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"C'mon, Gerard, look at me."
Gerard can't take his eyes off the needle. It's on the tray, still in the sterile packaging, together with a pair of latex gloves, a box of tissues, a bowl of Band-Aids and a couple of tubes with colored lids. Tubes his blood is going to be in soon.
"I can't do this." His voice is quiet, controlled, but on the inside he's on the verge of panic. Needles just aren't his thing. It's less his thing than sports, and sports really aren't his thing.
"Of course you can," says the nurse - Frank Iero, his nametag says, but it's been long since Gerard had to look at it to remember the guy's name. After almost a year of biweekly hospital visits, names tend to stick with you. They also tend to stick with you after you've fucked them through the mattress a few hundred times or so.
"No, I can't," Gerard says, for what must be the thousandth time this year. He can't believe Frank hasn't gotten tired of this whole ordeal yet. On the other hand, though, Gerard won't let anyone else near his veins with sharp objects, so really, this is in Frank's best interests too, because for a 27-year-old, Gerard can throw one hell of a tantrum.
"You've done it, what, like, twenty-five times already? Gimme your arm." Wrapping his fingers around Gerard's left wrist, Frank lifts his arm onto the padded armrest.
"I hate you," Gerard groans, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair.
"You can't hate me, asshole, I'm the only one in this entire state who's willing to extract a blood sample from you," Frank says with a smile. How he can be this cheery in the presence of needles is beyond Gerard. He says as much.
"I'm a nurse, Gee, it's my job," is Frank's answer, as if that's an explanation.
"There's not enough money in the world to make me stick needles in people for a living," Gerard says, because really, there isn't. It doesn't matter if the needle is going into him or someone else, he doesn't want to be near it.
"Be happy they haven't needed a lumbar puncture to be done," Frank says as he pulls on the gloves, cutting the index finger off the right one first so he'll be able to find Gerard's vein.
"Don't even remind me," Gerard says, shivering just at the thought of someone shoving a three-inch needle in between his vertebrae. "You're the worst boyfriend ever, I swear to God."
Frank grabs a tourniquet from the tray and tightens it around Gerard's upper arm. "You do that. Meanwhile, I'll collect some of your blood. That okay?"
Gerard punches him.
"Dickhead," Frank mutters, but it's with a smile.
"Just get it over with," Gerard mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut almost to the point of pain.
"Hey, c'mon now, don't do that," Frank says, bringing one hand up to brush his thumb over Gerard's cheek, making him open his eyes. "Don't tense up, it'll only make it worse."
"You're about to stick a needle in me and you're telling me to not tense up." Gerard wants to flail his hands, maybe scream a little, but mostly he just wants that damn kiss Frank has promised he'll get once the blood has been sent off to the lab. But that means Frank'll have to actually take the blood, and that involves needles and, once again, those are not his thing.
"Just take deep breaths," Frank instructs calmly while he disinfects the crook of Gerard's elbow with a tiny tissue soaked in antiseptic. "Now look at me. Don't look at the needle, don't look at the tray. Don't look at anything else but me."
Following Frank's instructions, Gerard inhales deeply through his mouth. He sinks deeper in the chair and keeps his eyes trained on Frank's face, his eyes and nose and mouth, the tiny little holes where he keeps his piercings when he's not working. Then he remembers how those holes got there, and shivers again. Frank just makes a soothing noise and strokes his arm, down and then up again, the one finger that isn't covered by the glove pushing and pressing at Gerard's skin, searching for the vein.
"There we go," he mumbles once he's found it, pulling the cap off the needle. "You want me to count down or just do it?"
"Just do it," Gerard answers, because he knows he'll tense up again if Frank counts down. Frank probably know that too, but he always asks anyway. Gerard fucking loves him.
"Okay," Frank says, loud and happy, and Gerard barely feels the sting, too busy to gaze adoringly at his boyfriend's smile. He's pretty sure he looks like a dork, but he can't really be bothered to care, because Frank is fucking beautiful when he smiles.
Still focusing on Frank's face, Gerard barely notices when he slides the needle out, just automatically raises a hand to press a tiny square of tissue against the puncture while Frank goes and puts the tube away so a lab technician can test it.
"All done?" Gerard asks when he comes back.
"Almost," Frank says and picks up a Band-Aid from the bowl, pulling the plastic off and pressing it over the little tissue so it won't bleed through. "There. I'm done. Now, c'mere."
Gerard hums in approval as Frank grabs his face and pulls him close, placing an innocent peck on Gerard's mouth before parting his lips and letting Gerard taste him. He tastes like coffee from breakfast and cigarettes from his latest smoke break, and then that other, sweeter taste that's just Frank. Gerard decides there's nothing more delicious in the world.
"Love you," he mumbles, fisting a hand in Frank's hair, tugging him closer.
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Modest as always," Gerard says, smiling against Frank's lips.
"I'm the embodiment of modesty, shut up," Frank laughs, then pulls away to sneak a peek into the lab.
"Empty?"
Frank nods and grins before he goes to straddle Gerard's lap, pants rubbing up against the black denim of Gerard's jeans. Gerard's hands find their way to Frank's hips within seconds, pushing up under his scrub top and the long-sleeved, white t-shirt he wears underneath, until he feels skin against his fingertips. He imagines being able to feel Frank's tattoos, the birds and the stars and the words, wrapping around his body like a map only he knows how to navigate.
They don't have much time, they both know that, but the time they do have they put to good use. It's all heated kisses and wandering hands, minimum noise but maximum pleasure. Eventually, though, Frank has to break away, because unlike Gerard, he doesn't have time to deal with an inconvenient hard-on, and there's no way he's gonna be able to hide a boner until lunch.
"I'm gonna have to get my spare pants out of my locker if you don't leave soon," he tells Gerard, who makes a tiny noise of displeasure.
"You're off by five, right?"
"I'll pick up some take-out on my way home," Frank promises.
Gerard smiles and nuzzles his neck a little. He wishes he had time to leave a mark. "I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you."
"Mm. Love you too, babe." Moving closer, Frank presses a final kiss to Gerard's lips, drawing it out, making it last as long as possible before he gets out of the chair. "You have to go now, though, before Patrick locks us up in the supply closet again."
"I have nothing against the supply closet," Gerard says. The supply closet is great. Patrick's idea of locking Gerard and Frank in there to get rid of their sexual frustrations is even better. Pete had been kind of pissed off, though, mostly because he wanted to be in the closet with Patrick instead.
"I'll be home by five," Frank says and shoves Gerard towards the door.
"I want Chinese," Gerard calls before walking out. He probably shouldn't be comforted by the thought that they're gonna do this all over again in fourteen days, what with all the needles and panicking, but for some reason, he is. It doesn't take him long to figure out that reason is Frank.