(no subject)
Title: Sweet Caffeine (and Love of Liberace)
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Word Count: 4,860
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: If you can't tell fact from fiction it ain't my problem. And if you found this by googling your own name, for the love of god, don't read it.
Notes: Written for shoemaster, who asked for Frank/Gerard and ridiculous cliches and tropes.
Thanks to giddygeek for her usual thorough beta. She is awesome, seriously. Also thanks to strangecobwebs for final read-through and cheerleading throughout.
Summary: In which Brian tasered them into it, Gerard read too many comic books as a kid, Jamia isn't worried about anything, and Bob doesn't wear a codpiece.
Brian sprung it on them as he was wrapping up a post-practice meeting. It was one of the last days before the tour began, and most of their time was taken up with interviews and strategic appearances on television and radio programs around the country. They were tired from the push, without the insane rush of playing to sold-out audiences to keep them going.
Gerard was floating in a not-enough-Starbucks haze. He was paying attention, seriously, he only zoned out on Brian’s sideburn for, like, a second. Brian sort of sighed and Gerard watched the way he puffed his cheeks out, looking just as tired as the rest of them. Tired and maybe a little bit annoyed if the tight press of his lips was anything to go by.
“So,” Brian said, and Gerard pulled himself together to try to listen, “I talked to Craig Aaronson and he said Reprise has done some market research. They really like the direction you’re going with the music but they think the stage show needs a little more-“
“Blood?” Gerard mumbled, “I know, that’s what I keep saying, but-“
“Gay,” Brian finished, not making eye contact as he started to pack up the notes and papers.
“Sure,” Gerard agreed before Brian’s words actually sunk in. “Wait, what?” He glanced around at the guys, sure he misheard, except everyone else was staring at Brian like he’d suddenly sprouted a second head, so maybe his hearing was just fine.
“Reprise did some kind of research,” Brian waved one hand vaguely, “and they decided that your stage show needs to be more gay.”
So, his hearing was fine, he’d just apparently had a complete break with reality instead.
Ray’s voice was nearly a full octave higher than usual when he asked, “What does that even mean?”
Mikey glanced at Gerard slyly and said, “More gay than Gerard? Is that even possible?” and Gerard had to lean over and smack him on the back of the head, just on principle.
“Yeah,” Frank said, “are we talking happy-gay or, like, Liberace-gay?” He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Or, wait, no, Gerard is totally Batman-gay!”
Bob looked scandalized. “Batman’s not gay,” he said, eyebrows arched high. “Why would you even say that?”
Frank giggled, high-pitched and loud. He loved getting a rise out of Bob. “Batman is totally gay, are you kidding? He’s all alone in that fancy house with no one but a butler and a sweet young thing to keep him company. What do you think he does to pass the time?”
“He saves the city from evil dudes, and,” Bob shoved at Frankie, trying to stop him from climbing into his lap, “he has to run Wayne Enterprises.”
“So, what, he doesn’t have time to be gay because of his busy schedule?” Frank’s giggles had escalated into full, shouting laughter.
Bob couldn’t quite hide his embarrassed smile. “Shut up,” he said, pushing until Frank yelped, “Stop, stop, I’m gonna fall!”
“Good,” Bob said, but he stopped pushing and let Frank settle back into his lap.
“I dunno,” Mikey said to Ray, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That seemed kind of gay.” Ray laughed a little nervously.
Gerard smiled vaguely in Mikey’s direction, lost in a rush of ideas. Liberace-gay wouldn’t be so bad. Gerard wasn’t exactly a big Liberace fan, but he had to admit the guy had flair. Already costumes were scrolling through his head. His hand itched for a pencil and paper to capture the images before they were gone again.
Bob anchored Frank with one arm around his waist and leaned over to tap one finger against Gerard’s forehead. “If you so much as think the word ‘codpiece,’” he said, a menacing undercurrent to his soft voice, “I will kill you in your sleep.”
Gerard snorted, imagining Bob in a jeweled codpiece. It broke the tension, and then they were all laughing.
“I guess I could wear more eye-liner,” Bob said, deadpan. “For the band.”
Brian gave up the pretense of putting shit away and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said, smiling a little at their clowning, “I have no fucking clue what they mean. Although I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Liberace. All I know is I tried to talk them out of it and they’re not fucking budging, so. Figure something out, okay?”
***
What they figured out was that Gerard had read too many fucking comic books as a child. That shit totally warped young minds, especially young minds growing up in dark Jersey basements. Each of his suggestions was crazier than the last, and the rest of them were having visions of a fate worse than stripes of make-up across the eyes.
“I’m not wearing fucking tights on stage,” Ray told him, and ended the discussion by yanking shut the bunk curtain and pretending it was sound proof.
Mikey couldn’t stop making fun of him, the fucker, and texted every one of Gerard’s ideas to Alicia. Every few seconds a bright burst of music signaled a reply, which made him laugh loudly and glance at Gerard out of the corner of his eye. He wouldn’t show them to anyone or read them out loud, though.
Frank and Bob had obviously talked things out and come up with a plan. Frank played dirty, appealing to Gerard’s Catholic guilt reflex. “Gee, don’t you think it is kind of wrong to, like, appropriate someone else’s subculture?” He said, eyes wide and innocent. Which was totally fucking stupid, because they both were a little bit gay sometimes and they both knew it.
Bob appealed to Gerard’s pride. “Look, they can’t really make us, can they? If we all refuse to play along, what can they do? We’re the fucking talent.”
This idea - a small band of brothers, bravely standing together against adversity - appealed to the same part of Gerard that secretly wanted to wear sequined and monogrammed superhero outfits. He suspected that Bob knew that and was tossing out the idea in order to throw Gerard off the costume ideas, and Gerard didn’t exactly miss Frank giving Bob the thumbs up and mouthing, ‘Good one!’ It was a good idea, the best they’d come up with so far. They voted 5-1 for Bob’s plan. (There was one anonymous extra vote cast for ‘more cape action!’)
So, instead of sitting down to sketch out costume ideas, Gerard sent Brian a text message explaining their refusal. They figured that would be the end of it.
***
Everyone else was already up by the time Gerard shuffled out to the kitchenette, hair hanging in his face and pajama pants barely clinging to his hips. His eyes were open just enough for him to make out any obstacles in his way through the screen of his eyelashes. He reached out for the coffee pot without really looking, years of habit more than enough to find it. When he touched nothing but empty space, he patted the area around where it should be. His fingers brushed over something gross and sticky, a box of coffee filters, a plastic spoon that seemed to be stuck to the countertop, and an empty used mug. He finally opened his eyes all the way, wincing a little bit at the early-afternoon sunlight.
There was nothing to see. The spot where the coffee maker usually lived was empty. Confused, he turned ask what was going on. The coffee maker was sitting at Brian’s feet, its plug coiled around the base like a tail around a cat. Mikey was perched on the arm of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping a rapid-fire rhythm against the floor. Bob’s shoulders were tense and there was a certain tightness to his jaw that made his annoyance obvious. Ray seemed to be dozing, his head propped up on one fist. Frank’s face was shadowed by his hoodie, but judging by the way he was twisting his fingers in the fabric of the sleeves, he was not amused.
Brian looked grim. Gerard knew that facial expression even though he hadn’t seen it in years. That was the look of a man about to hold an intervention. Gerard couldn’t stop himself from making a wordless moan of protest.
“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I didn’t want to do this. It’s just. I need you to take this seriously.”
“We seriously don’t want to do this,” Gerard said, cringing at the whining tone. Frank nodded emphatically but didn’t say anything.
“I’m not the bad guy, here, Gerard.” Brian sighed and looked away. “I tried to tell them, they just wouldn’t…The point is, you really need to try to do this.”
“Or what?” Mikey sounded mutinous.
“Or I take away the coffee maker and tell all the PAs that you only get decaf from now on.” A muscle twitched in Brian’s cheek.
Mikey crumbled like a cheap card table. He slid off the couch, landing on the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. “Take Gerard,” he said quickly, “Sometimes he’s gay for free.”
“Fucking sell-out,” Gerard said, although he didn’t argue Mikey’s point. He kicked Mikey in the thigh, instead. “I can’t believe you gave up your own brother.”
“It’s not my fault,” Mikey shrugged, unrepentant. “I was under threat of torture.”
Gerard sighed, heavy and put-upon. “Fine. I will be gayer for my band. Happy now?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Brian.
“Great.” Brian looked relieved. “Work something out with Frankie. I’ll let the label know it’s a done deal.”
“What?” Frankie came to sudden attention. “Why me? Pick someone else. Pick Bob!”
“Bob’s gonna be behind his kit about a hundred feet off the stage. What am I gonna do, scale the riser to make out with him?” Gerard glared at Frankie, too. “Don’t be fucking stupid. What would I do with the microphone?”
“I don’t know,” Frank sneered, “why don’t you try shoving it up your-“
“Hey!” They were all snappish from caffeine deprivation, but this was taking things too far.
Mikey reached over with one long arm and flicked Frank on the ear, making him flinch. “Nobody yells at my brother except me,” he said calmly. “And you guys, but only when I say its okay. Or if he really deserves it.”
“Ow, Mikey, cut it the fuck out!” Frank batted at Mikey’s hand to get him to stop. “I’m not gonna be gay with Gerard, okay?”
Gerard didn’t want to be gay with Frankie, either. Not much, anyway. Well, not that he’d ever admit to in the cold light of day, anyway. He still couldn’t help feeling a little bit hurt that Frank was making such a big deal about this. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” he said, sulkily. “Lots of guys want to get with me.”
“Yeah, well, lots of guys haven’t smelled you yet, okay?” Frank sounded petulant.
“I don’t smell!” Gerard huffed. “Not anymore,” he added, fairly.
Frank shrugged and looked a little guilty. He was always an asshole, but normally he wasn’t mean. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t like ultimatums.” He picked at a hole in one fraying sleeve and added, “and you don’t really smell. Um. Anymore.”
Gerard shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We all need some coffee,” he said, with a significant look in Brian’s direction.
“Can I count on you, Frank?” Brian asked. Frank shrugged and looked away, frowning. “Don’t make me hide the cigarettes, too.” He rubbed his forehead, looking like he needed to sleep for a thousand days. Gerard felt bad for him, which, perversely, made him even more annoyed.
Frank looked shocked that anyone would ever try to take away his cigarettes. “I’ll be good,” he said, but his voice suggested quite the opposite.
“Good enough,” Brian said, and he handed over the coffee maker. Mikey snatched it away from him and immediately got to work making a pot of coffee. Brian left while they were fighting over who would be the first to get a mug under the drip.
***
High school had prepared Gerard for moments just like this. Not the gay stuff, but having to do something he didn’t really want to do. He assumed that as long as he did the bare minimum required of him, nobody would ask any questions. So he’d prance around the stage a little more than usual, add feather boas to the set somehow, and call it a day. He assumed Frank was on the same boat because Frank’s one concession to the All New, Now with More Gay plan was prancing up to Gerard and giving him a wet, smacking kiss on the cheek every so often. Which was pretty normal for him anyway, so.
It seemed to be working just fine, keeping the label (and Brian) off their backs, and ensuring the steady flow of sweet, sweet caffeine continued. And then some jackass in the audience yelled out, “Fucking fags!” between songs, when Gerard was taking a desperate gulp of water. Gerard turned to look for the guy, to tell him to get the fuck out because homophobes weren’t fucking welcome, and then Frank was on him, holding him by his hair and tonguing him to within an inch of his life.
When Frank finally let go, Gerard just stood there staring, one hand coming up to touch his chin. The normal roar of the crowd swelled to a deafening shriek. The kids were on their feet, screaming and cheering, but for the first time since he started singing Gerard had forgotten them. He completely forgot about the performance until Frank grinned at him and said, “Sing, motherfucker!” and ran off to play into the amps.
Gerard turned back to the audience and yelled, “Fuck the homophobes!” Another roar of approval crested and Gerard could feel the energy surging through the crowd. “This next song is dedicated to all the cocksuckers out there,” he purred. “We love the cocksuckers, and you know why?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, and they screamed back at him. “We love the cocksuckers because we know what they do to guys like us in prison.”
He heard the quick beat beat beat that marked the start of the song, took a breath and started singing.
It was an electric performance, the kind where the kids sang every word, gave back as good as they got. It was better than any high Gerard had ever experienced. He tilted his head back and laughed at the ceiling.
“You guys,” he said, “are the best fucking audience we’ve had on this whole fucking tour!” And this time he actually meant it.
***
That kiss was just the shot over Reprise’s bow. After that it was apparently game on.
On the next night, Frank snuck up behind Gerard, slid one arm around his waist and two fingers of the other hand into his mouth. Gerard kept singing around the press of Frank’s fingers on his tongue. Frank kissed the back of his neck before shoving off and throwing himself down on the stage to play the hell out of the song.
“What the fuck was that,” Gerard asked him after the show, silently thankful that he had managed to keep all the breathless longing out of his voice.
“Fuck ‘em. Fuck the homophobes and,” Frank said jubilantly, “fuck the suits. I’ll make them regret ever asking.” Gerard grinned back and said, “Fuck, yeah, motherfucker.” He wasn’t a proud man. He’d take what he could get. It was okay if it didn’t mean anything. It was better that way. If it didn’t mean anything, then there wasn’t anything to fuck up.
He was a shitty liar, even to himself.
***
Gerard slid his hand over Frank’s chest. Kids in the audience screamed their approval. Word had spread, and the kids were waiting for him to touch Frank every night. He could see girls in the pit waving signs that said ‘Frerard 4eva!’ and clutching each other in delight.
He could feel parts of Frank’s new tattoo, some of the lines still raised and swollen. Frank was sweating, tilting his head back to give Gerard room to move. His hair clung to his face and neck in thick, dark strands. He moaned and Gerard closed his eyes, trying to commit the sound to memory.
He jerked off after the show, thinking about the maze of lines on Frank’s skin and the sound of his voice breaking when Gerard traced them.
Gerard brooded in his bunk afterwards, listening to The Smiths on repeat. He felt like an idiot laying there moping. It was like he’d somehow returned to adolescence and the crushing feeling of being powerless. He was suddenly glad that Mikey wasn’t here to see it, not because he’d mock him for it but because he’d understand.
Mikey knew all about how Gerard felt about Frankie. It wasn’t something they’d ever talked about, exactly, but he was lousy at keeping secrets. Plus, Mikey knew how to read his facial expressions and body language like no one else. He saw Gerard watching Frankie, and he knew without having to be told.
He texted once or twice a day, prodding Gerard for details about the things he’d seen on youtube. He still knew about things, but at least he wasn’t here to see it firsthand.
Somehow having him away from the tour made the sudden onslaught of touching on stage easier for Gerard to adjust to and deal with.
***
Gerard kissed Frank, kept kissing him until Frank’s arms came up to hold him. This time when Gerard pulled back, he could see Frank looking at him, figuring things out. And this time, Gerard let himself be seen.
He didn’t try to hide his arousal, his desire. He hadn’t felt this strung out since he’d gotten clean. Frank narrowed his eyes, and then flashed a shit-eating grin. His hand came up, cupped Gerard’s cheek for a moment, and then he was gone, back to jam with Matt near Bob’s riser.
After the show that night, Brian called, trying to sound annoyed but mostly sounding amused. “The label called,” he said, and there was definitely a smile in his voice. “They want you to, you know, rein things in a little bit in the show.”
Frank said, “Fuck this lousy connection. What did you say? More gay? We’re on it!”
Gerard could hear Brian’s protests from across the bus, and he grinned to himself, even as he shifted, trying to subtly adjust himself in his thankfully loose pajama bottoms. He settled down with his drawing supplies as Frankie ended the call.
He eyed the faint pencil lines critically while he reached for his cigarettes. The picture wasn’t quite right, wasn't working, but he was having trouble losing himself in the piece. Frank was curled up on the couch across from him. Gerard could feel him staring and it made it hard to concentrate on his work.
He shook out a cigarette, flicked the lighter open and leaned in until the paper caught. He inhaled deeply, the heated rush of smoke settling his nerves. He flicked the butt and watched ash flake away onto a cracked grey saucer.
“Is this a problem with Jamia?” he asked, not looking up from his hands.
“Is what a problem?” Frank said. Gerard watched out of the corner of his eye as Frank pushed himself upright.
Gerard shrugged and said, “You know, the stage stuff.” He brought the cigarette back to his lips slowly, casually. His face felt stiff with tension and he tried to will his shoulders down.
“Gee,” Frank said softly, “of everything that’s ever happened on tour, this is the least of Jamia’s worries.”
Gerard forced himself to look then. Frank was looking at him, and he knew. It was obvious Frank knew, and Jamia must know because Frank didn’t keep secrets. Frank kept looking at him steadily, his words hanging between them.
Gerard looked away and smiled at his sketchpad. “I’m glad,” he said
***
A couple nights later, Frank, who’d been wild-eyed and aggressive all day, humped Gerard’s face. And fuck, what was Gerard supposed to do; he wrapped an arm around Frank’s legs, trying to keep them both upright, trying to stay balanced enough to sing. He could feel Frank’s heat all down his side, the hardness of his dick, the rasp of his zipper against Gerard’s cheek, and he wanted to just say fuck it and get Frank down on the fucking ground, but the crowd was screaming and they still had half the set to go and he couldn’t.
Frankie untangled himself and stormed off, playing like he was trying to melt his guitar, and Gerard threw himself into singing, but he had a buzzing awareness of Frank for the rest of the set. He knew where Frank was on stage at every moment, felt Frank’s eyes on him when he tilted his head back and slid one hand down his chest and over his crotch.
He mimed thrusting into his hand and just barely made it through the set with a feeling of soon thrumming through his veins.
Gerard could still feel the heat of the spotlight after the end of Mama. The crowd was on its feet, screaming, and he stood on the dark stage for a moment soaking up the energy. He turned his head slightly and there was Frank, standing in the wings and watching him. His expression burned more than the spotlight had, heating Gerard’s skin.
Gerard lifted a hand to skim his sweat-drenched hair out of his face and watched as Frank tracked the movement. He wiped the hand on his shirt, just a quick brush across his own chest. Frank took a deep breath, and Gerard could see the faint outline of his tattoo through the thin t-shirt. He wanted to feel the raised lines of ink under his tongue.
He became abruptly aware that he was still onstage, standing in front of a crowd of kids who were only thirty seconds away from getting an entirely different kind of show than they were expecting. He took a step, and then another, never looking away from Frank. By the time he got to the wings he was all but running. He reached out, laid his hand against Frank’s belly and felt the muscles shiver under his fingers. He looked Frank in the eye, eyebrows lifted in question. Frank nodded then turned, placed a hand in the small of Gerard’s back and said, “Go, go,” and they rushed through the backstage chaos together.
Frank grabbed a handful of Gerard’s shirt, tugging him toward the dressing room. Gerard wrapped his fingers around Frank’s wrist, pulling in another direction. “Bathroom,” he said. It was like a fucked-up three-legged race, the two of them stumbling into each other and pulling in different directions, until Frank turned and shoved. Gerard grunted as he hit the wall with a dull thud, but he was already tugging Frankie closer.
“Jesus,” Frank crowded close, stretching up to pull Gerard down for a kiss. He still clutched a fistful of Gerard’s shirt in one hand. He slid the other up Gerard’s neck and into his hair. He bit Gerard’s lip, not enough to break the skin but hard enough to make a point. Gerard opened his mouth and moaned when Frank licked his way inside. Over the clatter of stagehands setting up for Linkin Park, Gerard heard Bob yelling, “Get a fucking room, you losers!” and Ray saying, “Gee, you’re so gross,” as if he were thirteen instead of thirty.
Gerard pulled back, panting. Frank made a sound of protest, and pressed his face against the black smear that was the last remaining evidence of LUST, the word Gerard had written in big block letters before the show. “Fuck, Frankie,” Gerard said, half-laughing, half-groaning. “There’s people everywhere, we can’t-“
Frank bit the corner of Gerard’s jaw and held on for a second. He let go and said, “I don’t fucking care if there’s a fucking news crew, I don’t want to wait.” His pupils were blown, wide and black in his pale face. His lips were swollen and Gerard wanted to push him to his knees and use that mouth almost as much as he wanted Frankie to fuck him.
“Not here,” he said, because fuck. He didn’t care who knew, but that didn’t mean he wanted an audience. Not for this, not for the first time. Frank bit him again and he groaned, turned his head away until his skin felt stretched and the sting of Frankie’s teeth was heat and pressure and god, so good. “Please,” he gasped, mostly air. Frank let go, and this time he eased away.
“Where?” Frankie asked.
“Not the dressing room,” Gerard said. “There’s still people there. Bathroom?”
“Too busy,” Frank said, but he was moving again, pulling Gerard along in his wake. “There’s gotta be an empty room, something with a fucking lock on the door, fuck.”
Paper signs hung on most of the doors, designating office space for the tour managers, equipment storage, dressing rooms, costume storage. There were people everywhere and every unmarked door they passed was locked. “Why couldn’t this be a hotel night?” Gerard groaned in frustration and Frank laughed.
Gerard tried another doorknob. It actually turned, and Frank pushed him in, crowding in behind him before the door even started to swing shut. He leaned back against the door, sealing it shut, and pulled Gerard back against his chest. Gerard tried to turn around, to get his hands on him, but Frank started to fumble at his belt with one hand, and gently cupped his throat with the other.
He shivered and arched into Frank’s touch. The feel of Frank’s fingers on his skin, his breath in Gerard’s ear was magnified by the darkness around them. Gerard tilted his head back, turning until he could almost, almost kiss him. Frank finally got Gerard’s pants unzipped. He slipped his hand in, wrapped his fingers around Gerard’s dick and immediately started stroking with a quick rhythm. He turned his head and licked Gerard’s neck, dragging his teeth over the skin he’d bitten earlier.
“Fuck,” Gerard hissed, reaching back over his head to brace himself against the door. He felt like he was laid out for Frank’s hands, open and vulnerable in the best possible way. He shook with each stroke of Frank’s hand, went up on his toes and shuddered when Frank thrust against his ass.
Something clattered out in the hallway and the sudden reminder of their surroundings jolted through Gerard’s nerve endings. His breath stuttered out on a moan, loud in the small space. Frank groaned against his neck, and stroked Gerard through the orgasm. He didn’t take his hand away until Gerard gasped, “Too much.” He still didn’t let Gerard turn around. He brought his hand up to his own mouth and sucked his wet fingers into his mouth.
The sound was liquid and obscene in the darkness. He rocked his hips against Gerard’s ass, a counter beat to the sound of sucking. Gerard groaned deep in his throat and pressed back against each thrust. “Fuck me,” he said, knowing they couldn’t. There wasn’t time and even if there was, he couldn’t do it dry.
He wanted it, though, wanted Frank to shove Gerard’s legs wide and step between them, wanted Frank to bend him over and hold him down with a hand between his shoulder blades, wanted finger-shaped bruises on his hipbones and the feel of Frank pressing deep.
“We can’t,” Frank said, echoing his thoughts, but he dropped both hands to Gerard’s hips to pull him back into each thrust. He dropped his forehead against Gerard’s shoulder, each exhalation burning hot through Gerard’s t-shirt. “I need, fuck,” he said, ragged and desperate, and Gerard urged him on, “Come on, come on.”
Frank pressed closer, shaking against Gerard’s back when he came. He stayed close, after, pressed kisses to Gerard’s shoulder, holding on until his breathing evened out.
Gerard turned around when Frank loosened his grip. “Hey,” he said, and leaned in to kiss the smug grin off Frank’s face. He lost track of how long they stood there, kissing lazily, until someone knocked sharply on the door.
Gerard jumped. Frank giggled and hung on tight.
“Gee?” Bob’s voice was mocking, “Bus is leaving in ten. Time to come out of the closet and make management proud.”
“Yeah,” Ray said, and fuck, was everyone out there, waiting for Frank and him to open the door? “Some of our very best friends are big homos, so you know we’ll totally still respect you after.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Gerard hid his grin against Frankie’s hair. He leaned down to kiss Frank again, a quick press of lips, and then pulled back to do up his fly. “As if you fuckers respected us before.”
Frank laughed and pinched his ass. When he pulled open the door, waving grandly as Bob and Ray and a fucking crowd of roadies applauded, Gerard thanked God for Liberace and followed him out.
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Word Count: 4,860
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: If you can't tell fact from fiction it ain't my problem. And if you found this by googling your own name, for the love of god, don't read it.
Notes: Written for shoemaster, who asked for Frank/Gerard and ridiculous cliches and tropes.
Thanks to giddygeek for her usual thorough beta. She is awesome, seriously. Also thanks to strangecobwebs for final read-through and cheerleading throughout.
Summary: In which Brian tasered them into it, Gerard read too many comic books as a kid, Jamia isn't worried about anything, and Bob doesn't wear a codpiece.
Brian sprung it on them as he was wrapping up a post-practice meeting. It was one of the last days before the tour began, and most of their time was taken up with interviews and strategic appearances on television and radio programs around the country. They were tired from the push, without the insane rush of playing to sold-out audiences to keep them going.
Gerard was floating in a not-enough-Starbucks haze. He was paying attention, seriously, he only zoned out on Brian’s sideburn for, like, a second. Brian sort of sighed and Gerard watched the way he puffed his cheeks out, looking just as tired as the rest of them. Tired and maybe a little bit annoyed if the tight press of his lips was anything to go by.
“So,” Brian said, and Gerard pulled himself together to try to listen, “I talked to Craig Aaronson and he said Reprise has done some market research. They really like the direction you’re going with the music but they think the stage show needs a little more-“
“Blood?” Gerard mumbled, “I know, that’s what I keep saying, but-“
“Gay,” Brian finished, not making eye contact as he started to pack up the notes and papers.
“Sure,” Gerard agreed before Brian’s words actually sunk in. “Wait, what?” He glanced around at the guys, sure he misheard, except everyone else was staring at Brian like he’d suddenly sprouted a second head, so maybe his hearing was just fine.
“Reprise did some kind of research,” Brian waved one hand vaguely, “and they decided that your stage show needs to be more gay.”
So, his hearing was fine, he’d just apparently had a complete break with reality instead.
Ray’s voice was nearly a full octave higher than usual when he asked, “What does that even mean?”
Mikey glanced at Gerard slyly and said, “More gay than Gerard? Is that even possible?” and Gerard had to lean over and smack him on the back of the head, just on principle.
“Yeah,” Frank said, “are we talking happy-gay or, like, Liberace-gay?” He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Or, wait, no, Gerard is totally Batman-gay!”
Bob looked scandalized. “Batman’s not gay,” he said, eyebrows arched high. “Why would you even say that?”
Frank giggled, high-pitched and loud. He loved getting a rise out of Bob. “Batman is totally gay, are you kidding? He’s all alone in that fancy house with no one but a butler and a sweet young thing to keep him company. What do you think he does to pass the time?”
“He saves the city from evil dudes, and,” Bob shoved at Frankie, trying to stop him from climbing into his lap, “he has to run Wayne Enterprises.”
“So, what, he doesn’t have time to be gay because of his busy schedule?” Frank’s giggles had escalated into full, shouting laughter.
Bob couldn’t quite hide his embarrassed smile. “Shut up,” he said, pushing until Frank yelped, “Stop, stop, I’m gonna fall!”
“Good,” Bob said, but he stopped pushing and let Frank settle back into his lap.
“I dunno,” Mikey said to Ray, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That seemed kind of gay.” Ray laughed a little nervously.
Gerard smiled vaguely in Mikey’s direction, lost in a rush of ideas. Liberace-gay wouldn’t be so bad. Gerard wasn’t exactly a big Liberace fan, but he had to admit the guy had flair. Already costumes were scrolling through his head. His hand itched for a pencil and paper to capture the images before they were gone again.
Bob anchored Frank with one arm around his waist and leaned over to tap one finger against Gerard’s forehead. “If you so much as think the word ‘codpiece,’” he said, a menacing undercurrent to his soft voice, “I will kill you in your sleep.”
Gerard snorted, imagining Bob in a jeweled codpiece. It broke the tension, and then they were all laughing.
“I guess I could wear more eye-liner,” Bob said, deadpan. “For the band.”
Brian gave up the pretense of putting shit away and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said, smiling a little at their clowning, “I have no fucking clue what they mean. Although I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Liberace. All I know is I tried to talk them out of it and they’re not fucking budging, so. Figure something out, okay?”
***
What they figured out was that Gerard had read too many fucking comic books as a child. That shit totally warped young minds, especially young minds growing up in dark Jersey basements. Each of his suggestions was crazier than the last, and the rest of them were having visions of a fate worse than stripes of make-up across the eyes.
“I’m not wearing fucking tights on stage,” Ray told him, and ended the discussion by yanking shut the bunk curtain and pretending it was sound proof.
Mikey couldn’t stop making fun of him, the fucker, and texted every one of Gerard’s ideas to Alicia. Every few seconds a bright burst of music signaled a reply, which made him laugh loudly and glance at Gerard out of the corner of his eye. He wouldn’t show them to anyone or read them out loud, though.
Frank and Bob had obviously talked things out and come up with a plan. Frank played dirty, appealing to Gerard’s Catholic guilt reflex. “Gee, don’t you think it is kind of wrong to, like, appropriate someone else’s subculture?” He said, eyes wide and innocent. Which was totally fucking stupid, because they both were a little bit gay sometimes and they both knew it.
Bob appealed to Gerard’s pride. “Look, they can’t really make us, can they? If we all refuse to play along, what can they do? We’re the fucking talent.”
This idea - a small band of brothers, bravely standing together against adversity - appealed to the same part of Gerard that secretly wanted to wear sequined and monogrammed superhero outfits. He suspected that Bob knew that and was tossing out the idea in order to throw Gerard off the costume ideas, and Gerard didn’t exactly miss Frank giving Bob the thumbs up and mouthing, ‘Good one!’ It was a good idea, the best they’d come up with so far. They voted 5-1 for Bob’s plan. (There was one anonymous extra vote cast for ‘more cape action!’)
So, instead of sitting down to sketch out costume ideas, Gerard sent Brian a text message explaining their refusal. They figured that would be the end of it.
***
Everyone else was already up by the time Gerard shuffled out to the kitchenette, hair hanging in his face and pajama pants barely clinging to his hips. His eyes were open just enough for him to make out any obstacles in his way through the screen of his eyelashes. He reached out for the coffee pot without really looking, years of habit more than enough to find it. When he touched nothing but empty space, he patted the area around where it should be. His fingers brushed over something gross and sticky, a box of coffee filters, a plastic spoon that seemed to be stuck to the countertop, and an empty used mug. He finally opened his eyes all the way, wincing a little bit at the early-afternoon sunlight.
There was nothing to see. The spot where the coffee maker usually lived was empty. Confused, he turned ask what was going on. The coffee maker was sitting at Brian’s feet, its plug coiled around the base like a tail around a cat. Mikey was perched on the arm of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping a rapid-fire rhythm against the floor. Bob’s shoulders were tense and there was a certain tightness to his jaw that made his annoyance obvious. Ray seemed to be dozing, his head propped up on one fist. Frank’s face was shadowed by his hoodie, but judging by the way he was twisting his fingers in the fabric of the sleeves, he was not amused.
Brian looked grim. Gerard knew that facial expression even though he hadn’t seen it in years. That was the look of a man about to hold an intervention. Gerard couldn’t stop himself from making a wordless moan of protest.
“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I didn’t want to do this. It’s just. I need you to take this seriously.”
“We seriously don’t want to do this,” Gerard said, cringing at the whining tone. Frank nodded emphatically but didn’t say anything.
“I’m not the bad guy, here, Gerard.” Brian sighed and looked away. “I tried to tell them, they just wouldn’t…The point is, you really need to try to do this.”
“Or what?” Mikey sounded mutinous.
“Or I take away the coffee maker and tell all the PAs that you only get decaf from now on.” A muscle twitched in Brian’s cheek.
Mikey crumbled like a cheap card table. He slid off the couch, landing on the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. “Take Gerard,” he said quickly, “Sometimes he’s gay for free.”
“Fucking sell-out,” Gerard said, although he didn’t argue Mikey’s point. He kicked Mikey in the thigh, instead. “I can’t believe you gave up your own brother.”
“It’s not my fault,” Mikey shrugged, unrepentant. “I was under threat of torture.”
Gerard sighed, heavy and put-upon. “Fine. I will be gayer for my band. Happy now?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Brian.
“Great.” Brian looked relieved. “Work something out with Frankie. I’ll let the label know it’s a done deal.”
“What?” Frankie came to sudden attention. “Why me? Pick someone else. Pick Bob!”
“Bob’s gonna be behind his kit about a hundred feet off the stage. What am I gonna do, scale the riser to make out with him?” Gerard glared at Frankie, too. “Don’t be fucking stupid. What would I do with the microphone?”
“I don’t know,” Frank sneered, “why don’t you try shoving it up your-“
“Hey!” They were all snappish from caffeine deprivation, but this was taking things too far.
Mikey reached over with one long arm and flicked Frank on the ear, making him flinch. “Nobody yells at my brother except me,” he said calmly. “And you guys, but only when I say its okay. Or if he really deserves it.”
“Ow, Mikey, cut it the fuck out!” Frank batted at Mikey’s hand to get him to stop. “I’m not gonna be gay with Gerard, okay?”
Gerard didn’t want to be gay with Frankie, either. Not much, anyway. Well, not that he’d ever admit to in the cold light of day, anyway. He still couldn’t help feeling a little bit hurt that Frank was making such a big deal about this. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” he said, sulkily. “Lots of guys want to get with me.”
“Yeah, well, lots of guys haven’t smelled you yet, okay?” Frank sounded petulant.
“I don’t smell!” Gerard huffed. “Not anymore,” he added, fairly.
Frank shrugged and looked a little guilty. He was always an asshole, but normally he wasn’t mean. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t like ultimatums.” He picked at a hole in one fraying sleeve and added, “and you don’t really smell. Um. Anymore.”
Gerard shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We all need some coffee,” he said, with a significant look in Brian’s direction.
“Can I count on you, Frank?” Brian asked. Frank shrugged and looked away, frowning. “Don’t make me hide the cigarettes, too.” He rubbed his forehead, looking like he needed to sleep for a thousand days. Gerard felt bad for him, which, perversely, made him even more annoyed.
Frank looked shocked that anyone would ever try to take away his cigarettes. “I’ll be good,” he said, but his voice suggested quite the opposite.
“Good enough,” Brian said, and he handed over the coffee maker. Mikey snatched it away from him and immediately got to work making a pot of coffee. Brian left while they were fighting over who would be the first to get a mug under the drip.
***
High school had prepared Gerard for moments just like this. Not the gay stuff, but having to do something he didn’t really want to do. He assumed that as long as he did the bare minimum required of him, nobody would ask any questions. So he’d prance around the stage a little more than usual, add feather boas to the set somehow, and call it a day. He assumed Frank was on the same boat because Frank’s one concession to the All New, Now with More Gay plan was prancing up to Gerard and giving him a wet, smacking kiss on the cheek every so often. Which was pretty normal for him anyway, so.
It seemed to be working just fine, keeping the label (and Brian) off their backs, and ensuring the steady flow of sweet, sweet caffeine continued. And then some jackass in the audience yelled out, “Fucking fags!” between songs, when Gerard was taking a desperate gulp of water. Gerard turned to look for the guy, to tell him to get the fuck out because homophobes weren’t fucking welcome, and then Frank was on him, holding him by his hair and tonguing him to within an inch of his life.
When Frank finally let go, Gerard just stood there staring, one hand coming up to touch his chin. The normal roar of the crowd swelled to a deafening shriek. The kids were on their feet, screaming and cheering, but for the first time since he started singing Gerard had forgotten them. He completely forgot about the performance until Frank grinned at him and said, “Sing, motherfucker!” and ran off to play into the amps.
Gerard turned back to the audience and yelled, “Fuck the homophobes!” Another roar of approval crested and Gerard could feel the energy surging through the crowd. “This next song is dedicated to all the cocksuckers out there,” he purred. “We love the cocksuckers, and you know why?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, and they screamed back at him. “We love the cocksuckers because we know what they do to guys like us in prison.”
He heard the quick beat beat beat that marked the start of the song, took a breath and started singing.
It was an electric performance, the kind where the kids sang every word, gave back as good as they got. It was better than any high Gerard had ever experienced. He tilted his head back and laughed at the ceiling.
“You guys,” he said, “are the best fucking audience we’ve had on this whole fucking tour!” And this time he actually meant it.
***
That kiss was just the shot over Reprise’s bow. After that it was apparently game on.
On the next night, Frank snuck up behind Gerard, slid one arm around his waist and two fingers of the other hand into his mouth. Gerard kept singing around the press of Frank’s fingers on his tongue. Frank kissed the back of his neck before shoving off and throwing himself down on the stage to play the hell out of the song.
“What the fuck was that,” Gerard asked him after the show, silently thankful that he had managed to keep all the breathless longing out of his voice.
“Fuck ‘em. Fuck the homophobes and,” Frank said jubilantly, “fuck the suits. I’ll make them regret ever asking.” Gerard grinned back and said, “Fuck, yeah, motherfucker.” He wasn’t a proud man. He’d take what he could get. It was okay if it didn’t mean anything. It was better that way. If it didn’t mean anything, then there wasn’t anything to fuck up.
He was a shitty liar, even to himself.
***
Gerard slid his hand over Frank’s chest. Kids in the audience screamed their approval. Word had spread, and the kids were waiting for him to touch Frank every night. He could see girls in the pit waving signs that said ‘Frerard 4eva!’ and clutching each other in delight.
He could feel parts of Frank’s new tattoo, some of the lines still raised and swollen. Frank was sweating, tilting his head back to give Gerard room to move. His hair clung to his face and neck in thick, dark strands. He moaned and Gerard closed his eyes, trying to commit the sound to memory.
He jerked off after the show, thinking about the maze of lines on Frank’s skin and the sound of his voice breaking when Gerard traced them.
Gerard brooded in his bunk afterwards, listening to The Smiths on repeat. He felt like an idiot laying there moping. It was like he’d somehow returned to adolescence and the crushing feeling of being powerless. He was suddenly glad that Mikey wasn’t here to see it, not because he’d mock him for it but because he’d understand.
Mikey knew all about how Gerard felt about Frankie. It wasn’t something they’d ever talked about, exactly, but he was lousy at keeping secrets. Plus, Mikey knew how to read his facial expressions and body language like no one else. He saw Gerard watching Frankie, and he knew without having to be told.
He texted once or twice a day, prodding Gerard for details about the things he’d seen on youtube. He still knew about things, but at least he wasn’t here to see it firsthand.
Somehow having him away from the tour made the sudden onslaught of touching on stage easier for Gerard to adjust to and deal with.
***
Gerard kissed Frank, kept kissing him until Frank’s arms came up to hold him. This time when Gerard pulled back, he could see Frank looking at him, figuring things out. And this time, Gerard let himself be seen.
He didn’t try to hide his arousal, his desire. He hadn’t felt this strung out since he’d gotten clean. Frank narrowed his eyes, and then flashed a shit-eating grin. His hand came up, cupped Gerard’s cheek for a moment, and then he was gone, back to jam with Matt near Bob’s riser.
After the show that night, Brian called, trying to sound annoyed but mostly sounding amused. “The label called,” he said, and there was definitely a smile in his voice. “They want you to, you know, rein things in a little bit in the show.”
Frank said, “Fuck this lousy connection. What did you say? More gay? We’re on it!”
Gerard could hear Brian’s protests from across the bus, and he grinned to himself, even as he shifted, trying to subtly adjust himself in his thankfully loose pajama bottoms. He settled down with his drawing supplies as Frankie ended the call.
He eyed the faint pencil lines critically while he reached for his cigarettes. The picture wasn’t quite right, wasn't working, but he was having trouble losing himself in the piece. Frank was curled up on the couch across from him. Gerard could feel him staring and it made it hard to concentrate on his work.
He shook out a cigarette, flicked the lighter open and leaned in until the paper caught. He inhaled deeply, the heated rush of smoke settling his nerves. He flicked the butt and watched ash flake away onto a cracked grey saucer.
“Is this a problem with Jamia?” he asked, not looking up from his hands.
“Is what a problem?” Frank said. Gerard watched out of the corner of his eye as Frank pushed himself upright.
Gerard shrugged and said, “You know, the stage stuff.” He brought the cigarette back to his lips slowly, casually. His face felt stiff with tension and he tried to will his shoulders down.
“Gee,” Frank said softly, “of everything that’s ever happened on tour, this is the least of Jamia’s worries.”
Gerard forced himself to look then. Frank was looking at him, and he knew. It was obvious Frank knew, and Jamia must know because Frank didn’t keep secrets. Frank kept looking at him steadily, his words hanging between them.
Gerard looked away and smiled at his sketchpad. “I’m glad,” he said
***
A couple nights later, Frank, who’d been wild-eyed and aggressive all day, humped Gerard’s face. And fuck, what was Gerard supposed to do; he wrapped an arm around Frank’s legs, trying to keep them both upright, trying to stay balanced enough to sing. He could feel Frank’s heat all down his side, the hardness of his dick, the rasp of his zipper against Gerard’s cheek, and he wanted to just say fuck it and get Frank down on the fucking ground, but the crowd was screaming and they still had half the set to go and he couldn’t.
Frankie untangled himself and stormed off, playing like he was trying to melt his guitar, and Gerard threw himself into singing, but he had a buzzing awareness of Frank for the rest of the set. He knew where Frank was on stage at every moment, felt Frank’s eyes on him when he tilted his head back and slid one hand down his chest and over his crotch.
He mimed thrusting into his hand and just barely made it through the set with a feeling of soon thrumming through his veins.
Gerard could still feel the heat of the spotlight after the end of Mama. The crowd was on its feet, screaming, and he stood on the dark stage for a moment soaking up the energy. He turned his head slightly and there was Frank, standing in the wings and watching him. His expression burned more than the spotlight had, heating Gerard’s skin.
Gerard lifted a hand to skim his sweat-drenched hair out of his face and watched as Frank tracked the movement. He wiped the hand on his shirt, just a quick brush across his own chest. Frank took a deep breath, and Gerard could see the faint outline of his tattoo through the thin t-shirt. He wanted to feel the raised lines of ink under his tongue.
He became abruptly aware that he was still onstage, standing in front of a crowd of kids who were only thirty seconds away from getting an entirely different kind of show than they were expecting. He took a step, and then another, never looking away from Frank. By the time he got to the wings he was all but running. He reached out, laid his hand against Frank’s belly and felt the muscles shiver under his fingers. He looked Frank in the eye, eyebrows lifted in question. Frank nodded then turned, placed a hand in the small of Gerard’s back and said, “Go, go,” and they rushed through the backstage chaos together.
Frank grabbed a handful of Gerard’s shirt, tugging him toward the dressing room. Gerard wrapped his fingers around Frank’s wrist, pulling in another direction. “Bathroom,” he said. It was like a fucked-up three-legged race, the two of them stumbling into each other and pulling in different directions, until Frank turned and shoved. Gerard grunted as he hit the wall with a dull thud, but he was already tugging Frankie closer.
“Jesus,” Frank crowded close, stretching up to pull Gerard down for a kiss. He still clutched a fistful of Gerard’s shirt in one hand. He slid the other up Gerard’s neck and into his hair. He bit Gerard’s lip, not enough to break the skin but hard enough to make a point. Gerard opened his mouth and moaned when Frank licked his way inside. Over the clatter of stagehands setting up for Linkin Park, Gerard heard Bob yelling, “Get a fucking room, you losers!” and Ray saying, “Gee, you’re so gross,” as if he were thirteen instead of thirty.
Gerard pulled back, panting. Frank made a sound of protest, and pressed his face against the black smear that was the last remaining evidence of LUST, the word Gerard had written in big block letters before the show. “Fuck, Frankie,” Gerard said, half-laughing, half-groaning. “There’s people everywhere, we can’t-“
Frank bit the corner of Gerard’s jaw and held on for a second. He let go and said, “I don’t fucking care if there’s a fucking news crew, I don’t want to wait.” His pupils were blown, wide and black in his pale face. His lips were swollen and Gerard wanted to push him to his knees and use that mouth almost as much as he wanted Frankie to fuck him.
“Not here,” he said, because fuck. He didn’t care who knew, but that didn’t mean he wanted an audience. Not for this, not for the first time. Frank bit him again and he groaned, turned his head away until his skin felt stretched and the sting of Frankie’s teeth was heat and pressure and god, so good. “Please,” he gasped, mostly air. Frank let go, and this time he eased away.
“Where?” Frankie asked.
“Not the dressing room,” Gerard said. “There’s still people there. Bathroom?”
“Too busy,” Frank said, but he was moving again, pulling Gerard along in his wake. “There’s gotta be an empty room, something with a fucking lock on the door, fuck.”
Paper signs hung on most of the doors, designating office space for the tour managers, equipment storage, dressing rooms, costume storage. There were people everywhere and every unmarked door they passed was locked. “Why couldn’t this be a hotel night?” Gerard groaned in frustration and Frank laughed.
Gerard tried another doorknob. It actually turned, and Frank pushed him in, crowding in behind him before the door even started to swing shut. He leaned back against the door, sealing it shut, and pulled Gerard back against his chest. Gerard tried to turn around, to get his hands on him, but Frank started to fumble at his belt with one hand, and gently cupped his throat with the other.
He shivered and arched into Frank’s touch. The feel of Frank’s fingers on his skin, his breath in Gerard’s ear was magnified by the darkness around them. Gerard tilted his head back, turning until he could almost, almost kiss him. Frank finally got Gerard’s pants unzipped. He slipped his hand in, wrapped his fingers around Gerard’s dick and immediately started stroking with a quick rhythm. He turned his head and licked Gerard’s neck, dragging his teeth over the skin he’d bitten earlier.
“Fuck,” Gerard hissed, reaching back over his head to brace himself against the door. He felt like he was laid out for Frank’s hands, open and vulnerable in the best possible way. He shook with each stroke of Frank’s hand, went up on his toes and shuddered when Frank thrust against his ass.
Something clattered out in the hallway and the sudden reminder of their surroundings jolted through Gerard’s nerve endings. His breath stuttered out on a moan, loud in the small space. Frank groaned against his neck, and stroked Gerard through the orgasm. He didn’t take his hand away until Gerard gasped, “Too much.” He still didn’t let Gerard turn around. He brought his hand up to his own mouth and sucked his wet fingers into his mouth.
The sound was liquid and obscene in the darkness. He rocked his hips against Gerard’s ass, a counter beat to the sound of sucking. Gerard groaned deep in his throat and pressed back against each thrust. “Fuck me,” he said, knowing they couldn’t. There wasn’t time and even if there was, he couldn’t do it dry.
He wanted it, though, wanted Frank to shove Gerard’s legs wide and step between them, wanted Frank to bend him over and hold him down with a hand between his shoulder blades, wanted finger-shaped bruises on his hipbones and the feel of Frank pressing deep.
“We can’t,” Frank said, echoing his thoughts, but he dropped both hands to Gerard’s hips to pull him back into each thrust. He dropped his forehead against Gerard’s shoulder, each exhalation burning hot through Gerard’s t-shirt. “I need, fuck,” he said, ragged and desperate, and Gerard urged him on, “Come on, come on.”
Frank pressed closer, shaking against Gerard’s back when he came. He stayed close, after, pressed kisses to Gerard’s shoulder, holding on until his breathing evened out.
Gerard turned around when Frank loosened his grip. “Hey,” he said, and leaned in to kiss the smug grin off Frank’s face. He lost track of how long they stood there, kissing lazily, until someone knocked sharply on the door.
Gerard jumped. Frank giggled and hung on tight.
“Gee?” Bob’s voice was mocking, “Bus is leaving in ten. Time to come out of the closet and make management proud.”
“Yeah,” Ray said, and fuck, was everyone out there, waiting for Frank and him to open the door? “Some of our very best friends are big homos, so you know we’ll totally still respect you after.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Gerard hid his grin against Frankie’s hair. He leaned down to kiss Frank again, a quick press of lips, and then pulled back to do up his fly. “As if you fuckers respected us before.”
Frank laughed and pinched his ass. When he pulled open the door, waving grandly as Bob and Ray and a fucking crowd of roadies applauded, Gerard thanked God for Liberace and followed him out.