fic: small beginnings (frank/gerard)
Third prompt fic is (finally) done! This one is for greenjelloforst's prompt Frank's first MCR show.
small beginnings
Frank/Gerard, PG, ~3100 words
a/n: Many, many thanks to turnyourankle for the beta, and to aeroplane for the stimulating conversation about boys and aliens and whatnot ♥!
"I remember getting up on a chair and watching the first My Chem show."
"We were terrified."
"You were drunk!"
"We were drunk. Mikey was really drunk. We had to go pound a bunch of beer in their van before the show."
Life on the Murder Scene
It’s the first time My Chem’s playing a real club show and the atmosphere is appropriate: nervous, tense, tentatively excited. Frank’s just bored, though. He had considered taking a nap an hour ago, but that was the time the guys had chosen to bombard him with questions… so, no. Didn’t happen.
There’s a small area behind the stage that could only go by the name of backstage, and that’s where Ray had dragged them all early in the afternoon, just so no one would have a chance to be fashionably late even if they wanted to.
So everyone’s been bored for a good four hours now, and Frank doesn’t know why he had to come along, anyway. It’s not like he’s playing tonight. Fucking Ways, he thinks, flashing Mikey an encouraging smile and thumbs up when he walks by, frowning at his log-sized cell phone.
He learns about fast reflexes when he's jumping from the threadbare mustard yellow couch to tackle Gerard to the ground, to, you know, kill time. Gerard ducks the dive easily, and instead of landing on a soft, comfortable body, Frank face-plants on the hard, sticky floor. Stray threads of black hair-probably Gerard's-stick to his cheek and this is so not on.
Somewhere in the background Matt hollers with laughter.
"Son of a bitch," Frank groans as Gerard crams his hands under Frank's armpits and hoists him back up, smearing a streak of laughter into his neck and the back of his head, almost hitting Frank’s ear with his moist breath. It tickles but it's a good kind of itch, the kind that leaves him wanting for more.
Frank can feel Gerard buzzing behind him. It's the first time that day Gerard isn't chewing on his fingernails or biting the twist of his lip, eyebrows drawn and almost level with his lashes. He decides that he can fall down some more if it helps to keep Gerard's mind out of scary things like first shows and fucking them up.
"You okay, man?" Gerard grins, painting an invisible line from the center of Frank's shoulder blades to the small of his back with a clammy palm before pushing that hand into his own pocket, making a slope with his mouth.
"Fine," Frank grumbles.
He tries not to pay attention to the way Gerard's touch is suddenly braiding his insides. It's easier when he focuses on the sting of the fall.
"Lucky for you it's your big night, fuckhead, or else."
"What? You gonna kick my ass?"
Frank smiles and licks his lips. "Got that right."
.
The Garfield clock on the wall ticks towards an ordinary evening for the club, but it's anything but ordinary for the four guys at the back of the stage.
Ray’s having a death-grip on his guitar, knuckles white, looking like he's going to stare a hole to the floor. Matt's drumming the air with his sticks in rhythm with the faint beat that carries from the club, and Mikey-
"Where's Mikey?" Frank asks, looking at Gerard whose face is edging from pale to paler at a nice, steady speed.
Everyone jerks up from their thoughts in turn, glancing around the room. Mikey isn't there.
“Shit,” Gerard says. He pulls himself up from the couch by tugging at his tie. Guy’s dressed to the nines like he's about to accept an award. He walks out of the room and Frank reacts quickly, jogging out to catch up with him.
"I asked him if he was fine like five minutes ago," Gerard rants, checking empty rooms as he walks along the thin hallway. Frank thinks it's been longer than five minutes but he doesn't tell.
"Come on, we should check the bathroom," Frank says, remembering how fucking nervous he had been before his first show. He takes Gerard's clammy hand into his and together they sprint to the direction of the tiny bathroom at the end of the building.
The only sign of life they can find is the stale smell of piss and vomit. "Fuck, fuck, he can't just fucking go and disappear. We're on in like an hour."
"Calm down," Frank soothes, guiding Gerard out, trying not to step on wads of toilet paper. "And stop worrying, we're gonna find him."
“If he’s gone home, I swear to God,” Gerard says, twiddling with something in his pocket, probably a pack of his Marlboros. Frank makes a mental note to drag him out for a smoke later.
When they get back to the hallway, Frank can make out distinct voices-Ray and Matt-that mix with the hum of old lights and party people.
"We got him!" Ray yells importantly when he spots them. "We have Mikey!"
Mikey is leaning against the wall looking somewhat ruffled. His hair is mussed and his glasses are askew.
Gerard lets out a short noise, reflexively gripping Frank's arm and dragging him down the hallway until they're invading Mikey's personal space.
"Where the hell did you go?" Gerard asks, and Mikey has the good grace to look embarrassed when he meets his brother's eyes.
"I, uh-"
"Our Casanova was at the bar," Ray says, amused.
"Tongue in some hot chick's throat," Matt chuckles, hitting Mikey in the ball of his shoulder with his fist like it's a compliment and Mikey should be proud. Frank's gotta admit he's impressed. Mikey couldn't have been gone for more than twenty minutes.
Frank has known Mikey for a solid three months now, which has given him enough time to come to the conclusion that Mikey is a chick-magnet. It didn't take more than three minutes to realize that Gerard is not.
Flirting for Gerard seems to be completely accidental, and it usually only manifests itself when he's excited as hell. To this day Frank isn't sure whether Gerard had been hitting on him the other night on the porch or if he had just been genuinely enthusiastic about the concept of a monkey making breakfast. No, really, a monkey making breakfast.
It's just as well. Gerard doesn't probably know either. Guy gets confused a lot.
"Bar?" Gerard asks, and right on cue, Mikey burps.
Gerard rolls his eyes. He pulls Frank into the room where they started from, down on the mustard yellow couch with him like Frank's an extra limb that Gerard has to drag around with everywhere he goes. Like Siamese twins but (hopefully one day) with benefits.
Gerard's started ranting again, absently tugging the collar of Frank's Black Flag t-shirt, and Frank wonders just how many beers Gerard can swig down before he passes out. He's already down to a six-pack at least and he isn't even that drunk: just comfortable and really fucking clingy in a heavy, drowsy kind of way. Maybe Frank should start taking count. Guy has a show to play.
"I don't get how he gets all the ladies, anyway. He looks like a confused baby ostrich s'what he looks like," Gerard's saying pathetically, beer-breath painting the air in front of them close and sharp.
Frank glances up at Mikey and gives him a sweet smile when he shoots them the bird.
.
Frank feels like there's something he should say to the guys just to get them from freaked out as hell to psyched and happy to be there.
They have ten minutes left before needing to be on stage-a real stage-for the first time in their lives, and Gerard's gone from pale to pasty and sweaty and shaking like he’s got the plague. He's also really drunk now because Frank apparently sucks at being rational.
"Hey, Frankie," Gerard says from his spot in the middle of the room. Somewhere between then and now Gerard's managed to detach himself from his extra limb-also known as Frankie-and made a home for himself on the floor. He's sitting there with his legs crossed, rocking back and forth, his hair hanging in clumps over his face. "It gets better, yeah?" he asks, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
"Better believe it," Frank says. He gets up from the couch and kneels down beside Gerard. "It's gonna be great." He looks at the guys, everyone in turn.
"Liar," Gerard cracks a smile, poking at Frank's knee. He’s been kind of affectionate the whole evening, which… is new. "It's gonna be a disaster, I can feel it."
"Bullshit," Frank says, leaning in to pet at Gerard's shoulder. He grabs Gerard's arm and stands up, bringing Gerard up with him, almost stumbling under his dead weight. Gerard isn’t cooperating at all, like he wants to stay glued to the floor the whole night and contemplate on his shitty life without actually trying to fix it for once. “Help me out here, man.” Frank grunts, shrugging Gerard’s arm from around his shoulder.
"Fuck you, Gee," Mikey says darkly from the corner, hugging his legs to his chest, and Frank wonders if this is what being a big brother feels like, because he's suddenly taking care of four guys, making sure they get to the stage on time and in one piece, telling them how awesome it'll be and how great they'll do.
It takes some time (and some more beer), but Gerard finally perks up enough for them to get things rolling.
"I'm going to get a good spot now, okay? It's gonna be fucking incredible," Frank says, patting everyone on the back, hesitating when he reaches Gerard. If Frank's honest with himself, he isn't sure Gerard will be able to take his audience. Guy gets nervous meeting new people in fucking daylight, in the comfort of his own home. Frank remembers how much of an effort it had taken on his part to get to know Gerard. Not that he minds. It was totally worth it.
He aches for this to go well. For My Chem's sake, sure, but mostly for Gerard's. If all goes well tonight, Gerard will hopefully learn from it, from the head-banging kids at the front of the stage, and he will end up loving it, craving for more. Here's hoping.
"Enjoy it, and you'll do great," Frank promises, planting a quick kiss on Gerard's cheek before he leaves them standing at the side of the stage. He smiles encouragingly for the last time, sticking his tongue out at Gerard who is busy touching the fading kiss under the corner of his eye. He looks almost sober for a while.
Frank skids down to the bar, checking out the crowd. It's not too bad: the place isn't packed but there are still kids there, enough to make a nice evening. Some of them recognize him as the guy from Pencey Prep, and Frank exchanges hellos, telling them to stick around because his favorite band is about to play.
And then suddenly the band gets up onstage. Gerard takes his place in the middle, head down and mic already gracing his lips. Mikey hides somewhere between his brother and an amp, nonplussed as he looks around.
With a quick, steady voice, Gerard says, "We're My Chemical Romance and we're here to save your lives," and Ray and Matt take that as their cue to jump to Turnstiles, Mikey following close behind. Frank giggles at the cheesy comment; he’s gonna have to ask about that one later.
He climbs up on a chair so that he can see anything: the kids are really into it, jumping around, and Gerard-Gerard's fucking rocking out, his confidence and spirits seemingly rising in canon with the racket of the crowd.
It's a good show; nothing completely unique or spectacular, like it never is the first time, but everyone ends up having a good time, the band included. Nobody leaves during the set either, which pretty much means they nailed it.
Gerard's managed to surprise Frank, already adopting a completely different but totally enjoyable stage persona. He seems to have surprised himself as well. He introduces the band, rants about his fucking daytime job that's slowly sucking the life out of him, and thanks everyone for sticking around. Frank notices some new kids walking in too, melting into the crowd, and when the set winds down to an end, his face hurts from grinning so much.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go over to the bar and have a drink with my friend," Gerard says, twisting his mouth as he hooks the mic back to its stand and jumps down from the stage. The kids give him a cheer; some of them want to shake his hand.
Frank watches as a semi-important looking guy stops him. They exchange a few words but he lets Gerard go after managing to slip him a business card with a shake of a hand. Fucking Jersey, Frank thinks, scrunching up his nose.
When Gerard finally gets to the bar, Frank’s sitting on the counter, kicking his heels against the wooden surface.
"Buy me a beer?" Gerard asks with a hoarse voice and an open face, cheeks and hair damp with sweat. There's a pyramid-shaped sweat strike on the back of his collar shirt and his tie is hanging over his shoulder.
Frank smiles, nodding his head. "It's free beverages for everyone that plays."
Gerard makes a sign of victory with his hand. "Hell yeah, my kind of place." He orders two beers, pushes one into Frank’s hands, and says, "He's with me," to the bartender who looks like he doesn't give a flying fuck about etiquette.
.
"So, how did we do?" Gerard asks when they’re outside, walking over to Ray's place. Mikey has Hot Chick tucked under his arm, Ray and Matt go on about the show, but Gerard seems to be content ten steps behind, trudging onwards with Frank by his side. They make brushes of knuckles and hips appear like accidents, but Frank thinks even Gerard can't be that oblivious.
Frank turns his head to look at Gerard. He snatches Gerard's smoke from his weird mouth and toys with it between his fingers, shrugging, ignoring the little wail of complaint Gerard snorts out.
"You were alright, I guess." He smirks at Gerard's wide-eyed look and lets out a sharp giggle when Gerard's flabby hand swats at his stomach. And then he yelps because Gerard’s started tickling him, pinching at his sides.
"Motherfucker! We were better than that," Gerard shouts, getting a good tweak of skin just below Frank's ribcage, making him whine.
Ray turns around to see what's going on just as Frank's squirming loose from Gerard's grip, almost losing his shirt in the process. He laughs and starts walking again.
"Fine, fine! You were better than that, Jesus fuck," Frank exclaims, squawking when his ass hits the ground. Gerard lets go of him, plucking his cigarette back from Frank's fingers. Frank's surprised he even had it still, after that.
"How much better?" Gerard asks with a smug, satisfied grin, cocking an eyebrow and spreading his creepy fingers against his hip. His cheekbones jut out like crazy and in the glow of the street, Frank thinks Gerard could pass off as a motherfucking alien.
"Better than my first show," Frank says, ass still stinging, and it's true: they were much better. “You look like a motherfucking alien.”
"Mr. Spock?" Gerard asks dreamily, offering Frank his hand. Frank bats it away and gets up, dusting off his jeans.
“Ha! I was thinking more like, E.T.”
Gerard lets out an exasperated little noise, pushing his lip out into a pout. “I do not!”
“Sure you do. You’ve got the same creepyass fingers, and, dude, have you seen your fucking head?” Frank says with a self-satisfied grin. Two can play this game.
“Fuck you, that hurt!” Gerard’s mouth looks like it wants to stretch out on his right side, and in a moment of audacity, Frank reaches up to kiss it back into shape.
It starts out as a brush of lips: oversensitive to a faint touch so Frank groans appreciatively when Gerard relaxes into the kiss, biting the tickle away. His fingers get entangled with Gerard’s hair, mouth working a nice, wet pattern along Gerard’s jaw line.
The balls of his feet start to sting and go numb, so he sinks back down, breathing heavily against Gerard's collarbone, surprised but pleased when Gerard doesn't stop touching the back of his neck and shoulder bones.
"Mmm, I like E.T. though," he breathes, glancing at the street over Gerard’s shoulder: friends the size of ants against the horizon.
“E.T.’s the man,” Gerard agrees. His voice is lazy and quiet, his chest soft just so that Frank kind of wants to take a nap there. He whines when Gerard pulls away, but there’s still a warm place for him in the crook of Gerard’s arm, and Frank exploits it before Gerard has the chance to escape.
“Nn,” Frank says as he nudges them back into motion. “Wasn’t all that scary, was it?” he asks, going through the show in his head.
“Nuh,” Gerard says. He shrugs his shoulder up against Frank’s ear. “Felt kind of like waking up.”
“Huh.” Frank nods, totally getting it.
“I mean, not like waking up in the mornin’ ‘cos that fuckin’ sucks giraffe balls.” Gerard makes a face.
“Giraffe balls?”
“Yeah!” Gerard says with feeling, gesturing with his hand. “Big, hairy, giraffe balls.”
Frank smiles.
“But anyway. It’s like this: you just go on about your life in a daze until someone or something finally jerks you awake from that. If you’re lucky.”
“Dude, I know. I totally get it.”
“I guess it’s just that I finally seriously got it, too, found the right direction. Someone-something showed me the way.”
Frank gets an image of Gerard running around in Wonderland flashing through his head, and he giggles when the striped cat jumps onto Gerard’s head, paws at his forehead while Gerard flails about. He fucking loves his stupid mind. “Followed the homogay rabbit out of the maze now did you, Alice?”
Gerard gives him an easy smile. He squeezes Frank’s shoulder painfully, fingers digging into skin. “Something like that,” he says and turns his head up at the sky.
There’s a smell of rain in the air.
Frank thinks he wouldn’t mind staying out until the end of dawn. Gerard though, Gerard wiggles his index finger near Frank’s face, and with a stupid, dorky grin, he says, “E.T. go home?”
Frank huffs a laugh. He kind of really wants that nap now. “It’s phone home, you idiot. And I thought we were going to Ray’s.” He wraps his palm around Gerard’s finger.
Gerard shrugs, looking away. He tries to pull his finger from Frank’s grip and fails.
Frank swings his whole arm by the finger, but stops when Gerard says, “We, uh. We could go to Ray’s… or, not. It’s-whatever you want. Whatever’s good for me.”
“Your place is closer,” Frank says quickly, tightening the grip.
“’Kay.” Gerard’s voice wavers, but he smiles like Frank had said the right thing. He nods his head and starts walking towards the house, Frank still shamelessly exploiting the warmth of his side.
small beginnings
Frank/Gerard, PG, ~3100 words
a/n: Many, many thanks to turnyourankle for the beta, and to aeroplane for the stimulating conversation about boys and aliens and whatnot ♥!
"I remember getting up on a chair and watching the first My Chem show."
"We were terrified."
"You were drunk!"
"We were drunk. Mikey was really drunk. We had to go pound a bunch of beer in their van before the show."
Life on the Murder Scene
It’s the first time My Chem’s playing a real club show and the atmosphere is appropriate: nervous, tense, tentatively excited. Frank’s just bored, though. He had considered taking a nap an hour ago, but that was the time the guys had chosen to bombard him with questions… so, no. Didn’t happen.
There’s a small area behind the stage that could only go by the name of backstage, and that’s where Ray had dragged them all early in the afternoon, just so no one would have a chance to be fashionably late even if they wanted to.
So everyone’s been bored for a good four hours now, and Frank doesn’t know why he had to come along, anyway. It’s not like he’s playing tonight. Fucking Ways, he thinks, flashing Mikey an encouraging smile and thumbs up when he walks by, frowning at his log-sized cell phone.
He learns about fast reflexes when he's jumping from the threadbare mustard yellow couch to tackle Gerard to the ground, to, you know, kill time. Gerard ducks the dive easily, and instead of landing on a soft, comfortable body, Frank face-plants on the hard, sticky floor. Stray threads of black hair-probably Gerard's-stick to his cheek and this is so not on.
Somewhere in the background Matt hollers with laughter.
"Son of a bitch," Frank groans as Gerard crams his hands under Frank's armpits and hoists him back up, smearing a streak of laughter into his neck and the back of his head, almost hitting Frank’s ear with his moist breath. It tickles but it's a good kind of itch, the kind that leaves him wanting for more.
Frank can feel Gerard buzzing behind him. It's the first time that day Gerard isn't chewing on his fingernails or biting the twist of his lip, eyebrows drawn and almost level with his lashes. He decides that he can fall down some more if it helps to keep Gerard's mind out of scary things like first shows and fucking them up.
"You okay, man?" Gerard grins, painting an invisible line from the center of Frank's shoulder blades to the small of his back with a clammy palm before pushing that hand into his own pocket, making a slope with his mouth.
"Fine," Frank grumbles.
He tries not to pay attention to the way Gerard's touch is suddenly braiding his insides. It's easier when he focuses on the sting of the fall.
"Lucky for you it's your big night, fuckhead, or else."
"What? You gonna kick my ass?"
Frank smiles and licks his lips. "Got that right."
.
The Garfield clock on the wall ticks towards an ordinary evening for the club, but it's anything but ordinary for the four guys at the back of the stage.
Ray’s having a death-grip on his guitar, knuckles white, looking like he's going to stare a hole to the floor. Matt's drumming the air with his sticks in rhythm with the faint beat that carries from the club, and Mikey-
"Where's Mikey?" Frank asks, looking at Gerard whose face is edging from pale to paler at a nice, steady speed.
Everyone jerks up from their thoughts in turn, glancing around the room. Mikey isn't there.
“Shit,” Gerard says. He pulls himself up from the couch by tugging at his tie. Guy’s dressed to the nines like he's about to accept an award. He walks out of the room and Frank reacts quickly, jogging out to catch up with him.
"I asked him if he was fine like five minutes ago," Gerard rants, checking empty rooms as he walks along the thin hallway. Frank thinks it's been longer than five minutes but he doesn't tell.
"Come on, we should check the bathroom," Frank says, remembering how fucking nervous he had been before his first show. He takes Gerard's clammy hand into his and together they sprint to the direction of the tiny bathroom at the end of the building.
The only sign of life they can find is the stale smell of piss and vomit. "Fuck, fuck, he can't just fucking go and disappear. We're on in like an hour."
"Calm down," Frank soothes, guiding Gerard out, trying not to step on wads of toilet paper. "And stop worrying, we're gonna find him."
“If he’s gone home, I swear to God,” Gerard says, twiddling with something in his pocket, probably a pack of his Marlboros. Frank makes a mental note to drag him out for a smoke later.
When they get back to the hallway, Frank can make out distinct voices-Ray and Matt-that mix with the hum of old lights and party people.
"We got him!" Ray yells importantly when he spots them. "We have Mikey!"
Mikey is leaning against the wall looking somewhat ruffled. His hair is mussed and his glasses are askew.
Gerard lets out a short noise, reflexively gripping Frank's arm and dragging him down the hallway until they're invading Mikey's personal space.
"Where the hell did you go?" Gerard asks, and Mikey has the good grace to look embarrassed when he meets his brother's eyes.
"I, uh-"
"Our Casanova was at the bar," Ray says, amused.
"Tongue in some hot chick's throat," Matt chuckles, hitting Mikey in the ball of his shoulder with his fist like it's a compliment and Mikey should be proud. Frank's gotta admit he's impressed. Mikey couldn't have been gone for more than twenty minutes.
Frank has known Mikey for a solid three months now, which has given him enough time to come to the conclusion that Mikey is a chick-magnet. It didn't take more than three minutes to realize that Gerard is not.
Flirting for Gerard seems to be completely accidental, and it usually only manifests itself when he's excited as hell. To this day Frank isn't sure whether Gerard had been hitting on him the other night on the porch or if he had just been genuinely enthusiastic about the concept of a monkey making breakfast. No, really, a monkey making breakfast.
It's just as well. Gerard doesn't probably know either. Guy gets confused a lot.
"Bar?" Gerard asks, and right on cue, Mikey burps.
Gerard rolls his eyes. He pulls Frank into the room where they started from, down on the mustard yellow couch with him like Frank's an extra limb that Gerard has to drag around with everywhere he goes. Like Siamese twins but (hopefully one day) with benefits.
Gerard's started ranting again, absently tugging the collar of Frank's Black Flag t-shirt, and Frank wonders just how many beers Gerard can swig down before he passes out. He's already down to a six-pack at least and he isn't even that drunk: just comfortable and really fucking clingy in a heavy, drowsy kind of way. Maybe Frank should start taking count. Guy has a show to play.
"I don't get how he gets all the ladies, anyway. He looks like a confused baby ostrich s'what he looks like," Gerard's saying pathetically, beer-breath painting the air in front of them close and sharp.
Frank glances up at Mikey and gives him a sweet smile when he shoots them the bird.
.
Frank feels like there's something he should say to the guys just to get them from freaked out as hell to psyched and happy to be there.
They have ten minutes left before needing to be on stage-a real stage-for the first time in their lives, and Gerard's gone from pale to pasty and sweaty and shaking like he’s got the plague. He's also really drunk now because Frank apparently sucks at being rational.
"Hey, Frankie," Gerard says from his spot in the middle of the room. Somewhere between then and now Gerard's managed to detach himself from his extra limb-also known as Frankie-and made a home for himself on the floor. He's sitting there with his legs crossed, rocking back and forth, his hair hanging in clumps over his face. "It gets better, yeah?" he asks, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
"Better believe it," Frank says. He gets up from the couch and kneels down beside Gerard. "It's gonna be great." He looks at the guys, everyone in turn.
"Liar," Gerard cracks a smile, poking at Frank's knee. He’s been kind of affectionate the whole evening, which… is new. "It's gonna be a disaster, I can feel it."
"Bullshit," Frank says, leaning in to pet at Gerard's shoulder. He grabs Gerard's arm and stands up, bringing Gerard up with him, almost stumbling under his dead weight. Gerard isn’t cooperating at all, like he wants to stay glued to the floor the whole night and contemplate on his shitty life without actually trying to fix it for once. “Help me out here, man.” Frank grunts, shrugging Gerard’s arm from around his shoulder.
"Fuck you, Gee," Mikey says darkly from the corner, hugging his legs to his chest, and Frank wonders if this is what being a big brother feels like, because he's suddenly taking care of four guys, making sure they get to the stage on time and in one piece, telling them how awesome it'll be and how great they'll do.
It takes some time (and some more beer), but Gerard finally perks up enough for them to get things rolling.
"I'm going to get a good spot now, okay? It's gonna be fucking incredible," Frank says, patting everyone on the back, hesitating when he reaches Gerard. If Frank's honest with himself, he isn't sure Gerard will be able to take his audience. Guy gets nervous meeting new people in fucking daylight, in the comfort of his own home. Frank remembers how much of an effort it had taken on his part to get to know Gerard. Not that he minds. It was totally worth it.
He aches for this to go well. For My Chem's sake, sure, but mostly for Gerard's. If all goes well tonight, Gerard will hopefully learn from it, from the head-banging kids at the front of the stage, and he will end up loving it, craving for more. Here's hoping.
"Enjoy it, and you'll do great," Frank promises, planting a quick kiss on Gerard's cheek before he leaves them standing at the side of the stage. He smiles encouragingly for the last time, sticking his tongue out at Gerard who is busy touching the fading kiss under the corner of his eye. He looks almost sober for a while.
Frank skids down to the bar, checking out the crowd. It's not too bad: the place isn't packed but there are still kids there, enough to make a nice evening. Some of them recognize him as the guy from Pencey Prep, and Frank exchanges hellos, telling them to stick around because his favorite band is about to play.
And then suddenly the band gets up onstage. Gerard takes his place in the middle, head down and mic already gracing his lips. Mikey hides somewhere between his brother and an amp, nonplussed as he looks around.
With a quick, steady voice, Gerard says, "We're My Chemical Romance and we're here to save your lives," and Ray and Matt take that as their cue to jump to Turnstiles, Mikey following close behind. Frank giggles at the cheesy comment; he’s gonna have to ask about that one later.
He climbs up on a chair so that he can see anything: the kids are really into it, jumping around, and Gerard-Gerard's fucking rocking out, his confidence and spirits seemingly rising in canon with the racket of the crowd.
It's a good show; nothing completely unique or spectacular, like it never is the first time, but everyone ends up having a good time, the band included. Nobody leaves during the set either, which pretty much means they nailed it.
Gerard's managed to surprise Frank, already adopting a completely different but totally enjoyable stage persona. He seems to have surprised himself as well. He introduces the band, rants about his fucking daytime job that's slowly sucking the life out of him, and thanks everyone for sticking around. Frank notices some new kids walking in too, melting into the crowd, and when the set winds down to an end, his face hurts from grinning so much.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go over to the bar and have a drink with my friend," Gerard says, twisting his mouth as he hooks the mic back to its stand and jumps down from the stage. The kids give him a cheer; some of them want to shake his hand.
Frank watches as a semi-important looking guy stops him. They exchange a few words but he lets Gerard go after managing to slip him a business card with a shake of a hand. Fucking Jersey, Frank thinks, scrunching up his nose.
When Gerard finally gets to the bar, Frank’s sitting on the counter, kicking his heels against the wooden surface.
"Buy me a beer?" Gerard asks with a hoarse voice and an open face, cheeks and hair damp with sweat. There's a pyramid-shaped sweat strike on the back of his collar shirt and his tie is hanging over his shoulder.
Frank smiles, nodding his head. "It's free beverages for everyone that plays."
Gerard makes a sign of victory with his hand. "Hell yeah, my kind of place." He orders two beers, pushes one into Frank’s hands, and says, "He's with me," to the bartender who looks like he doesn't give a flying fuck about etiquette.
.
"So, how did we do?" Gerard asks when they’re outside, walking over to Ray's place. Mikey has Hot Chick tucked under his arm, Ray and Matt go on about the show, but Gerard seems to be content ten steps behind, trudging onwards with Frank by his side. They make brushes of knuckles and hips appear like accidents, but Frank thinks even Gerard can't be that oblivious.
Frank turns his head to look at Gerard. He snatches Gerard's smoke from his weird mouth and toys with it between his fingers, shrugging, ignoring the little wail of complaint Gerard snorts out.
"You were alright, I guess." He smirks at Gerard's wide-eyed look and lets out a sharp giggle when Gerard's flabby hand swats at his stomach. And then he yelps because Gerard’s started tickling him, pinching at his sides.
"Motherfucker! We were better than that," Gerard shouts, getting a good tweak of skin just below Frank's ribcage, making him whine.
Ray turns around to see what's going on just as Frank's squirming loose from Gerard's grip, almost losing his shirt in the process. He laughs and starts walking again.
"Fine, fine! You were better than that, Jesus fuck," Frank exclaims, squawking when his ass hits the ground. Gerard lets go of him, plucking his cigarette back from Frank's fingers. Frank's surprised he even had it still, after that.
"How much better?" Gerard asks with a smug, satisfied grin, cocking an eyebrow and spreading his creepy fingers against his hip. His cheekbones jut out like crazy and in the glow of the street, Frank thinks Gerard could pass off as a motherfucking alien.
"Better than my first show," Frank says, ass still stinging, and it's true: they were much better. “You look like a motherfucking alien.”
"Mr. Spock?" Gerard asks dreamily, offering Frank his hand. Frank bats it away and gets up, dusting off his jeans.
“Ha! I was thinking more like, E.T.”
Gerard lets out an exasperated little noise, pushing his lip out into a pout. “I do not!”
“Sure you do. You’ve got the same creepyass fingers, and, dude, have you seen your fucking head?” Frank says with a self-satisfied grin. Two can play this game.
“Fuck you, that hurt!” Gerard’s mouth looks like it wants to stretch out on his right side, and in a moment of audacity, Frank reaches up to kiss it back into shape.
It starts out as a brush of lips: oversensitive to a faint touch so Frank groans appreciatively when Gerard relaxes into the kiss, biting the tickle away. His fingers get entangled with Gerard’s hair, mouth working a nice, wet pattern along Gerard’s jaw line.
The balls of his feet start to sting and go numb, so he sinks back down, breathing heavily against Gerard's collarbone, surprised but pleased when Gerard doesn't stop touching the back of his neck and shoulder bones.
"Mmm, I like E.T. though," he breathes, glancing at the street over Gerard’s shoulder: friends the size of ants against the horizon.
“E.T.’s the man,” Gerard agrees. His voice is lazy and quiet, his chest soft just so that Frank kind of wants to take a nap there. He whines when Gerard pulls away, but there’s still a warm place for him in the crook of Gerard’s arm, and Frank exploits it before Gerard has the chance to escape.
“Nn,” Frank says as he nudges them back into motion. “Wasn’t all that scary, was it?” he asks, going through the show in his head.
“Nuh,” Gerard says. He shrugs his shoulder up against Frank’s ear. “Felt kind of like waking up.”
“Huh.” Frank nods, totally getting it.
“I mean, not like waking up in the mornin’ ‘cos that fuckin’ sucks giraffe balls.” Gerard makes a face.
“Giraffe balls?”
“Yeah!” Gerard says with feeling, gesturing with his hand. “Big, hairy, giraffe balls.”
Frank smiles.
“But anyway. It’s like this: you just go on about your life in a daze until someone or something finally jerks you awake from that. If you’re lucky.”
“Dude, I know. I totally get it.”
“I guess it’s just that I finally seriously got it, too, found the right direction. Someone-something showed me the way.”
Frank gets an image of Gerard running around in Wonderland flashing through his head, and he giggles when the striped cat jumps onto Gerard’s head, paws at his forehead while Gerard flails about. He fucking loves his stupid mind. “Followed the homogay rabbit out of the maze now did you, Alice?”
Gerard gives him an easy smile. He squeezes Frank’s shoulder painfully, fingers digging into skin. “Something like that,” he says and turns his head up at the sky.
There’s a smell of rain in the air.
Frank thinks he wouldn’t mind staying out until the end of dawn. Gerard though, Gerard wiggles his index finger near Frank’s face, and with a stupid, dorky grin, he says, “E.T. go home?”
Frank huffs a laugh. He kind of really wants that nap now. “It’s phone home, you idiot. And I thought we were going to Ray’s.” He wraps his palm around Gerard’s finger.
Gerard shrugs, looking away. He tries to pull his finger from Frank’s grip and fails.
Frank swings his whole arm by the finger, but stops when Gerard says, “We, uh. We could go to Ray’s… or, not. It’s-whatever you want. Whatever’s good for me.”
“Your place is closer,” Frank says quickly, tightening the grip.
“’Kay.” Gerard’s voice wavers, but he smiles like Frank had said the right thing. He nods his head and starts walking towards the house, Frank still shamelessly exploiting the warmth of his side.