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Ray doesn’t mean to keep all three teddy bears. Technically, only two of them are his; the other one, a patriotic little thing, is Gerard’s. But it ended up in his bag at the end of tour, managed to stay there during a very brief visit home, and Gerard’s never asked for it back, so…
The next time he was home, Ray set them up with his other stuffed animals. Maybe he should be embarrassed to have this many—he’s an adult man, and a rock star, at that—but they’re comforting, in the same way that having his guitar near him is comforting, in the same way that having Gerard near him is comforting. Familiar and warm and understanding.
Which is why, after he gets off the van and says his goodbyes to the rest of the band, the yellow glow of streetlamps and headlights the only way he can see them, he doesn’t feel quite as lonely as he did the first few times they dropped Ray in Kearney so the rest of them could get back home. It’s still there, a stabbing pain that throbs as they start to pile back in, but it’s dulled by the knowledge that there’s a little piece of the road just upstairs.
“Hey,” Ray says, grabbing Gerard’s hand before he can get back in the van.
Gerard leans back against the metal, grinning with all his teeth on display. Ray knows those teeth well, has seen them in smiles and cries and felt them bite down on his lips and shoulders and licked over and behind them. It takes every ounce of self-control he has to keep from licking them now, from crushing Gerard against the van while the others wait. “You gonna miss me, Toro?” Gerard says coyly, like he's still performing.
“Course.” He glances around before leaning in, a brush of a kiss that makes Gerard let out a pleased noise.
It’s a little surprising, even after a few months, to only smell cigarettes and coffee and stale gum on his breath. It makes something in his chest twist, the absence of alcohol a reminder of how dark it had been on the road, how lucky he is right now. Gerard laughs at him, cheeks flushing in the winter air, and he looks good, he looks healthy, he looks like Ray could zip him into his jacket and just keep him there, chest to chest, never let him be cold again.
Ray can’t do that. Gerard has to get home, too. But it’s a nice thought. “Will you come over tonight?” he asks, and he doesn’t even care that it sounds desperate. He’s spent more time with Gerard than he has without, these last three years of writing and recording and hiding in the back of the van together; some piece of him is going back to Belleville.
Gerard nods, kisses him again, adds in his biting teeth. Never mind that they go back on the road in two weeks, or that they have shows tomorrow—some piece of Gerard is staying here, too. “Where else would I go?”
Parties, or bars, or down in his basement. Places that aren’t here. Places where New Year’s Eve is fun and dangerous in equal measure. Places where Ray can’t keep him warm.
He lets Gerard kiss him one more time before he pulls away, grabbing his bags and nodding back at the van door. “Get some rest,” he says, taking in the rumpled hair and sleepy eyes that come with driving home in the middle of the night.
Gerard rolls his eyes, but Ray knows he’ll be asleep the second he makes it home. “Stop worrying about me.”
“I don’t.” It’s mostly true; Ray’s worrying has gone from all the time to some of the time, and sleep is the least of it. “I just want to get my New Year’s kiss.”
“You’re a corny motherfucker.” But he’s smiling, shyly now, because he’s a corny motherfucker, too.
They say their goodbyes, sneak in one last kiss, and then he’s gone with the rest of them, turning out of Ray’s neighborhood and out of sight. He watches them go before he starts the climb upstairs to an empty apartment.
It’s harder for him to go to sleep than he thought it would be. The stuffed animals, usually so helpful, aren’t the same as what he’s grown used to. They smell dusty and stale, feel cool and empty, a stark contrast to the stench of armpits and the warmth of a body pressed against his. The two teddies, one blue and one brown, stare at him in the darkness of his room with their beady eyes, taunting him.
There’s one stuffed animal in this room that Ray knows smells right. It’s tucked away in his closet, wrapped in a forgotten t-shirt, a shameful little shrine to his attachment. He’s only used it twice. He’s determined not to again.
Maybe, he thinks to himself as he forces his eyes to close, that should be his resolution this year. Get it out of the closet, give it back to Gerard. It’s not as if they won’t be around—he could do it tomorrow, if he really wanted to. He doesn’t really have an excuse to hold onto it. He’ll even wash it first, get rid of the intermingled scent of Gerard and what he’s done with it, and maybe that will wash away the guilt he feels every time he remembers it’s in there. Gerard will never need to know what he did.
He pulls the blanket up tighter around his shoulders, tucking his face into it, and clings to the thought.
It’s too bright when he wakes up, and when he rolls over to avoid it, he meets the eyes of two teddy bears, staring at him like they’re accusing him of something. Ray stares right back at them and opens his mouth, ready to say something cutting, before remembering that they are stuffed animals, and he’s too old to talk to inanimate objects.
He misses waking up in the van. He misses waking up to his friends already laughing. He misses waking up to Gerard staring at him. Mostly, he misses Gerard.
He sighs, rolling back over to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s almost noon, which is later than he would’ve liked, but he needed the sleep. This is the start to the longest break they’ve had in months, two weeks of almost uninterrupted relaxation. They played shows more days than not, recorded and released an entire album, nearly lost the most important member of the band, all in the last year. Of course he needs the rest. He’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed before now.
Ray gives himself a few more minutes of sleepiness before he forces himself out of bed, trudging to the kitchen to make some coffee. He has to reteach himself how to do it, which is a little embarrassing; when they were in hotel rooms or their apartment while recording, Gerard made the coffee, and they got it from gas stations and Starbucks on the road. When he finally takes a sip, he makes a face. It’s not as good as Gerard’s.
At least his apartment is clean, relatively. It could probably use some dusting, but he can get that done in minutes. He doesn’t have the energy to do more than that. But that means there’s nothing to keep him occupied until Gerard gets here, whenever that will be. Ray gave him a key almost immediately after he got the place, and he comes and goes as he pleases. He could be here in five minutes or five hours, and Ray won’t know until he walks through the door.
So he drinks his coffee slowly. He silently thanks himself from a few days ago for grocery shopping as he makes some toast and eats it slowly. He digs up a feather duster and sweeps it along the surfaces of the apartment slowly. He thinks about doing his laundry, but that can wait a few days, so he lies back down on his bed and reads an old magazine slowly. And when he finishes it, every article read, every photo analyzed, it’s only been an hour and a half.
Ray groans, lets the magazine tumble off the bed as he shifts. It falls open to a page about this year’s Oscars, a giant image of Viggo Mortensen staring up at him. Gerard had dragged him to the theater to see Return around this time last year, and Ray had given him the extended edition on DVD for Christmas this year. Ray’s not into Lord of the Rings like Gerard is, and he’s not super into Aragorn—he’s always had more of a thing for Legolas, and Eowyn fighting made him shift in his seat so obviously that Gerard made fun of him for it—but the sight of him, his strong brow and determined eyes, suddenly reminds him so much of how Gerard looks before he puts on a show.
And now Ray’s back to thinking about Gerard, which he was supposed to be distracting himself from.
He’s obsessed with him, this beautiful genius he gets to call his. And that would be okay—who isn’t obsessed with the person they love?—if not for what he hides in his closet.
He lets himself look at the wall over his desk, at the poster he hung there. Frank had told him it was narcissistic, keeping a picture of his own rock band on his walls, and he’d said it was there as motivation. And it was, kind of, but it was really there because, in all these years of knowing each other, Ray still doesn’t have a good picture of him and Gerard together. This one barely counts, but he likes it anyway; Gerard, right up at the front, looks beautiful and dangerous, the version of himself he puts on for the crowd, while Ray stands at the back, watching out for him. The other people who have this poster, the kids who idolize them, don’t know that when it was taken, Gerard smelled like something had curled up and died in his suit, and Ray had been carefully making sure he didn’t add the scent of vomit to the mix. He can still smell it, the phantom stench of a Gerard Way with no access to showers, it’s burned into his nostrils now.
He misses it.
There’s a sudden pang of want as the memory pops up, poking at the spot he’s trying so hard to ignore. It’s so close, just a few steps away, and Gerard would never know—no, even if he didn’t know, it would still be wrong. Ray can just look at it, maybe even smell it, and that will tide him over until Gerard comes over later. He can do that. He can control himself. He’s not a teenager anymore; he’s perfectly capable of keeping it in his pants.
He rolls off the bed and reaches for the closet door, taking a deep breath to reassure himself before he opens it.
Despite being tucked away in the dark, Gerard’s teddy bear almost feels warm to the touch, like Gerard’s shirt kept it safe from the stale air that made the rest of his stuffed animals seem so empty. It still smells the same, too, the scent of the shirt—dirty, found on the bathroom floor after Gerard spent the night a while back—acting like a gross, perverted version of a dryer sheet. Ray can smell it even as he holds the bear at arm’s length, studying it like he’ll never see it again. He turns it over, looks at it from every angle he can. It’s just a teddy bear. There’s no reason he should be getting hard just from the look, the feel, the smell.
But here he is, feeling his sweatpants start to strain, mouth watering.
There’s still time to back out, put the bear back where he found it. He’ll wash it; he may have time to wash it now, if Gerard takes much longer. No one needs to know what he’s done, his secret shame, a dirty secret.
Instead of moving back towards the closet, his hand pulls closer, closer, until the teddy bear is pressed so hard against his face that he can’t breathe in anything but Gerard.
For a split second, Ray hates himself. He’s never hated himself before; sure, he can be insecure, but this is entirely different. The humiliation that burns in his chest, the knowledge that what he’s doing is an entirely new level of perversion—he’s never been worse.
The feeling is all but forgotten as he shoves his pants down, boxers following, letting them fall around his ankles as he grabs his dick, gives it a harsh stroke. It’s dry and rough, his guitar calloused hand scraping against the thin skin. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt.
He falls to his knees with a groan, sitting back as he tears the bear away from his face and presses it against his chest, gasping for fresh air and squeezing himself. It’s too much; it’s not enough.
If Gerard saw him like this, squirming on the floor and moaning while he jerks off holding a stuffed animal, one that doesn’t even belong to him—Ray curls in on himself, brings the bear back to his nose, lets the scent bring a twisted sort of fantasy.
If Gerard saw him like this, maybe he’d have something cruel to say, something to make Ray cry with shame. Tell him how disgusting he is for getting off like this, how sick it is to come on something stolen, how twisted it is to think he could hide it. Maybe Gerard would ask how many other things Ray’s stolen for this purpose, if he gave any of them back without saying anything. Maybe Gerard would force him to come, even as he ridicules him.
The last thought makes him shudder, the embarrassment from imagined degradation multiplying his arousal. He doesn’t get why.
He pulls the bear back again, stares at it as his hand moves, too tight, too fast, too dry. Even the plastic eyes look at him like he’s a monster, an over-obsessed freak who can’t keep his hands without sin. He thinks he might cry.
It’s soft where he lets it brush against him, right at the crease between his thigh and his groin. The contrast with how he’s touching himself makes his head spin, a wild flurry of sensation. He doesn’t deserve that softness.
He’s out of breath, lungs using every scrap of it to shove moans out of him, but he doesn’t care. He needs it, the smell, the breathlessness, the softness. His airway is blocked off by the bear again, mouth open and drooling on it, and he can taste it. He’s almost there, he’s so close it hurts, and he brings the bear down, down, down, ready to put it right where he needs it. He’s never been more aware of the heat building inside of him; he’s never been farther away from himself.
“Toro, where—oh.”
Ray’s eyes shoot open, hand falling from his dick, holding the bear tight to his chest. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out; the sudden shock of shame steals all the words from him, the horror of being caught and the fear of what's coming next rendering him silent.
Gerard stands in the doorway, brows knit. “Is that my teddy bear?”
Ray’s head droops. He bites his cheek hard, willing away the prickle of embarrassed tears. He doesn't lift it when he hears the footsteps coming closer; he’d rather stare at his dick than watch Gerard make his way over to him, ready to say something punishing.
“Toro.” His voice is so soft, and so are the fingers he puts under Ray’s chin, forcing his head up until he's looking them in the eye. “Is that my teddy bear.”
It’s not a question, but it demands an answer anyway, and Ray will always give him what he wants.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Fuck, G, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—sorry.” But he doesn’t let go of it.
Gerard looks him up and down, and for a moment, Ray thinks he might be in character. But his eyes are more curious than commanding, eyebrows tipped up in question but not judgment. “Is it, like, because it’s mine, or…?”
Ray nods in spite of himself, cheeks burning.
Gerard smiles, and Ray wants to curl up in a ball and die. “Oh, no, Ray, it’s cool,” he says when Ray drops his head again with a whimper, and he sounds so warm, so understanding. “Come on, look at me.”
Ray doesn't really have a choice; the fingers are pushing his chin up again, and he’s forced to meet Gerard's eyes.
“Did you miss me?” Gerard asks.
Like he’d miss his right arm. “Didn’t know when you’d be here,” he mumbles.
Gerard's smile grows wider, eyes lighting up with joy. Ray has to blink against the intensity. “I missed you, too.” He glances back down, eyes catching on Ray’s chest. “Do you just… hold it?”
He’s still holding the fucking teddy bear. He pulls it away from his chest, holds it up like an offering to a god.
But Gerard pushes it back, bends to guide his hand back to his chest. “Want you to show me,” he says, and how he can sound calm right now, Ray has no idea. “Will you?”
“You—really?” Ray balls his free hand into a fist, unwilling to move until he's sure.
Gerard nods, nudges Ray’s fist with his foot. “I want to know what gets you off.”
“Jesus,” Ray groans, and his hand is fast on his dick, leaning until his forehead rests on Gerard's thigh. The relief of his understanding loosens something in Ray’s chest, gives him his breath back; this is allowed, wanted. He didn’t expect that. He’s never been more grateful.
“Slow down, baby,” Gerard says, almost laughing, and it’s like Ray’s under hypnosis; his hand is suddenly, torturously slow, making him whine. He whines again when fingers card through his hair and tug gently, pulling his head back up. “Sit up, I want to see you.”
Ray nods as best he can with his hair tangled in Gerard’s hand, moves as slowly as possible.
“That’s it,” Gerard praises. “Just sit like that. Show me what you like.” Ray picks up the pace a little, desperate to get back to the edge, but still slow enough for it to be a show. His fingers loosen around the bear, easing the ache in his knuckles. “So you hold it,” Gerard says, “and that—that gets you going?”
“I—I like—” He can't get the rest of the sentence out. It’s too far over his humiliation threshold.
“You don't have to say it. Just show me.”
Some part of his brain feels like he's under a microscope, this gross desire something for Gerard to study. The other, larger part of his brain is too clouded by arousal and embarrassment and, more than anything, the desire to make Gerard happy at any cost to care. He brings the bear up to his face with a shaking hand, pressing it against his nose and inhaling. He moans, louder than he means to, hips twitching forward as he breathes in Gerard’s smell.
Gerard lets out a shaky breath, hand tightening in Ray’s hair. “Fuck,” he says, and it sounds like salvation. “I knew you were into me smelling all gross, but… fuck.” Ray chokes on his next breath, Gerard tugging his hair right as he sweeps his thumb over the head of his dick. “I shouldn’t have showered before I came here.”
Ray can’t help but laugh, the sound breathy and muffled and interrupted with the smell of the bear.
“You smell it, and you hold it.” Gerard's other hand is traveling down, and Ray follows it with his eyes. “Do you like the feeling of it, or just the smell?” He’s unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Do you rub off on it?”
Ray groans, pulling the bear back down to his chest. “Don't,” he forces out, “seriously, I’ll come, and—Gerard, don’t….”
“That's the goal,” Gerard says with a giggle, and he pauses undoing his jeans button to look down. “God, I hope you rub off on it, I think your dick is bigger than the fuckin’ bear, dude.”
Ray’s never thought to compare sizes with a stuffed animal, never cared enough to look when he's done this before, but the wonder in Gerard’s voice sends his hand down, holding it against the side of his dick. The fur is soft against the sensitive skin, tickling as it brushes against his hand, moving faster as he chases his orgasm.
“It is,” Gerard says, looking at it like it’s some holy relic and not a dirty stuffed animal next to a penis. “Holy shit. You're so hot right now, sugar, you don't even know.”
Ray groans, fighting to keep his eyes open as he hurdles towards the edge. “G, please….” He readjusts the bear, moving it to the underside, the firm little nose pressing against the head in a way that makes his breathing stutter.
Gerard's got his jeans undone now, shoved down just enough to take out his dick, half-hard and flushed and right in front of Ray’s face. “So big. When things settle down,” he says as he palms himself, “we’re gonna find out how it feels when you're inside me.”
“Oh, fuck,” Ray gasps, and his vision whites out as the image sinks into his brain, how warm it would be, how tight, how Gerard would look underneath him. He barely manages to move the teddy bear out of the way before he's coming, hand impossibly tight around himself, head pitching forward onto Gerard’s hip. He's jerking erratically, all the rhythm lost, and Gerard doesn’t smell anymore, but the hint of musk floating up from under the fresh smell of soap makes his orgasm last longer than he thought it could.
As he comes back down, he feels Gerard's hand moving, knuckles brushing his cheek. He turns his head, forces his hand to come up. Gerard gasps when it wraps around him.
“Ray,” he moans, gripping his shoulder, “you don’t have to—”
“Want to,” Ray mumbles, tilting his head forward until he’s kissing it, licking the trail of his own come that his fingers have left. “Let me, please, want to make you feel good, come on….”
Gerard cries out when he wraps his lips around the tip, bucking into his mouth, and Ray lets him. He so rarely gets to do this for him; Gerard can get weird about his dick sometimes, doesn't always want Ray to get this close to it. Ray relishes it when he gets to touch him like this, keep him warm and safe in his mouth, and it sounds insane even in his head, but the idea makes him moan. He focuses his lips and tongue on the head, pressing at all the spots he knows drive Gerard crazy, drool and come making his hand slide so easily around the rest of him. His head spins as he takes in the noises above him, looking up at Gerard's bared throat and open mouth.
“So good,” he babbles. “So good to me, Ray, not gonna last, gonna—”
He spills into Ray’s mouth, trying to push in deeper, but Ray pulls back just enough to keep from choking on come. He looks Gerard in the eye as he swallows.
Ray pulls off, counts off the rise and fall of Gerard’s chest, one, two, three breaths, and he dives back in, licking him up and down, cleaning up his own come as Gerard keens above him. He doesn’t pull back, even when the noises turn into cries; Gerard has to pull him away by the hair, forcing a whimper of complaint out of him.
“Holy shit,” Gerard says shakily, and then he’s on his knees, too, hand still in Ray’s hair, dragging him forward into a rough, messy kiss. The momentum sends them to the ground, Gerard underneath him, but somehow still in control.
Their dicks rub against each other, and it’s too much, but Ray doesn’t complain, just presses in harder, tries to make up for everything he’s done by making Gerard cry with pleasure. “Let me—let me get you off again,” he begs, trying to shove a hand in between them. “Need you to come, G, please, I’m sorry.”
Gerard’s squirming, giving Ray just enough space to wrap his hand around him, trying desperately to get him hard again. “Can’t,” he says, but he doesn’t try to move Ray’s hand. “Baby, you don’t have to….”
Ray damn near sobs, because he does, he needs to. There’s no other way to apologize. “Please, please, come on.”
Mercifully, Gerard starts to fill out in his hand. Ray presses his face into his dark hair, breathes in deep. That still smells the same, grease and dirt.
“Ray,” Gerard says, yanking him back up. His long eyelashes are spiky with tears, cheeks pink and warm.
Ray’s doing it, he’s making it right, he’s keeping him warm. His own dick is hardening, too, just from the brush of the back of his hand, but he doesn’t get to come, not until Gerard does. “Please,” he says again. A line of spit drips from his mouth. By some miracle, it lands in Gerard’s.
“God—” Gerard comes with a sob, writhing away from his touch as oversensitivity sets in, tears streaming down his face, and it’s all Ray needs.
He wasn’t even touched.
He collapses, gasps as his dick pulses against nothing. “Sorry,” he moans, right into Gerard’s ear, “sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.”
Gerard doesn’t say anything, too busy taking jagged breaths, but his arms wrap around Ray, holding him impossibly closer. Heat radiates off of him.
“Kept you warm.” It comes out as a whisper. “Made you feel good—is it—did I?”
Gerard grunts. “So perfect, baby, so good for me.” Ray’s dick twitches, even as it goes soft. “That was so goddamn hot.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and then the realization sets in, his mind suddenly clearing. He forces himself to pull away, propping himself up on his hands so he can look Gerard in the eye. When he did that before, it was in the haze of desire, and that was hard enough; now, finally aware of what they just did, it’s a humiliation of its own. “Oh, fuck, Gerard—oh my God, I—”
“Stop,” he says, cutting Ray off. His hand comes up to grab Ray’s face, gripping his jaw. “What did I just say?” Ray casts his eyes down. “Come on, look at me. Tell me what I said.”
“That it was hot?”
Gerard nods. “And?”
Ray looks up again. He burns all over. “That—it was good. Perfect.”
“No,” Gerard says gently, lovingly, “I said that you were perfect. Stop apologizing.”
He shakes his head. “I took your fucking teddy bear. I—I jerked off to it. More than once. It was weird and wrong and I’m sorry.”
“Do you remember when I asked you if you would get me off while I puked?”
He does. He’d done it, too, and he wasn’t into it, but he was into the way Gerard was into it.
“I know that shit’s weird, and you did it anyways. Why would I be mad about this?” Gerard sits up, kisses him softly. “I mean, God, if it’s gonna be this good—we’re using that teddy bear again.”
Ray shivers at the thought.
“We gotta get up now,” Gerard says, letting go of Ray’s face. “I’ll get us cleaned up. You just… relax.”
“Not yet,” Ray says, because he can’t let Gerard up, not when he’s safe and warm and kind beneath him. “Please, not yet. Need you.”
But Gerard is pushing him off gently. “I’m coming back,” he promises. “Just relax. I’m coming right back.”
Ray manages to sit up, back against his bed, and he feels… he’s not sure. Empty, kind of, but not in a bad way. It’s more like his soul has left him so it can follow Gerard out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, stuck and stupid in love, no longer belonging to him.
He looks at the alarm clock with tired eyes.
It’s only 2:45, and he feels more exhausted than he did at midnight.
“Alright,” Gerard says, “let me take care of you.”
That’s usually Ray’s job, and it should be his job now, but he doesn’t argue. He just waits, muscles twitching as Gerard wipes his stomach, his hands, his dick, and helps him pull his pants back up before repeating the steps on himself. The second he’s done, Ray’s pulling him to his chest, tucking his head under his chin, breathing him in. “I don’t want you to go home,” he whispers.
Gerard laughs a little. “I’m not. We have plans, remember? I need to get my New Year’s kiss.”
“No. I don’t want you to go home, ever. I want you here.” He sounds absolutely pathetic. He feels it, too. “I can’t keep you warm if you go home.”
It’s a nonsensical statement, but that doesn’t matter; Gerard speaks the same language he does, all the same strange thoughts and words. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” His hand wraps around Ray’s bicep, hot as a branding iron. “But you always keep me warm. Even when you aren’t there.” He leans to the side, forcing Ray to loosen his hold on him, and picks up the teddy bear, cradling it against his chest as he presses himself back against Ray. “You’re so good to me,” he says with a sigh.
Ray holds him as tight as he can. He’s never letting go.
Ray’s legs are asleep when he wakes up, but it’s okay. Gerard’s still there, breath hot against his neck.
He looks at the alarm clock. It’s been two hours, not even close to midnight.
He breaks his resolution before the new year even starts. The teddy bear doesn’t matter.
His new one, he decides, is to do this forever: keep this beautiful genius tucked against him, keep him here, keep him warm.