Fic: Plus One (Panic!GSF/Frank)
Title: Plus One
Author: Mokuyoubi
Pairing: Panic!GSF/Frank
Rating: Hard R?
WC: 3900~
Summary: Frank can't stop thinking about his band, and their shoulders, and it's affecting his sleep.
AN: AU of my elf!Frank and elf!Brendon AU, lol. Takes places parallel to the yet to be posted Frank/Gerard sequel to Standing Right Outside Your Door. To be absolutely clear, that fic will only be Frank/Gerard, and this one (which there will probably be more of later) is ONLY Panic!GSF+Frank. This one will probably make more sense when I post the Frank/Gerard story, but, uh. I just wanted to write some porn, okay? There will be more, actual, pornier porn later...
Also, I wrote this in a couple hours this morning and it is unbetaed. Sorry for any mistakes :D
I'll probably repost this as a whole after posting the Frank/Gee fic.
Not even a week into the tour, and Frank's sleep schedule was entirely fucked to hell. It didn't help that the heat was killing him, making him drowsy any time he was outside longer than twenty minutes, and when he inevitably took a nap in the cool dark of the bus, he just messed things up worse.
The rest of his band was pretty indulgent of him falling asleep all over them on the couch in their lounge, or sitting at the merch booth, or at the table in craft services. Even Ryan's bony-ass shoulder was a decent pillow when the afternoon sun was blazing and Frank's brain went all foggy.
The problem was, that as a result of all his inopportunely-timed naps, it was impossible for Frank to actually sleep when the bus went dark and quiet. He was usually alone in the bunks--the pull-out bed in the lounge wasn't really big enough for four regular-sized people, but they tended to prefer it to sleeping separately or in pairs in their bunks.
It meant Frank didn't have to deal with snoring or sleep talking or restless tossing and turning, or whatever, and that should have been a good thing, only it left him feeling lonely. He missed the fucking animals, all curled up on his bed, waking him like twenty times a night with all their coming and going.
With all the quiet alone time, Frank's mind tended to wander to the strangest places. Tonight his mind was occupied with the very important task of cataloguing all the differences in his bandmates' shoulders. Or, specifically in sleeping on them. Brendon was sort of absently acquiescent about it, shifting his shoulders to the side to make a more comfortable angle for Frank's neck, angling his body to take the weight of Frank's body, but managing to carry on with whatever he was doing, be it signing autographs or playing Left 4 Dead, all without disturbing Frank. Brendon's shoulder was comfortable in the way Frank figured most people thought home was.
Jon was definitely the cuddliest about it. His arm always automatically came around Frank's shoulder in a half hug and he'd rest his cheek against Frank's head, snuggle in close, position mirroring Frank's. More often than not, Jon ended up napping, too, and Frank would inhale the scent of weed and beer as he drifted off. Jon's shoulder was definitely the most restful place to nap.
Ryan's whole body went slack whenever Frank leaned on him, sort of the opposite of Brendon, stopping whatever he was doing and talking in a soft voice, and every once in a while, his breath would stir Frank's hair in this way that made the skin at the back of Frank's neck tingle. Occasionally his fingers would sift through Frank's mohawk absently and sometimes Frank would turn his face into Ryan's neck and let his face rest there, lips and nose pressed to skin, and feel Ryan's heartbeat.
Then there was Spencer. Frank had trouble napping on Spencer. His hands sort of...wandered. It wasn't anything bad, and Frank wasn't even sure that Spencer knew he did it. Spencer tended to talk with his hands a lot, and with one arm around Frank's waist, it made sense that the hand-talking would still happen, just, you know, on Frank's body.
But it wasn't really conducive to sleep, the way Spencer's hand rubbed at the small of Frank's back, or his hip, or brushed up the side of his waist, fingers tracing lightly over ribs. Spencer moved a lot and Frank's body moved with him, and it wasn't really that great for naptimes. Yet no matter how little rest he got, Frank never wanted to pull away.
They were odd thoughts to have, and they really weren't making Frank any more tired. He swung his feet out of the bunk and just sat there on the edge for a few minutes, feeling the bus sway under him. The door to the lounge had been left open, their way of saying "look, we're not having sex while you're on the bus, promise," and Frank could see someone's barefoot poking out from the covers. He got up without really thinking around it, moving to stand in the doorway and look.
It didn't look comfortable. There were too many limbs wound all together, and under the covers it had to be stifling, plus Brendon and Ryan, tucked in the middle, didn't have any goddamn room to even twitch, let alone roll over, and Frank. Frank was a very active sleeper. He'd probably go crazy being stuck in the middle like that.
"Hey," Jon said sleepily. His eyes were slitted open, giving Frank a confused look over the row of bodies between them. "Can't sleep?"
Frank shook his head and it wasn't til he opened his mouth to speak that he realised the reason his lip was hurting was because of the death grip his teeth had on his piercing. Strange. "Just can't stop thinking."
Jon reached out and still couldn't quite touch him, but the gesture made Frank smile. "Lay down," Jon said. There was barely a foot of space between Spencer and the edge of the mattress, and Frank gave it a dubious look. Jon chuckled softly. "Come on, there's room."
It was either a challenge or a crack about how small Frank was, which was just insulting coming from Jon, of all people. Frank huffed a sigh and got an elbow and thigh on the bed before Spencer shifted, rolling onto his side, making a bit more room. He was also now facing Frank, which was a little weird, but whatever. Frank lay all the way down and Spencer wrapped an arm around him, big hand hot on Frank's back. "Alright?" he mumbled.
"I'm gonna fall off the bed the first time anyone moves," Frank told him.
Spencer cracked an eye. He gave a half-asleep version of his normal brilliant grin and his arm tightened. "Nah, won't let you," he said. His foot wormed between Frank's ankle, hooking like an anchor. "Go t'sleep."
Strangely enough, Frank did.
~
Frank woke up sticky with sweat, to a bed less cramped than it had been, enough that Frank had to fully extend his arm to find the edge. He blinked his eyes open to see Brendon drapped half over his chest. Jon, spooned up behind Brendon, had an arm over them both, palm resting heavy on Frank's stomach. This sort of situation (minus the extra arm) was pretty familiar. Frank had been sharing beds with Brendon essentially their entire lives. They'd been big on sleep-overs as kids, and neither of them liked their empty homes as adults, which meant lots of sleep-overs then, too. Brendon had always been cuddly in his sleep and never once had Frank felt the strange urge to bend his neck and meet Brendon's upturned face with a kiss.
A wave of panic swept through Frank like cold water. The urge to do something was so strong it felt like a hand on the back of Frank's head pushing him. He scrambled to get out of the bed before he did something stupid. The goddamn sheets were like sentient beings, or something, wound all through his legs and half around his chest. He tripped out of bed, almost smashing his face into the door jamb, stubbing his toe on the bathroom door, and hobbling into the front lounge.
Spencer and Ryan were watching him with wide eyes from the kitchenette. Frank waved a dismissive hand and Ryan shrugged. "We got up early and begged a ride to the supermarket," he said. With an underhand toss, he threw Frank a fresh gala apple, perfect pink-red fading into yellow. "We picked up a few things for you and Brendon-grapes and bananas. There's cinammon rolls and lemon muffins, too. Better than that shit they try to feed us at the food tent."
Frank took a big bite, eyes slipping closed as juice spilled down his chin. God, so much better than the craft service food. He didn't know how you could fuck up fruit, but those guys managed it. "You guys are my favourite," Frank told them around his mouthful.
Spencer gave him a wry smile before turning his back to rummage through the grocery bags. "You sleep alright?" There was something strange about his voice. Had he and Ryan seen the way Frank and Brendon had been sleeping? Had they seen the way Frank had been staring at Brendon's goddamn mouth? There was the panic again.
"Um, it was good. Good," Frank said. "Thanks."
Ryan gave Spencer one of those weird, mind-reading look. Frank glanced back and forth between them warily. "Did I snore really loud, or something."
Spencer snorted. "You couldn't be worse than Jon, I promise."
"Lies," Jon said, stumbling down the hall. He was scratching absently at his stomach, and Frank couldn't stop thinking about the weight of that hand on his own stomach. "I have nightmares about Spencer's snores." He gave Frank a warm smile. "Feeling better?"
Actually, Frank felt a little sick to his stomach, but he smiled in return, and nodded his head.
~
It was different from being aware. Or maybe it was a new sort of awareness. Like, Frank had always been aware that they were hot. Hell, he'd always known this about Brendon, which had led him to be constantly baffled by the fact that Brendon had never got any, back in Christmastown.
Brendon had these lips, and these huge earnest eyes, and this amazing ass. And Jon's mouth, okay, especially when he was biting his lip, and his shoulders and his arms, who wouldn't want to be pinned down with those? And there were Spencer's hips and his ridiculously shiny hair and his ridiculously blue eyes and his stupid fucking smile, and Ryan Ross's everything. They were hot dudes, and they were hot together, and objectively, Frank had always known this.
Only now, he couldn't stop looking. They weren't exactly modest around him, which meant most of the time on the bus they loitered around in nothing but boxers of pajama pants. He had given them enough shit about making out all the time that they tended to curb themselves around him in that respect. Still, they were affectionate guys, and he'd catch them kissing or cuddling and then he was staring like a huge fucking creeper, noticing the little things, like fingers curling in fabric, noses nuzzling bare skin, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks. It was insane, and no more helpful at bedtime, playing on repeat in his head.
When it happened, it was entirely by accident, and Frank really wasn't about to accept the blame all by himself. They were all to fucking blame, too. They didn't act like normal people, they didn't understand about fucking boundaries. Sure, they'd never touched Frank in an explicitly sexual or romantic way, but platonic friends didn't go around randomly giving full-body hugs, or coming up behind each other with arms around waists and faces in necks, and couples didn't just invite members not of the couple to join their couch cuddles and then make out right around that person. Okay? It wasn't normal, and Frank couldn't be expected to deal with it like it was.
And that was just the physical. They were all co-dependent as hell, and Frank and Brendon had grown up in each others' pockets, and now that they were all living together, the different relationships sort of blended together. Yeah, none of them were fucking him, but any of them were equally as likely to come to Frank with a crisis or question or just to talk about life or music or whatever as they were to go to each other.
So. There was that. It probably still didn't excuse what he did, but he'd make his case, anyway.
They were watching Pushing Daisies in the front lounge because the tv was bigger and they were willing to compromise couch size. That left Frank squished into one sofa with Spencer and Jon, with Brendon and Ryan more comfortable sprawled on the other bench together. Spencer had an arm across the back of the couch, fingers just brushing the ends of Frank's hair every now and then, and Frank's arm was pinned to his side, so his hand just sort of naturally rested on Spencer's thigh, and no one bothered to point out how inappropriate that was, so Frank didn't think anything of it, either, or the way his fingers sort of curled into the inner seam of Spencer's jeans.
Frank rested his head in the open curve left by Spencer's raised arm, only half-watching the show. Spencer smelled like Brendon's body lotion, and Frank couldn't help but wonder if that was because Spencer had used it, or if was just from how close Spencer and Brendon had slept the night before. He pushed his face into Spencer's chest to get a better smell and Spencer's chest rumbled with an almost silent laugh. He tugged playfully at Frank's mohawk and Frank looked up to see Spencer giving him an indulgent smile, and just.
It didn't really process, what he was doing. Or, it didn't process that he was doing something he shouldn't. Frank just leaned up a little and pressed his parted lips to Spencer's. He moved slow and lazy, letting his lips brush lightly a few times before pressing for more. Then Spencer shifted a little, turned more to face him, and started kissing him back, firm and insistant. Frank's fingers dug into Spencer's thigh and Spencer made a deep, low sound and licked along the part of Frank's lips and into his mouth, and Frank let his hand slid higher, right into the vee of Spencer's legs. The heel of his hand pressed into the zipper and Spencer arched into the touch, rubbing his dick into Frank's palm.
"Why is it that Spencer always gets to go first?" Ryan said in a plantive voice that startled Frank into awareness. He jerked away from Spencer, looking around wildly.
"Hey, I kissed you first," Jon said.
Ryan rolled his eyes. "After you'd sucked Spencer's dick," he said. Brendon swallowed hard, a flush high in his cheeks. "There are pictures," Ryan told him, and patted his thigh.
None of them seemed particularly bothered by what had just happened, and Spencer was just staring at Frank through heavily lidded eyes. Frank just heard himself make a strange, helpless sound, and he pulled Spencer back in with a hand around his neck. Spencer's free hand came up to Frank's hip and he gave a tug. The couch was way too narrow for this, but Frank really did not give a fuck. He swung around, straddling Spencer's lap, leg wedged between Spencer and Jon. And Jon--Frank turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss. Spencer leaned into him, dick tucked up against Frank's, and ghosted his lips down Frank's throat, making him squirm.
Jon was watching them with dark eyes, breath coming fast. There was a strange evenness in his gaze. He licked his lips and fuck, Frank hated when he did that, the slow swipe of his tongue making Frank want things. Spencer thrust his hips up and it was like a mental shove. Before he had a chance to think about it--which, if Frank was going to be honest, was working for him so far, so why stop now?--he leaned half out of Spencer's lap and followed the path Jon's tongue had taken, tracing his lips and retreating into Jon's mouth. Jon parted so easily for him. His kiss was softer than Spencer's, and his beard scraped at Frank's chin. It made Frank wonder what it would feel like against more sensitive skin and he wriggled against Spencer, desperate for a firmer touch.
"How do you do this?" Frank asked hazily, pulling back. "How do we--"
Spencer's hand curved up Frank's waist in a touch that would have been soothing if Frank hadn't been so turned on. "Stand up," Spencer said.
Frank got to his feet, eyes falling on Ryan and Brendon in the process. Ryan was sitting with his legs spread open, and it was easy to see he was turned on, but Brendon was curled up at his side like a ball, blushing, gnawing on his bottom lip. Frank wanted to say something, but he had no idea where to begin, and Ryan said, "My turn?" in a lilting voice, reaching out to tug on Frank's wrist. And Frank was just as powerless to that as he was to everything else.
He let Ryan guide him into a kiss, slow and searching, and oddly ponderous, which wasn't really a nice thing to think of a kiss, but coming from Ryan it was...charming. Frank took over and Ryan just surrendered to it, hand playing sweetly at the back of Frank's neck. Frank had thought about those long fingers on many occasions, watched them playing and writing and stroking his lovers' skin absently, and given their current position, Frank couldn't help but think of them in a different, more intimate context.
"Frank," Brendon whispered, his tone unreadable. Frank ended the kiss at once and dropped to his knees on the floor, hands going to wrap around Brendon's ankles. Brendon's eyes were so wide and anxious, but his breathing was uneven and he was so cold to the touch, that Frank knew he was turned on.
Frank gave a little tug and Brendon straightened up, legs falling to rest on either side of Frank's body. Frank smoothed his hands up Brendon's calves, hooking behind his knees. He was very aware of Brendon's skin under his hands. He touched Brendon so often--to comfort, to express fondness, to cause pain, to tickle--but the idea of touching Brendon to arouse him was so foreign that Frank didn't know how to proceed. He wanted to, though, as much as he'd wanted to kiss Brendon the other morning. More than that.
"Come here," Frank said, quieter than he meant. Brendon shifted forward and bent over, but stopped short a few bare inches away, breath coming fast over Frank's mouth. It was almost panicked, and Frank closed the distance before Brendon could get any more worked up over it.
Kissing Brendon was...it was terrifying, strange, and familiar. Brendon's lips trembled at first touch, emitting a gasp only Frank could have possibly heard. His hands came up to clench at Frank's shoulders, hard enough to bruise, and he parted his mouth just slightly, just enough to fit his lips more fully to Frank's. Brendon's mouth was just as soft as it looked, and Frank couldn't resist the urge to suck that full lower lip between his own, slicking his tongue over it to earn a louder gasp, sinking his teeth in to earn a groan.
Brendon's hands loosened and fluttered up Frank's neck, gently cupping his jaw from either side, thumbs stroking across Frank's cheekbones. His touch was so hesitant and delicate, and it shot to Frank's gut. Frank's hips jerked forward, and he wanted something other than the couch to rub against. "Come here," he said again. "Come here, come here, Brendon." He pulled at Brendon's knees and Brendon was easy and fluid to the touch, spilling off the couch and into Frank's lap.
The shift in angle was like a fucking revelation. Brendon's mouth slanted over Frank's and Brendon parted his lips, licking into Frank's mouth with a sort of hungry, desperate abandon. Brendon couldn't seem to stop moving, rolling his hips and grinding down on Frank's cock, tugging at Frank's hoodie in a really ineffectual and totally fucking hot way, his thighs tight around Frank's hips. Frank was so turned on it hurt, and he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He'd had Brendon in his lap millions of times, rolled around with Brendon, wrestling and tickling and biting and it had never been like this, never made him even think--and now that he'd started, it just seemed like the most natural extension of their relationship. How had he never seen it?
Frank toppled them over, lying on his back and then rolling Brendon beneath him. Brendon's legs spread wider, making room for Frank between them. He finally got Frank's hoodie off his shoulders, and Frank pulled back just long enough to get his t-shirt off, falling back on Brendon, pressing their bare skin together. Brendon's hands groped at Frank's back, tracing Frank's tattoos from memory, which was sort of amazing.
And it seemed stupid that Frank could have worried about this, or questioned it, when no one knew him as well as Brendon did. He shifted his weight onto his elbows and rocked into the vee of Brendon's thighs, over and over, until his entire body was aching from the strain, and he was breathing so hard he couldn't keep kissing. Brendon rose to meet him, knees bent, feet pushing against the floor. Then he went tense all over, body bowing tight, and in a small, choked voice, he whispered, "Frank."
It seemed unnecessary, as many times as they'd exchanged the words before, but Frank still needed to say it, head ducked to brush kisses over the sweat-frosted skin at the curve of Brendon's neck. He said, "Brendon, I love you," and Brendon's fingers dug hard into the skin at Frank's hips. Frank let go, tripping over the edge, biting Brendon's jaw hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth there, vivid white and red against Brendon's skin.
"Fuck," Frank said, still panting and still seriously turned on. "Fuck, I need to fuck you, Brendon." He rocked his hips and they both moaned, too soon, too sensitive. "Say you're gonna let me fuck you."
Brendon nodded, eyes sort of wild. He looked thoroughly debauched, his hair sticking up in every direction, his lips swollen from kissing. The glow that extended from his skin blended seamlessly with that which extended from Frank's own skin; he couldn't have said where one started and the other ended. Frank kissed him fast, too hard, and Brendon moaned. "I'm gonna fuck you," Frank said, and lifted his head to see Spencer and Jon watching them. He could feel Ryan's eyes on them, too. All of them hungry and ready to pounce. He'd almost forgot about them. He shot a cocky grin in their general direction. He'd blow them later to make up for it.
"God, I'm gonna fuck you so hard," Frank whispered in Brendon's ear, but loud enough for the others to hear. "And so are all of them, one right after the other, until you can barely move on stage tonight."
Brendon made a weak, desperate sound. His eyes squeezed closed and he swallowed hard, a flush set high in his cheeks. Against Frank's thigh, Brendon's cock was already half-hard. Fuck. Frank was so goddamn fucked. It suddenly made sense, how stupid they all were for each other, how often he was ushered out of a room at the house, or off the bus so they could fuck, because now it was all Frank could think about, all the different ways they could do this.
Author: Mokuyoubi
Pairing: Panic!GSF/Frank
Rating: Hard R?
WC: 3900~
Summary: Frank can't stop thinking about his band, and their shoulders, and it's affecting his sleep.
AN: AU of my elf!Frank and elf!Brendon AU, lol. Takes places parallel to the yet to be posted Frank/Gerard sequel to Standing Right Outside Your Door. To be absolutely clear, that fic will only be Frank/Gerard, and this one (which there will probably be more of later) is ONLY Panic!GSF+Frank. This one will probably make more sense when I post the Frank/Gerard story, but, uh. I just wanted to write some porn, okay? There will be more, actual, pornier porn later...
Also, I wrote this in a couple hours this morning and it is unbetaed. Sorry for any mistakes :D
I'll probably repost this as a whole after posting the Frank/Gee fic.
Not even a week into the tour, and Frank's sleep schedule was entirely fucked to hell. It didn't help that the heat was killing him, making him drowsy any time he was outside longer than twenty minutes, and when he inevitably took a nap in the cool dark of the bus, he just messed things up worse.
The rest of his band was pretty indulgent of him falling asleep all over them on the couch in their lounge, or sitting at the merch booth, or at the table in craft services. Even Ryan's bony-ass shoulder was a decent pillow when the afternoon sun was blazing and Frank's brain went all foggy.
The problem was, that as a result of all his inopportunely-timed naps, it was impossible for Frank to actually sleep when the bus went dark and quiet. He was usually alone in the bunks--the pull-out bed in the lounge wasn't really big enough for four regular-sized people, but they tended to prefer it to sleeping separately or in pairs in their bunks.
It meant Frank didn't have to deal with snoring or sleep talking or restless tossing and turning, or whatever, and that should have been a good thing, only it left him feeling lonely. He missed the fucking animals, all curled up on his bed, waking him like twenty times a night with all their coming and going.
With all the quiet alone time, Frank's mind tended to wander to the strangest places. Tonight his mind was occupied with the very important task of cataloguing all the differences in his bandmates' shoulders. Or, specifically in sleeping on them. Brendon was sort of absently acquiescent about it, shifting his shoulders to the side to make a more comfortable angle for Frank's neck, angling his body to take the weight of Frank's body, but managing to carry on with whatever he was doing, be it signing autographs or playing Left 4 Dead, all without disturbing Frank. Brendon's shoulder was comfortable in the way Frank figured most people thought home was.
Jon was definitely the cuddliest about it. His arm always automatically came around Frank's shoulder in a half hug and he'd rest his cheek against Frank's head, snuggle in close, position mirroring Frank's. More often than not, Jon ended up napping, too, and Frank would inhale the scent of weed and beer as he drifted off. Jon's shoulder was definitely the most restful place to nap.
Ryan's whole body went slack whenever Frank leaned on him, sort of the opposite of Brendon, stopping whatever he was doing and talking in a soft voice, and every once in a while, his breath would stir Frank's hair in this way that made the skin at the back of Frank's neck tingle. Occasionally his fingers would sift through Frank's mohawk absently and sometimes Frank would turn his face into Ryan's neck and let his face rest there, lips and nose pressed to skin, and feel Ryan's heartbeat.
Then there was Spencer. Frank had trouble napping on Spencer. His hands sort of...wandered. It wasn't anything bad, and Frank wasn't even sure that Spencer knew he did it. Spencer tended to talk with his hands a lot, and with one arm around Frank's waist, it made sense that the hand-talking would still happen, just, you know, on Frank's body.
But it wasn't really conducive to sleep, the way Spencer's hand rubbed at the small of Frank's back, or his hip, or brushed up the side of his waist, fingers tracing lightly over ribs. Spencer moved a lot and Frank's body moved with him, and it wasn't really that great for naptimes. Yet no matter how little rest he got, Frank never wanted to pull away.
They were odd thoughts to have, and they really weren't making Frank any more tired. He swung his feet out of the bunk and just sat there on the edge for a few minutes, feeling the bus sway under him. The door to the lounge had been left open, their way of saying "look, we're not having sex while you're on the bus, promise," and Frank could see someone's barefoot poking out from the covers. He got up without really thinking around it, moving to stand in the doorway and look.
It didn't look comfortable. There were too many limbs wound all together, and under the covers it had to be stifling, plus Brendon and Ryan, tucked in the middle, didn't have any goddamn room to even twitch, let alone roll over, and Frank. Frank was a very active sleeper. He'd probably go crazy being stuck in the middle like that.
"Hey," Jon said sleepily. His eyes were slitted open, giving Frank a confused look over the row of bodies between them. "Can't sleep?"
Frank shook his head and it wasn't til he opened his mouth to speak that he realised the reason his lip was hurting was because of the death grip his teeth had on his piercing. Strange. "Just can't stop thinking."
Jon reached out and still couldn't quite touch him, but the gesture made Frank smile. "Lay down," Jon said. There was barely a foot of space between Spencer and the edge of the mattress, and Frank gave it a dubious look. Jon chuckled softly. "Come on, there's room."
It was either a challenge or a crack about how small Frank was, which was just insulting coming from Jon, of all people. Frank huffed a sigh and got an elbow and thigh on the bed before Spencer shifted, rolling onto his side, making a bit more room. He was also now facing Frank, which was a little weird, but whatever. Frank lay all the way down and Spencer wrapped an arm around him, big hand hot on Frank's back. "Alright?" he mumbled.
"I'm gonna fall off the bed the first time anyone moves," Frank told him.
Spencer cracked an eye. He gave a half-asleep version of his normal brilliant grin and his arm tightened. "Nah, won't let you," he said. His foot wormed between Frank's ankle, hooking like an anchor. "Go t'sleep."
Strangely enough, Frank did.
~
Frank woke up sticky with sweat, to a bed less cramped than it had been, enough that Frank had to fully extend his arm to find the edge. He blinked his eyes open to see Brendon drapped half over his chest. Jon, spooned up behind Brendon, had an arm over them both, palm resting heavy on Frank's stomach. This sort of situation (minus the extra arm) was pretty familiar. Frank had been sharing beds with Brendon essentially their entire lives. They'd been big on sleep-overs as kids, and neither of them liked their empty homes as adults, which meant lots of sleep-overs then, too. Brendon had always been cuddly in his sleep and never once had Frank felt the strange urge to bend his neck and meet Brendon's upturned face with a kiss.
A wave of panic swept through Frank like cold water. The urge to do something was so strong it felt like a hand on the back of Frank's head pushing him. He scrambled to get out of the bed before he did something stupid. The goddamn sheets were like sentient beings, or something, wound all through his legs and half around his chest. He tripped out of bed, almost smashing his face into the door jamb, stubbing his toe on the bathroom door, and hobbling into the front lounge.
Spencer and Ryan were watching him with wide eyes from the kitchenette. Frank waved a dismissive hand and Ryan shrugged. "We got up early and begged a ride to the supermarket," he said. With an underhand toss, he threw Frank a fresh gala apple, perfect pink-red fading into yellow. "We picked up a few things for you and Brendon-grapes and bananas. There's cinammon rolls and lemon muffins, too. Better than that shit they try to feed us at the food tent."
Frank took a big bite, eyes slipping closed as juice spilled down his chin. God, so much better than the craft service food. He didn't know how you could fuck up fruit, but those guys managed it. "You guys are my favourite," Frank told them around his mouthful.
Spencer gave him a wry smile before turning his back to rummage through the grocery bags. "You sleep alright?" There was something strange about his voice. Had he and Ryan seen the way Frank and Brendon had been sleeping? Had they seen the way Frank had been staring at Brendon's goddamn mouth? There was the panic again.
"Um, it was good. Good," Frank said. "Thanks."
Ryan gave Spencer one of those weird, mind-reading look. Frank glanced back and forth between them warily. "Did I snore really loud, or something."
Spencer snorted. "You couldn't be worse than Jon, I promise."
"Lies," Jon said, stumbling down the hall. He was scratching absently at his stomach, and Frank couldn't stop thinking about the weight of that hand on his own stomach. "I have nightmares about Spencer's snores." He gave Frank a warm smile. "Feeling better?"
Actually, Frank felt a little sick to his stomach, but he smiled in return, and nodded his head.
~
It was different from being aware. Or maybe it was a new sort of awareness. Like, Frank had always been aware that they were hot. Hell, he'd always known this about Brendon, which had led him to be constantly baffled by the fact that Brendon had never got any, back in Christmastown.
Brendon had these lips, and these huge earnest eyes, and this amazing ass. And Jon's mouth, okay, especially when he was biting his lip, and his shoulders and his arms, who wouldn't want to be pinned down with those? And there were Spencer's hips and his ridiculously shiny hair and his ridiculously blue eyes and his stupid fucking smile, and Ryan Ross's everything. They were hot dudes, and they were hot together, and objectively, Frank had always known this.
Only now, he couldn't stop looking. They weren't exactly modest around him, which meant most of the time on the bus they loitered around in nothing but boxers of pajama pants. He had given them enough shit about making out all the time that they tended to curb themselves around him in that respect. Still, they were affectionate guys, and he'd catch them kissing or cuddling and then he was staring like a huge fucking creeper, noticing the little things, like fingers curling in fabric, noses nuzzling bare skin, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks. It was insane, and no more helpful at bedtime, playing on repeat in his head.
When it happened, it was entirely by accident, and Frank really wasn't about to accept the blame all by himself. They were all to fucking blame, too. They didn't act like normal people, they didn't understand about fucking boundaries. Sure, they'd never touched Frank in an explicitly sexual or romantic way, but platonic friends didn't go around randomly giving full-body hugs, or coming up behind each other with arms around waists and faces in necks, and couples didn't just invite members not of the couple to join their couch cuddles and then make out right around that person. Okay? It wasn't normal, and Frank couldn't be expected to deal with it like it was.
And that was just the physical. They were all co-dependent as hell, and Frank and Brendon had grown up in each others' pockets, and now that they were all living together, the different relationships sort of blended together. Yeah, none of them were fucking him, but any of them were equally as likely to come to Frank with a crisis or question or just to talk about life or music or whatever as they were to go to each other.
So. There was that. It probably still didn't excuse what he did, but he'd make his case, anyway.
They were watching Pushing Daisies in the front lounge because the tv was bigger and they were willing to compromise couch size. That left Frank squished into one sofa with Spencer and Jon, with Brendon and Ryan more comfortable sprawled on the other bench together. Spencer had an arm across the back of the couch, fingers just brushing the ends of Frank's hair every now and then, and Frank's arm was pinned to his side, so his hand just sort of naturally rested on Spencer's thigh, and no one bothered to point out how inappropriate that was, so Frank didn't think anything of it, either, or the way his fingers sort of curled into the inner seam of Spencer's jeans.
Frank rested his head in the open curve left by Spencer's raised arm, only half-watching the show. Spencer smelled like Brendon's body lotion, and Frank couldn't help but wonder if that was because Spencer had used it, or if was just from how close Spencer and Brendon had slept the night before. He pushed his face into Spencer's chest to get a better smell and Spencer's chest rumbled with an almost silent laugh. He tugged playfully at Frank's mohawk and Frank looked up to see Spencer giving him an indulgent smile, and just.
It didn't really process, what he was doing. Or, it didn't process that he was doing something he shouldn't. Frank just leaned up a little and pressed his parted lips to Spencer's. He moved slow and lazy, letting his lips brush lightly a few times before pressing for more. Then Spencer shifted a little, turned more to face him, and started kissing him back, firm and insistant. Frank's fingers dug into Spencer's thigh and Spencer made a deep, low sound and licked along the part of Frank's lips and into his mouth, and Frank let his hand slid higher, right into the vee of Spencer's legs. The heel of his hand pressed into the zipper and Spencer arched into the touch, rubbing his dick into Frank's palm.
"Why is it that Spencer always gets to go first?" Ryan said in a plantive voice that startled Frank into awareness. He jerked away from Spencer, looking around wildly.
"Hey, I kissed you first," Jon said.
Ryan rolled his eyes. "After you'd sucked Spencer's dick," he said. Brendon swallowed hard, a flush high in his cheeks. "There are pictures," Ryan told him, and patted his thigh.
None of them seemed particularly bothered by what had just happened, and Spencer was just staring at Frank through heavily lidded eyes. Frank just heard himself make a strange, helpless sound, and he pulled Spencer back in with a hand around his neck. Spencer's free hand came up to Frank's hip and he gave a tug. The couch was way too narrow for this, but Frank really did not give a fuck. He swung around, straddling Spencer's lap, leg wedged between Spencer and Jon. And Jon--Frank turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss. Spencer leaned into him, dick tucked up against Frank's, and ghosted his lips down Frank's throat, making him squirm.
Jon was watching them with dark eyes, breath coming fast. There was a strange evenness in his gaze. He licked his lips and fuck, Frank hated when he did that, the slow swipe of his tongue making Frank want things. Spencer thrust his hips up and it was like a mental shove. Before he had a chance to think about it--which, if Frank was going to be honest, was working for him so far, so why stop now?--he leaned half out of Spencer's lap and followed the path Jon's tongue had taken, tracing his lips and retreating into Jon's mouth. Jon parted so easily for him. His kiss was softer than Spencer's, and his beard scraped at Frank's chin. It made Frank wonder what it would feel like against more sensitive skin and he wriggled against Spencer, desperate for a firmer touch.
"How do you do this?" Frank asked hazily, pulling back. "How do we--"
Spencer's hand curved up Frank's waist in a touch that would have been soothing if Frank hadn't been so turned on. "Stand up," Spencer said.
Frank got to his feet, eyes falling on Ryan and Brendon in the process. Ryan was sitting with his legs spread open, and it was easy to see he was turned on, but Brendon was curled up at his side like a ball, blushing, gnawing on his bottom lip. Frank wanted to say something, but he had no idea where to begin, and Ryan said, "My turn?" in a lilting voice, reaching out to tug on Frank's wrist. And Frank was just as powerless to that as he was to everything else.
He let Ryan guide him into a kiss, slow and searching, and oddly ponderous, which wasn't really a nice thing to think of a kiss, but coming from Ryan it was...charming. Frank took over and Ryan just surrendered to it, hand playing sweetly at the back of Frank's neck. Frank had thought about those long fingers on many occasions, watched them playing and writing and stroking his lovers' skin absently, and given their current position, Frank couldn't help but think of them in a different, more intimate context.
"Frank," Brendon whispered, his tone unreadable. Frank ended the kiss at once and dropped to his knees on the floor, hands going to wrap around Brendon's ankles. Brendon's eyes were so wide and anxious, but his breathing was uneven and he was so cold to the touch, that Frank knew he was turned on.
Frank gave a little tug and Brendon straightened up, legs falling to rest on either side of Frank's body. Frank smoothed his hands up Brendon's calves, hooking behind his knees. He was very aware of Brendon's skin under his hands. He touched Brendon so often--to comfort, to express fondness, to cause pain, to tickle--but the idea of touching Brendon to arouse him was so foreign that Frank didn't know how to proceed. He wanted to, though, as much as he'd wanted to kiss Brendon the other morning. More than that.
"Come here," Frank said, quieter than he meant. Brendon shifted forward and bent over, but stopped short a few bare inches away, breath coming fast over Frank's mouth. It was almost panicked, and Frank closed the distance before Brendon could get any more worked up over it.
Kissing Brendon was...it was terrifying, strange, and familiar. Brendon's lips trembled at first touch, emitting a gasp only Frank could have possibly heard. His hands came up to clench at Frank's shoulders, hard enough to bruise, and he parted his mouth just slightly, just enough to fit his lips more fully to Frank's. Brendon's mouth was just as soft as it looked, and Frank couldn't resist the urge to suck that full lower lip between his own, slicking his tongue over it to earn a louder gasp, sinking his teeth in to earn a groan.
Brendon's hands loosened and fluttered up Frank's neck, gently cupping his jaw from either side, thumbs stroking across Frank's cheekbones. His touch was so hesitant and delicate, and it shot to Frank's gut. Frank's hips jerked forward, and he wanted something other than the couch to rub against. "Come here," he said again. "Come here, come here, Brendon." He pulled at Brendon's knees and Brendon was easy and fluid to the touch, spilling off the couch and into Frank's lap.
The shift in angle was like a fucking revelation. Brendon's mouth slanted over Frank's and Brendon parted his lips, licking into Frank's mouth with a sort of hungry, desperate abandon. Brendon couldn't seem to stop moving, rolling his hips and grinding down on Frank's cock, tugging at Frank's hoodie in a really ineffectual and totally fucking hot way, his thighs tight around Frank's hips. Frank was so turned on it hurt, and he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He'd had Brendon in his lap millions of times, rolled around with Brendon, wrestling and tickling and biting and it had never been like this, never made him even think--and now that he'd started, it just seemed like the most natural extension of their relationship. How had he never seen it?
Frank toppled them over, lying on his back and then rolling Brendon beneath him. Brendon's legs spread wider, making room for Frank between them. He finally got Frank's hoodie off his shoulders, and Frank pulled back just long enough to get his t-shirt off, falling back on Brendon, pressing their bare skin together. Brendon's hands groped at Frank's back, tracing Frank's tattoos from memory, which was sort of amazing.
And it seemed stupid that Frank could have worried about this, or questioned it, when no one knew him as well as Brendon did. He shifted his weight onto his elbows and rocked into the vee of Brendon's thighs, over and over, until his entire body was aching from the strain, and he was breathing so hard he couldn't keep kissing. Brendon rose to meet him, knees bent, feet pushing against the floor. Then he went tense all over, body bowing tight, and in a small, choked voice, he whispered, "Frank."
It seemed unnecessary, as many times as they'd exchanged the words before, but Frank still needed to say it, head ducked to brush kisses over the sweat-frosted skin at the curve of Brendon's neck. He said, "Brendon, I love you," and Brendon's fingers dug hard into the skin at Frank's hips. Frank let go, tripping over the edge, biting Brendon's jaw hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth there, vivid white and red against Brendon's skin.
"Fuck," Frank said, still panting and still seriously turned on. "Fuck, I need to fuck you, Brendon." He rocked his hips and they both moaned, too soon, too sensitive. "Say you're gonna let me fuck you."
Brendon nodded, eyes sort of wild. He looked thoroughly debauched, his hair sticking up in every direction, his lips swollen from kissing. The glow that extended from his skin blended seamlessly with that which extended from Frank's own skin; he couldn't have said where one started and the other ended. Frank kissed him fast, too hard, and Brendon moaned. "I'm gonna fuck you," Frank said, and lifted his head to see Spencer and Jon watching them. He could feel Ryan's eyes on them, too. All of them hungry and ready to pounce. He'd almost forgot about them. He shot a cocky grin in their general direction. He'd blow them later to make up for it.
"God, I'm gonna fuck you so hard," Frank whispered in Brendon's ear, but loud enough for the others to hear. "And so are all of them, one right after the other, until you can barely move on stage tonight."
Brendon made a weak, desperate sound. His eyes squeezed closed and he swallowed hard, a flush set high in his cheeks. Against Frank's thigh, Brendon's cock was already half-hard. Fuck. Frank was so goddamn fucked. It suddenly made sense, how stupid they all were for each other, how often he was ushered out of a room at the house, or off the bus so they could fuck, because now it was all Frank could think about, all the different ways they could do this.