Bandom Ficlet: Crackle
Yay, I wrote stuff. Unfortunately, it's not the stuff I'm supposed to be writing like my help_pakistan fic... Still.
This is a long overdue prompt fill for snuffkin. Thank you to pushkin666 for looking it over and to the incessant Manchester rain for the inspiration.
Crackle - Bandom - Frank/Gerard - PG-13 - 717 words
Prompt picture
The heavens open approximately three-point-five seconds after Frank steps out of the signing tent and lights his first cigarette in fuck knows how long. He’s not sure which hits him the hardest; the nicotine or the pounding rain that arrives from seemingly out of nowhere.
“Son of a bitch!” he curses, trying in vain to shield his smoke as he dashes toward the parking lot.
There’s a sharp crack of thunder closely followed by a flash of lightning and Frank runs faster, his shoes already wet through. He skids and almost falls crossing the stretch of grass between the venue and the buses, the ground muddy from the pouring rain. The air smells of ozone, the static making his skin prickle and the back of his teeth buzz with electricity.
The cigarette has long since fizzled out and Frank tosses it to the ground. He can see their bus now, beckoning him with its promise of dry towels and leftover pizza.
Unfortunately, it’s not all he can see. Gerard is standing outside, only a few steps away from the door, but definitely far enough to get drenched. His head is tilted back and his arms are spread wide, hands cupped like a beggar waiting for alms.
“What the fuck, Gee?” Frank asks, coming to stop in front of him. Even from the close distance he has to raise his voice to be heard over the storm. “Are you actively trying to drown yourself?”
Gerard blinks, drops of water trailing down his neck in a way that makes Frank’s chest tighten with the familiar urge to touch.
“Hey Frankie,” Gerard says, smiling, and then adds: “It’s a thunder storm,” like that explains anything.
Frank shakes his head like a dog, attempting to clear his vision. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He puts as much sarcasm as he can into the comment, which is to say not a lot. Turns out, it’s not so easy being sarcastic when your balls are getting chafed by wet denim. He knew he should’ve worn underwear today.
“What the hell are you doing out here? The guys didn’t lock you out again, did they?” Frank’s forehead creases unhappily. It’s one thing to throw out a bandmate when it’s nice and sunny, it’s another thing entirely when the weather requires that you toss a life raft after them.
Gerard laughs, plucking at Frank’s jacket absentmindedly. The fabric is dark and heavy by now, sodden through and Frank shivers a little at the feeling, automatically swaying closer.
“No, no. Thunder, lightning, you know. All that power...” Gerard trails off with an embarrassed shrug. “I think it’s cool.”
Frank frowns. He supposes it is, except he would prefer to watch it from the inside, not out here where they were liable to be hit by a-
“Oh my god!” he exclaims, half laughing, half genuinely concerned for Gerard’s sanity. “Are you seriously waiting to see if you’ll get zapped by lightning and develop super powers?”
Gerard ducks his head and peers at Frank from under his wet lashes. “...No? Not seriously.” His smile is wide and a little self-deprecating, hair flat and ridiculous from the rain.
And Frank knows with a gut-wrenching certainty that this here, this moment right now, is when all his carefully cultivated self-control is finally going to snap, crackle and pop like a defunct lightning conductor.
He tries to give Gerard some kind of warning, but only manages to get out a choked ‘nngh’ before he’s twining his fingers into Gerard’s t-shirt and raising up on tiptoes to lick at the rainwater that clings to his bottom lip.
Gerard’s breath hitches with surprise and for a heart-stopping moment Frank thinks ‘shit, shit, screwed up’ but then Gerard’s hands wrap around his belt and he’s being hauled closer, their buckles clinking together dully.
Gerard’s mouth opens under his like a fucking revelation, like a really good plot twist you saw coming but that turned out even better than you expected. The warmth of it is shocking and Frank moans, wanting to climb inside and just curl himself up in all that heat.
Another roll of thunder crashes across the sky, making them both shiver with anticipation, skin slippery with the rain that keeps on falling. It’s going to be one hell of a storm.
This is a long overdue prompt fill for snuffkin. Thank you to pushkin666 for looking it over and to the incessant Manchester rain for the inspiration.
Crackle - Bandom - Frank/Gerard - PG-13 - 717 words
Prompt picture
The heavens open approximately three-point-five seconds after Frank steps out of the signing tent and lights his first cigarette in fuck knows how long. He’s not sure which hits him the hardest; the nicotine or the pounding rain that arrives from seemingly out of nowhere.
“Son of a bitch!” he curses, trying in vain to shield his smoke as he dashes toward the parking lot.
There’s a sharp crack of thunder closely followed by a flash of lightning and Frank runs faster, his shoes already wet through. He skids and almost falls crossing the stretch of grass between the venue and the buses, the ground muddy from the pouring rain. The air smells of ozone, the static making his skin prickle and the back of his teeth buzz with electricity.
The cigarette has long since fizzled out and Frank tosses it to the ground. He can see their bus now, beckoning him with its promise of dry towels and leftover pizza.
Unfortunately, it’s not all he can see. Gerard is standing outside, only a few steps away from the door, but definitely far enough to get drenched. His head is tilted back and his arms are spread wide, hands cupped like a beggar waiting for alms.
“What the fuck, Gee?” Frank asks, coming to stop in front of him. Even from the close distance he has to raise his voice to be heard over the storm. “Are you actively trying to drown yourself?”
Gerard blinks, drops of water trailing down his neck in a way that makes Frank’s chest tighten with the familiar urge to touch.
“Hey Frankie,” Gerard says, smiling, and then adds: “It’s a thunder storm,” like that explains anything.
Frank shakes his head like a dog, attempting to clear his vision. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He puts as much sarcasm as he can into the comment, which is to say not a lot. Turns out, it’s not so easy being sarcastic when your balls are getting chafed by wet denim. He knew he should’ve worn underwear today.
“What the hell are you doing out here? The guys didn’t lock you out again, did they?” Frank’s forehead creases unhappily. It’s one thing to throw out a bandmate when it’s nice and sunny, it’s another thing entirely when the weather requires that you toss a life raft after them.
Gerard laughs, plucking at Frank’s jacket absentmindedly. The fabric is dark and heavy by now, sodden through and Frank shivers a little at the feeling, automatically swaying closer.
“No, no. Thunder, lightning, you know. All that power...” Gerard trails off with an embarrassed shrug. “I think it’s cool.”
Frank frowns. He supposes it is, except he would prefer to watch it from the inside, not out here where they were liable to be hit by a-
“Oh my god!” he exclaims, half laughing, half genuinely concerned for Gerard’s sanity. “Are you seriously waiting to see if you’ll get zapped by lightning and develop super powers?”
Gerard ducks his head and peers at Frank from under his wet lashes. “...No? Not seriously.” His smile is wide and a little self-deprecating, hair flat and ridiculous from the rain.
And Frank knows with a gut-wrenching certainty that this here, this moment right now, is when all his carefully cultivated self-control is finally going to snap, crackle and pop like a defunct lightning conductor.
He tries to give Gerard some kind of warning, but only manages to get out a choked ‘nngh’ before he’s twining his fingers into Gerard’s t-shirt and raising up on tiptoes to lick at the rainwater that clings to his bottom lip.
Gerard’s breath hitches with surprise and for a heart-stopping moment Frank thinks ‘shit, shit, screwed up’ but then Gerard’s hands wrap around his belt and he’s being hauled closer, their buckles clinking together dully.
Gerard’s mouth opens under his like a fucking revelation, like a really good plot twist you saw coming but that turned out even better than you expected. The warmth of it is shocking and Frank moans, wanting to climb inside and just curl himself up in all that heat.
Another roll of thunder crashes across the sky, making them both shiver with anticipation, skin slippery with the rain that keeps on falling. It’s going to be one hell of a storm.