It sure seems like it.”
“All we ever did was fuck. This won’t be fucking.”
“If you say that you’ll make love to me, I’m gonna walk out of here.”
Frank giggles, shaking his head. “Alright. Not gonna say it, then.”
“Frank, stop.”
“Why?” he looks at him, curling his hand around Gerard’s cock. It doesn’t seem like Gerard wants him to stop. It twitches in his grip, and when Frank gets even closer, he can see the first drop of precum gathering at the tip, just from his touch on Gerard’s legs, just from his proximity. It feeds his ego in all the best ways, and his hips roll against the bed. Fuck, he’s hard.
“It’s strange,” Gerard whispers. His eyes are closed, but he’s holding onto Frank’s hair, and he isn’t pushing him away. He wants this; Frank knows he does. “I’m used to spontaneous fucks. I don’t know if I know how to do… this.”
“It’s not that different.”
“It’s a lot different.”
And - yes, maybe it is, but Frank thinks it’s better. Perhaps it’s strange, but it’s a good kind of weird, one he wants to cherish, one he wants to experience more than just once in a fancy Leeds hotel. One he wants Gerard to experience more than once, too, because he deserves it. He sighs, leaning his head against Gerard’s thigh, and lets his eyes slip closed. He’s said it so many times before, and it was never a lie, but it’ll mean more this time. It used to be hollow, just like they were, but Frank is going to fill this relationship with so much. He says it like a promise, and he hopes Gerard will treat it as one, too.
“I love you.”
“Frank.”
“I love you,” Frank repeats firmly. His fist tightens, and Gerard’s hips buck into his grip. So much for pretending he isn’t totally into strange things. “But you know that.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you do. You’ve always known. You just didn’t want to accept it.”
“What makes you think I can accept it now?”
A lot of things - things Frank can’t articulate without breaking into tears and ruining the entire experience. He shakes his head when he says nothing, then slides his head lower until he can press his lips to Gerard’s hip bone. He inhales sharply, and a groan escapes him at the familiar scent. Fuck, he’s missed this, too.
“Don’t cum,” he warns him just as he glides his hand up Gerard’s cock, as slowly as he can. From the corner of his eye, he can see Gerard’s mouth falling open when he moans. “Not like this.”
“You’re making it really fucking hard.”
“You don’t like it easy.”
“Frankie,” Gerard says his name like a warning, but Frank is no longer listening. He has other things to busy himself with, and he can see Gerard watching his every move when he gets closer and sticks his tongue out, taking a tentative lick up his cock. Gerard doesn’t like it easy, but he also doesn’t like it slow. Frank is about to torment him tonight.
The stretch he feels in the corners of his lips when he takes Gerard’s dick into his mouth is familiar, too. Almost forgotten, but it’s like riding a bike. A moan rumbles in his throat when he goes lower, curling his fingers around the base, and Gerard bucks into his touch almost immediately. Frank’s eyes snap open, and he looks at him, hoping his gaze says it all. Apparently, it does because Gerard touches his hollowed cheek and blushes.
“Sorry.”
He doesn’t try again, and Frank sucks him slowly, basking in the taste, the weight, the moans spilling from Gerard’s lips. He can feel Gerard’s fingers interlaced at the back of his head, more holding than pulling, and his mouth is already overflowing. The press against the zipper of his pants is annoying at that point, and Frank catches himself more than once, rocking against the bed, trying to relieve the pressure. He pulls back after he’s sure Gerard’s close to losing his mind, sends him a cheeky smile, and then dives lower.
His hand never stops moving, jerking him off slowly. A part of him wants to make Gerard cum exactly like that. He wouldn’t have anything against it and would still let Frank fuck him after, but a bigger part of him wants to make it more significant. He curls his tongue around Gerard’s balls, pulling another strangled “Oh fuck,” out of his throat, and his left hand uncaps the lube.
Gerard shudders. Frank shudders along with him, then presses his thumb to his hole.
“Fuck,” he whispers, dragging himself back to watch. Gerard’s head is thrown back, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his thighs are shaking. Frank gets a hold of the right one and lifts it higher, pressing his thumb harder in. Gerard exhales sharply when his body opens up, and Frank tries - he really fucking tries - not to think of all the years between now and the last time they did it and everything Gerard could’ve been doing in the meantime. He tries not to think of other people seeing him like that, hearing his voice, watching his responses.
He isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is. Gerard’s hand falls to his arm and squeezes, forcing his gaze to jump to his face.
“I didn’t,” he says breathlessly. He shakes his head, then keens when Frank’s thumb sinks in.
“Not even once?”
“Not with another person.”
“For all five years?” Frank cocks his eyebrow. He pulls his hand back, then sinks in with two of his fingers. He knows Gerard can take it, and although he frowns and his mouth falls open further, he pulls his leg even higher. It makes Frank smile. He presses a fleeting kiss to his calf when he grabs the lube and pours it all over his hand.
“Fuck,” Gerard gasps, arching his back when Frank starts a slow rhythm, thrusting as gently as he can. His hips roll, trying to get him deeper, and Frank has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. “Yeah, Frank. All five years. Did you–?”
“No,” Frank shakes his head, then leans in, bending Gerard almost in half, and steals a kiss from his lips. He aims for short and fleeting, but Gerard holds him in place, tilting his head to kiss him deep, and sobs into his mouth when Frank drives his fingers in further. He seems vulnerable when they look at each other, so Frank lets go of his leg and touches the side of his face, smiling. “I never needed anyone else. You were always it for me.”
Gerard’s thighs tighten around him.
“That’s enough,” he mutters. “Need you inside now.”
Frank’s thumb slides from his cheek to his spit-shining lips. He runs it over the lower one, following it with his gaze, then over the top. Gerard catches it with his teeth and bites down, and Frank’s stomach bottoms out.
“I love you.”
It takes a moment, but then Gerard’s head falls back with a sigh.
“I love you, too,” he says - and Frank believes him. He kisses him again, sharp and short, and leans back to work on his pants. Gerard is observing him, and it’s his turn to feel self-conscious. He rarely does, but he meant it when he said he wanted to look good for him. He wants adoration and desire to be in Gerard’s eyes when he sees him. He slides his jeans over his hips, dragging the underwear along, and is once again grateful for his tattoos hiding the blush spreading on his chest.
Gerard licks his lips, though, hooking his arms under his knees to open himself further, and moans when Frank gets a hand around his cock to stroke himself. The pleasure is instant, and he hisses. He could cum all over Gerard just from watching him spread out for the taking like that.
“Jesus, you’re hot,” Gerard mutters, seemingly to himself. It makes Frank grin, his insecurities flying out the window like they were never there.
“Yeah?”
“So fucking hot,” Gerard agrees. He reaches for him, nails scratching over his thigh when he tries to pull him closer, and Frank’s cock twitches in his hand. “No more teasing.”
“Fuck, alright,” Frank nods. If he doesn’t stop touching himself, if Gerard doesn’t stop touching him, he will spill before he even gets a chance to get his dick inside him. Pulling his hand away takes every last ounce of his willpower, and he sighs, looking around. “Condoms?”
Gerard’s eyebrows arch. “Really?”
“I mean–”
“We never used them.”
They didn’t, that’s true, and Frank trusts him. He shudders, abandoning the thought altogether, and puts a weight on the backs of Gerard’s thighs until Gerard gets a hint and curls his legs around his middle. He looks fucking ethereal like that, naked and panting beneath him, one of his hands landing on the back of Frank’s neck, the other on his side. He’s everywhere, and his eyes are big and trusting when Frank guides his cock to his hole.
“Are you sure?” he asks, nearly vibrating with how badly he wants it. He can feel the muscles fluttering around the head of his dick, and he wants nothing more than to drive home and stay there. “Gee. Are you sure?”
Gerard blinks at him, then clutches him harder.
“You’re the only one I never had any doubts about.”
Frank could cry. He even might - but not yet. His hand tightens around the base of his cock, and he pushes forward, groaning when he feels Gerard’s body opening to him, the head popping inside, then the rest of him. He doesn’t wait this time, doesn’t let him adjust. He goes slowly, but he doesn’t stop until his hip bones press to the soft skin of Gerard’s ass, and only when he’s buried fully inside does he exhale. Gerard’s tight and hot, all wet from the lube, and his eyes have rolled to the back of his head.
He’s everything. Frank’s legs and arms shake as he tries to keep himself upright, and Gerard’s hands grip him tighter still. His nails dig in, making him hiss, and when he looks at him, he finally seems as desperate as Frank remembers him being every other time they fucked.
“God,” he whispers, the word broken in the middle when Frank rolls his hips and shoves back in. He repeats it a few times, and with each thrust, Gerard lets out a quiet sigh, digging his nails even harder in. Frank has a distant thought that he’s going to have marks. He can feel his skin stretching, and it’s just a matter of time before it breaks and he bleeds.
He knows why Gerard is doing it, too, and as hard as it is to admit, it’s working. He shuffles up on his knees, throwing himself entirely on top of him, and dives in for a kiss just as he slams back into him.
“Jesus, Frank–”
“Not gonna fuck you,” he whispers between the kisses, his teeth scraping everywhere he can reach - Gerard’s jawline, his cheeks, his lips, his chin. Gerard’s nails rake down his side, and he groans, eyes closing when he brings their forehead together. “Not gonna fuck you, Gee. Gonna make it mean something this time.”
“It always– fuck– meant something,” Gerard pants out. His hips are rolling now, too, as he tries to meet his thrusts, and Frank’s cock, if possible, gets even harder. He doesn’t want to go fast, but it’s impossible not to. Getting his arms under Gerard’s legs, he picks up the pace, and Gerard’s face screws into both pain and pleasure as one of his hands flies back to press against the headboard. “Yes, fuck, just like that.”
Frank doesn’t even think he’s breathing. He fucks him fast and hard for as long as he can, then pulls roughly back when Gerard lets out a cry of pain. His hair is plastered to his forehead now, and so is Gerard’s, clinging to the sides of his face. He brushes it away with the back of his hand and sighs, pulling out.
Gerard looks ruined. Frank smiles, cracking his neck, then guides his hands to his ass.
“Hold yourself open.”
“Jesus,” Gerard whispers, doing as he’s told. He’s so loose now that it’s the easiest thing in the world to position himself at his hole and shove inside, sharp and fast, only to pull back immediately after. Gerard bares his teeth in a hiss, eyelids fluttering, so Frank does it again. And again. And again. “Fucking– fuck, Frank.”
“Yeah?”
“Touch me,” Gerard begs. Frank has never seen him beg anyone for anything - he’s too proud for that - but he always begs him for this. Frank moves forward, his dick sliding effortlessly in, and leans his weight on one of his elbows when he reaches for his cock. Gerard’s leaking all over himself, and the length twitches in Frank’s hand when he squeezes. “Fuck, I–”
“Not yet,” Frank pants out. He doubles his efforts, forgetting all about slow and steady, and kisses Gerard so hard it makes their teeth clink together. He leans back, planting his hand in the center of Gerard’s chest and on his hip, and the skin finally does break when Gerard digs in and holds for dear life as Frank jerks him off. He can tell how close they both are - he knows their bodies too well. His hips stutter, and something breaks inside him when, under his palm, he feels Gerard’s hammering heart.
“Frank,” Gerard whispers, and his legs fall apart with the next twist of Frank’s wrist. “Frank, please–”
“Yes.”
There is no telling which one of them cums first. It happens almost simultaneously, and a little voice inside Frank’s head starts screaming at him about just how important of a thing it is, but he hardly hears it. He buries his cock inside Gerard and shudders with a moan just as he feels wetness spreading over his hand. He wishes he had enough strength to look at Gerard when he cums, but he’s exhausted now. The only thing he can do is let his eyes close and sneak a hand under Gerard’s neck, pulling him into another kiss.
This one lasts. Frank kisses him and doesn’t stop kissing even after Gerard’s feet fall back onto the bed, even after his own body gives out, and he lands between Gerard’s thighs, cock slipping out. They’re still rocking against each other, slowly now, both so oversensitive it nearly hurts, and although he’s past the initial shock of an orgasm, Gerard is still holding onto his sides with all he has.
It finally makes Frank giggle when he breaks the kiss and hides his face in the crook of Gerard’s neck.
“Gonna give me bruises,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Gerard’s sweaty skin. The grip of the fingers around his hips eases but doesn’t disappear. Gerard moves it higher, over Frank’s ribs and to his back, then grunts when he lifts his legs again. He locks him in like that, holding him everywhere, and Frank’s heart gives a happy kick.
“You like this type of bruises,” Gerard replies.
“I used to like all types,” Frank laughs. He eases out of Gerard’s hold and carefully rolls off of him, falling next to him on the bed. “I’m too old for the other ones now.”
“You’re thirty-six. You’re not old.”
“Maybe. But you’re right - I like those.”
“Of course you do. Masochist.”
Frank can tell where they’ll be, too. He can feel the dull ache on his lower back and around the sides of his hips, and he can easily imagine how it’ll blossom into small patches of welled-up blood. He turns his head on the pillow and finds Gerard already gazing at him, stretched on his side with his softening cock lying on his thigh. He smiles when he catches Frank staring, and Frank smiles back, reaching to run his hand down Gerard’s chest.
“I missed this.”
Gerard’s smile turns into a smirk. “Just this?”
“You,” Frank corrects himself. “I missed you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to go back to how things were before,” Frank continues. If he doesn’t say it now, he may never do, and he will never forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try. “I don’t want to be friends who are basically just strangers sending each other Christmas wishes they found on Google.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Gerard raises his eyebrow with a smile. “Damn it, Frankie. I always wrote mine.”
“I’m serious, Gee.”
Gerard sighs. “I know. It won’t be the same as it was. We’ll make this work, I promise.”
“This. And what is “this,” exactly?”
“Just us,” Gerard shrugs. “We never gave it a name, and I don’t think we need to now.”
“Fans gave us a name.”
Gerard rolls his eyes, then leans in to press a kiss to Frank’s lips. It’s soft and loving, making Frank almost melt with how many feelings are enclosed in it. When Gerard moves away and stands up with a grunt, he sees an opportunity to make the night even better. He follows him and grabs his hand, surprised by the lack of protest when he leads Gerard into the bathroom and then into the shower.
“I hate that name,” Gerard says when Frank gets the water going. He seems tired, and his legs are wobbling slightly, reminding Frank of just how much strain it must’ve been to be bent like that for such a long time. He feels guilty for a split second, then pushes it away as he gets down to his knees, grabbing a shower gel in the process. It smells nice, and Gerard sighs in relief when Frank gets his fingers around his thighs and presses, rubbing the muscle knots.
“You hate it ’cause my name comes first.”
“So untrue,” Gerard says, then lets out a short laugh. “Fuck, can you imagine what would happen if someone saw you here with me?”
“All hell would break loose,” Frank replies, then bites his lip when the realization strikes him. He doesn’t want to ask, but then again, he needs to know. His stomach tightens again, but this time, it’s from anxiety, not excitement. “Do you want me to leave?”
Gerard’s touch is gentle when he brings him back to his feet, and his kiss is soft and loving. Frank melts into him under the water spray, and when Gerard wraps an arm around him, the answer becomes obvious even before he speaks.
“No,” he whispers, hugging him harder. “To hell with hell. Let it break loose.”
*
When Frank opens his eyes, the day isn’t fully there yet. He knows it’s early, and he groans when he reaches back and mindlessly turns off his alarm, his hand hitting the cutlery from yesterday’s room service dinner on its way. He didn’t get nearly enough sleep and he feels groggy and tired, but the anger at being awake only lasts a second. Then he feels a movement next to him, and he realizes a few things - how hot he is buried under the thick covers, how clammy his skin feels from having another naked body pressed to his, how a weight he feels around his middle is someone’s arm. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and as soon as he does, he arches into Gerard with a soft moan.
Gerard’s laugh is quiet and soothing. When Frank blinks, he finds him on his side, watching him. If it was anyone else, Frank would be self-conscious about what he must have looked like asleep, but it’s Gerard. Gerard has seen him in worse moments. He grins, then hums when Gerard leans in and kisses his forehead.
“Morning.”
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Gerard says quietly. “That alarm of yours is really fucking aggressive. You need to find better ways to wake up than that screaming.”
“I can think of a few things,” Frank smiles wider. He slides his leg over the bed until he can hook his foot behind Gerard’s knee and rock into him, his cock already half-hard. Gerard isn’t much better, though, and his chuckle is breathy and has a hidden moan somewhere in the middle when he rocks back. Frank should really be getting up - he has things to do today, but… “It’s six, right?”
Gerard pulls his arm away from his waist to look at the watch. “Two minutes past.”
Frank grabs him, and Gerard lets out a strangled yelp when Frank flips him over onto his front, following closely after. He’s still laughing when Frank yanks the covers away and presses his lips to Gerard’s spine.
“My train’s at eight-thirty,” he whispers between the kisses, sighing when Gerard arches into him. “We have time.”
“But I want to have breakfast together.”
Frank chuckles, spreads Gerard’s cheeks, and licks around his hole. The pillow muffles Gerard’s moan, his hips jumping, and Frank grins.
“Then you better cum fast.”
He doesn’t eat him out for long - even though he could spend hours with his face in Gerard’s ass and not get bored - and he doesn’t bother with prepping him. Gerard is more than ready for him by the time Frank pulls back with his chin covered in his own spit, and he only hisses when Frank pours lube all over his crack, spreading the rest over his cock.
“Now, will you fuck me?” Gerard asks, shaking his hips when Frank lines himself up. That gives him pause, and he rearranges them until he can press Gerard’s thighs together, kneeling over them. It makes Gerard laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“As much as I would love to take it slow with you again, I don’t think we have the time for that,” Frank replies. He grabs Gerard’s wrists, pressing them to the bed next to his head, and hisses when the head of his cock slips inside. It’s tighter this way, and judging by how Gerard gasps, it’s like that for him, too. Perfect. “So, to answer your question - yeah, baby. Now, I’m gonna fuck you.”
Which, funnily enough, he doesn’t end up doing. Maybe it’s because after taking it slow with Gerard once, he craves it more than mindless fucking, or maybe because he’s still half asleep, he can’t quite tell. He tries at first, snapping his hips hard and fast until he has Gerard mewling into the pillows, but then he finds himself hugging his back, and it all slows down again.
Gerard sighs when Frank lets go of his wrists and reaches back, touching his thigh.
“There goes hard fucking, huh?” he laughs, arching into him. Frank hooks an arm under his neck and buries his face in his hair with a moan.
“You’re complaining?” he whispers back. He’s right on the edge already, and he just needs–
“No,” Gerard says, then inhales sharply and adds. “I’m bringing the band back.”
Frank cums so hard that he nearly blacks out.
He doesn’t know what to say or what to do. He lets Gerard push him off, he rolls onto his back when Gerard prompts him to, obediently opens his mouth when Gerard scrambles onto his knees over his chest and presses his cock to his lips. Now that’s fucking - and he’s choking through it when Gerard grabs the headboard and goes for it, but his thoughts are far away from it. Even when he feels the pressure at the back of his mouth, even when his whole body convulses as Gerard pushes past it and down his throat. Even then.
I’m bringing the band back.
“Oh fuck, Frankie,” Gerard moans above him with the last sharp thrust of his hips, and Frank’s mouth fills with a bitter taste of cum. He swallows everything he can, allowing Gerard to ride his orgasm out, then lets his head fall back. From the corner of his eye, he sees Gerard plumping down onto the bed with a moan. “Holy shit, I fucking love your mouth.”
He blinks at the ceiling a few times, licking the remaining cum from his lips, and tells his heart to calm down. He must have misheard him.
“Did you mean it?” he asks quietly. He can’t bring himself to look at Gerard, and he can’t imagine the weight of the pain he would experience if he found pity on Gerard’s face now, but before he can drown in his own misery, Gerard finds his hand on the bed and squeezes.
“You wanted a new beginning,” he says. “And I want to give it to you.”
“I meant us,” Frank whispers, finally meeting his gaze. Gerard is smiling, though, and Frank can only whimper when he leans in and kisses him. “I meant you and I.”
“You and I are half of the band already,” Gerard wiggles his eyebrows. He pulls him in, then up, and Frank lets himself be led to the bathroom again. He’s too dumbstruck to comment on the fact that Gerard doesn’t even look at the shower, cleaning himself up with a wet corner of one of the towels, then ends up positively speechless when he hands him an unopened toothbrush.
“Gee,” he says when he sticks it into his mouth. His next words are garbled. “If you’re joking, you’re going to break my heart.”
Gerard pulls a pair of underwear up his legs and gives him a look so stern that Frank feels it everywhere. Holy shit, he thinks to himself, it’s real. It’s happening. A chill travels down his spine, goosebumps breaking out on his skin, and Gerard sees it as clear as day.
“Not joking,” Gerard shakes his head. “I can’t promise you that it’ll work out, and obviously, you still have this, and I still have comics, so it won’t be tomorrow, but I wanna do it.”
“You’re serious.”
Gerard winks at him. “If you’ll have me.”
Fuck the toothpaste. Frank drops the toothbrush into the sink and surges up, pulling a strangled cry from Gerard when he backs him into the wall and kisses him.
“I hate you,” he says when he pulls back. He’s grinning, and there are white toothpaste spots all around Gerard’s lips. “Fuck, I really fucking do.”
Gerard pats his face with one hand. “‘Course you do, baby. Now get dressed, huh? We can talk about it over breakfast.”
So Frank gets dressed as fast as it’s humanly possible, nearly breaking his neck when his foot gets stuck in one of the pant legs, and he finds Gerard impatiently tapping his foot on the ground by the time he manages to put himself more or less together. He still needs a shower, and he needs to stop shaking, and more than anything, he needs to calm down - because Gerard’s right, even if they do this, it won’t be for the next few months, at least - but he can’t seem to do any of these things. The smiles they share when Frank touches his fingertips to Gerard’s jaw are soft and full of promise.
“Kiss me one more time,” Gerard asks when Frank’s hand lands on the door handle. He looks at him, and Gerard shrugs. “As soon as we walk out of here, we’ll have to pretend again. I want to kiss you one more time before we have to go back to being just friends.”
“Don’t make it sound like it’s another goodbye,” Frank says quietly, but he kisses him nonetheless, deeper and slower than any of their previous kisses. He curls Gerard’s hair around his wrist and holds him there, pinned between the wall and his body, and kisses him like it is, in fact, another goodbye.
“It’s not,” Gerard shakes his head when they part. He sighs like it hurts him, too - the way it hurts Frank to leave him here - and presses one last kiss to his forehead before he yanks the door open. “After you, my friend.”
The walk downstairs feels a little like walking to the gallows. Frank’s filled with so many mixed emotions that he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. His expectations were met, after all, and his heart is doing backflips when he thinks about it all - Gerard’s smiles, Gerard’s touch, Gerard’s kisses, and the promise of everything ahead. On the other hand, he feels small and depressed when he thinks of how far from each other they’ll be in just an hour or so and the time that’ll pass before he gets to hold Gerard in his arms again. Gerard sees it all over him, but now, in a public area, there is nothing he can do about it. He just gets coffee when Frank gets tea, and they keep the conversation light and innocent when they settle by the window, stealing glances at each other.
Frank loves him. Has always loved him and probably always will, but it’s been a while since he saw the same feeling reflected in Gerard’s eyes. Now, he’s not the only puppy in love, and it dawns on him that that’s exactly what it is. Love. They aren’t done yet. There is still a lot left to save, and Frank didn’t waste anyone’s time.
“Come see me in LA,” Gerard says, seemingly accidentally touching Frank’s knuckles over the table. He strokes them a few times, dangerously obviously, then pulls back, hugging his coffee cup.
“When?”
“Whenever you want,” Gerard says. “I don’t have much planned, and even if I did, I would cancel.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I won’t, but I would,” Gerard looks at him pointedly. “But I’m serious, Frank. Let’s create a group chat or do whatever it is kids do these days. Let’s talk to Mikes and Ray. Let’s make it happen in the next, like, two years.”
“A reunion,” Frank says quietly, staring into his cup of tea. “Fuck, man. If we do this, it’ll be huge. And complicated.”
“But it won’t be. We don’t have to follow any rules anymore, Frankie. We can do whatever the fuck we want.”
“Like fucking in hotel rooms around the world?” Frank laughs, and when he lifts his head, he finds Gerard smiling back at him.
“Sure,” he replies. “Or making love in those hotel rooms.”
God. Frank wants to kiss him again. He wants to touch him. He leans in, stretches his arms forward, and feels the familiar tingling of adrenaline when Gerard mirrors him, fingers uncurling from his mug. They’re in Leeds, for fuck’s sake. No one knows them in Leeds. They can be a little less careful, a little less–
“Holy shit, Frank?”
Frank pulls back so roughly that it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up falling back along with his chair and half of the table contents. He manages to save himself by springing to his feet, and when he whips around, he comes face to face with… well, two faces. He doesn’t know one of them - it’s a woman he swears he has never seen in his entire fucking life - but he knows the other one. The face on the woman’s t-shirt is one he sees in the mirror every morning and every evening, and in case he has any doubts about that, there is his name written on that white fabric, too.
Behind him, Gerard lets out a sound that could only be described as a squeak.
“Um,” Frank says, then looks over his shoulder in panic. Gerard is just staring at him with wide eyes, and the blush is back on his cheeks. Severely unhelpful, so Frank turns back around and forces a smile. “Hi?”
“Oh my God, it is you. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was at your show yesterday. I came downstairs for breakfast now and saw you two here and, like, what are the chances?”
What, indeed? Frank takes a deep breath and runs a whole monologue in his head that goes a little like fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, motherfucker, fuck, no fucking way this is happening, fuck my life, fuck this, oh my God, I almost held his hands, Jesus fucking Christ, Mother of fucking God, FUCK. Then he exhales and extends his hand.
“Looks like it’s your lucky day.”
“Seriously, I know you guys are just having breakfast,” together, at seven in the morning, in a hotel that Frank is not staying in, ohmyfuckinggod, I am never gonna live it down, goes through his head. “But could I maybe get a picture?”
“Yeah, sure,” Frank shrugs. He needs to play it cool. He rolls his shoulders and gets closer to the fan, knowing that his smile is not entirely genuine.
“I– Gerard, can I get you in it, too?”
That does make Frank laugh. Gerard seems to have gone through all five stages of grief between the moment he looks at them and stands up to join them, but Frank feels like maybe he should be thanking that woman for showing up. He feels Gerard’s hand on his shoulder - not squeezing, exactly, just holding - and it makes him relax.
The photo gets taken. The fan thanks them and runs away, excited, leaving them standing there and looking at each other. Frank breaks down first, going into a fit of giggles, and although Gerard looks mostly morose - running his hands down his face and groaning - there is a smile hiding there, too.
Frank commits it to memory when he leans over and grabs his wallet from the table.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promises - and means it. He will spend the train ride to Manchester looking for flights to Los Angeles. Gerard blushes harder, and Frank winks when he throws the bag over his shoulder and sighs. “It really was good to see you.”
“You, too,” Gerard replies, then hesitates for a moment before reaching into his pocket. He hands Frank a piece of folded paper a moment later and covers his hand with his own. “Open it outside.”
“But–”
“Outside, Frankie,” Gerard whispers, then pulls back. “Now go. You don’t wanna be late.”
No, he doesn’t. He moves toward the exit, shooting a yearning glance over his shoulder at Gerard, who is still smiling at him, and his heart is full. It’s fuller than it’s been in years, and as he walks outside the hotel and inhales the first breath of fresh Leeds air, he feels happy.
He looks up at the gray sky, then unfolds the paper. It’s a drawing made with one of Gerard’s markers, one he had to have made when Frank was asleep. It’s messy, the way most of Gerard’s sketches are, but Frank knows exactly what it means. He smiles to himself and carefully refolds the paper before he sighs and walks in the direction of the Leeds train station.
In his pocket, the piece of paper stays safely hidden from the rest of the world, and the sketch on it says only one thing.
California, 2019.