Archive of Our Own

.one.

Some things are easier now compared to how they were before. The pressure is less than it used to be. The fun is there when it used to be just a constant rat race to get another show, another sale, to record more, to give the fans more. Frank likes it more this way. He can finally enjoy himself - something he hasn’t felt since as long as the early Black Parade days.

They have more commodities, too, which is fucking awesome. They don’t just have one bus anymore with six grown men squashed in like sardines. If they have six members, they have four buses - one for the two of them, in various combinations - and one for all the shit they need to drag from city to city. Frank’s guitars take up at least half of the gear bus. The rest are other guitars, and bass guitars, and drums, and keyboards, and Gerard’s fucking clothes. So many clothes. One dress on top of another, and boots, and shoes, and shorts, and t-shirts, and everything in between. He can’t imagine they’d all fit into one bus now. If they tried that back in the day, Frank would undoubtedly be sleeping on top of a pair of Gerard’s tights every night.

Not that he doesn’t do it now. He does. It’s just that he chooses to do it, not that he’s forced to.

Some things, like the thing, are harder. They have more space, they have more hotel nights, they have more privacy, but at the same time, they have less. Even in 2010, when they were already a huge band, there were still places they could hide from people. They were big, but they were present, and people didn’t fear it would be their last chance to see them when they spotted them somewhere. Frank could sneak down the venue corridors without having to talk to literally every tech and every staff member. He didn’t have people trailing after him when he just wanted to take a piss.

Now he does, and that’s a problem. Not because he would like to piss without spectators - although, sure, that would be fucking rad - but because his dick has other needs other than pissing. And those needs, as far as he’s concerned, aren’t being met as often as he would like.

The bathroom he’s currently pushing toward is his only hope. There is no other way to describe it. If he doesn’t get in there and if he doesn’t find a lock on the door, he will simply start screaming and won’t stop for hours. Fuck, maybe he doesn’t even need a lock. He just needs people to leave him the fuck alone.

“Frank!” someone yells - he thinks it’s Mikey, but he can’t be sure. “Hey, Frank, wait up!”

“Fuck off!” Frank shouts without even looking over his shoulder. He’s getting to that bathroom, or he’ll die trying.

“That was Mikey,” Gerard giggles from somewhere behind him. He’s not far - he can’t be, not with how Frank is holding onto the front of his shirt, pulling him along. “It was probably important.”

“Fuck Mikey,” Frank snarls. He’s on a mission here, goddamn it. “Whatever it was can wait.”

“Fuck Mikey, uh?” Gerard laughs louder. In moments like this, Frank finds his laughter really fucking annoying. It’s like he doesn’t understand the severity of the situation. Like Frank is still the only one who actually needs this instead of just wanting it, even though he knows it’s not true. “I thought the plan was to do me?”

“Oh, the plan has been to do you for a fucking week already,” Frank growls. He pushes the door to the bathroom with a palm of his hand and - fucking thank you, God - finds it not only open but also unoccupied. There is no lock, but Frank will count his blessings. At least it looks relatively clean. Must be the women’s bathroom. “Get in.”

“Ow, Frank, careful,” Gerard groans when Frank yanks him inside, shutting the door with his foot. “I need this shirt.”

“You have sixty-four other shirts,” Frank says. He gives himself a moment to breathe since he’s already panting, and they haven’t even done anything yet, but it doesn’t work well. Seeing Gerard leaning against the sinks in his sweat-covered shirt (it’s a nice shirt, okay, Frank will give him that), with his hair plastered to his forehead, still breathing heavily after just screaming his heart out on stage, does things to him. Things that involve, but are not limited to, his hands shaking and his dick growing hard in his jeans.

Or, perhaps, growing harder. Frank may have some issues.

“Well, I like this shirt,” Gerard says resolutely.

“Take it off if you want it to survive, then,” Frank stares at him. He’s already wrestling with his own clothes, cursing his broken body for how many layers he needs to wear to function like a normal person. Who the fuck wears a cardigan over a hoodie over a t-shirt over an undershirt? Frank Iero does. He has a few buses and a few ladders to thank for that. “Gerard. I’m so fucking serious right now. Take it off, or I’m ripping it off.”

Gerard’s smile is all teeth. “You’re energetic today.”

He goes on to slowly unbutton the black shirt, though, so Frank bites back a rude remark and settles for drooling all over himself. Fuck, Gerard looks good. He always did, and he always will, but Frank loves his body nowadays. It’s soft in all the right places, the skin bruising easily whenever Frank manages to get his hands on him, the gentle curve of his belly, and the fullness of his thighs. Frank wants to bite him everywhere. He is inconsolable that the marks of his fingers on Gerard’s hips have already faded.

“I’m not energetic, I’m desperate,” Frank says. He decides he can worry about the rest of his clothes later - much later, preferably never - and trips on his cardigan lying on the ground when he charges at Gerard. Gerard is still laughing, and Frank really needs to shut him up.

“Frankie, I think you– hngh!”

Frank sinks his teeth into Gerard’s lower lip as hard as he can and pulls. Gerard sags against the sinks and only by some miracle manages to get his hands on Frank’s shoulders before tumbling to the ground. He’s shaking - already, or still, Frank doesn’t know - and whimpers like he’s been punched when Frank slots a thigh between his legs and presses up.

And there it is. Frank grins when he pulls back.

“Oh, yeah,” he sighs. He lets himself look at Gerard’s suit pants, so very obviously tented from how hard his dick already is. “Oh, yeah.”

“You’re doing something about this?” Gerard asks. He’s breathing heavily, his shoulders raising and falling rapidly under his parted shirt. “Or are you just here to look?”

“I mean,” Frank shrugs. He unzips his hoodie, pulls it down, and throws it somewhere near his cardigan. Probably. He doesn’t see where it lands. “If you wanna jack off while you suck me, that’s fine, too.”

“While I suck you?” Gerard chuckles. “Is that the plan?”

“Fuck, Gee, I don’t have a fucking plan,” Frank rolls his eyes. He presses closer until he can rock his hips against Gerard’s, until he can get his hands on Gerard’s nipples. He loves the reaction that gets him. The arch of Gerard’s back is stunning when he pushes into it, his head falling back. “The only plan I have is that I wanna cum, and I want you to cum. You fine with that, or should I draw you a more elaborate one?”

“No, that– fuck it,” Gerard shakes his head. His hands drop from Frank’s shoulders to his hips, then lower to his ass. He drags him in forcefully, and Frank moans at the sweet, sweet friction on his dick. Fuck , he’s hard. “Fuck it, Frank, just get your dick out, get it out, I wanna blow you, I want you to fuck my mouth, fuck me, motherfucker, just–”

“Guys!”

“I said - fuck off!” Frank growls. He doesn’t even hear the knocking. He doesn’t. It doesn’t matter that someone’s knocking on the door, he doesn’t give a shit about that. Gerard wants to blow him, and Frank needs his mouth around his cock more than he needs air.

“Oh, for the love of– I’m going in!”

“What?!”

The door opens just as Frank manages to drag himself far enough away from Gerard to look at it. Mikey’s face says it all - he’s not happy with what he sees, which is totally fair, because he probably hoped he wouldn’t have to watch (or listen to) his best friend fucking his older brother anymore, but oops. Frank never promised him anything. At least not in that department.

“What the fuck, Mikey?” Gerard says. He doesn’t look embarrassed. He’s more pissed off in that diva way that only Gerard can accomplish, and he looks surprisingly stern for someone who’s having his nipples squeezed. Oh, right. Mikey probably doesn’t need to be seeing that, either. Frank lets his arms drop, although it may be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“The bus call is in,” Mikey looks down at the watch on his wrist. “Exactly three minutes. If we - and I mean all of us, not just me and Ray - aren’t in the buses in the next three minutes, they will drive off without us.”

“No, they won’t,” Frank barks. “We’re the fucking band.”

“Well, the drivers have schedules, and thankfully for them, they don’t actually need to go check if you’re on board when they drive off.”

“What the fuck do you mean by thankfully?”

“It means they don’t need to see what I’m currently seeing,” Mikey rolls his eyes. “Seriously, stop it. We’re going.”

“Fucking– God,” Frank takes a step back - another hardest thing he’s done today, the list just keeps on growing - and runs a hand up his hair. He gives Mikey a hopeful look. “Will you switch with me, then?”

“No.”

“Mikey!”

“No! You need to go over the bridge with Ray. I am not switching with you.”

“The only thing I need to do is get my dick in your brother,” Frank huffs. Gerard giggles somewhere behind him, but Frank doesn’t have it in him to turn around. He’s too busy hopefully killing their bassist so he can take his place on the bus. Mikey doesn’t look impressed with either his words or his attempts at homicide.

“Three minutes,” he says again. “And you’re staying with Ray. End of discussion.”

Then, he walks out like he was never there, and Frank promises himself that he will get revenge. One day. Probably not today because he doesn’t even know how long it’ll take them to get to the bus, and he would really rather not Uber all the way to fucking Sacramento.

“Sorry,” Gerard laughs. He brings Frank closer again and kisses him - deep and slow, like the three minutes don’t matter at all. Frank dies a little inside when he kisses him back. “I promise I’ll blow you next time.”

“I may die,” Frank tells him. Gerard giggles and kisses him again before grabbing his hand. It’s fucking uncomfortable to walk with a hard-on, but he lets himself be led out of the bathroom, collecting his scattered clothes on his way. “Gerard, I may die!”

“You won’t,” Gerard shrugs. “You can always jerk off in your bunk.”

And, yeah, he can, but it’s not the same.

Frank sighs. Some things are definitely harder these days. Sometimes, he misses their small, smelly van.

.two.

“Motherfucker, ow, fuck–”

“Gee?”

Frank knocks softly on the door to their tiny bus bathroom. The sounds coming from the other side are worrisome, to say the least. The grunting and groaning he could explain as Gerard just having fun - which still, rude, Frank should be involved in that - but “motherfucker” and “ow” are usually not the best signs. Given how things have been going lately, Frank wonders if Gerard has cut his balls again. That would be something, and, no, it should not be getting Frank going as much as it does.

“Fuck, ow, ow, ow,” Gerard’s voice filters through. “Jesus–”

“Gee!” Frank knocks again. “You good?”

“Yeah!” Gerard groans. He sounds really distressed, though. “Gimme a second, Frankie, just– fuck.”

Frank is ready to organize an intervention at that point, but then he hears something fall to the ground, yet another grunt, and then Gerard pushes the door open so hard it nearly gets Frank in the face. He manages to jump back just in time to avoid getting his nose broken, which he really does not need, and then immediately, he becomes sure that someone did the exact same thing to Gerard.

Blood. Blood everywhere. His stomach lurches, then lurches again when Gerard blinks at him, but for entirely different reasons.

“What?”

“Neat, huh?” Gerard’s grin is wide and sort of scary, especially when it’s coupled with the full, completely, absolute blackness of his eyes.

“I– you– motherfucker,” Frank whispers. He kind of wants to touch, but the fake blood running from Gerard’s eyes down to his cheeks still looks wet and fresh. “What?”

“I mean, it looks awesome, doesn’t it?” Gerard says like he’s unaware of the distress Frank is currently in. Maybe he is. Frank isn’t sure if he can see anything. “Kinda hard to see shit,” duh. “But I saw some of it, and fuck it’s good. Those fucking lenses hurt like a bitch, though.”

“Gerard.”

“But you know,” Gerard continues, bypassing Frank to walk back to their bunks, where his outfit is spread out on his narrow bed. Frank follows him like a dog on a leash, and he thinks he may be panting like one, too. Black shirt, black suit pants, elegant shoes. Jesus Christ. “Anything for the look, or whatever.”

“Gerard.”

“Hmm?”

Correction: Frank isn’t a dog. Frank is a wolf, and he’s hungry, and he’s going to have a feast. Gerard seems temporarily surprised when Frank grabs his hips in a vice-like grip, then yelps when Frank pushes him down onto the nearest bunk. It’s one Mikey uses when he shares the bus with Gerard, but Frank sincerely doesn’t give a shit.

He nearly knocks himself across the head again when he crowds close to Gerard - it’s a narrow fit, those bunks are a pain in the ass - but then he has Gerard splayed on his back, his soft hair on the pillow, his black eyes gazing up at him, and yes. Yes.

Or perhaps - no. This doesn’t feel right. Frank grunts, curses his bones, and his back, and the bunks, and the entirety of the tour along with the band, and does his best to turn them on the narrow bed. Gerard snorts, then cries out when Frank pulls him on top of himself, and his head hits the top of the bunk above.

“Frankie, what the fuck–”

“Good,” Frank decides. Yes, that’s a lot better. He rolls his shoulders, sighs, and reaches for Gerard’s thighs - full and naked in his shorts and oh-so-delicious. “Alright. You’re gonna fuck me now.”

Gerard giggles. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Is it the eyes or the blood?”

“Does it matter?” Frank cocks his eyebrow at him. For a forty-one-year-old man, he sure has some exceptional ability to get hard in under one second when Gerard is on top of him. Or below him. Or behind him, or next to him, or in any other combination that puts him in close proximity. He slides his hands inward and finds Gerard’s dick under the fabric of his shorts. Half-hard. He can work with that.

“It sort of does, actually,” Gerard snorts. He’s bent forward with one of his hands pressed squarely to Frank’s chest, which makes him look more dangerous. “I wanna know what will get people’s attention.”

“You’ll get people’s attention,” Frank rolls his eyes. “You’re getting my attention. And now I would really appreciate it if you paid some attention to my ass.”

“It’s late, though. We need to leave in, like, ten minutes.”

“I can make you cum in eight.”

“You know, technically,” Gerard sighs, running his hand up to grasp Frank’s nipple through his t-shirt. The fabric is rough against it, and Frank gasps, arching slightly. Fuck, it feels so good it has him throbbing. “I think it should be the other way around.”

“Gee–”

“No, no, hear me out, hang on,” Gerard starts wriggling on top of him, apparently trying to get them back to how they were before. Frank is just on the right side of desperate to let him flip them back around. Gerard’s soft, pale thighs curl around his hips when he does, and Frank’s cock gets even more on board.

“Gerard, I will murder you,” Frank says slowly. He’s unbuckling his belt with one hand, has the other curled around Gerard’s cock - more than half-hard now due to Frank rubbing it as eagerly as he can. “No talking.”

“But it makes sense!”

“You know what makes sense? This,” Frank squeezes around Gerard’s cock once more, harder, feeling it twitch in his hand. Fuck yes. “This. Inside me. Immediately.”

“We can’t.”

“What the fuck do you mean we can’t?”

“It has to be you!”

“I mean, listen,” Frank grins down at him. He’s managed to open his jeans, he has a hand down his boxers, his cock is hard, and it’s leaking, and it’s great. All is fucking fantastic. He just needs to hike Gerard’s legs up, and he’s golden. “If you insist.”

“You should cuff me, too.”

And now he’s not golden anymore. Again.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he frowns. “Cuff you with what? And to what, the steering wheel? We’re on a fucking bus!”

“But you gotta,” Gerard frowns. He’s not even attempting to help, just lying there and pondering, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Frank is about to swallow his cock down his throat in the next three seconds. “‘Cause, you know, like, the eternal battle of good versus evil? Like, I’m evil, obviously, since, you know,” he points at his face like it explains everything. “And you’re good, so you should cuff me, and you should fuck me.”

Dear God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, and Mary, Frank is about to murder him. Or perhaps he should be addressing the other side. Dear Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, and other dark lords.

“I just wanna get off, dude,” Frank pulls a face. “I genuinely don’t give a shit if you fuck me, or if I fuck you, or if we jerk each other off, just–” he forcefully grabs Gerard’s wrist and guides it to where he needs it. It makes him sigh when Gerard frowns, fingers curling around Frank’s dick. “Yeah, yes, you can just– fucking move, alright, I just need–”

“Nah,” Gerard pulls his hand back. Frank will actually start crying. “Gotta be the other way around. You were, like, the altar boy.”

“Wanted to be the altar boy, never actually was, fucking Jesus, Gerard.”

“Okay, but you were all holy and shit, and I’m a demon, so–”

“Fine!”

He’s done. He’s done. He has a fleeting thought that it’s all not worth the fucking struggle, he could just jerk off while looking at Gerard, and it would be enough, but - hey, his hand is never as good as Gerard’s hand, mouth, or ass, and jerking off is all he’s been doing lately. It’s his turn to whine when he hits his head on the bunk, but fuck if he’s not going to ignore it. He grabs Gerard’s hips, somehow manages to roll him over, and drags his shorts down to his thighs with one sharp yank.

“See?” Gerard mumbles, craning his neck to prevent the blood from getting all over the pillow. “That wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“I’m fucking hard,” Frank barks. He leans over Gerard and rolls his hips into him, dragging his cock against the soft skin of his ass for emphasis.

The idea of fucking a demon should not be getting Frank hard. That’s a fact. He isn’t even remotely as “holy” as he used to be as a child - he doesn’t know where he stands with the whole religion slash God bullshit, nor does he particularly care - but he has to admit, Gerard might’ve been right. It’s hot. It would have been hot to get fucked by a demon, too (Frank still has issues, that hasn’t changed), but he’s a flexible kinda guy. He kneads Gerard’s ass as roughly as he can, pulling his cheeks apart, and decides - sure. He’ll fuck a demon. Whatever!

“Frankie,” Gerard gasps when Frank rolls his tongue around his mouth and spits right on his hole. It twitches, and so does Frank’s dick, and oh, he is so fucking ready to be inside him. “Wait.”

“You must be fucking kidding me.”

“Handcuffs,” Gerard says in a voice that leaves no room for negotiations.

“We don’t have handcuffs.”

“Well, then make them, dumbass,” Gerard huffs. “Like, you have a belt? Or there should be my scarf somewhere in my bunk.”

“I–”

“Hold on, let me just,” Gerard wriggles again, Jesus fucking Christ, when he tries to push Frank off of him.

“No.”

“Frankie!”

“No!” Frank whines. He tries to grip him tighter, prevent him from getting up and walking away to look for the fucking scarf, but Gerard is stronger than he looks. He knocks Frank off of him - again - and scrambles to his feet. He looks fucking comical with his dick hanging out of his shorts and the blood running down his face, so Frank laughs. Loud.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up,” Frank grins. He’s on his side now, stroking his cock because Gerard is a rude, cruel man, and Frank will have to get himself off. Whatever. “Can you hurry up?”

“On it,” Gerard nods. He looks around, trying to locate the scarf, but it’s nowhere to be seen. “You know what? I think we have, like, cable ties in the kitchen. I’m gonna–”

But he doesn’t get to tell Frank what he’s gonna do. Frank is in the middle of an absolutely delicious upstroke, all thumb around the slit and a moan bubbling out of his chest, and Gerard looks like he’s about to whine when the knock comes. Frank didn’t even think he was still capable of springing to his feet this fast, but he does now and only manages to yank his jeans up enough to poorly cover his boner.

He throws the door open about as heavily as Gerard did before, and this time, it’s Ray who almost risks getting his nose broken.

Fucker. He’d deserve it.

“What?”

“I, uhh–” Ray looks at him quizzically. “We, umm. Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Yes, you fucking are,” Frank barks. “What do you want?”

 “Frankie!” Gerard yells from the kitchen. “I found the cable ties!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Ray groans. He looks down at Frank’s crotch, then back up at his face. “I’m leaving. We’re soundchecking in five.”

“Tell them to delay it. I need ten minutes.”

“We already delayed it fifteen minutes. At this rate, we won’t soundcheck at all.”

“But,” Frank actually pouts. Right there, like a child who was denied a lollipop. It’s a strangely fitting comparison, and he winces. “But Ray. He’s a demon.”

“I don’t care what he is,” Ray shakes his head. “He could be fucking Jesus himself, the soundcheck is still in five.”

“You owe me an orgasm,” Frank says grimly. It’s worth it, though - the look on Ray’s face is the clearest, most stunning example of terror Frank has ever seen. “Like, metaphorically. I don’t wanna fuck you, dude.”

“Great. That’s– great,” Ray closes his eyes. “Five, guys. If you’re not there, we’re not playing a show.”

“No, we gotta,” Gerard says from right behind Frank’s shoulder. When Frank cranes his neck, praying to anyone who’s listening that Gerard has had enough mental capacity to pull his shorts back up, he finds him grinning at Ray. Ray’s terror, if possible, grows more prominent. “Neat, huh?” he asks again, pointing at his face. “We can be there in five. I just gotta change.”

“Cool,” Ray nods and takes a hesitant step back. Then another. And another. “Be there. I’m gonna– yeah. Later.”

Frank watches him go for a few seconds too long. He’s wasting time. He could be doing things! When he whirls around, though, Gerard is already back at the bunk area, his shorts are on the floor, and he’s dragging the pants up his legs.

“Seriously?” Frank groans.

“Seriously. We gotta go, Frankie.”

“No, Gee, no, wait,” Frank whines pathetically, pointing at his - still pretty hard - cock. “What about this? What about me?”

Gerard grins at him over his shoulder.

“I’m evil, remember?” he wiggles his eyebrows. “This is why you don’t make deals with the Devil.”

Frank really fucking hates him.

“I really fucking hate you.”

“I know,” Gerard shrugs, then shakes his hips after making sure Frank is still looking. “You can come over after the show, and we’ll see what I can do to help you.”

“Fuck you,” Frank sighs. “Help me. Yeah, right.”

“I’ll blow you in the shower. I promise.”

“You’ll be whiny, and your eyes will hurt, and you won’t take a shower because you’ll want to sleep.”

“Potentially,” Gerard agrees. His face softens after that, which looks fucking strange with the eyes and the blood, and Frank can’t even be angry at him anymore. “You still have those hayfever eye drops, right?”

Frank inhales deeply and wills his boner away.

“Yeah, baby,” he sighs, coming over and pressing a kiss to Gerard’s nape. “I’ll apply them for you later.”

“Thanks, Frankie,” Gerard smiles at him. “You’re the best.”

It’s a nice thing to hear, so Frank can’t complain. It would be a lot nicer to hear that if Gerard was balls deep in his ass, but oh, well. He figures he can’t always get what he wants.

.three.

The sneeze is loud and strong enough to make Frank’s head explode in pain. It tickles something in his throat, too, and turns into a series of coughs, making his entire body shoot up from the bed.

When he’s finally done and can breathe again - more or less - he looks down at his hand and finds it covered in what he swears must be brain matter.

“Ugh,” he grunts, giving himself a moment to establish if he wants to get up and wash it. He doesn’t, but wiping it away against the bed or his t-shirt isn’t an option, either. “Ugh.”

Two tissues appear in front of his face - one is wet, and one is dry. Frank squints, trying to remember if he ordered room service, and the hotel somehow magically knew that he needed tissues. He doesn’t recall that, though, and he is pretty sure no member of the hotel staff would be sneaking a hand under his sweat-soaked t-shirt to touch his back. Frank blinks. His eyes are watering a little, but the face he sees looks familiar.

“You look like shit.”

Yeah, that settles it. Frank accepts the tissues to wipe his hand clean, but he doesn’t have a better comment than yet another:

“Ugh.”

“That bad, huh?” Gerard asks.

“I feel like shit, too,” Frank agrees. His voice sounds rough. There is an unmistakable rumble in it that can only indicate there is mucus sliding from his sinuses down to his throat. Great. “Sexy, huh?”

“Very,” Gerard’s laugh is quiet. He keeps rubbing Frank’s back, and his hand should feel warm - Frank knows it should, he knows Gerard runs hot in hotel rooms, especially if he settled on wearing the shortest shorts Frank has ever seen - but it still makes him shiver. He must be running a fever. “Did you take something?”

“Dude, I took, like,” Frank waves his hand in the direction of the nightstand. “Half of a pharmacy, I think.”

“But it didn’t help.”

“It’ll help eventually,” Frank shrugs. He knows he will get back on his feet in the two days they can now spend sprawled on hotel beds with nothing to do, but two days currently feel like a lifetime. A lifetime of wasted opportunities. “But shit, I had plans.”

Gerard chuckles. “I know.”

“I was going to fuck you,” Frank grumbles. He’s fully aware that he’s being a big whiny baby, but he not only had plans, but ambitious plans. “I can’t believe we finally have two hotel nights, and I’m sick.”

“Better now than if we were on the road,” Gerard strokes his back again. “You’ve got time to recover.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have time to stick my dick in you,” he rolls his eyes, making Gerard laugh again. “But we can, hold on. You could–”

“No.”

“Gee.”

“I am not fucking you when you’re sick,” Gerard says firmly.

“I’m not contagious. I think.”

“You didn’t check?”

“I have tests. Somewhere. I don’t know,” he shakes his head, which is a horrible idea because it makes his sinuses hurt even more. “Fuuuuuck.”

“Okay, roll over,” Gerard softly swats his side. Frank grunts. “I’m serious. Roll over.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Frank, you roll over right now, or you won’t be touching me for the next month.”

“This is blackmail,” Frank says, rolling onto his back. It makes him slightly dizzy, but at least he has a perfect view of Gerard’s pretty face hovering above him now. You lose some, you win some. “There. Happy?”

Gerard smiles. “Very. Now stay like that.”

Frank watches him stand up to rummage through the contents of the nightstand. His entire first aid kit is there, which consists of pretty much every existing medication ever, and Gerard looks triumphant when he returns with a slim box Frank knows all too well. He groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, but Gerard is unrelenting. He disappears into the bathroom - there is a sound of water running as he washes his hands, then a slap of latex against his skin when he puts the gloves on - and then he’s back, grinning menacingly and holding a swab between his fingers.

“No,” Frank shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, nope, not consenting to this.”

“C’mon, baby,” Gerard grins wider. “Just because you’re too sick to fuck, doesn’t mean I can’t still put something in you and get something sticky in return.”

“You are... so gross,” Frank lets his head fall back against the pillows. He hates the swab test more than he hates the sickness itself, and he hates the idea of Gerard poking around inside his nose even more. There are a little bit too many sadistic tendencies in this man to just freely let him into your sinuses.

“What if it’s covid, though? Or a flu?”

“Then I guess it’s covid,” Frank shrugs, but he’s already tilting his head. There is no fighting Gerard on this, and honestly, deep down, he wants to know. If Gerard is right and it is any of these things, then he’s out. He can’t tour until he gets better - and that’s assuming he gets better with his shitty immune system self-sabotaging itself - and he definitely needs to stay away from Gerard. He groans louder. “God, alright, fuck. Just– be quick about it.”

“I need to be thorough.”

“You should at least let me jerk you off for this,” Frank mumbles. He inhales sharply when he sees Gerard approaching and clenches his fists around the bedsheets. “Or, like, seriously, you could fuck me.”

“Frankie–”

“No, ‘cause see, here’s the thing, I want to,” Frank explains. Is he stalling? Absolutely. “Like, my mind is telling me that I want to, but my body doesn’t want to cooperate.”

“Golden rule of fucking,” Gerard shrugs. He leans in, and his hand feels even weirder on the side of Frank’s face now that he’s wearing gloves. He angles the swab so Frank can see it and shakes it slowly. “If your dick’s not hard, it’s not happening.”

“But– mghh!”

Fuck, it sucks. It sucks every time he has to go through this, but it’s so much worse when it’s Gerard. When Frank does it himself, he never goes this deep, but, of course, Gerard has no reservations. He pushes the swab in, and in, and in, and Frank chokes and jolts on the bed when he starts rotating it. It tickles, and it hurts, and his eyes water when he clasps his hands around Gerard’s wrist, trying to push him away.

“Shh, relax,” Gerard whispers. “Take it easy baby, almost there, almost– there. Okay,” he pulls the swab out, and Frank sneezes immediately, rocking forward on the bed. “Lie back down. We gotta do the other one.”

“No,” Frank’s fingers tighten around Gerard’s forearm. “No, no, no–”

He doesn’t listen. Why would he? The second swab is even worse because it’s the infected part of his sinuses, and Frank’s downright crying by the time Gerard feels like he’s been thorough enough. He looks awfully proud of himself when he leans back.

“Good boy,” he says. Frank thinks he’s grinning - it’s hard to see anything now that his eyes are runny, and he keeps sneezing. He still has his hands somewhere on Gerard’s arm, though, so he squeezes as hard as he can to show his disapproval. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We both know you like it deep.”

“I fucking–,” Frank sneezes again, then angrily wipes his eyes. “Hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Frank runs a hand down his face. God, he cannot believe how unlucky he is. “Can I at least watch you?”

“Watch me what?”

“Watch you get off,” he clarifies. “Like, can you at least– come on, can you take these off?”

“Frankie, you do realize how weird this is, right?” Gerard grins at him, but Frank doesn’t care. Gerard’s thigh feels strange under his hand, both hot and cold at the same time, and although he can barely make his muscles work, he still tries to clutch. It’s a weak-ass grip. He won’t be leaving marks this time.

“I’m sick. The least you could do is provide some entertainment.”

“This is your entertainment,” Gerard points at the swab, which is currently swimming in a solution tube.

“Fascinating,” Frank deadpans. He shivers at the same time, though, and nearly knocks the entire thing onto the ground. “Fuck, aren’t you cold? It’s cold.”

“It’s, like, seventy-four degrees in here.”

“No, it fucking isn’t.”

“It is,” Gerard points to the thermostat with one of his gloved hands. “I checked.”

“God,” Frank waits until Gerard gets the whole chemistry kit away from the bed and yanks the covers up.

“Okay, this takes fifteen minutes,” Gerard carefully places the swab and the test back on the nightstand. “You sit here and be good, and I’ll get you some more blankets.”

“Or you could warm me up by - go figure - fucking me.”

“You’re really set on this, aren’t you?” Gerard laughs when he stands up. He gazes down at himself - stretched t-shirt, booty shorts, flip-flops - then shrugs and tears the gloves off.

“Yes.”

“Tough shit.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Hold that thought,” Gerard points at him. “And don’t leave the bed. I’ll be right back.”

Frank, obviously, leaves the bed the moment Gerard is gone. In his eternal mercy, Gerard forgot to leave a water bottle close to the bed, and Frank needs to both drink and piss almost desperately at that point. Pissing with the fever is like doing everything else with a fever - fucking miserable - and he ends up trembling and wiping the sweat from his forehead even before he’s done. Feeling brave, he crawls into the shower next and regrets it the moment water hits his skin. He must be really burning up because it feels horrible, but at least he doesn’t smell like he’s a rotting corpse anymore.

He takes a skeptical look at his cock, nudging it with his hand. He tries to conjure up the most explicit memories - of Gerard tied up on the bed, Gerard on his knees, Gerard riding him - but his dick doesn’t even twitch. Disappointing but not entirely surprising.

He doesn’t know whose clothes he puts on. All he knows is that there are a lot of them. It doesn’t change anything - he still has a headache, he still has a fever, and he’s still shaking.

“Jesus,” he grunts when he crawls back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

Thankfully, he doesn’t pull it over his head because he would never forgive himself for not seeing Gerard walking back into the room a few minutes later. Frank’s eyes must be really wide because Gerard blushes and uses his foot to close the door behind him.

“Surprise!”

“Have you seen yourself?” Frank finds himself asking.

Cause, see, Gerard is still in his booty shorts and his flip-flips, but now he also has a blanket over his head. It’s a huge, fluffy blanket - one no hotel ever offers, so Frank doesn’t even want to think whose dick Gerard had to suck to get it - and it’s falling over his shoulders all the way to his knees. It’s honestly impressive that Gerard hasn’t tripped over it, and Frank knows he hasn’t because he’s also holding a) a cup of what looks like tea in his left hand and b) a bowl of what looks and smells like soup in his right.

“Umm,” Gerard frowns. It makes the blanket slide an inch lower onto his forehead. “Why?”

“No reason,” Frank grins at him, but he can tell the feelings make their way to his face when he sits a little straighter when Gerard comes closer. “You brought me chicken soup?”

“Vegetable broth,” Gerard shakes his head as he hands it to Frank. “Made sure there was no meat in it. Here, lift your arms a bit–” The blanket lands on Frank’s lap, and Gerard tucks it firmly around his body along with the bedsheets. “And the tea is peppermint. Should, like, help with congestion.”

Frank stares at him for a moment. “You brought me vegetable broth.”

Gerard blinks. “Yes?”

“Gerard. You brought me vegetable broth.”

“I– what’s your point?”

If Frank could explain what the point was, he would have a lot fewer issues in life. He makes sure the bowl sits steadily on his lap, then reaches over to touch Gerard’s hand.

“I love you.”

“Because I brought you vegetable broth,” Gerard cocks his eyebrow at him. “Fuck, if I knew that’s all it takes, I’d do that ages ago.”

“It’s all of it,” Frank hums when he sniffs the soup. It smells rich, and when he swallows the first spoonful, it tastes like garlic and ginger. Spicy, hot. It makes his eyes water, and the next time he inhales, he can feel the burn of it in his sinuses. Perfect. “Mostly the soup, though.”

“And the tea,” Gerard points out. He nudges Frank’s shoulder and plumps down on the bed next to him, leaning over the nightstand. “Oh, hey. Negative.”

“For both?”

“Yep,” he clicks his tongue. “It’s not covid, and it’s not flu.”

Frank bites off a piece of carrot, then stuffs the rest of it into his mouth before replying as he chews. “Does it mean you’ll fuck me now?”

“No,” Gerard rolls his eyes at him. “But it means we can cuddle and watch whatever stupid movie is playing. How’s that?”

Frank thinks about the pros and cons of it. Cons are obvious - he is not putting his dick anywhere interesting (not that it wants to go anywhere, Frank still can’t seem to convince it), and he’s not getting Gerard’s anywhere interesting, either. It means that he will have to go another week without fucking because they’ll be out of the hotel in two days and then on the road, and Frank will have to share with Ray again, but hey, hey. Pros. Gerard’s warm body, his movie commentary, and the general awesomeness of spending uninterrupted time together.

Do the pros outnumber the cons? No. But is it still worth it?

“Fine,” Frank sighs, letting Gerard wrap an arm around him as he reaches for the remote. “But you’re jerking off later and letting me watch.”

Gerard giggles when he presses a kiss to the side of his head. “If your fever goes down, I’ll even let you do it.”

Alright. Frank can definitely work with that. He grins around another carrot and snuggles closer to Gerard’s side.

.four.

“Frankie,” Gerard murmurs right into his ear. His little teeth will never stop surprising Frank with how sharp they are as he bites into his earlobe. “Frankie, Frankieee!”

“I know,” Frank grunts. He hooks his fingers tighter around Gerard’s waist. “I’m working on it.”

“Work faster.”

“You could help, you know?” Frank gives him a skeptical look, then goes back to gazing behind the corner. There are still people there, talking like they have all the time in the world. Jesus, don’t people have better shit to do before a rock show than stand around having conversations?

“I’m helping,” Gerard shrugs. He rocks his hips into him at the same time, and Frank has to clasp a hand over his own mouth to stop himself from moaning when Gerard’s cock rubs against his ass. “See? Helpful.”

“The exact fucking opposite of helpful,” Frank whispers. He checks the corridor again and, seriously, he needs to have a conversation with someone about people slacking at work. Gerard rubs against him again, with more intent this time, his sneaky hands finding their way under the belt of Frank’s pants and down the front. Frank shivers when he feels nails scratching the coarse hair right above his dick. “Seriously, dude, stop it.”

“But Fraaaaank,” Gerard whines - he has a great voice for sounding like a whiny little asshole when he wants to, all high and nasal, driving Frank up the fucking wall. “I wanna suck you off.”

“Listen, princess,” Frank whirls around, successfully dislodging Gerard’s hands. Which would be awesome in general, ten out of ten, if he didn’t accidentally force them to the back of his pants instead. Now Gerard has a firm hold of his cheeks, kneading and pulling. Great. “And I would love to have my dick down your throat, but in case you haven’t fucking noticed, we’re in the middle of a crowded backstage of an even more crowded venue, and I can’t exactly whip my junk out in here and shove it inside you.”

Gerard’s eyes are huge when he blinks at him.

“Hot.”

“Oh, my fucking–!” Frank groans. It hurts when he hits himself in the face with an open palm, but it has the desired effect. Gerard chuckles, takes a step forward, subsequently pushes Frank a step back, and has him pressed against the wall the next second with his hands still on Frank’s ass. And, alright. Frank agrees. Hot.

“We could do this instead,” Gerard murmurs, going back to biting Frank’s ear. He’s going at it like he suddenly remembered the aesthetics of their first two albums and realized he was supposed to be a hungry vampire. Frank lets out a throaty moan, shivering. “Do you think you can still cum like this?”

“Jesus, Gee.”

“You could before,” Gerard continues. Frank has to admit, his quiet voice whispering things right to his ear does things to him. He’s ready to protest loudly when Gerard moves one of his hands away, but Gerard is faster again. “And it’s so much better now, isn’t it? Look down, Frankie.”

Frank does and chokes on his spit immediately. Gerard has the hem of his green dress hiked all the way up to his belly, and his cock looks fucking obscene under the fabric of his white briefs. His thighs do, too - they’re so full, so soft, and now also waxed and shiny from the lotion Gerard slathered all over them. Frank’s jeans feel very constrictive all of a sudden.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He can’t tear his gaze away when Gerard pulls him in again, and he can see the head of his dick shifting under the white fabric when he thrusts slowly into Frank.

“Remember when we used to do this after the shows?” Gerard teases him. He keeps rubbing, keeps moving, and Frank’s toes curl in his sneakers at how fucking good it feels. “You’d press me into a wall in the corner of a dressing room with everyone else just a few feet away, and you’d get us both off this way. You had to put your hand on my mouth, remember?” Gerard smiles. Frank shudders. “I was moaning too loudly, remember, baby? Remember how you made me moan?”

“Jesus,” Frank finally finds Gerard’s shoulders and clutches. His knees are wobbling and the longer Gerard talks, the longer he rocks against him, the closer to spilling Frank is. “Jesus fucking Christ–”

“I’ll be loud again,” Gerard threatens. He has that shit-eating grin on his face now, and Frank’s mind short-circuits when he lets go of his dress and lets his hand fall between his own legs. “Gonna jerk off right here, Frankie, you look so pretty that I don’t need a lot. Gonna moan your name so loud. You better shut me up before everyone knows.”

“Fucking– oh my God,” Frank’s fingers dig into Gerard’s shoulders even harder, and he has to clear his throat a few times before he can bring his authoritative voice back around. “Stop. Stop touching yourself.”

“Frank,” Gerard’s mouth falls open, and the name sounds a little too close to a moan for Frank to be able to ignore it. “Frank, I–”

“Let’s go,” Frank grabs Gerard’s wrist, forcefully dragging his hand from underneath his skirt. His fingers brush over Gerard’s cock as he does it, and Gerard sags against him with a whine. As far as Frank can tell, he is spectacularly hard. “Let’s go. I don’t even care if they see us. Let’s just– we’re going. We gotta run, baby, you gotta run,” he tells Gerard as sternly as he can. “If they spot us, we’re fucked.”

“I’ll run,” Gerard nods. “Where are we going?”

Fuck if Frank knows. Anywhere that isn’t a hallway anyone could walk up to at any given moment. Anywhere vacant, like a bathroom, or a dressing room, or a closet. Or the stairs leading outside. Fuck, yes, no one is going to be leaving the venue before the show, right? Right.

“There,” Frank points with his finger. The red sign above one of the doors reads EXIT. “We’re running. C’mon.”

They run. Gerard’s dress flutters around his thighs as they do, but Frank is pretty certain no one saw them - especially not the group of techs still chattering in the hallway. He pushes the door open with his shoulder and drags Gerard in like his life depends on it. It sort of does at this point. The zipper of his jeans is pressing so hard into his dick that it’s painful, and Frank would prefer not to lose his dick.

The stairs won’t do it, though - fuck, there are cameras here. Frank groans and keeps running - down the stairs, around the corner, down another short hallway, in the direction of another EXIT sign. Another door, and then another, and they’re outside. Fuck yeah, they’re outside, and it’s a side alley, and there is absolutely no one here.

Gerard throws him against the wall with a strength Frank wouldn’t accuse him of having. His elbow hits something - a dumpster, Frank doesn’t even want to begin thinking how dirty that thing is - but he can’t be worried about it. Gerard’s hands are on his belt, working furiously, unbuckling it, pulling it apart, and his eyes are wide and needy. 

“Yes, yeah, Frankie, yes, yes,” he says. The button is next, then the zipper, and Frank’s dick can finally breathe. He lets out a relieved sigh, letting his head knock against the wall.

“I can’t believe we’re doing it in a back alley,” he says, sinking his fingers into Gerard’s hair. He tries to push him down, but he doesn’t really have to. Gerard turns them around so he’s the one against the wall, and his legs fold underneath him as he kneels. Fuck, it looks even more obscene now when he sneaks a hand under his skirt. Frank swallows. “Pull it up, I wanna see.”

“You won’t be seeing anything,” Gerard smirks at him. He yanks Frank’s jeans and underwear just low enough to have access, not bothering with teasing him anymore. Frank moans softly when Gerard’s fingers curl around his cock. “I’ll have your eyes rolling into the back of your head in no time.”

“I don’t care,” Frank shakes his head and forces himself to keep looking. Gerard always looks good on his knees, but there is something about seeing him like this, kneeling on the pavement, probably hurting himself, just so he can get his mouth around Frank. It makes Frank’s hand tighten in his hair, a flare of possessiveness shooting through his body. “C’mon, baby. Hike your pretty dress up.”

“Fuck,” Gerard breathes out. He struggles for a second or two, and then Frank has a perfect view of him stroking himself. “Oh, fuck, Frank, you’re so hard.”

“Yep,” Frank shrugs. “Gonna do something about it?”

Gerard bats his eyelashes at him. “Yes,” he whispers, licking his lips. Frank’s body starts vibrating. “Right this moment, actually.”

Frank leans into him, making Gerard’s hot breath wash over the head. He’s already leaking, and he has to slam a hand into the wall to hold himself from crushing into Gerard from how fucking good it feels. He gives him a tentative lick - just the tip of his tongue, right in the slit, pressing in just the way Frank likes - and Frank’s nails rake down the concrete.

“Gonna fuck your mouth,” Frank whispers. He adjusts himself - one hand on the back of Gerard’s head to shield it from the wall, the other on the side of his jeans, holding them from sliding to the ground - and rolls his hips slowly until his cock sits on Gerard’s bottom lip. God, what a sight that is. “Gonna fuck your mouth so hard the whole venue will hear it when you sing later.”

Gerard moans, high and needy. He’s jerking himself off already, slowly, careful not to cum before Frank.

“Please,” he whispers. “You taste so good, you gotta cum down my throat, Frank, please–”

Frank slides in slowly, and his head falls back when he can’t stop himself, groaning. Gerard’s mouth has been made for sucking cock - so tight, so wet, so skilled, and it’s all for Frank. He opens up beautifully for him, too, until Frank can bury himself all the way down, until he feels Gerard’s throat fluttering around the head of his cock.

“Fuck, Gee,” he sighs. “You are so–”

“Holy fuck, that’s Frank Iero!”

Frank is certain he has never had panic flood him as quickly as it does at that very moment. His head snaps up, mouth still open around a moan that he never let out, and sure enough - there is a group of people at the end of the alleyway, and they are looking straight at him.

Oh, fuck.

Gerard looks about as scared as he must feel when Frank gazes down at him, and holy Jesus, Frank still has his cock in his mouth, and he’s still hard. He pulls back roughly, and Gerard chokes, slapping a hand over his mouth to hide it. Jesus, there’s nowhere to hide. The alley is long and straight, and if Gerard stands up, the fans will undoubtedly see him, too, and they will have a really hard time explaining why he was hiding behind a dumpster.

“Frank,” Gerard whispers. Christ, his hand is still– “Frank!”

Frank gives himself exactly a second to pray God will listen to his prayers of not losing his dick, then shoves it roughly back into his underwear. It fucking hurts, and it hurts even more when he drags his jeans up over it, but he manages to hide it from the world. Sort of. It’s very obviously still hard. He gives Gerard one more panicked look.

“Jacket,” he mouths, staring intensively at the jacket hanging from Gerard’s shoulders, hoping he understands what he means. “Gimme your fucking jacket right now.”

Gerard does. Frank folds it carefully on top of one of his forearms, then smooths it over the front of his jeans. He makes damn sure that nothing, absolutely nothing, can be seen, then sends Gerard another look - one that he hopes says, “Don’t you fucking move,” before taking a big step back and breaking into a smile.

“Hi!”

Stupid, stupid. It hurts to walk, Jesus, but he can’t let these people get anywhere near the dumpster. If they do and see Gerard there, debauched, then they’re over - both as a couple and as a band.

“Oh my God, oh my God, he’s coming over!”

“Hey, guys,” Frank grins wider. Ow, fuck, fuck, he’s in so much pain. “How’d you get in here? Didn’t you see the sign?”

A guy closest to him looks confused. “What sign?”

Frank walks forward some more. The only thought in his head is - to push them back, out of the alleyway, away from Gerard. He’s successful as far as distance goes because the group moves along with him, walking back. Jesus Christ, thank God.

“There’s a sign saying that it’s a personnel-only entrance,” Frank lies through his teeth. It must be, though, if it leads straight to the venue. He’s sure he’s right. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“We– fuck, but we saw you, and we thought–”

“Give it here,” Frank motions at the things they’re clutching in their hands - some albums, someone’s got a marker, there are a few pieces of paper that he thinks are letters. “Just shut up about it, huh?” he looks up at them with a smile. “You’re gonna go back around and won’t bring a whole fucking group of people over here, yeah?”

“Thanks, Frank!” one of the girls says. Frank gives her his best smile, hoping he’s her favorite and it’ll work. He really fucking hopes she’s not Gerard’s fan and won’t start asking about him. “Fuck, thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” he replies. He signs everything they shove in front of him, holding onto Gerard’s jacket for dear life, then gives them back their marker. “Alright, shoo,” he waves at them. “Enjoy the show, guys.”

“We will!”

And then they’re gone. Fucking thank you. Frank lets out the deepest sigh ever and waits for a few seconds longer just to make sure they haven’t forgotten to ask him something important. When he’s confident they are actually gone, he turns and slowly walks back. At least he manages to establish that Gerard’s been hidden this entire time because he only sees him when he leans over the dumpster.

And he finds him laughing.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, Frankie,” Gerard chokes out. He’s leaning against the wall, his clothes in perfect order, and there are tears in his eyes from how hard he’s giggling. “Oh, that was fucking brilliant.”

“What?”

“This is a personnel-only entrance,” Gerard mimics his voice, frowning, then breaks into another wide grin. “Fuck, how many times have you avoided getting caught during a blowjob in the alleyway before? ‘Cause that was some professional level of deceit.”

Frank shrugs, but he’s smiling now, too. He extends a hand and drags Gerard carefully back to his feet, turning him around to check the state of his dress and knees. They both look okay, so he throws a quick look at the still-empty alley and grabs Gerard’s chin, kissing him. Gerard’s still giggling, and it ends up being more a bite than a kiss, but Frank feels pretty fucking relieved to have avoided being caught, and the sound of Gerard’s laugh makes him feel giddy.

“Fuck,” he sighs, leaning his forehead against Gerard’s. “I think I’m ready to go back inside now.”

“Aww, baby, did that kill the mood?”

Frank rolls his eyes and reaches back. Gerard squeaks when he slaps his ass, then groans when Frank leaves his hand there, squeezing.

“For now,” he says. “I promise we’ll get back to where we left off as soon as we’re back on the bus.”

“But Frankie,” Gerard says resolutely. “Aren’t you sharing with Ray?”

Frank pulls back just far enough to kiss him again - properly this time, hard, bruising, making Gerard shudder and lean into it.

“No,” he mumbles into his mouth. “No, I’m sharing with you, and if anyone has a problem with that, I can always get these kids back here and show them where the entrance is.”

Gerard chuckles. “Evil.”

Yeah, maybe he is, but he is not wasting another opportunity to get his hands on Gerard. He touches the side of his neck gently and rubs his cheek before reaching down to hold his hand.

“Let’s go,” he whispers. He pulls, and Gerard obediently follows him back toward the venue.

By the time they’re back inside, Frank isn’t even hard anymore. Still, he keeps a hold of Gerard’s jacket. He thinks Gerard looks a lot nicer without it, anyway.

.five.

Flights are boring as fuck, so Frank doesn’t think he can really be judged for the fact that he tries to entertain himself by watching the colors of Gerard’s face change. For someone who generally doesn’t mind planes apart from finding them fucking insufferable, watching that color range is truly something. It started as a perfect example of white when they boarded and got to the runway. Then, it turned red when they took off. Now it’s more greenish, although Frank isn’t sure if it’s not the light. What he is sure about is that Gerard will throw up in the next five minutes if he doesn’t do anything about it.

Frank would prefer to avoid it. Gerard has a window seat, and he’s sort of bent to the side, half-leaning on Frank’s shoulder. Should there be a vomit projectile happening, it will undoubtedly land all over Frank’s lap.

He has an arm wrapped around Gerard’s shoulders for support, so he uses it as best as he can. Gerard flinches a little when Frank’s hand starts rubbing the back of his neck.

“You good?”

“Ugh,” is what Gerard tells him. He hiccups - a bad fucking sign - then swallows hard when he straightens up. Frank doesn’t even want to imagine what it is he’s swallowing. He hopes it’s just saliva and nothing else. “It’s– well. I’ve been better.”

Frank rubs his neck a little harder. “Did you take your Xanax?”

Gerard nods.

“Mhm.”

“Did you try reading? Or watching something? They have Suspiria,” he taps the screen mounted in the seat before them with his fingers. He’s not lying, either. He checked. “It could distract you.”

“Suspiria’s not gonna distract me,” Gerard says quietly. He really isn’t looking too good. “Nothing’s gonna distract me.”

“There must be something.”

“Frankie, do you have any fucking idea who you’re talking to?” Gerard cocks his eyebrow and alright. That’s fair. “You know how I get. When it’s all in here,” Gerard touches the side of his head. “Then it’s over. I’m fucked. Nothing to be done about it.”

“You just need to relax, baby,” Frank says. “Think of all the fun stuff we’re gonna do after we land.”

“If we land.”

“We won’t be in the air forever.”

“Nope, but we may crash.”

“Oh, seriously, we’re not gonna– come here,” Frank pulls him closer, surprised to find Gerard so eager to follow. He folds himself until he’s nearly in Frank’s lap with his head on his chest. Frank thinks he’s trying to calm down listening to his heartbeat, which is honestly endearing. “We’re not gonna crash. You can’t be thinking about it.”

“What else am I supposed to think about, then?” Gerard grumbles.

“I don’t know, like,” Frank frowns, trying to come up with something. He probably shouldn’t be mentioning it now when Gerard’s going through a hard time, but then again, would he even be himself if he didn’t? He leans in to whisper into Gerard’s ear. “You can think of me sucking you off.”

He can’t see it, but he just knows that Gerard rolls his eyes at him. “Sure.”

“Don’t pretend like that’s not a nice thought.”

“It’s a lovely thought,” Gerard’s voice drips with sarcasm. Little asshole. “But unless your mouth is on my dick in the plane’s bathroom, I will still mostly be thinking about the fact that it’s a fucking plane.”

Frank straightens a little. Gerard’s head snaps up, and he squints.

“I mean–”

“This is a horrible fucking idea.”

“But it could help you relax!” Frank argues because - hey. He’s waited a long fucking time for this, and at least there will be nothing interrupting them this time. “Why not? We’re flying first fucking class for a reason.”

“That reason for it is not so you can blow me in the bathroom.”

“But it could be,” Frank wiggles his eyebrows. He earns himself a smile in return, and, truly, it’s not like he planned this. He was mostly joking, but now that he sees Gerard’s features relaxing, maybe he could actually go through with this. He nudges Gerard’s thigh, letting his fingers slide up until they’re resting close to Gerard’s crotch. He hears his breath hitching. “Alright, yeah, get up. We’re doing it.”

“Frank–”

“Get up, get up,” Frank kicks the blankets from their lap and drags Gerard up. “We’re going, come on. You go in first. Don’t lock the door. No one will notice.”

“Every-fucking-one will notice,” Gerard stares at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look around,” Frank says and does so himself. Everyone, as far as he can see, is either glued to their screens or asleep. “No one gives a shit.”

“I give a shit,” Gerard protests. Or tries to because he is already standing up from his seat as he says it, looking a little unsteady on his feet, and Frank knows he’s won. He licks his lips, and desire starts simmering low in his belly just thinking about it. Gerard gives him another quick look. “Are you, like, actually serious?”

“Fuck yeah,” Frank grins. He checks the other passengers once more before slapping Gerard’s thigh. Gerard’s teeth sink into his lip as he stifles a moan. “Go, fucking– go, I’ll be right there.”

Gerard goes, although still unsteadily. He has to climb over Frank’s lap, which gives Frank a perfect close-up of his clothed cock - already stirring under his sweatpants, something anyone but Frank would miss - then has to hold onto the back of the seats as he walks. Frank grins, splaying on the currently empty seats and counting down the seconds. He thinks half a minute is a reasonable time to ensure no one will connect the dots, but he drags it out to forty-five just to be sure.

The hardest thing he’s ever done. Then he’s up, and he doesn’t have a problem with walking up to the bathroom at all, surrounded by the distant hum of engines and covered in darkness. Fuck, he loves night flights.

Gerard clearly doesn’t. He’s back to being pale when Frank sneaks into the bathroom, and he’s half-slumped on the closed lid of the toilet, breathing harshly. As far as bathrooms go, first class isn’t really any better than economy. It’s a tight fit, and Frank can already tell that he won’t be kneeling anytime soon.

“Hi,” he says, giving Gerard his best smile. Gerard responds with something akin to a grimace. “Alright, sweetheart. Lose the pants.”

“You could at least– fuck,” Gerard swallows. “Never mind. Don’t kiss me.”

“I can kiss you,” Frank crowds closer, getting his hands on the waistline of Gerard’s sweatpants. “Why wouldn’t I kiss you?”

“‘Cause, like, I can’t promise I won’t hurl into your mouth.”

Frank’s hands stop for a moment when he wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“Okay, no, I won’t,” Gerard shakes his head. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, so Frank settles for lightly pressing his lips to the corner of his lips. Better safe than sorry. He manages to drop Gerard’s sweatpants just low enough to get his hands on his dick, though, and that seems to do the trick. “Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” Frank giggles. Gerard is sporting a semi, but he’s sure he can get him hard in less than a minute, as long as he has room to work. He looks around, frowning. “Can you get on the sink?”

“What?”

“Fucking– sit here,” he pushes him, then pushes harder until Gerard manages to prop himself on the edge of the sink. He yanks his sweatpants lower, squints, decides it’s totally not going to work, and ends up pulling them off one of Gerard’s legs completely. “Put your foot on the lid, yes, there, and the other on my shoulder, c’mon babe, we don’t have the whole day.”

“You seem eager,” Gerard laughs, then chokes when Frank gets a hand around his cock. “Oh. Okay.”

He strokes his cock a few times, grinning when he feels it fill out in his grip. “Yeah,” he decides. He can’t kneel, but he can crouch, and that’s good enough. He finds himself face to face with Gerard’s cock in the next second and, “Yeah.”

And then Gerard’s cock is in his mouth, and it’s everything Frank was missing - the smell, the weight, the texture, the faint taste of precum, and Gerard’s skin. He moans, opening his mouth wider, and rubs a tongue over the underside. Gerard shivers.

“Fuck, Frank,” he gasps, burying his hand in Frank’s hair. Which is accidentally exactly what Frank wanted, so he blinks up at him and moans louder, knowing the vibrations will make Gerard lose his mind. They do. “Oh, fuck, Frankie–”

Frank loves sucking Gerard’s dick. He loves it. He loves it just as much when Gerard sucks his, but there is something so absolutely amazing about having Gerard writhing from how good Frank is at it. He sucks him hard, gets him wet, gets him fucking dripping, then takes him all the way to his throat, and he swallows, and Gerard’s hips start rolling when he grips his hair tighter.

Jesus. Frank’s own cock is throbbing between his legs. He’s known Gerard long enough to know that he’ll grab him with the second hand at any given moment and will fuck his mouth after that. Gerard is letting out all these sweet moans when Frank works him, and they’re impatient. The thought is enough to make him reach down, palming himself through the fabric of his pants.

“Frank,” Gerard whispers. Frank tilts his head, squeezing around Gerard’s thigh to pull it further to the side, and looks him straight in the eyes. “Wanna–”

The plane drops.

Frank drops with it.

It happens so suddenly that he doesn’t have time to move away. His stomach bottoms out, and if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he’d yell to warn Gerard that it would hurt. Since there’s a dick there, though, all he can do is let out a distressed, muffled yelp right before his upper teeth scrape over the entire length of Gerard’s cock.

“Oh fuck!”

Motherfucker’s instincts kick in, and Frank howls when the pain explodes on the side of his jaw. The kick is strong enough to make his teeth rattle - deserved, maybe, given that he’s just fucking bitten Gerard’s dick - and the push is so sudden he doesn’t manage to regain his balance. He has a fleeting thought that he must look really fucking hilarious, trying to stand back up while simultaneously reeling back with his arms flailing wildly, and then he groans again when the door yields under the weight of his body and opens.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He falls out of the bathroom, tripping over his own feet until he hits the opposite wall with a dull thud. His jaw still pulses where Gerard’s knee got him, and when he looks up, he meets Gerard’s wide, confused eyes across the aisle.

“Holy– sir?!”

Frank looks to the side, meeting the gaze of an equally confused but also severely concerned flight attendant. He looks back at Gerard, still sitting there, his hard cock bobbing between his naked thighs. Then he looks back at the flight attendant.

“Sir?” she asks. “Sir, are you alright?”

She takes a step in his direction. Frank’s leg shoots up, and he kicks the door closed with enough strength to make the little light above it flicker. The woman’s eyes grow bigger.

“Sir?!”

“Shit,” Frank mutters. He’s getting the attention of some passengers now, some of them looking over their shoulders or craning their necks to stare at him from the other side of the plane, and Frank can feel his cheeks warming up. Shit, shit, shit. “I’m– fuck, sorry, I’m okay,” he shakes his head, forcing a smile. His stomach is still rolling, given that the plane still seems to be falling. “It surprised me, that’s all. I, uh, must’ve forgotten to lock the door.”

“Some mild turbulence,” the flight attendant’s smile is back. “Nothing to worry about.”

Yeah, right. Frank can imagine how much Gerard, who is scared of flying in general, is not worrying about it inside that fucking bathroom. He puts a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“Sure, yeah,” he nods. Now that the spectacle is over, people start turning back around, and he can let out a relieved sigh. “Do you mind, umm– I still gotta,” he gestures wildly with his hands. Suck my boyfriend’s dick is what he means, and he really, really hopes that what she hears is that he needs to piss.

“Absolutely, sir. Please be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods. He smiles at her again and gestures at the door. “Locking it this time for sure.”

She nods, apparently satisfied with his response, and Frank gives her a small wave. He waits for her to turn back to whatever it was she was doing, checks if everyone else is still looking away, then slowly touches the door again. He doesn’t exactly want to open it fully, so he presses his back to it and slithers inside as quickly as he can.

He locks it, too, just like he said, and presses his forehead to it for a moment.

“Fuck,” he laughs, shaking his head at himself when he breathes deeply. “That was close. Alright, where were–”

“Frank.”

He whirls around. Gerard is no longer leaning against the sink. He’s kneeling before the toilet, his hair all over his face, but his eyes are still wide and shining from behind the curtain of it. His sweatpants are clinging to one of his ankles. Frank gulps, forcing his gaze away from Gerard’s perfect ass and doing his best to ignore how Gerard has a hand curled around his still-hard cock.

“Yeah?”

Gerard’s voice is the definition of serene when he speaks next.

“I really fucking hate planes.”

Then he turns around, leans forward, and promptly throws up.

And then he cums.

Frank blinks at him a few times, but nope. Not imagining it. He doesn’t really have anything to say, so he settles for the usual.

“What the fuck.”

“God, fuck,” Gerard coughs after a moment, slumping against the toilet. “Oh, fuck, that was good.”

“What?!”

“I mean, this,” he’s still not looking at Frank, but he manages to point at his dick - wet from his cum, pressed snugly between his thighs. “Fuck, that was so good.”

“I– I’m leaving,” Frank deadpans. “You can figure it out. I am out of here.”

“No, wait, wait.”

“Nope, no,” Frank shakes his head. Seriously, what the fuck? “I mean, fuck, I knew that you had a thing, but– seriously? Fucking seriously?”

Gerard shrugs. He straightens a little, wipes his mouth with the hand that’s not covered in cum, and winces.

“I mean, it’s a nice feeling,” he says. If Frank’s mind weren’t currently short-circuiting, he’d disagree with him. “I like the feeling, and I like jerking off, so.”

“Stop talking,” Frank lifts his hand and closes his eyes. Jesus, he cannot believe this is the guy he’s in love with. “Just shut up. No more. Quiet.”

Gerard has the audacity to laugh. “Hey, think of it this way - I’m no longer anxious.”

“Fuck you,” Frank whines. “Oh my God, you were supposed to– I cannot believe you came because you threw up instead of inside my mouth, oh my fucking God–”

“In my defense, you bit me.”

“I scraped you at best, and don’t even pretend you’re not into it,” Frank points a finger at him. “Fuck, I– Jesus, Gee!”

“I can return the favor?” Gerard offers with a grin. Motherfucker knows he’s being an asshole, and Frank should never forgive him for it. The panic must make it onto his face because Gerard starts laughing in earnest. “Come on, Frankie, don’t you want my mouth?”

“I think I’m good, dude.”

“You’re lying.”

Frank looks down and, “No, definitely not lying. Not hard anymore.”

“Aww, are you scared of the turbulences, too?”

“No, but you throwing up your dinner is kinda a turn-off, babe,” Frank looks at him pointedly. Yeah, there is absolutely no way in hell he’s getting turned on now or in the foreseeable future. Probably not until they’re off this plane. Perhaps even back home. He runs a hand down his face, abandoning hope that he’ll ever manage to properly get off on this fucking tour, and turns back his good-caring-boyfriend mode. “Are you okay, though?”

“Sort of,” Gerard sighs. “Might’ve thrown up all the Xanax, though.”

“Jesus, forget I asked,” Frank groans. “Get dressed. I’m seriously leaving. And I’m taking the window seat this time.”

Gerard grins at him. “Remember that I could’ve blown you, baby,” he says. “Next time you want to call me out on not doing it often enough, remember that you wasted a perfectly good opportu–”

Frank shuts the door on him.

He can still hear Gerard laughing from the inside of the bathroom when he drags himself back to the seats. He does take the window one because he thinks he deserves it. Fuck, that was supposed to be it. He was finally going to get that fix he needed which was making Gerard cum while cumming himself, and it was going to be glorious. Never, not even in his wildest dreams, did he imagine it’d be wasted to Gerard throwing up and cumming because of it.

Frank’s life is honestly a joke sometimes.

When Gerard comes back, he’s smiling, though, and his shoulders are a lot more relaxed than they were before. Frank shoves chewing gum into his hand without a word but opens his arms after Gerard chews it a few times, blows a bubble, and goes to settle against his chest.

“You’re not really angry, are you?” he asks when Frank hugs him.

Frank gives himself a second to think about it, then sighs and kisses Gerard’s temple.

“No, love,” he says. “Not really angry. You do owe me, though.”

Gerard laughs and nods. “I’m totally blowing you right after we land, and I brush my teeth.”

Frank smiles. Still kind of gross, but…

“Deal.”

.plus_one.

“Frank, what–?”

“Shut up,” Frank says firmly. He grips Gerard’s hand tighter, just in case Gerard feels like running away from him, and charges further between the buses. “Don’t talk, don’t fucking talk.”

They’re parked at a rest stop somewhere on Route 287, and it’s the middle of the fucking night. As far as Frank knows, their bus should be empty - even the driver is gone, and Frank will be damned if he cares where he went off to. He has other priorities. Gerard’s laughing, surprised when Frank keeps dragging him down the road, and Frank would like these giggles to turn into moans. Preferably immediately, if he gets to choose.

“Frankie, seriously–”

“Here we go,” Frank interjects again. Their bus is there, and Frank has the key to it, and the lights are off. Perfect. He fumbles with the door one-handed while still holding onto Gerard’s wrist.

“Did you write it?”

He looks up. Gerard is staring at a piece of paper that’s glued to the door that proudly declares that, should anyone try to knock, they will end up with their arms broken. The letters are a little wonky since Frank wrote them on his knee.

“Yep,” he nods. The door opens, and he sighs, relieved. “Get in.”

“This better be good,” Gerard snorts as he climbs on the bus. “You didn’t let me finish my sundae.”

He doesn’t give two shits about Gerard’s sundae. All he cares about is that they’re taking a break, the bus is deserted, and they have at least two hours before they’ll be on the move again. Nothing and no one should interrupt them now, and should they try, well. Frank did declare he’d be breaking arms, and he meant it. If anyone knocks on that bus’ door and ends up arm-less, that’s on them.

He swats Gerard’s ass as he follows him inside. It earns him a surprised yelp, and Gerard whips around as soon as he’s up the stairs, probably to yell at Frank and tell him to quit it. Frank doesn’t give him time to do either. As soon as they’re face to face, he has his hands curled around Gerard’s hips, pushing him back into the common area and his tongue in Gerard’s mouth. Judging by the moaning he gets in return, there are no complaints.

They knock stuff over before Frank finally manages to get them to the couch. It’s not the most comfortable piece of furniture Frank has ever attempted to fuck Gerard on, but he’ll make do. Gerard’s back to laughing now, chuckling into his mouth when Frank forces him down to sit and climbs onto his lap, so maybe he doesn’t care, either.

“Frankie, what the fuck is–”

“I’m fucking you,” Frank says, pulling back. Gerard looks fucking marvelous like that, leaning back against the sofa, smiling, breathing a little faster from all the kissing they’ve done. His dick is waking up - Frank can feel it growing hard under his ass - and Frank’s is more than eager to join the party. “I’m undressing you, and then I’m fucking you. End of discussion.”

Gerard grins at him. “Or we could sit here and talk.”

“No.”

He’s being a dick on purpose, of course. Frank knows it, which does nothing to diminish his frustration. It’s a good thing that Gerard arches into him when Frank leans down to kiss him again; otherwise, he would maybe start screaming. He thinks he fucking deserves to get off this time, after all the bullshit he went through, and even Gerard can’t be cruel enough to postpone it. 

Not that he wants to. According to all signs, he’s enjoying himself as much as Frank is - rocking slowly into him, his dick getting even harder, his hands finding their way under Frank’s sweatshirt. This isn’t what Frank wants, however. He moans into Gerard’s mouth when Gerard squeezes his sides, then grinds down.

“Want you on top,” he mumbles, moving his lips from Gerard’s mouth to his neck. He scrapes his teeth on the skin below Gerard’s jaw and feels him shudder. “Want you to ride me.”

“Fuck,” Gerard whispers. His eyes are big and excited when Frank rolls them over until he’s the one sitting down with Gerard on his lap. “So much better than the sundae.”

“Right?” Frank laughs. “I know.”

He sneaks his hands under the hem of Gerard’s sweatpants to grip his ass and pull him in. Gerard gasps, then moans again when Frank starts yanking at his clothes.

“Hold on, hold– fuck, wait, let me take these off,” he mumbles, already scrambling back to his feet. Frank’s stomach plummets when he slides his pants off along with his underwear. Fuck, what a sight he is. “Did you lock the door?”

“I think so,” Frank shrugs. He’s working on his own sweatpants - the fucking string is tangled, and it’s really fucking complicated to shimmy out of them when his dick is already so hard, but he manages. Barely. Gerard’s eyes turn dark when he looks down, licking his lips.

“Kinda wanna blow you,” he says. He takes his t-shirt off next, then kicks all of his clothes away until he’s fully naked. God, Frank really hopes he did lock the door. “Can I blow you?”

As much as Frank would love to get Gerard’s mouth around his cock…

“No. Come back here.”

“What kinda man refuses a blowjob?” Gerard cocks his eyebrow at him. He does as he’s told for once, though, and gets his knees on the couch until he can straddle him. Frank’s hands lock around his bare ass immediately.

“A frustrated one,” he replies. Since he planned this entire thing in the smallest detail between writing that message on the door and now, he only needs to lean over to find the lube that he’s stashed under the cushions. Gerard’s already surprised expression turns even more shocked. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did,” Frank jabs Gerard in the hip.

“Didn’t.”

“So did.”

“Frankie.”

“What?” Frank groans. He’s too busy fondling Gerard’s cheek with his left hand, so he gets the lube bottle opened with his teeth and goes as far as to pour it directly over Gerard’s lower back. Gerard hisses. Frank grins. “Not laughing anymore, huh?”

“A gentleman would warm it up first,” Gerard rolls his eyes. His cock bobs between his legs when he sits straighter, though, and he sighs when Frank spreads the lube all over his ass, so he can’t really mind.

“Who the fuck told you I’m a gentleman?” Frank laughs. His hand is wet now, and so is Gerard’s ass, and he would really like to be directing the conversation to the matter at hand. “How much prep do you need?”

“A gentleman and a romantic, then. I sure have great taste in men.”

“Sweetie,” Frank says slowly. “I’ve waited weeks to fuck you. Weeks. I’m so sick of jerking off in bathrooms and bunks that I’ll genuinely rip my hair out if I have to do it again. So, no,” he shrugs, spreading Gerard’s cheeks to rub around his hole. Gerard’s body tenses, and he exhales sharply. “You’re not getting a gentleman today. Or a romantic.”

“Jesus, Frankie,” Gerard laughs breathlessly. “You’ve had it rough.”

“I fucking have, so if you’ll excuse me,” he sighs, leaning back against the sofa and slowly pushing one finger into Gerard. “I’ll just fuck you now.”

Gerard arches beautifully on his lap, but Frank doesn’t think he needs much. He relaxes immediately and rolls his hips into the touch when Frank starts thrusting slowly. He looks so fucking good that Frank’s fully hard without even touching himself once, and he’s so ready for it that he will actually cry if something stops them again. He pulls back, then gently nudges with two fingers, and Gerard lets out a moan.

“Yeah,” he whispers, throwing his head back. “Yeah, alright. You can totally fuck me.”

“No solid prep?”

“Nope, I’ll be fine,” Gerard shakes his head. “Just– fuck, love feeling you inside.”

“I promise to finger you for a whole hour when we’re back in LA,” Frank says when he pulls back. He lines himself up, tensing when the head of his dick presses to Gerard’s hole, then waits for Gerard to meet his gaze again. “Love you.”

Gerard smiles. “So still a bit romantic, then. Love you, too.”

Frank would love to argue with him some more or perhaps tell him that he totally isn’t a romantic, at least not tonight, but Gerard takes matters into his own hands, and Frank sort of doesn’t remember how to speak. That’s the thing about having Gerard on top. He’s impatient, and Frank fucking loves how he won’t wait even a moment before he’s sinking down onto his cock.

And shit, fuck, fuck, he’s tight. Frank’s eyes roll to the back of his head, toes curling in his shoes, when Gerard steadily lowers himself until he’s sitting all the way down. He groans, the pressure around his cock almost too much, and Gerard lets out a similar sound - a strained, partially choked-off whimper that turns into a drawl-out whine.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“Need to fuck you,” Frank mumbles, hooking his fingers around Gerard’s hips to hold onto him. “Lift up, lift– fuck, lift up a bit, I gotta–”

Gerard does, putting his hands on Frank’s shoulders and hugging himself closer to his chest. It gives Frank just enough space to brace his feet firmly on the ground and thrust up right into him, hard and rough, nearly knocking Gerard to the side. Gerard gasps when he sinks his teeth into the side of Frank’s neck.

“Mghh.”

“Yeah, baby, I know,” Frank whispers. Jesus, it feels good, and after literal weeks of not having his dick inside Gerard, it feels so much fucking better. He drops back against the couch and starts rolling his hips, setting up a rhythm. “Fuck, so good, you feel so fucking good– Gee, fuck, you okay with that? I need to–”

“Deeper,” Gerard mumbles with his lips still pressed to Frank’s neck. When Frank manages to glance down, he sees that Gerard’s trying to rub himself against him. His cock looks painfully hard, and he’s already leaking. Frank’s stomach jumps again, and he moves one of his hands, wrapping it around Gerard’s dick.

The reaction he gets is glorious. Gerard arches again and slams down at the exact moment Frank rocks into him.

“Fuck, yeah, you can go harder,” Gerard says. “Fuck me harder, Frankie, c’mon.”

Jesus, fuck, Jesus, fuck. Frank groans and tries, really tries, with Gerard writhing on his lap, meeting him halfway, but it’s not enough. The angle is off, he’s not getting as deep as he wants, and Gerard’s thighs are trembling already, and–

“Fucking– hold on, get off of me, come on, go, go, Gee, move,” Frank eases him back. Gerard looks confused for the entirety of a second before he complies, barely managing to stand with how hard his knees are wobbling. That shouldn’t be a problem. Frank scrambles to his feet, grabs him, turns him around, bends him over the couch, and slams back home.

“Fuck!”

“That’s fucking it,” he moans. He takes hold of Gerard’s hips, pulling him back, and finally manages to hit his prostate. Gerard’s forehead knocks against the back of the sofa, hand sneaking down to pull at his cock.

“Gonna cum,” he warns him. Frank doubles his efforts - harder, harder, fuck him harder, get him off. “Gonna– Frank, I’m almost–”

Then he moans - a surprised sort of sound like he didn’t expect it - and Frank feels him clenching around his dick when he cums all over his hand. The pride he feels that it finally happened, he finally made Gerard cum, is enough to make his release nearly knock him out, too.

Gerard holds onto the couch when Frank buries himself inside and stills, shivering when he lets go. It’s a blinding pleasure, something his hand could never, ever give him, and he slumps against Gerard’s back a second later with a blissed sigh.

“Holy shit, I love you.”

Gerard’s laugh is a rumble in Frank’s ears and a tremble beneath his chest.

“You love my ass, you mean.”

“Mm,” Frank agrees. No point in lying - he does. “Oh my God, I can’t believe we actually did it.”

He eases back, and Gerard collapses on his side on the sofa. He’s breathing hard, and when Frank manages to stand straight again, he sees Gerard’s legs shaking and his cock, wet and spent, softening between his thighs.

“Hardly the first time we fucked on a bus.”

“No, but– Jesus, do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to make you cum like this?” Frank looks down at him. Doesn’t Gerard understand? “Like, around my dick, or on my hand, or in my mouth?”

“A while,” Gerard smiles lazily at him. He winces next, his stomach tensing for a moment, then he rolls onto his front with a wink, spreading his cheeks with his own hands. For someone who claims to be insecure, he sure doesn’t act like it now. “Well, come look, then.”

Frank looks. There it is, his cum slowly seeping out of Gerard’s hole - proof that he did, in fact, manage to finally cum in him. His stomach clenches, and if Frank were twenty years younger, he’d be getting hard again. He can’t do that, not anymore, but he can run his thumb over Gerard’s hole, so he does. Immediately. Gerard inhales sharply, then lets the air out as a giggle when Frank sucks his thumb into his mouth.

“And you call me gross.”

“You are,” Frank says - then lowers himself to his knees and promptly shoves his entire face into Gerard’s ass, giving him a long, broad lick. The taste is everything, and he moans softly when Gerard’s breath hitches.

“You’re licking your own– fuck, seriously?”

“Mhm,” Frank grins when he pulls back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re so right. I do love your ass.”

“You should eat it more often, then,” Gerard shrugs. He opens his arms at the same moment he closes his eyes, and Frank has a fleeting thought that they should maybe get cleaned up and dressed first before they fall asleep on the couch and someone - like their missing driver - finds them. His legs feel like jelly, though, and he is warm and relaxed after his orgasm, so he throws caution out the window and settles next to Gerard.

“I’m gonna,” he mumbles, pressing his lips everywhere he can - to Gerard’s mouth, his chin, his jawline, his neck. Gerard hums. “Gonna eat your ass every day for the next month.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. We still have a few shows to get through.”

“Sure, but I think I’ve exhausted my bad luck for this tour,” Frank says carefully. If he jinxes it, he’ll die. “So now I’ll eat you out every day, and I’ll fuck you every day, and you can fuck me whenever you want, too, and no one will interrupt us. There. Putting it out into the universe.”

Gerard snorts and kisses him, too - right in the center of Frank’s forehead.

“I’ll work my magic,” he promises when he hugs Frank closer. “And when we’re back home, we’ll just fuck for a week straight.”

“Right after I finger you.”

“Obviously,” Gerard says. “Your fingers are to die for.”

Frank doesn’t usually look forward to the end of the tour, but this time, well. He smiles, nuzzling Gerard’s chest, and closes his eyes. Now he really, really wants the tour to end.