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"Good?" Gerard's hovering over Ray, eyes dark. Ray can't do anything but swallow and nod at first; every time he tugs against the rope around his wrists he feels a twinge low in his belly. They're not cutting off circulation, but they're snug, and the memory of Gerard practicing this while they're riding on the bus makes Ray grin up at him.
"Since when are you such a Boy Scout?"
Gerard laughs. "I've got resources, Toro," which makes Ray snort, because he's seen Gerard's search history. (That's how they got here in the first place, after all.) Gerard moves away and Ray tracks him with his eyes, watching him pull tubes out of his luggage. Gerard's still dressed, and his jeans are tight around his ass when he bends over to dig in a bag.
Gerard comes back to the bed with tubes of paint and a palette. He's looking at Ray's chest like he looks at a new page in a sketchbook or a blank canvas, focused and distant and a little hungry, as if he can see the pattern under Ray's skin and is just waiting to bring it to the surface. Ray's hands twitch and he pulls against the rope to try and grab Gerard, kiss him, but he can't move and Gerard just smiles, watching him.
"You know what to say if you want out," Gerard says, sitting beside him and squeezing dabs of color onto his palette.
"Yeah, yeah, get on with it, Mister Artiste," Ray snorts says, rolling his eyes. Gerard frowns at him and opens his mouth to start one of his lectures and Ray cuts him off by picking his hips up and bumping Gerard's arm. "Focus, Gee."
Gerard sticks his tongue out and reaches up to trail a finger down Ray's body, from wrist to waist. Ray arches up against the touch involuntarily and Gerard makes a tsking noise and frowns down at him before he climbs on top of Ray to straddle his hips. Ray whines and pushes against him, but Gerard's heavy and determined to sit too low for Ray to get any good friction or leverage and he just raises an eyebrow and rides Ray's protest out.
"Done now?" Gerard doesn't even wait for an answer, just grumbles something about twitchy ticklish motherfuckers and swipes up some paint to start outlining on Ray's chest. Ray jumps at the cold paint on his skin but settles before Gerard can complain (he's listened to Gerard bitch at Frank while they're experimenting with tattoo designs often enough) and shuts his eyes. It's different from the normal Gerard-the-artist smell--the theatrical paint smells like shampoo instead of the sharp tang of oils--and beyond it he can smell Gerard's breath (winter mint) and the sweat and grime of tour. Gerard's tracing his chest lightly, the paint almost the only connection between them, and Ray almost thinks he can predict where Gerard's fingers will go next. He's wrong, of course, Gerard doesn't sketch or paint that predictably and so every touch is a surprise. It's all swirls and teasing scratches of nails on his collarbones and nipples and trailing down to his belly.
Ray squirms at that -- not enough to smear, but enough to silently protest. Gerard just says hush and Ray feels lips press lightly under his belly button before Gerard starts painting there, too. Ray sighs, settles, as Gerard crawls between his legs for a better angle and tugs at his jeans with his clean hand. They're old and stained anyway, and Ray really doesn't give a fuck if Gerard gets paint on them if it will get him that much more bare skin. He pulls against the headboard, idly testing it, and opens one eye, raising an eyebrow at Gerard. His mouth feels dry and cottony and it's quiet in the hotel room; Ray doesn't want to break the tension.
He's been around the Way brothers long enough to have picked up on some eyebrow code, anyway, and hurry the fuck up is pretty universal.
Gerard huffs, and like the teasing diva he is makes sure he does it over Ray's cock. It's just heat, but it makes Ray bite back a moan and knee Gerard in the ribs.
Gerard pouts up at him. "Ow, domestic violence much?" He's got his cheek on Ray's thigh, tracing the outline of Ray's cock with his fingers, and Ray growls down at him.
"I'll domestic your violence if you don't get a move on, you--" Ray trails off into a truly embarrassing noise when Gerard drags his teeth over his cock, over his jeans. The denim dulls the edge enough that it's bearable but it's sharp and sudden enough that Ray arches up into him. The rope bites into his wrists and he gasps, "Gerard."
"If I blow you, will you shut up long enough for me to finish?" Gerard says, raising an eyebrow at him as he pulls Ray's jeans down his thighs.
"Yeah, yes," Ray says. He's a little dizzy from how quickly he went from vaguely turned on to fully aroused, and it's odd that Gerard's the one being patient and calm. He can tell Gerard's into it, but he's sublimating, behaving more like he's in a painting mood and Ray's dick is a chore to be taken care of before he can get around to what he's really interested in.
That really shouldn't be as hot as Ray's brain is insisting it is.
Except, when Gerard is trying to cross things off his to-do list to have alone time with his paints and sketchpad, he's quick and sloppy and gets the job done. So before Ray's even done nodding, Gerard's licking his palm and wrapping it around Ray's dick and sucking at the head while his free hand holds Ray's hip down. Ray looks down long enough to see streaks of paint on Gerard's arms and Gerard's lips stretching to swallow him down and he has to shut his eyes before he does something stupid like jerk at the rope again or come in the first thirty seconds because he is not in high school and that is not Marci Jenkins, for Chrissakes.
Even though Gerard is much, much more talented than Marci Jenkins ever was.
It's heat and wet and suction, and Ray can feel spit on his ass and thighs and balls. It's gross in that totally hot way, where he doesn't care at all because he's busy tangling his legs with Gerard's and there are sharp sparks of pain shooting from his wrists and shoulders straight to his cock, as if that's what the rope is tied to. Then Gerard pulls back to press his tongue flat against the head and flick his thumbnail in the sensitive spot just below, the one he figured out during one of their first hotel nights, and Ray's twisting and gasping underneath him. It can't make him orgasm but fuck it feels good and only Gerard's hand on his hip stops Ray from thrusting all the way down his throat.
Gerard chokes anyway, because he's a drama queen that pretends he has a gag reflex until he's on stage or Ray begs, and he pulls off to glare at Ray, coughing exaggeratedly. Ray whines, trying to follow his mouth for a second before he realizes and sinks back against the bed, forces himself to relax and take a deep breath and run through the chords for the bridge of the song they've been working on. Gerard had switched to jerking him off; slow and loose and nowhere near enough, but it's touch and a spot of friction that Ray can focus on, match his breaths with Gerard's rhythm.
Gerard waits until Ray's hips are twitching unconsciously, but he's keeping the rest of his body still, not even whining, before he sucks his way down to his hand. He keeps it coordinated for maybe an 8 count before he's back to playing it quick and dirty. Ray holds out as long as he can, but then Gerard starts using a hint of teeth between dragging his tongue across the slit and twisting his hand just so and lets go of his hip to press his other thumb behind Ray's balls, fingers slipping back to tease. Ray can feel himself trembling, but he doesn't push up or move; all he can do is whine, "fuck, Gee, fuck," and dig a heel into Gerard's back before he comes.
Gerard hums and swallows around him until Ray's done, kissing up his cock to under his belly button. Ray lets out a groan and counts off breaths. His skin is jumping, neurons firing deep inside his muscles, he can feel the racing impulses slowing down to normal; he feels drowsy, like he always does after orgasm. Gerard always laughs and calls him an old man, and then Ray always points out that Gerard is three months older and shuts him up with a kiss.
Tonight, though, it's Gerard leaning up to kiss him, lips hot and swollen and wet. Ray doesn't close his eyes until the last second and Gerard's eyelashes are wet and dark against his pale, pale skin. It's not a deep kiss, just a check-in, a grounding point before Gerard's leaning back. He's got that look in his eyes that means he's far away and designing even while he's scooting down the bed, tugging Ray's jeans off.
"Next time we should do this with you on your front," Gerard says, running a hand down Ray's side. Ray giggles and twitches away from him, light-headed and sensitive.
"Fucker!" Then what Gerard said processes through Ray's lizard brain and he can't stop himself from nodding, tries to at least keep it nonchalant. "Sure, next time."
Gerard's smirk means he probably didn't succeed at keeping it cool.
Ray rolls his eyes and scoots closer to the headboard, checks that he can still move his fingers. He'd asked for rope over solid cuffs, knows how much practice it took for Gerard to be comfortable tying the knots, but the look on kids' faces if he couldn't play--the look on Gerard's face.
It doesn't hurt to check, anyway, and he's fine, of course he is. Gerard may be kind of dumb sometimes, but he's always taken care of Ray. Just like how he leans up now and kisses each knotted cuff in turn, licks at the skin below the rope. Ray can't help a soft gasp at the sensation. It's not quite soothing but it's acknowledgement and it makes him settle, relaxing back against the pillows. His eyes close and his breathing calms; he drifts and listens to Gerard's clothes as he settles back to straddle Ray's thighs.
Gerard starts muttering when he begins painting in earnest, the same half-gibberish mutterings he always makes when he's writing or drawing or painting. Every so often he goes quiet and Ray will open his eyes to watch Gerard chew on his lip and think. When Gerard shoots him a heated look and goes back to work, Ray's brain goes quiet and fuzzy. It's a trip, relaxing enough to let Gerard carry them both, and he feels like he's floating, like he's just run 5 miles in fog.
Gerard's still using his fingers instead of brushes, which Ray is grateful for; brushes fucking tickle. But the paint is slick and cold on Gerard's fingers, a smooth slide across Ray's skin. It's an odd, alien sensation; he can't feel Gerard's calluses at all and there's almost no drag until Gerard uses a fingernail to scratch through a layer of paint. Gerard's careful though, doesn't scratch anywhere that would make Ray jump or twitch.
Ray has no idea how long it's been when Gerard climbs off the bed. Gerard arranges his legs and runs his fingers through Ray's hair, disappears for a moment, and it's not really a surprise when he hears the whirring click of his camera's shutter. Ray can't protest more than murmuring unintelligibly and ducking his head into the crook of his arm.
Gerard only lets him get away with that for a handful of shots before he's back on the bed, turning Ray's face, his fingers soft on Ray's cheek. Ray sighs and goes with it, looking straight up into Gerard's eyes over the camera lens. Gerard doesn't even look at the viewfinder for the last pictures, and Ray knows they'll be unfocused views of his lips or the pillow or his throat, but Gerard won't let him delete them. He never does.
Gerard presses the button one last time and sets the camera down carefully on the nightstand. Ray watches him closely. He's not really sure, right now, if he's watching for his camera or his boyfriend, but once the camera's safe his eyes snap to Gerard's face. Gerard's looking at him with the same earnest, open expression he wears on stage sometimes, when he's really into his speech, but there's a tender sort of intensity to it Ray's not used to. Ray can only meet his eyes for a moment or two before he has to look away, squirming. Gerard looks like he's going to eat him up, a mix of pride and arousal and awe that has Ray's head spinning.
"Gerard," Ray says. His mouth works for another minute and he can't process enough words to say anything other than, "please, I--"
Gerard curses under his breath and brushes his lips across Ray's, apologetically, before he crawls up the bed to kneel up and untie Ray, helping his arms down. Ray's not sure Gerard's ever been quite this careful with him, not even when he first got sober and they were trying to figure everything out. It helps though; helps stop him from drifting away entirely. Gerard's fingers are gentle, massaging Ray's wrists as he unties and tosses the rope aside. He's humming something quietly, half-distracted as he runs through the checklist Ray knows he memorized from the same site as the knots: untie, adjust limbs, check circulation, offer water, drink water, blanket, turn off the light, cuddle.
"Good?" Gerard asks, speaking quietly into his ear this time. Ray nods and relaxes back against him. The list helps; it's like building blocks or steps, a progression into--
Progression. Ray finally wakes up to realize that Gerard's humming something he can build on to fix the new song.
"Whatever it is you're singing, write that shit down before you fall asleep," Ray says.
Gerard snorts back at him. "Sure, I'll get right on that, asshole."
"Hey, you're the one that spent four hours on one lyric today," Ray says. "And who's the asshole that's wearing dirty clothes in bed?"
Gerard makes an affronted noise and opens his mouth to defend himself--probably to say that he washed these jeans at least three weeks ago, which Ray really does not want to hear--but he trails off into a squawk when Ray rolls over and starts unbuttoning his jeans.
"Ray, stop, you're--" Gerard grabs his forearms firmly and gives Ray what he probably thinks is a stern look. "I'm taking care of you, stop that."
Ray doesn't laugh, as much as he wants to. But that's just so very Gerard that it does make him grin and gently break the arm lock to pull him close and kiss him deeply, the kind of kiss that's been on the back of his mind for ages, since Gerard took his shirt off and told him to lay down. He licks into Gerard's mouth and kisses him until Gerard's grabbing at his hips and arching close.
Ray pulls back gently, rests his forehead against Gerard's and kisses his nose. "I'm taken care of, okay? And I'm tired and won't get any sleep with your grody ass clothes and hard-on at my back."
Gerard screws his face up, like he's going to protest more. Ray rolls his eyes and slips his hands under Gerard's shirt, thumbing at the skin beneath his waistband. "Skin, Gee, c'mon."
Gerard gives in then. He lands a sloppy kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Ray's jaw and yanks his t-shirt off. It gets stuck around his head and Ray has to laugh as he unzips Gerard's jeans and tries to tug them down. Gerard flips him off when he finally gets his t-shirt off, but he's grinning and throwing it across the room and thrusting his hips up into the air to kick his jeans and underwear off.
"Jesus, Ray, you were so hot," Gerard says, rolling towards him and tangling their legs together. Gerard's clingy when he can get away with it, likes that it makes everything closer and hotter and sweatier.
Ray's not exactly complaining, with Gerard moaning into his ear and Gerard's knuckles dragging down his chest and belly as he reaches for his own dick. Ray slips a leg higher between Gerard's thighs. "Tell me?" Gerard groans and starts jerking himself off. Ray grins and licks up Gerard's throat, nipping at his neck just to hear him whimper.
"Fuck, just. All stretched out for me," Gerard trails off into a whine when Ray starts sucking at his neck, marking him. The marks on his own wrists will fade by morning and he wants something on Gerard, too. Ray pulls back and watches Gerard, watches the bruise forming and Gerard's hand sliding over his dick. The paint's smearing onto Gerard's legs but in the moonlight it's just dark streaks. He's distracted enough by Gerard riding his thigh that it's startling when Gerard starts talking again, more choked gasps than words, little moans and, "Your mouth, Toro, Jesus Christ."
Ray knows a request when he hears it. He kisses Gerard sloppily and waits until Gerard's close to reach down and wrap his hand around him, helping him pull at the same time he presses his thumb into the bruise on Gerard's neck. Gerard comes all over Ray's hip on a long drawn out fuck and their skin is sticking together everywhere they touch, Gerard's fingernails digging into Ray's ass where he'd pulled them close together.
After Gerard's breaths slow down, he pushes on Ray's hip until he rolls over and lets Gerard snuggle up behind him. It's maybe a little ridiculous to let Gerard be the big spoon, but it's comforting tonight. Gerard's arm is heavy on his waist and he's breathing on Ray's neck in a way that makes him feel warm and lazy and reluctant that Brian will be waking them up at the crack of dawn to get back on the bus.
Ray's half asleep already when he feels Gerard twist around to grab the camera. He half expects Gerard to try and take more pictures, but it's really too dark; there's just beeps as Gerard flips through.
"Frank will never believe you if you say those are from the Internet, you know," Ray says.
Gerard snorts at him and says, "Frank's never going to see them." He puts the camera in front of Ray's face, viewfinder paused on a shot of Ray from the hips up, his face hidden in his arm. It makes him shiver, remembering, and he can feel Gerard's smile on his shoulder as Gerard kisses him. "So pretty, and all mine."
Ray blushes and tries to snark back, "Then what was Thursday about?" He still can't really believe Gerard got him to take his shirt off on stage.
There's a little bit of a growl in Gerard's voice when he scrapes his teeth across the back of Ray's neck and says, "Showing you off."
Ray doesn't really have a retort for that.