Fic: "In The Springtime" (MCR, Frank/Gerard, NC-17 ~30,000 words)
Title: "In The Springtime"
Fandom/Pairing: MCR, Frank/Gerard
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Frank's Big Gay Paris Vacation. (~30,000 words; sequel to no_tags fic Gathered Here to Witness, and it probably won't make much sense without it.)
Notes: I started this almost immediately after finishing the first fic, and have been obsessing over it ever since. I am so happy to get this monkey off my back, I can't even tell you. And I have...many people to thank. Let's see!
My beloved, brooklinegirl, for putting up with my constant whining about this thing for MONTHS, for beta-ing, and basically being amazing throughout and kicking my ass when I needed it. Also for marrying and not divorcing me in the process. ♥♥♥
Huge, ENDLESS thanks to desfinado for being the best beta in the WORLD (no srsly), even if it meant I had to go back and try not to tear my hair out with re-working shit. She is made of utter awesome.
All the French provided to me by etben, who is literally at French camp, and I love her geeky face for it.
And, finally, huge, ENORMOUS thanks to ciel_vert for, well, everything. For being there from the very beginning, for encouraging and cheerleading and reading, for MAKING ME A MIX, WHAT, for talking me down off the ledge more times than I can count, and for loving this verse almost as much as I do. ILU, bb. Thank you. This fic has always been for you. ♥♥♥
(All remaining mistakes are mine. I have never been to Paris, but I hear that it's nice. Any inaccuracies can be blamed on my lack of knowledge and Monsieur Google.)
Bonus Content: La Ville Lumiere, mix by ciel_vert.
In The Springtime
"They say that there is a city somewhere in the world where they honor lovers," said Andrei. "If they're kissing in the middle of the street, the cars go around them."
"Paris?"
"Yes, probably."
- F. Vigdorova
*
Frank gets the window seat, which is nice. Booking international flights three weeks in advance is pretty fucking risky, but here he is, resting his head against the window, all the time in the world to contemplate just how crazy he really is.
Which is pretty epic, actually. But the plane is meeting the sunrise head on, and the clouds look like something out of a picture book from when he was a kid. He can almost hear his mom's voice saying, "And that's where the Gods live, Frankie." It looks like it, too, majestic and otherworldly, and Frank's stomach hates flying, but his head doesn't. It's pretty awesome.
Of course now, the awesomeness fades because he has to take a piss, all that recycled, dry air forcing him to drink a gallon of water every hour. The guy sitting next to him isn't budging, not even when Frank makes some apologetic noises and starts to crawl out. Maybe the aisle would have been smarter.
The dude still doesn't budge, so Frank doesn't really feel bad when his foot accidentally slips and mashes on the dude's toes. Frank just shrugs, all, Sorry, you're the douche who won't move or let me through, but he does feel a little bad when his hand flails out and lands hard on the lady-in-the-aisle-seat's knee.
"Shit, sorry, sorry -"
She ignores him, pretending to be asleep, so he climbs out and goes straight for the bathroom. Fucking narrow fit, and while it's a lot cleaner than, say, a bus bathroom would be, it's still a public piss-room. He pees for a million years, then washes his hands for longer. He catches his own reflection in the mirror, between the "no smoking" and "please wash your hands!" signs.
He looks exactly like you'd expect a crazy motherfucker who's flying across the ocean to meet a dude he's only spent about four days with in total to look. His hair is kind of flat on one side and his eyes are a little puffy from not being able to sleep. It looks like his face's been put on a little wrong. He can't stop the grin from spreading, though, because - Gerard. What the hell. Frank's going to fucking France, to meet Mikey's fucking brother. They're fucking idiots.
He cracks up when he hears that in Mikey's voice, combs through his hair with his fingers, attempting to make it a little more presentable, then gives up and slides the door open. He comes face to face with the douche from the next seat over and gives him a wide grin and himself a quick squeeze.
"Sorry, man," he beams and walks past the scandalized look. He's not really one for jerking off in public, but fucking with assholes is kind of his specialty.
He's still grinning when he folds in on himself, squeezing past the lady he'd accidentally groped on his way out, and sinks back down into his seat. He leans back, tugging the blue scratchy blanket across his lap, and hopes he can fall asleep for the last leg. The little display in front of him tells him they'll be arriving at Charles de Gaulle in under two hours.
Frank's belly does a weird flip, and he ignores it in favor of pretending to be tired. Maybe he'll even catch a couple of z's before they land.
*
He's not the last one to have gotten off the plane, but it definitely feels like it. By the time he's made it through customs and to baggage claim, he's been in France for an hour. He doesn't want to admit to himself that he's pretty fucking nervous. Maybe not so much about seeing Gerard as about getting to Gerard, because he'd made some noise about not being able to meet Frank at the airport, as much as he'd love to, so Frank is supposed to get himself a cab and not get himself lost in the process, and meet Gerard at the hotel.
The piece of paper with Gerard's cell number, as well as his hotel address, is in Frank's back pocket, and the back-up is in his phone. He'd had to fight with his provider to get himself international access, but he can't exactly stay out of contact with Skeleton. God only knows what Ray'll do to his company with nearly a week all to himself.
Frank may not speak much French, but he knows the international sign for "taxi cab" pretty well. He's still inside the gated hallways, but he can already see the throngs of people waiting to greet the tired masses, and part of him wishes he could be poured into a cab and taken home, but whatever, it's fine. He'll sleep at the hotel, with a bonus Gerard, possibly wrapped around him. Possibly naked. In fact, Frank is pretty sure he'll be insisting on that portion of the morning.
He's still half-dreaming about naked Gerard cuddles as he walks through the sliding doors, and then the real - dressed, messy-haired - Gerard is the first one behind the barrier. He's wearing a shit-eating grin and holding up a "MR. FRANK IERO, SKELETON RECORDS, PLEASE COME HERE" sign with some tiny sketches in every corner. Frank's heart flips over and he almost trips.
It's possible that in the two weeks Gerard's been back in France, Frank has forgotten exactly what he looked like. Well, not forgotten, maybe, but the image faded a bit, like an old photograph. Now, he stands in front of Frank, beaming his mile-wide smile, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, eyes red-rimmed but bright and just as surprising as the first time Frank saw them, and it all comes tumbling back. Gerard is all but glowing.
There's a barrier between them, and a shit ton of French citizens all around, but Frank can't help leaning up against the metal and crumpling Gerard's sign as he kisses him, any more than he can help returning his smile. Gerard moans against him in happy surprise, or so Frank hopes. Frank's arm is at an awkward angle where he's holding onto his rolling suitcase, but Gerard's mouth is warm and his kisses send zings down Frank's spine. When he finally pulls away, they're both panting.
"Hi," Frank says, deliberately not watching the girl crushed up against Gerard by the crowd at the barrier. He can just make out her huge round eyes on them.
"Hi," Gerard smiles and tugs on Frank's shoulders. "You should, like, come around."
Frank pretends to consider it. "I don't know. This has a certain kink factor to it. Prison sex, or something."
Frank smiles wider as Gerard giggles. "Prison sex? Maybe you should have warned me about the kinky shit before you got on the plane."
Frank shrugs, still grinning. "This way's more fun. But all right, we can save the kinky shit for later. I did leave my handcuffs in my other bag. The stewardesses are gonna have a field day."
"Flight attendants," Gerard corrects him without missing a beat, and Frank keeps the straight face long enough to say, "Even better. Pay money for that shit."
He finally forces himself away from Gerard so he can follow the stream of people around the gate, and Gerard meets him halfway. There's no barrier now, nothing between them, not even air. Frank gets lost in Gerard's arms for a while, doesn't even worry about the suitcase fallen at his feet. Gerard tastes predictably like coffee and cigarettes, and that particular taste, his own taste, the taste that Frank tried to recall for two weeks and couldn't and thought he'd made it up.
He hadn't, and now he's getting his two weeks' worth, tongues sliding against each other, hips fitted just so, shit, if they don't pull away right now, Frank's going to start dry-humping Gerard in front of the entire airport.
"Fuck," he breathes out when they pull apart. He licks his lips and buries his nose in the crook of Gerard's neck. Gerard's fingers skid down his spine, then dip lower to Frank's ass. They squirm against each other for a breathless moment.
"Frankie, this is -"
"I know."
"Right?"
"Yeah."
They pant into each other's mouths a little longer, then break apart. Frank looks at Gerard and he has no idea how to even explain the fact that he's in fucking France, of all places, and it feels like exactly where he should be. His feet have never felt comfortable anywhere outside of Jersey, he's homebound all the way. But right now, he doesn't even care.
Gerard grins at him, takes Frank's face between his hands, kisses him soft and familiar, like they've been doing this for years or something ridiculous like that, and guides him outside, into the morning sun. His hand is a warm pressure on Frank's back until they both slide into the cab.
*
Frank can't deny the scenery. So far, France is delivering.
They're mostly quiet in the car, Frank's exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he's been slumped against Gerard's shoulder for the last twenty minutes. He watches the roads go by, same highways as everywhere else, but different, anyway. Different cars, different plates, different signs.
Parisian morning skitters around them bit by bit, an ornate façade here, a splashing fountain there, until they're in the middle of honking cars and bellowing masses, all of it exotic to Frank's eyes, and beautiful.
"Cool," he says quietly, and feels Gerard's smile against his hair.
They don't fight over the cab fare only because Frank's already gotten a ton of Euro tucked away in his wallet, ready to be used on shit like dinners and coffee and anything else he feels like getting Gerard. He isn't here to be a fucking sponge.
The hotel has a slightly worn feel around the edges, but Frank likes the winding staircase off to the side, and the inside is not modern, but comfortable. Gerard leads him through the lobby where horsehair couches line the waiting area before ringing up the elevator.
"This was the only smoking hotel I could find," he says between floors. Frank fucking loves him at that moment, but doesn't say it, just smiles real big and gives him a thumbs-up.
Then he crowds Gerard's space as they walk up to the room, half because he's pretty close to passing out right there on the floor and needs to be held up, half just because it feels nice. Gerard throws him a vague smile as he keys in, and then they're finally stumbling through the door.
Frank is on the bed in a flash. He can sort of hear his suitcase thumping to the ground, then the rustle of fabric as Gerard bends down to grab it, but it's all white noise and pleasant weight of fatigue, and Frank's one nod to civility is to toe his shoes off before he's breathing in the flowery smell of the coverlet, and then he's dead to the world.
*
He wakes up in increments. First, the world whooshes in on him and stills, and he's aware of no longer fighting zombies in his grandma's backyard in the rain. Then, he realizes that he's basically naked, and his skin feels nice where he's burrowed under the covers and against the soft sheets. He moves his arm to feel his hips - how sweet; Gerard left his underwear on. Frank grins and cracks one eye open. The curtains are tugged closed, but the sun is obvious and bright, coming in through the slit in between. The air feels fresh, such a difference from the plane or even the airport. There's a breeze, too, and Frank relishes it on his face, then stretches his limbs back into life one by one.
Gerard is, in fact, spooned up behind him, naked and warm, kind of sweaty against Frank's skin. Awake, too, and it's possible he's been awake for a while, because he buries his nose in Frank's neck as soon as Frank moves his hips back a little, and kisses him light and soft, humming.
"Morning," Frank croaks around his smile and tries to turn around, bring them face to face. But Gerard just squeezes his middle and doesn't say anything as he pushes his thigh between Frank's. Before he knows it, Frank's on his stomach, and Gerard's mouth is hot against his shoulder, and his dick is hard against Frank's thighs. "Mmm, okay," Frank smiles and feels Gerard's answering breathless laugh against his skin.
"Hey, Frankie," Gerard whispers, his kiss wet and hot on Frank's shoulder. "Sleep well?"
Frank squirms against the sheets and the nickname, seeks more friction. He feels lazy and good and he's fucking hard as a rock, combination of morning wood and Gerard touching his everything. "Yeah," he answers, and adds, filters gone, "You should fuck me." He feels Gerard's fingers twitch around his hips, then slide down bit by bit, taking his briefs with them.
"Yeah?" Gerard's voice is barely there, kind of strained.
"Fuck yeah," Frank answers and pushes back without subtlety.
Gerard fucks him slow at first, shallow thrusts, light and teasing, but when Frank grabs one of Gerard's hands and shoves his fingers into his mouth just to have something to suck on as he moans, Gerard doesn't hold back anymore. They fuck hard and dirty, and the breeze isn't enough to give Frank the air he needs. He sucks in huge, gulping breaths, and doesn't even touch his dick before he's shuddering around Gerard and coming all over the sheets.
Gerard pins him down and drives in fast and hot and Frank feels the best kind of wrung out and used. Gerard knocks the breath out of them both when he comes, muffling a broken shout against Frank's neck. Fuck, it was worth crossing the ocean for this. Frank smiles and holds Gerard's hand in place as his heart beat slows back to normal and the sweat between them cools.
*
Frank is just this side of hungry; not yet willing to do anything about it that would involve him getting out of bed or putting on pants, but he wouldn't say no if somebody brought him breakfast in bed. Gerard isn't doing that, but he has given him a cigarette out of his own precious stash, so Frank is quite all right going slightly hungry for the time being.
His head is propped up on Gerard's shoulder enough that he can see out the half-opened curtains. He mostly sees Parisian roofs, but they're picturesque and different enough to hold his attention. A fluttery bird has landed on an antenna nearby, and Frank watches her scattered progress from roof to roof until she's out of view again.
Gerard hums against his hair, and Frank tilts his head in question.
"Like something out of Poe," Gerard notes. Frank cracks up and accidentally elbows Gerard in the ribs when he turns enough to laugh at him.
"You're a weird dude, you know that? I was just thinking ‘cool-looking bird.'"
Gerard bristles, pretending to be hurt. "Metaphors are an artist's bread and butter."
As if on cue, Frank's stomach grumbles. "What about the rest of us poor huddled masses?" he asks. "Is it coffee and croissants time yet?"
Gerard blinks like he hasn't quite caught up yet, then his face clears and he takes a drag before putting his cigarette out in the hotel-sponsored ashtray. "Might be. Although it's probably more like sandwich or salad time."
Frank looks over at the clock on the night stand. It's telling him he's in a different country. "Okay, help me out. How long have I been asleep?"
Gerard follows Frank's gaze and laughs. "About four hours. That's one p.m. to you."
Frank shrugs. "Only twelve hours on the clocks back home. More importantly, did you say salad?"
Gerard did, but he doesn't seem to care about Frank's hunger issues, and he has yet to find out just how grumpy Frank can get on an empty stomach. But it's hard to get upset when he's got Gerard pinning him to the bed with his entire body and kissing him like that, tongue and lips and breath sliding against him. At this rate, they'll never make it out of the bed, much less to the gallery opening. Frank is okay with that.
Gerard finally relents after a little while, but not before he's got Frank half-hard and aching, not even an hour after they fucked. His bones feel the buzzing anticipation, everything is tightening up. Frank licks his lips and looks at Gerard's stupidly beautiful face, barely an inch from his own. He thinks maybe his eyes are crossing.
"So, what, you trying to get me hungry for dinner?"
Gerard lifts his eyebrows and bites his lip in a smile. "No, we're going out to get lunch, remember? You wanted green stuff."
Frank squirms against him, tries to get more friction. "It could wait," he says, but Gerard kisses him quick and light and rolls off. Frank is left immediately cold and with his boner showing. "That's not very nice," he informs a grinning Gerard.
"Up, up, up," Gerard says, and actually shoves at Frank's shoulder until Frank's almost falling off the bed, then slaps him on the ass. Frank yelps and throws him his dirtiest look over his shoulder.
"So, it's like that, then?"
Gerard shrugs expansively, eyes huge and innocent, lips twitching. "I have no idea what you mean, you were the one who wanted lunch!"
Frank dodges neatly before Gerard has the chance to literally kick him out of bed, then hogs the shower for half an hour. It takes him a little while to work out all the French quirks, but the hot water steaming up the room feels incredible. So does the quick jack-off session, because Gerard is a bastard and Frank can't actually go out like this.
It isn't until he's out of the bathroom and drying his hair that he sees Gerard all dressed and ready to go. "Dude."
"What?" Gerard freezes with his cigarette halfway to his mouth.
Frank wrinkles his nose and makes a big production out of sniffing the air. "There was fucking. It's a universally accepted rule that those who fuck must shower."
Gerard slips the smoke into his mouth and grins really big. "Welcome to Europe, my friend. These are my people."
*
The café Gerard brings him to is just around the corner. It's half hole-in-the-wall, half spilled out onto the crowded street, wooden chairs wrapping the wooden tables like invisible dinner company. It looks rowdy and ridiculous and ridiculously not like Jersey, even though cafés should be cafés everywhere.
Frank tries not to feel too useless or pathetic as Gerard orders for them both, and succeeds largely due to forgetting to feel either when he hears Gerard speaking French. So, he's never really liked French, but coming from Gerard's mouth it's close to pornographic.
"Does that sound good?" Gerard asks, and Frank realizes that he has no idea what it is Gerard just asked him.
"I - don't know, was the question in English?" he tries.
Gerard's lips quirk up and he leans in a little closer, mindless of the staring barista or the healthy lunch crowd. "I asked you if you wanted coffee with your salad," he murmurs and Frank has to seriously gather up all of his brain cells to make the individual words make sense because Gerard's got a pretty gorgeous mouth.
Finally, he nods and shrugs, "Coffee is always good." He pretends to study the menu on the wall while Gerard rattles off the rest of the order, and Frank snaps to long enough to wrestle his wallet out of his jeans and shove some weirdly-sized bills at the girl behind the counter. Gerard looks at him all confused, like Frank couldn't have possibly come up with Euro all on his own, then shakes his head.
"You're my guest. I'm paying."
Frank shoots the girl at the counter a stern look and extends another - five? He thinks it might be a five - towards her. He catches Gerard's eye on the upswing. "I'm on vacation. You're supposed to spend your hard-earned cash when you're on vacation."
The girl doesn't care where the money comes from, and soon Frank's got loose change in his pockets and Gerard's reluctant hand on the small of his back. They sit outside with their food and smoke to their hearts' content. This is something Frank can get behind.
At this point, he's ravenous, so once he tucks in, he doesn't stop until he's had every last bit of arugula and dried cranberry his salad had to offer. When he finally looks up at Gerard, Gerard is just staring at him, mouth quirked around his cigarette.
"What?" Frank asks and sucks in the last bit of walnut. "Am I grossing you out?"
Gerard laughs and shakes his head. "You're kind of ridiculously adorable when you eat," he says, and Frank grins in response, leaning back in his chair. At some point, Gerard has taken out a sketchpad, and already scratched some sort of shadow play with his pencil.
"Oh yeah? That is actually a new one. No one's ever said that to me before." Frank cranes his neck to see what Gerard is drawing, but he can't tell what it is yet.
Gerard hums, still looking amused, and takes a drag of his cigarette with his free hand. His fingers don't curl around the cigarette, and it looks vaguely pretentious and definitely odd, but Gerard makes it work. Frank wants another smoke right now, Gerard makes it look so good. After he's produced it from his pocket and lit it, he takes a drag himself.
"You look like you're thinking a lot there," he notes, watching Gerard's eyelashes flicker in the sun. There are animated voices all around them, but the unfamiliar words just wash over him and don't catch. Gerard is the most interesting thing there, anyway.
"I guess," Gerard agrees and doesn't continue. Frank takes a sip of his coffee and tries not to sputter at how fucking strong it is, holy shit. Devil's brew.
"You gonna let me in on it?" he asks after his tongue has been stripped of any taste buds.
Gerard's face does this thing where it looks like a light cloud has passed over him, but only a wisp, it clears the next moment. A breeze ruffles the hair on his forehead and Frank's fingers itch to ruffle it, too. "I was just wondering what kind of compliments you might have received, if not that one."
"Seriously?"
Gerard shrugs, shifty-eyed. "Just curious, I guess. You don't have to, I mean. Just…interested, I guess."
Frank bites his lip. "Are you fishing for info?"
"What? No!" Gerard shoots back immediately, pencil flying over the paper without him even looking, which basically means Frank got it in one.
"You totally are, you want to know where I've been! Who's been complimenting me and whatnot," Frank elaborates and watches Gerard go from indignant to scowly to resigned.
"Maybe," he finally admits, slumping down, and Frank can't help laughing. How he can find a dude to be so fascinating and be able to read him like an open fucking book at the same time is pretty astounding. "Stop laughing at me, a guy can be curious. We barely know each other."
The words hang between them like the flutter of stalled wings. It's true, neither one of them can deny it. If Frank thinks about it too much, he gets a little tight in the chest, like the moment before freefall, so he doesn't think about it at all. He figures that the most important things come from the gut, anyway. He pushes the words back, can almost hear the wings retreat. "So, ask me," he says with a grin, hoping it'll make the moment pass.
Gerard seems to consider him for a second, the pencil stilling in his hand - and that's weird, how serious Gerard can look while watching Frank like that. It makes Frank want to suck in his gut or sit up straighter or turn to the left, show Gerard his better side. Mostly it makes him hot under the collar.
Then Gerard lowers his gaze and his shoulders slump a little while he stubs his smoke out in the ashtray. "Okay," he says. His eyelashes are extended by the mid-day sun, soft shadows on his cheeks, and Frank unclenches his body a little and waits. "Who was your last relationship?"
Frank chews on the inside of his cheek a little. "His name was John." He did tell Gerard to ask, but now he's been asked, he has no idea how much Gerard wants to know. He starts out easy. "His best compliment to me was ‘you suck like a hoover, baby.'"
Gerard's eyes grow wide. "Seriously?"
Frank tries not to crack up as he mock pouts. "What, you don't agree?"
"No, I mean - sure, but - oh." Gerard pauses and nods. "You're fucking with me."
"Only a little," Frank agrees and tilts his head to the side. "No, he did used to say that to me once, but there were better compliments." He can't remember too many at the moment, but he knows they're in his memory somewhere, buried under things like bitter resentment at being stomped on and manic glee at seeing him stomped on right back.
"I should hope so," Gerard replies fervently. Frank thinks it's completely artless, and stupidly sweet for it. He suddenly remembers that John really loved his eggplant parm.
"So, what about you and your skeletons?" he asks, because it seems only fair.
Gerard, though, doesn't appear to agree. He hems and haws and does that "weeeell," thing which is annoying with most people, and only marginally obnoxious now. Frank kicks him under the table. "I showed you mine."
"Ugh, fine." Gerard drops the pencil altogether and fumbles for his pack. He takes so long to go through the motions of just getting the cigarette out that Frank plucks it from his fingers and lights it for him himself.
"There," he says once he's transferred it over from his mouth to Gerard's. "Now, talk. I want details," he warns.
Gerard rolls his eyes but finally starts to spill. "The last relationship was Paul, in Grenoble."
Frank counts up the time Gerard's been in France and tries not to lie to himself. "Yeah? Paul's French, I'm assuming."
Gerard nods, his gaze somewhere past Frank's shoulder. "Yeah. He's a model, we met at a party."
Huh. "Huh."
Gerard ashes and gives another distracted nod. Frank tries not to kick him again.
"And?"
"And - not much. It was, you know, torrid and crazy and it didn't work out," Gerard says and now Frank really, really wishes he hadn't asked, but he had, so.
"Torrid and crazy?"
Gerard laughs at the question and finally looks at Frank with smiling eyes. "It was exactly what I needed to get over my last real relationship, and it worked."
"You're like a mystery wrapped up in exes. What's up with that? Don't leave me hanging," Frank wheedles, because he apparently likes pain and uncertainty. What the hell, does Gerard fly from guy to guy without a break? Frank needed at least six months before even the name "John" alone didn't make him flinch, and that was no easy task, in Jersey. Of course, he didn't exactly spend all of it with just his hand for company.
"Ugh, this conversation sucks," Gerard grumbles again and bites on his nails. Frank would find it gross except that he totally does it, too, and Gerard seems irresistible even with skanky hair and bitten-down nails. At least to Frank. He's so fucked. "It's not like I'm a serial dater or anything, things just happen," Gerard says and looks at Frank kind of accusatory. "Like you don't have crazy and torrid stories to tell."
Frank does and he doesn't, but Gerard is right - the conversation is quickly turning crappy. He tries to shake it off and attempts to smile when he says, "Okay, new topic, then. Best sex ever, go."
He admits that maybe mid-day outside in Paris is not the best place for this, but Gerard's huge eyes and slack mouth are still hilarious. "That's not fair!"
"So, not me," Frank concedes and ashes over a miniature Louvre. "That's fine. Give me time."
Gerard laughs like he hadn't expected to. "I'm just not telling. It could be you. That would be unfair to all the other guys."
Frank makes an exaggerated show of craning his neck and looking across the crowd. "Are they here? Would we be insulting them?"
Gerard plays along and scans the crowd over Frank's shoulder, then turns bodily around to look behind him. The sun catches the sharp shadow of his jaw over his Adam's apple and Frank quickly reaches for his coffee just to have something to do. Once Gerard has slumped back into his chair and pretended to wipe his forehead in relief, he says, "You can never be too careful."
"Is that because you've slept with half of Paris?" Frank asks, hiding his grin behind his cup.
"Well, naturally. Parisian boys are very sensitive, you know," Gerard explains with a slight lisp.
Frank laughs and tilts his face up to the sunshine, basking. When he looks back down, he watches Gerard's pencil moving until he can't take it anymore, and asks, "So, what have you got there?"
Gerard flips the pad over to him, and Frank sees the outline of the city behind him, the cloudless sky, the river.
*
"Hey, Mom." The line crackles a bit.
"Frankie! You landed? Everything good?"
Frank smiles down at his toes and kicks a cigarette butt out of the way. "Landed, safe, all good," he recites. "How's Peppers?"
"Fine as can be, why wouldn't she be?" Frank can hear Peppers yelping in the background. He's wondering which of Mom's brood has her cornered now. Mom clears her throat, then asks, "And how is Gerard?"
Frank grins and rolls his eyes all at once, then pokes Gerard in the side. "He's good, he got me at the airport."
He can practically feel her whirring approval. "Of course he did, good for him." There's a pause in which Frank is not entirely sure which direction to take this now, and then Mom interrupts his thoughts with a delicate cough. "Well, you go have fun and enjoy and take pictures for me, okay?"
Frank thinks he's maybe blushing to the roots. "Will do!"
"Bye, honey, and call me again, okay?"
"Bye, Mom, love you."
Gerard bumps Frank's shoulder as his mom's voice says, "Love you, too, honey," and he flips his phone shut.
*
"So, where are we?" he asks, jogging up to where Gerard's stopped at an intersection, looking every bit the shitty tour guide he'd promised he'd be. Frank doesn't mind, but he's curious - new country, different language, might as well use his resources. Gerard looks less distracted when he turns to Frank, like he's maybe zoning in on an answer.
"We're in Montparnasse right now," he says. Frank makes a "go on" gesture, because so far, that means nothing. "It's, you know," Gerard flaps a hand back and forth, "one of the Parisian neighborhoods? I really love it," he adds in a smaller voice.
"Oh, yeah?" Frank looks around - it looks like what he imagined Paris to look like, if he'd ever really imagined it. Older than New York, and prettier. "So, what's different about it from all the other ones?"
They fall into step once the light changes, Gerard slouching next to Frank in his black t-shirt, jacket and jeans, pale and dreamy-looking. He looks super young, all of a sudden, and Frank thinks he can picture him slouching his way to school, art portfolio in one hand, cigarette in the other.
"At some point it became this, like, artist ghetto, I guess," Gerard starts after clearing his throat. "All these amazing artists everyone knows today got started here, you know? They fucking, like, thrived in poverty, because it was cheap to live here, and they had studios and just - made all this incredible art, you know?"
Frank can get behind that. "Yeah? Like, who? Anyone I've heard of?"
Gerard throws him a look that could almost be considered dirty, or maybe just unsubtle. "Picasso, for one."
"Obviously," Frank says. "Anyone else?"
"Modigliani," Gerard recites a little distrustfully, like a kid with a phrase book. Frank whistles, and Gerard throws him a look that's totally different and tilts his head. "You know his stuff?"
"Hey, not a total slouch, here," Frank says, skating kind of close to offended, but too lazy to really get there. "That ex, John? He had his entire house, like, decked out in Modigliani reproductions. It kind freaked me out at first, all those dark-eyed sprawling naked women, you know?" There was one across from Frank's side of the bed, and she'd watch him fall asleep four nights out of seven.
Gerard has now stopped walking and is just staring at Frank, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah?"
Frank clears his throat and looks up the street at all the people passing them and shrugs. "Yeah, I don't know, I kind of got used to them. I'd, like, make up stories for them in my head, about why they looked so sad, and why they were lying on white sheets framed in red, that kind of stuff." Frank actually missed them after he and John broke up. He shrugs and looks back at Gerard now. "Is that dumb?"
Gerard doesn't answer, but he's suddenly close and his hands - Frank blinks and Gerard's cupped Frank's face and closed his eyes. The next moment, they're kissing, except - it's a kiss and more, or less, Frank can't actually tell, but something about it is different.
Whatever it is, it makes Frank's knees feel like a slight kick might knock them out from under him. He clutches at Gerard's hands around his face, then slides his fingers down and just touches Gerard's wrists, feels the pulse there, hangs on. The underside of Gerard's tongue is slippery and soft and pliable and he stays there, stays as long as Gerard lets him.
They break apart and when he cracks his eyes open, Frank can't see much besides the blinding sun. Gerard's face comes into focus with black eyelashes and a red spot on his cheek that Frank has seen there before. They're both smiling, and on an impulse he grabs onto the stretched out collar of Gerard's t-shirt and hauls him back in.
He wasn't done with the kissing part yet.
*
"Why aren't you taking me to the Eiffel Tower?" Frank demands after an hour of walking around the artist ghetto, which is clearly, he might add, seeing much better days now. He wishes he'd maybe seen it back when there were starving artists milling out on the streets, making their art, or at least that's what he's picturing from Gerard's tales.
Gerard groans. "Really? The Eiffel Tower? Can't I take you to the Arc de Triomphe and call it a day?"
Frank grins bigger and nods, "And there, too!"
Gerard sighs like Frank is asking him to build the fucking thing.
"Oh, come on, I'm in Paris! I can't go back to my mother and tell her I never climbed the Eiffel Tower. She demanded pictures, okay? Plus, it's, like, right there."
They've seen it pop in and out view this whole time, winking between trees and buildings, and Frank still can't believe it. He's in fucking Paris.
"Fine, fine, okay," Gerard concedes and snakes a smoke out of his pack. Frank's got the lighter for him before he's done and he watches Gerard's cheeks hollow as he lights up, hand cupped over Frank's. His hair is a bit greasy at the roots and smells faintly of smoke, and Frank gets a hundredth urge in an hour to mess it up even more.
"Thank you," he finally says once Gerard's stepped away. It comes out a lot more breathless than he'd expected. He also means it.
Gerard purses his mouth around the cigarette, but Frank can tell he's smiling, anyway.
"You're fucking welcome."
*
They walk around for another hour, and Frank concedes he may be ready for a nap and the Eiffel Tower will probably still be there tomorrow. The sleepless flight is still catching up with him, and he's mostly slumped against Gerard's side by the time they shuffle back to the hotel. Gerard is smiling while opening the door, the kind of smile he's probably only peripherally aware of, and Frank watches him and hums a little to himself. It's déjà vu, the nice kind.
This time, he takes a moment to appreciate the room, though, and finally notice that there's a balcony. That's nice. He likes those. The rest of the room is cluttered with Gerard's stuff - so much of it, you'd think he actually lived here. Pencils, markers and sketchpads cover most of the desk surface, and clothes are strewn about everywhere else. Frank wishes for a moment he could see Gerard’s place in Grenoble, see what he’s like in his natural habitat. Maybe someday.
His skin is prickling with exhaustion again, but he might be a little too wired to sleep. They move around each other in companionable silence - Gerard propped up with a hand on the table, sliding his shoes off one by one, Frank slumped on the side of the bed, undoing his own laces. The stillness feels good after the bustle of the city, and he allows his whole body to stretch out on the bed, pants and all.
Gerard turns around and watches him, head tilted to the side. Frank licks his lips and quietly watches him back, his own smile the vaguest impression of his mood. He hopes this is enough to convince Gerard to join him, because he's just a bit too tired for pouncing, which is what he really wants to do while Gerard stands there, looking beautiful.
Maybe this is why it feels like a long time until Gerard shrugs out of his jacket, then slides his t-shirt up and over his head, and climbs onto the bed. As Frank watches his body move towards him, everything switches from low to on, click by click, like an engine revving up, he's fucking ready.
He catches Gerard's lips with his own and immediately it's like there's not enough air left in his lungs for this. His hands shake and he fumbles with his own jeans, then Gerard helps with his, even though his hands shake just as bad. When he looks back at Frank through his bangs, Frank catches his mouth in another kiss, this one more desperate than the one before, and the next few moments are just a blur of taste, shoving elbows, and snagging waistbands, until fucking finally, they're touching skin to skin. Hips and hard dicks lined up, and Gerard shoves up against him and their knees bump against each other from the impact. There's just enough pain that Frank doesn't come the next moment. He hisses through clenched teeth.
"Shit, sorry, hang on," Gerard mumbles, then anchors himself up over Frank on his arms, lines their legs up, and shoves his hips down again. This time, there's no awkwardness, just pure white heat and Frank scrambles against him, pinned down, and begs for more, harder, again.
Gerard is so close to him now, Frank buries his nose in his neck and hangs on. His hands slip on Gerard's bare skin and he thrusts up again and again and again, and he sinks his teeth into Gerard's neck when everything tightens and he comes, every bone in his body shuddering beneath his skin. Gerard gives a quick cry in his ear. Frank's shaking so hard, he's clamped onto Gerard from all sides - arms, thighs, and he can't unclench enough to let go.
The next moment, Gerard manages to shake him off enough to wrap a hand around his own cock and Frank just catches one incredible glimpse of Gerard's face right as he comes, all over Frank's stomach and his own fingers. Frank can't look away even after Gerard sags down, hunched over himself, and takes shallow, quiet breaths. "Shit."
"Yeah." Frank's voice catches in his throat. He clears it and feels his lips uncurl in a slow grin. He could probably sleep now. He watches Gerard - the sag of his white shoulders, the slump of his soft cock, the spread of his fingers on his thighs. They catch each other's eye and it feels like maybe there's a thunderstorm coming, or maybe it's just them. Maybe it's him alone, but he doesn't think so. He pulls Gerard down to him and doesn't give a shit about the mess between their stomachs.
It's a while until he's able to sleep, after all.
*
For dinner, Gerard takes him out to a vegetarian place he had apparently scouted out last week, which Frank, predictably, finds ridiculously endearing. He also touches Frank's hand over the tabletop while talking, almost like he doesn't even know he's doing it. Frank keeps catching himself wondering when this - thing, this thing between them - is going to get awkward or weird. He also keeps catching Gerard staring at him with that tilted, slightly squinty-eyed look that sends Frank's belly into a spiral of excited nerves. It's like trying to exist on two separate planes, maybe, or like his body is having a tug of war without his permission.
When the waiter comes to take their order, Gerard orders for both of them, and Frank drinks his sparkling water until the waiter leaves. He thinks maybe a beer would go down better, but he's not an asshole, no matter what Toro may believe.
"So, tell me what to expect at your show," he says instead. It isn't for another couple of days, but Frank likes to be prepared.
Gerard smiles. "The gallery opening? Uhm, some art, I guess."
"With a lot of dick?"
Gerard colors the tiniest bit. Frank seriously cannot wait for this thing. "Yeah, something like that." Then he rubs the back of his neck and plays with his hair a bit. "I guess there's going to be some, uh, people I know? And, like, an art critic or two, I think."
"Big-time?"
Gerard nods slowly, kind of unfocused. "Yeah, pretty big."
"You nervous?"
Gerard chews on his lip and he's clearly lying when he shakes his head. "Nah. I mean, it's not my first showing or anything."
"Ever get big art critics before?"
"Well, I mean… I guess not," he says slowly and frowns. "Are you trying to psych me out? ‘Cause that's kind of a crappy thing to do."
Frank cracks up. "Nah, just giving you shit. I think it's awesome, actually."
"Well, clearly," Gerard grins. "I've never had anyone travel across an ocean to see my shit before."
Now it's Frank's turn to flush. He didn't really travel across the ocean to see Gerard's art, but close enough. He is looking forward to it. "Mikey told me to take pictures, by the way." Right before he added that the pictures better not be of Gerard's junk. Frank made no such promise and got away with it only because he's the boss. He really needs to check in with them tomorrow, see that the place is still standing and all.
"He thinks my art is weird," Gerard sighs. "I mean, I guess I can't blame him."
He sounds almost wistful. Frank's never had a brother, no siblings at all, so he doesn't know what it's like to miss them, but he knows Mikey talks about Gerard almost with a kind of sick reverence, to a point Frank had never understood. Not until now, maybe. "Is it really all dick, or were you just pulling my chain back home?"
Gerard hems and haws a little. "It is and it isn't, I guess. I mean." He sighs and pushes hair out of his eyes. "I love the human form, so I guess it's a theme."
"So, what, you draw a lot of naked dudes just because?"
Gerard bristles a bit, then sags down. That's also becoming a theme. "Yeah, I do. And, like, okay." He leans forward to continue. "I started out just drawing models, like you do in art school, right?"
Frank nods.
"But that shit gets boring super-fast, so you start to develop your own style, seeing what works," Gerard continues. His eyes kind of light up the more he talks. "I guess I went through periods of realism, but that's not what I wanted to do. So I started mixing media, working with wood and metal as well as oils, basically everything you could mix and couldn't." He only pauses to take a gulp of his water. "I drew a ton of buildings and all these, like, industrial landscapes, because it seemed like an important statement on society or whatever at the time." He pauses and looks at Frank like he just wants to make sure Frank is still listening. He is. "And that sold, and I was gaining all kinds of success, but I just kept coming back to the part where I found people way more interesting."
Frank thinks about it. "Curves instead of lines?"
Gerard's eyes widen and he grins. "Yes, exactly! Like, I'd see someone sitting on the train and just stare at the folds of their clothes, you know, and like, why are they sitting the way they are? Why does this dude have a hunch to his shoulders?"
Frank totally understands, except. "So, where does all the dick come in?"
Gerard doesn't even pause. "Comes with the territory of loving dick, I guess."
Frank's pretty glad he doesn't have a drink in his hand, but he sputters, anyway. "Is that, like, an artistic vision?"
Gerard grins and leans in closer, until Frank can make out the dusting of stubble around his jaw, and Frank can't look away from his eyes. "Maybe, but mostly my own personal preference. I find the male form to be pretty fucking hot."
Frank's mouth does a weird thing where it goes dry, then fills up with spit. He wants his hands over Gerard's male form pretty bad. Instead of attacking him across the table and scaring the other patrons, though, he licks his lips and leans back. "I can get behind that," he answers with a grin. "So is that why Mikey finds it weird? He doesn't share your, uh, personal preference?"
Gerard purses his lips in a kind of twisted smile. "Well, there's more to it than dick, I guess. You'll just have to see."
Frank sighs. "Fine, be mysterious. What did you order for me?"
Turns out, Gerard ordered Frank a Pixar film. "I'm having ratatouille? Seriously?"
Gerard just laughs at him.
*
They bump shoulders on the meandering way back to the hotel. It's barely even eleven, and Frank is feeling all kinds of mellow and happy and a buzzing sort of something that hasn't gone away since he landed. It feels like the longest day ever already, but maybe that's what happens when you cross oceans. He wouldn't know.
The walk shouldn't take them by the river, but Gerard does. It's like they've both agreed they're not ready to be back at the hotel yet, and they're quiet, enjoying the night. The streets are busy, and Frank watches beautiful girls scatter by on high heels and dressed-up boys, brushing hair out of their eyes and attempting to catch up. Everywhere, like a brook babbling, is a language he doesn't understand, and by his side is Gerard, cigarette clutched between his fingers, jacket rustling against Frank's shirt whenever he takes a drag. He's pretty far from home.
Frank thinks he should maybe ask Gerard something, like about pets or childhood or school, but he has no idea how. Maybe it's something that has to happen, like, organically. Gerard seems like the sort of dude who would totally talk about this shit for ages, so maybe he doesn't want to. Fuck it, though, Frank's curious.
"So when did you realize you loved dick?" he asks. He actually meant to ask about the other stuff, but apparently, he's got dick on his mind. Gerard looks over at him with huge, surprised eyes.
"What?"
Frank waves his hand around. "When did you realize you were gay?"
"Oh," Gerard says, like it's a different question. His eyebrows draw together in thought. Frank gets a momentary weird urge to lick between them. "Middle school, I guess?"
Frank pauses mid-step. "That early?"
"Is that early? Huh," Gerard says and also stops, cigarette dangling between his fingers.
"I don't know, I didn't figure it out till high school," Frank says with a shrug.
They're right by the bank of the river, so it seems kind of natural that they pause at the wrought-iron gates and lean against them. Frank tilts his face up to Gerard's, and Gerard is looking out across the water to the other side. Frank follows his gaze and wonders if it's still Paris over there, or what.
"Hmm, yeah, no, I knew pretty young," Gerard finally says, then adds with a crooked smile, "So did my entire family, apparently."
Frank laughs. "That obvious, huh?" Gerard just gives him a look. Frank raises his hands, palms up. "Okay, I guess it was. Hey, my mom didn't know until she caught me with a dude's dick in my mouth, so."
Gerard actually winces. "Jesus, seriously?"
Frank laughs, even as the memory makes him want to crawl into the deepest hole and die. Suddenly he's really fucking glad they're thousands of miles away. "Yeah, that was a pretty spectacular coming out. Traumatized us both for life, pretty much."
Gerard sounds cautious when he says, "But she's, uh, okay with it, right? Like. Now."
Frank is very happy to report that yes, indeed she is. "She's got all the PFLAG merch her house can handle, she even marched one year," he answers, grinning. "She was fine with it then, too, she just maybe shouldn't have found out through a live-action illustrated guide, is all." In his bedroom in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. It's like he wanted to get caught.
Gerard just laughs and leans in closer. "Who was the guy?"
Frank watches the breeze ruffle Gerard's hair off his forehead. Without thinking about it, he brushes his fingers through it and runs them all the way down to the soft nape of Gerard's neck and feels him shiver. "First great love of my life, I guess."
Gerard squints and quirks his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. "First?"
"Hey, torrid and crazy," Frank whispers back, and his heart hammers in his chest. "You're not the only one with stories."
Gerard leans in to kiss him.
*
They're fumbling for each other's flies as soon as they're through the door. Frank can't remember the last time he wanted to get to someone's skin as bad as he wants Gerard, the last time he's wanted to make someone come as many different ways as he's capable of, the last time just kissing a guy felt like this.
He's on Gerard as soon as they're both naked. The condoms and lube are a mess in his hands, but the wasted time is worth it when he slips out his fingers and sinks onto Gerard's dick, lets gravity pull him down in increments as they both gasp.
Gerard throws back his head and whines, a guttural, needy sound. "Fuck, Frank." Frank shudders, scrambles back, ruts against him.
He rides him hard, propped up with his hands on Gerard's knees, bent back, going fucking crazy. He'll probably feel it in the morning. Gerard thrusts up hard and stutters, so fucking hot with it, and probably leaves Gerard-shaped bruises on Frank's hips. Frank considers getting them tattooed as mementos, maybe. He jerks himself off and slicks his come-stained fingers all over Gerard's cheeks and lips and willing tongue, then licks it off and tries and fails to catch his breath.
*
Gerard takes him to see the Eiffel Tower the next day. Frank's jetlag means that he's barely blinked his eyes open when Gerard pokes him awake, but that's all right. Poking turns into caresses and caresses turn into groping and the kissing is nice, too, so Frank doesn't really complain.
They take the Metro to the tower, even if it seemed a lot closer than that to Frank. The green leading up to it is impressive. The tower is at the center of the city, but seems a ways away from it when up close. Frank isn't afraid to look like a tourist as he gazes up at where it meets the sky.
It's afternoon Parisian time. The day is the sort of sunny that could turn grey and stormy any second, but Frank still feels like lingering outside a bit. Gerard just laughs at him through his cigarette smoke, and then his eyes go round in surprise when Frank's phone starts cranking out "Astro Zombies."
"Ray!" Frank is already mentally counting up the number of hours in which he can fly home and go put out whatever fire they've set to his baby. "What's going on?"
Ray's high voice is breaking up, so all Frank can hear is "Mikey" and "ank" and "ucking" and it's seriously going to be the end of Frank. The call drops and he curses as he walks around, hand held high, trying to get a good signal going. Fucking phone companies.
He hears a high-pitched giggle behind him and glares when he turns. "What? This shit is seriously annoying," he complains.
Gerard just watches him, arms folded across his chest, and nods his head upwards. Frank frowns and snaps his phone shut. "Huh?"
"We could, I don't know, go up on the tower? I bet the reception is pretty good up there."
Frank feels the color rush his cheeks when Gerard gives him a dimpled grin. Oh. "Right."
*
Frank doesn't pay attention to the view until after he's threatened to fire Ray for scaring him half to death with no good reason. He's just hung up on the bastard laughing at him when Gerard folds his hands over Frank's waist and leads him up to the railing. Frank pushes back against him, but not because he's struggling. It feels nice.
"You wanted to see it, so pay attention," Gerard says low in his ear, and every bone down to his toes melts in Frank's body.
"I'm totally paying attention," he says and does. Despite them not being at the very top, it's breathtaking, in a way that makes you take in the sheer size of the city. Paris is huge, bigger than New York and all its five boroughs. Or maybe it just seems that way, and it also makes him a bit dizzy. He can see the river sparkle, the roiling clouds clatter around the distant sky. When he looks down, he sees a whole lot of cigarette butts strewing the platform and snorts.
"I guess there's no ban on smoking out here," he notes and hangs a little over the railing, just to see how far he can push it. Gerard's fingers tighten on his waist and Frank fights him a little, just because he can.
"Oh my God, stop it," Gerard finally snaps behind him, a little panicked, which is adorable. Frank relents and reels back, slumping against Gerard's chest.
"Not a fan of heights?"
"Not a fan of people splattering down onto the ground in front of me," Gerard grumbles and Frank laughs. He doesn't plan on getting splattered today.
*
He takes about a hundred pictures - some touristy tropes for his mom, some stupid shit for the guys, but most are just for himself. Gerard smoking, hair falling in his cast-down eyes. The bend of his neck as he peeks out over the railing, hands wrapped knuckle-white around the metal. Gerard, grinning at Frank and blowing smoke in his face. Gerard laughing. Gerard.
*
Frank drags him over to the Arc de Triomphe and forces Gerard to take pictures of him underneath it. Frank doesn't want those for himself as much as he wants to make Gerard roll his eyes again, which is hilarious because Gerard never seems to catch on. He takes all the pictures Frank asks him to even as he blushes and grumbles.
Gerard takes him to the Louvre afterwards and stands him right in front of the Mona Lisa, and Frank can't deny it. His heart beats just a little bit faster while looking at her smile at him from behind glass. He's surrounded by pushing crowds, indistinct chatter all around, French, German, Swahili, for all he knows, but all he can see is the portrait in front of him and Gerard's profile out of the corner of his eye. He flashes back to their first morning together, when Gerard's skin was warm against his cheek and Frank could hear the beat of his heart like he'd crawled inside Gerard's chest himself. He wonders what Gerard is thinking next to him. They stand there for a while, knuckles touching.
*
Frank doesn't insist on a vegetarian restaurant that night, so instead, they go to a place with hookahs. Frank hasn't been to any hookah bars on his own side of the Atlantic, so this is pretty sweet, he can admit. So is the tobacco they smoke after dinner, and he feels giddy and high on laughter, sprawled across from Gerard on a leather bench that's making his ass slide down bit by bit as he moves. He keeps tensing his thighs just to stay in place, then catches Gerard's eye and almost giggles himself off the bench.
"Oh my God, what the hell is in this shit?" he splutters after he pushes himself back up. He knows it isn't weed, but it can't be just plain old tobacco, either, can it?
Gerard confirms that it's totally tobacco, and takes another drag. He must hold it in just a bit too long, because he comes up hacking, eyes watering, smoke curling out of his nostrils. Frank cracks up again. "Amateur," he wheezes through the laughter. Gerard kicks him in the shin and continues coughing, doubles over.
He's out of it just long enough for Frank to start worrying about not knowing the French equivalent of 911, but then the hacking cough turns into a dry wheeze and then Gerard is punching his own chest and grinning back at Frank. His face is about ten shades redder than his hand.
"Wow, that was - really embarrassing," he gasps and turns even redder. Frank's eyes are watering from the smoke and the laughter and he shakes his head quickly.
"That was hilarious, is what it was. It's like you're, I don't know, thirteen and having your first smoke, trying to impress the captain of the cheerleading squad or something."
Gerard makes a great surprised face, then finally stops coughing for good. "That's incredibly specific," he comments and his voice is still raspy, kind of used. Frank grins harder.
"I'm an incredibly specific kind of guy," he says before he can stop himself. He covers up being an idiot by grabbing the pipe and sucking in more smoke. It doesn't quite have the mellowness levels of weed, but it tickles his mouth and nostrils with sweetness. He fucking loves France.
Part II.
Fandom/Pairing: MCR, Frank/Gerard
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Frank's Big Gay Paris Vacation. (~30,000 words; sequel to no_tags fic Gathered Here to Witness, and it probably won't make much sense without it.)
Notes: I started this almost immediately after finishing the first fic, and have been obsessing over it ever since. I am so happy to get this monkey off my back, I can't even tell you. And I have...many people to thank. Let's see!
My beloved, brooklinegirl, for putting up with my constant whining about this thing for MONTHS, for beta-ing, and basically being amazing throughout and kicking my ass when I needed it. Also for marrying and not divorcing me in the process. ♥♥♥
Huge, ENDLESS thanks to desfinado for being the best beta in the WORLD (no srsly), even if it meant I had to go back and try not to tear my hair out with re-working shit. She is made of utter awesome.
All the French provided to me by etben, who is literally at French camp, and I love her geeky face for it.
And, finally, huge, ENORMOUS thanks to ciel_vert for, well, everything. For being there from the very beginning, for encouraging and cheerleading and reading, for MAKING ME A MIX, WHAT, for talking me down off the ledge more times than I can count, and for loving this verse almost as much as I do. ILU, bb. Thank you. This fic has always been for you. ♥♥♥
(All remaining mistakes are mine. I have never been to Paris, but I hear that it's nice. Any inaccuracies can be blamed on my lack of knowledge and Monsieur Google.)
Bonus Content: La Ville Lumiere, mix by ciel_vert.
In The Springtime
"They say that there is a city somewhere in the world where they honor lovers," said Andrei. "If they're kissing in the middle of the street, the cars go around them."
"Paris?"
"Yes, probably."
- F. Vigdorova
*
Frank gets the window seat, which is nice. Booking international flights three weeks in advance is pretty fucking risky, but here he is, resting his head against the window, all the time in the world to contemplate just how crazy he really is.
Which is pretty epic, actually. But the plane is meeting the sunrise head on, and the clouds look like something out of a picture book from when he was a kid. He can almost hear his mom's voice saying, "And that's where the Gods live, Frankie." It looks like it, too, majestic and otherworldly, and Frank's stomach hates flying, but his head doesn't. It's pretty awesome.
Of course now, the awesomeness fades because he has to take a piss, all that recycled, dry air forcing him to drink a gallon of water every hour. The guy sitting next to him isn't budging, not even when Frank makes some apologetic noises and starts to crawl out. Maybe the aisle would have been smarter.
The dude still doesn't budge, so Frank doesn't really feel bad when his foot accidentally slips and mashes on the dude's toes. Frank just shrugs, all, Sorry, you're the douche who won't move or let me through, but he does feel a little bad when his hand flails out and lands hard on the lady-in-the-aisle-seat's knee.
"Shit, sorry, sorry -"
She ignores him, pretending to be asleep, so he climbs out and goes straight for the bathroom. Fucking narrow fit, and while it's a lot cleaner than, say, a bus bathroom would be, it's still a public piss-room. He pees for a million years, then washes his hands for longer. He catches his own reflection in the mirror, between the "no smoking" and "please wash your hands!" signs.
He looks exactly like you'd expect a crazy motherfucker who's flying across the ocean to meet a dude he's only spent about four days with in total to look. His hair is kind of flat on one side and his eyes are a little puffy from not being able to sleep. It looks like his face's been put on a little wrong. He can't stop the grin from spreading, though, because - Gerard. What the hell. Frank's going to fucking France, to meet Mikey's fucking brother. They're fucking idiots.
He cracks up when he hears that in Mikey's voice, combs through his hair with his fingers, attempting to make it a little more presentable, then gives up and slides the door open. He comes face to face with the douche from the next seat over and gives him a wide grin and himself a quick squeeze.
"Sorry, man," he beams and walks past the scandalized look. He's not really one for jerking off in public, but fucking with assholes is kind of his specialty.
He's still grinning when he folds in on himself, squeezing past the lady he'd accidentally groped on his way out, and sinks back down into his seat. He leans back, tugging the blue scratchy blanket across his lap, and hopes he can fall asleep for the last leg. The little display in front of him tells him they'll be arriving at Charles de Gaulle in under two hours.
Frank's belly does a weird flip, and he ignores it in favor of pretending to be tired. Maybe he'll even catch a couple of z's before they land.
*
He's not the last one to have gotten off the plane, but it definitely feels like it. By the time he's made it through customs and to baggage claim, he's been in France for an hour. He doesn't want to admit to himself that he's pretty fucking nervous. Maybe not so much about seeing Gerard as about getting to Gerard, because he'd made some noise about not being able to meet Frank at the airport, as much as he'd love to, so Frank is supposed to get himself a cab and not get himself lost in the process, and meet Gerard at the hotel.
The piece of paper with Gerard's cell number, as well as his hotel address, is in Frank's back pocket, and the back-up is in his phone. He'd had to fight with his provider to get himself international access, but he can't exactly stay out of contact with Skeleton. God only knows what Ray'll do to his company with nearly a week all to himself.
Frank may not speak much French, but he knows the international sign for "taxi cab" pretty well. He's still inside the gated hallways, but he can already see the throngs of people waiting to greet the tired masses, and part of him wishes he could be poured into a cab and taken home, but whatever, it's fine. He'll sleep at the hotel, with a bonus Gerard, possibly wrapped around him. Possibly naked. In fact, Frank is pretty sure he'll be insisting on that portion of the morning.
He's still half-dreaming about naked Gerard cuddles as he walks through the sliding doors, and then the real - dressed, messy-haired - Gerard is the first one behind the barrier. He's wearing a shit-eating grin and holding up a "MR. FRANK IERO, SKELETON RECORDS, PLEASE COME HERE" sign with some tiny sketches in every corner. Frank's heart flips over and he almost trips.
It's possible that in the two weeks Gerard's been back in France, Frank has forgotten exactly what he looked like. Well, not forgotten, maybe, but the image faded a bit, like an old photograph. Now, he stands in front of Frank, beaming his mile-wide smile, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, eyes red-rimmed but bright and just as surprising as the first time Frank saw them, and it all comes tumbling back. Gerard is all but glowing.
There's a barrier between them, and a shit ton of French citizens all around, but Frank can't help leaning up against the metal and crumpling Gerard's sign as he kisses him, any more than he can help returning his smile. Gerard moans against him in happy surprise, or so Frank hopes. Frank's arm is at an awkward angle where he's holding onto his rolling suitcase, but Gerard's mouth is warm and his kisses send zings down Frank's spine. When he finally pulls away, they're both panting.
"Hi," Frank says, deliberately not watching the girl crushed up against Gerard by the crowd at the barrier. He can just make out her huge round eyes on them.
"Hi," Gerard smiles and tugs on Frank's shoulders. "You should, like, come around."
Frank pretends to consider it. "I don't know. This has a certain kink factor to it. Prison sex, or something."
Frank smiles wider as Gerard giggles. "Prison sex? Maybe you should have warned me about the kinky shit before you got on the plane."
Frank shrugs, still grinning. "This way's more fun. But all right, we can save the kinky shit for later. I did leave my handcuffs in my other bag. The stewardesses are gonna have a field day."
"Flight attendants," Gerard corrects him without missing a beat, and Frank keeps the straight face long enough to say, "Even better. Pay money for that shit."
He finally forces himself away from Gerard so he can follow the stream of people around the gate, and Gerard meets him halfway. There's no barrier now, nothing between them, not even air. Frank gets lost in Gerard's arms for a while, doesn't even worry about the suitcase fallen at his feet. Gerard tastes predictably like coffee and cigarettes, and that particular taste, his own taste, the taste that Frank tried to recall for two weeks and couldn't and thought he'd made it up.
He hadn't, and now he's getting his two weeks' worth, tongues sliding against each other, hips fitted just so, shit, if they don't pull away right now, Frank's going to start dry-humping Gerard in front of the entire airport.
"Fuck," he breathes out when they pull apart. He licks his lips and buries his nose in the crook of Gerard's neck. Gerard's fingers skid down his spine, then dip lower to Frank's ass. They squirm against each other for a breathless moment.
"Frankie, this is -"
"I know."
"Right?"
"Yeah."
They pant into each other's mouths a little longer, then break apart. Frank looks at Gerard and he has no idea how to even explain the fact that he's in fucking France, of all places, and it feels like exactly where he should be. His feet have never felt comfortable anywhere outside of Jersey, he's homebound all the way. But right now, he doesn't even care.
Gerard grins at him, takes Frank's face between his hands, kisses him soft and familiar, like they've been doing this for years or something ridiculous like that, and guides him outside, into the morning sun. His hand is a warm pressure on Frank's back until they both slide into the cab.
*
Frank can't deny the scenery. So far, France is delivering.
They're mostly quiet in the car, Frank's exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he's been slumped against Gerard's shoulder for the last twenty minutes. He watches the roads go by, same highways as everywhere else, but different, anyway. Different cars, different plates, different signs.
Parisian morning skitters around them bit by bit, an ornate façade here, a splashing fountain there, until they're in the middle of honking cars and bellowing masses, all of it exotic to Frank's eyes, and beautiful.
"Cool," he says quietly, and feels Gerard's smile against his hair.
They don't fight over the cab fare only because Frank's already gotten a ton of Euro tucked away in his wallet, ready to be used on shit like dinners and coffee and anything else he feels like getting Gerard. He isn't here to be a fucking sponge.
The hotel has a slightly worn feel around the edges, but Frank likes the winding staircase off to the side, and the inside is not modern, but comfortable. Gerard leads him through the lobby where horsehair couches line the waiting area before ringing up the elevator.
"This was the only smoking hotel I could find," he says between floors. Frank fucking loves him at that moment, but doesn't say it, just smiles real big and gives him a thumbs-up.
Then he crowds Gerard's space as they walk up to the room, half because he's pretty close to passing out right there on the floor and needs to be held up, half just because it feels nice. Gerard throws him a vague smile as he keys in, and then they're finally stumbling through the door.
Frank is on the bed in a flash. He can sort of hear his suitcase thumping to the ground, then the rustle of fabric as Gerard bends down to grab it, but it's all white noise and pleasant weight of fatigue, and Frank's one nod to civility is to toe his shoes off before he's breathing in the flowery smell of the coverlet, and then he's dead to the world.
*
He wakes up in increments. First, the world whooshes in on him and stills, and he's aware of no longer fighting zombies in his grandma's backyard in the rain. Then, he realizes that he's basically naked, and his skin feels nice where he's burrowed under the covers and against the soft sheets. He moves his arm to feel his hips - how sweet; Gerard left his underwear on. Frank grins and cracks one eye open. The curtains are tugged closed, but the sun is obvious and bright, coming in through the slit in between. The air feels fresh, such a difference from the plane or even the airport. There's a breeze, too, and Frank relishes it on his face, then stretches his limbs back into life one by one.
Gerard is, in fact, spooned up behind him, naked and warm, kind of sweaty against Frank's skin. Awake, too, and it's possible he's been awake for a while, because he buries his nose in Frank's neck as soon as Frank moves his hips back a little, and kisses him light and soft, humming.
"Morning," Frank croaks around his smile and tries to turn around, bring them face to face. But Gerard just squeezes his middle and doesn't say anything as he pushes his thigh between Frank's. Before he knows it, Frank's on his stomach, and Gerard's mouth is hot against his shoulder, and his dick is hard against Frank's thighs. "Mmm, okay," Frank smiles and feels Gerard's answering breathless laugh against his skin.
"Hey, Frankie," Gerard whispers, his kiss wet and hot on Frank's shoulder. "Sleep well?"
Frank squirms against the sheets and the nickname, seeks more friction. He feels lazy and good and he's fucking hard as a rock, combination of morning wood and Gerard touching his everything. "Yeah," he answers, and adds, filters gone, "You should fuck me." He feels Gerard's fingers twitch around his hips, then slide down bit by bit, taking his briefs with them.
"Yeah?" Gerard's voice is barely there, kind of strained.
"Fuck yeah," Frank answers and pushes back without subtlety.
Gerard fucks him slow at first, shallow thrusts, light and teasing, but when Frank grabs one of Gerard's hands and shoves his fingers into his mouth just to have something to suck on as he moans, Gerard doesn't hold back anymore. They fuck hard and dirty, and the breeze isn't enough to give Frank the air he needs. He sucks in huge, gulping breaths, and doesn't even touch his dick before he's shuddering around Gerard and coming all over the sheets.
Gerard pins him down and drives in fast and hot and Frank feels the best kind of wrung out and used. Gerard knocks the breath out of them both when he comes, muffling a broken shout against Frank's neck. Fuck, it was worth crossing the ocean for this. Frank smiles and holds Gerard's hand in place as his heart beat slows back to normal and the sweat between them cools.
*
Frank is just this side of hungry; not yet willing to do anything about it that would involve him getting out of bed or putting on pants, but he wouldn't say no if somebody brought him breakfast in bed. Gerard isn't doing that, but he has given him a cigarette out of his own precious stash, so Frank is quite all right going slightly hungry for the time being.
His head is propped up on Gerard's shoulder enough that he can see out the half-opened curtains. He mostly sees Parisian roofs, but they're picturesque and different enough to hold his attention. A fluttery bird has landed on an antenna nearby, and Frank watches her scattered progress from roof to roof until she's out of view again.
Gerard hums against his hair, and Frank tilts his head in question.
"Like something out of Poe," Gerard notes. Frank cracks up and accidentally elbows Gerard in the ribs when he turns enough to laugh at him.
"You're a weird dude, you know that? I was just thinking ‘cool-looking bird.'"
Gerard bristles, pretending to be hurt. "Metaphors are an artist's bread and butter."
As if on cue, Frank's stomach grumbles. "What about the rest of us poor huddled masses?" he asks. "Is it coffee and croissants time yet?"
Gerard blinks like he hasn't quite caught up yet, then his face clears and he takes a drag before putting his cigarette out in the hotel-sponsored ashtray. "Might be. Although it's probably more like sandwich or salad time."
Frank looks over at the clock on the night stand. It's telling him he's in a different country. "Okay, help me out. How long have I been asleep?"
Gerard follows Frank's gaze and laughs. "About four hours. That's one p.m. to you."
Frank shrugs. "Only twelve hours on the clocks back home. More importantly, did you say salad?"
Gerard did, but he doesn't seem to care about Frank's hunger issues, and he has yet to find out just how grumpy Frank can get on an empty stomach. But it's hard to get upset when he's got Gerard pinning him to the bed with his entire body and kissing him like that, tongue and lips and breath sliding against him. At this rate, they'll never make it out of the bed, much less to the gallery opening. Frank is okay with that.
Gerard finally relents after a little while, but not before he's got Frank half-hard and aching, not even an hour after they fucked. His bones feel the buzzing anticipation, everything is tightening up. Frank licks his lips and looks at Gerard's stupidly beautiful face, barely an inch from his own. He thinks maybe his eyes are crossing.
"So, what, you trying to get me hungry for dinner?"
Gerard lifts his eyebrows and bites his lip in a smile. "No, we're going out to get lunch, remember? You wanted green stuff."
Frank squirms against him, tries to get more friction. "It could wait," he says, but Gerard kisses him quick and light and rolls off. Frank is left immediately cold and with his boner showing. "That's not very nice," he informs a grinning Gerard.
"Up, up, up," Gerard says, and actually shoves at Frank's shoulder until Frank's almost falling off the bed, then slaps him on the ass. Frank yelps and throws him his dirtiest look over his shoulder.
"So, it's like that, then?"
Gerard shrugs expansively, eyes huge and innocent, lips twitching. "I have no idea what you mean, you were the one who wanted lunch!"
Frank dodges neatly before Gerard has the chance to literally kick him out of bed, then hogs the shower for half an hour. It takes him a little while to work out all the French quirks, but the hot water steaming up the room feels incredible. So does the quick jack-off session, because Gerard is a bastard and Frank can't actually go out like this.
It isn't until he's out of the bathroom and drying his hair that he sees Gerard all dressed and ready to go. "Dude."
"What?" Gerard freezes with his cigarette halfway to his mouth.
Frank wrinkles his nose and makes a big production out of sniffing the air. "There was fucking. It's a universally accepted rule that those who fuck must shower."
Gerard slips the smoke into his mouth and grins really big. "Welcome to Europe, my friend. These are my people."
*
The café Gerard brings him to is just around the corner. It's half hole-in-the-wall, half spilled out onto the crowded street, wooden chairs wrapping the wooden tables like invisible dinner company. It looks rowdy and ridiculous and ridiculously not like Jersey, even though cafés should be cafés everywhere.
Frank tries not to feel too useless or pathetic as Gerard orders for them both, and succeeds largely due to forgetting to feel either when he hears Gerard speaking French. So, he's never really liked French, but coming from Gerard's mouth it's close to pornographic.
"Does that sound good?" Gerard asks, and Frank realizes that he has no idea what it is Gerard just asked him.
"I - don't know, was the question in English?" he tries.
Gerard's lips quirk up and he leans in a little closer, mindless of the staring barista or the healthy lunch crowd. "I asked you if you wanted coffee with your salad," he murmurs and Frank has to seriously gather up all of his brain cells to make the individual words make sense because Gerard's got a pretty gorgeous mouth.
Finally, he nods and shrugs, "Coffee is always good." He pretends to study the menu on the wall while Gerard rattles off the rest of the order, and Frank snaps to long enough to wrestle his wallet out of his jeans and shove some weirdly-sized bills at the girl behind the counter. Gerard looks at him all confused, like Frank couldn't have possibly come up with Euro all on his own, then shakes his head.
"You're my guest. I'm paying."
Frank shoots the girl at the counter a stern look and extends another - five? He thinks it might be a five - towards her. He catches Gerard's eye on the upswing. "I'm on vacation. You're supposed to spend your hard-earned cash when you're on vacation."
The girl doesn't care where the money comes from, and soon Frank's got loose change in his pockets and Gerard's reluctant hand on the small of his back. They sit outside with their food and smoke to their hearts' content. This is something Frank can get behind.
At this point, he's ravenous, so once he tucks in, he doesn't stop until he's had every last bit of arugula and dried cranberry his salad had to offer. When he finally looks up at Gerard, Gerard is just staring at him, mouth quirked around his cigarette.
"What?" Frank asks and sucks in the last bit of walnut. "Am I grossing you out?"
Gerard laughs and shakes his head. "You're kind of ridiculously adorable when you eat," he says, and Frank grins in response, leaning back in his chair. At some point, Gerard has taken out a sketchpad, and already scratched some sort of shadow play with his pencil.
"Oh yeah? That is actually a new one. No one's ever said that to me before." Frank cranes his neck to see what Gerard is drawing, but he can't tell what it is yet.
Gerard hums, still looking amused, and takes a drag of his cigarette with his free hand. His fingers don't curl around the cigarette, and it looks vaguely pretentious and definitely odd, but Gerard makes it work. Frank wants another smoke right now, Gerard makes it look so good. After he's produced it from his pocket and lit it, he takes a drag himself.
"You look like you're thinking a lot there," he notes, watching Gerard's eyelashes flicker in the sun. There are animated voices all around them, but the unfamiliar words just wash over him and don't catch. Gerard is the most interesting thing there, anyway.
"I guess," Gerard agrees and doesn't continue. Frank takes a sip of his coffee and tries not to sputter at how fucking strong it is, holy shit. Devil's brew.
"You gonna let me in on it?" he asks after his tongue has been stripped of any taste buds.
Gerard's face does this thing where it looks like a light cloud has passed over him, but only a wisp, it clears the next moment. A breeze ruffles the hair on his forehead and Frank's fingers itch to ruffle it, too. "I was just wondering what kind of compliments you might have received, if not that one."
"Seriously?"
Gerard shrugs, shifty-eyed. "Just curious, I guess. You don't have to, I mean. Just…interested, I guess."
Frank bites his lip. "Are you fishing for info?"
"What? No!" Gerard shoots back immediately, pencil flying over the paper without him even looking, which basically means Frank got it in one.
"You totally are, you want to know where I've been! Who's been complimenting me and whatnot," Frank elaborates and watches Gerard go from indignant to scowly to resigned.
"Maybe," he finally admits, slumping down, and Frank can't help laughing. How he can find a dude to be so fascinating and be able to read him like an open fucking book at the same time is pretty astounding. "Stop laughing at me, a guy can be curious. We barely know each other."
The words hang between them like the flutter of stalled wings. It's true, neither one of them can deny it. If Frank thinks about it too much, he gets a little tight in the chest, like the moment before freefall, so he doesn't think about it at all. He figures that the most important things come from the gut, anyway. He pushes the words back, can almost hear the wings retreat. "So, ask me," he says with a grin, hoping it'll make the moment pass.
Gerard seems to consider him for a second, the pencil stilling in his hand - and that's weird, how serious Gerard can look while watching Frank like that. It makes Frank want to suck in his gut or sit up straighter or turn to the left, show Gerard his better side. Mostly it makes him hot under the collar.
Then Gerard lowers his gaze and his shoulders slump a little while he stubs his smoke out in the ashtray. "Okay," he says. His eyelashes are extended by the mid-day sun, soft shadows on his cheeks, and Frank unclenches his body a little and waits. "Who was your last relationship?"
Frank chews on the inside of his cheek a little. "His name was John." He did tell Gerard to ask, but now he's been asked, he has no idea how much Gerard wants to know. He starts out easy. "His best compliment to me was ‘you suck like a hoover, baby.'"
Gerard's eyes grow wide. "Seriously?"
Frank tries not to crack up as he mock pouts. "What, you don't agree?"
"No, I mean - sure, but - oh." Gerard pauses and nods. "You're fucking with me."
"Only a little," Frank agrees and tilts his head to the side. "No, he did used to say that to me once, but there were better compliments." He can't remember too many at the moment, but he knows they're in his memory somewhere, buried under things like bitter resentment at being stomped on and manic glee at seeing him stomped on right back.
"I should hope so," Gerard replies fervently. Frank thinks it's completely artless, and stupidly sweet for it. He suddenly remembers that John really loved his eggplant parm.
"So, what about you and your skeletons?" he asks, because it seems only fair.
Gerard, though, doesn't appear to agree. He hems and haws and does that "weeeell," thing which is annoying with most people, and only marginally obnoxious now. Frank kicks him under the table. "I showed you mine."
"Ugh, fine." Gerard drops the pencil altogether and fumbles for his pack. He takes so long to go through the motions of just getting the cigarette out that Frank plucks it from his fingers and lights it for him himself.
"There," he says once he's transferred it over from his mouth to Gerard's. "Now, talk. I want details," he warns.
Gerard rolls his eyes but finally starts to spill. "The last relationship was Paul, in Grenoble."
Frank counts up the time Gerard's been in France and tries not to lie to himself. "Yeah? Paul's French, I'm assuming."
Gerard nods, his gaze somewhere past Frank's shoulder. "Yeah. He's a model, we met at a party."
Huh. "Huh."
Gerard ashes and gives another distracted nod. Frank tries not to kick him again.
"And?"
"And - not much. It was, you know, torrid and crazy and it didn't work out," Gerard says and now Frank really, really wishes he hadn't asked, but he had, so.
"Torrid and crazy?"
Gerard laughs at the question and finally looks at Frank with smiling eyes. "It was exactly what I needed to get over my last real relationship, and it worked."
"You're like a mystery wrapped up in exes. What's up with that? Don't leave me hanging," Frank wheedles, because he apparently likes pain and uncertainty. What the hell, does Gerard fly from guy to guy without a break? Frank needed at least six months before even the name "John" alone didn't make him flinch, and that was no easy task, in Jersey. Of course, he didn't exactly spend all of it with just his hand for company.
"Ugh, this conversation sucks," Gerard grumbles again and bites on his nails. Frank would find it gross except that he totally does it, too, and Gerard seems irresistible even with skanky hair and bitten-down nails. At least to Frank. He's so fucked. "It's not like I'm a serial dater or anything, things just happen," Gerard says and looks at Frank kind of accusatory. "Like you don't have crazy and torrid stories to tell."
Frank does and he doesn't, but Gerard is right - the conversation is quickly turning crappy. He tries to shake it off and attempts to smile when he says, "Okay, new topic, then. Best sex ever, go."
He admits that maybe mid-day outside in Paris is not the best place for this, but Gerard's huge eyes and slack mouth are still hilarious. "That's not fair!"
"So, not me," Frank concedes and ashes over a miniature Louvre. "That's fine. Give me time."
Gerard laughs like he hadn't expected to. "I'm just not telling. It could be you. That would be unfair to all the other guys."
Frank makes an exaggerated show of craning his neck and looking across the crowd. "Are they here? Would we be insulting them?"
Gerard plays along and scans the crowd over Frank's shoulder, then turns bodily around to look behind him. The sun catches the sharp shadow of his jaw over his Adam's apple and Frank quickly reaches for his coffee just to have something to do. Once Gerard has slumped back into his chair and pretended to wipe his forehead in relief, he says, "You can never be too careful."
"Is that because you've slept with half of Paris?" Frank asks, hiding his grin behind his cup.
"Well, naturally. Parisian boys are very sensitive, you know," Gerard explains with a slight lisp.
Frank laughs and tilts his face up to the sunshine, basking. When he looks back down, he watches Gerard's pencil moving until he can't take it anymore, and asks, "So, what have you got there?"
Gerard flips the pad over to him, and Frank sees the outline of the city behind him, the cloudless sky, the river.
*
"Hey, Mom." The line crackles a bit.
"Frankie! You landed? Everything good?"
Frank smiles down at his toes and kicks a cigarette butt out of the way. "Landed, safe, all good," he recites. "How's Peppers?"
"Fine as can be, why wouldn't she be?" Frank can hear Peppers yelping in the background. He's wondering which of Mom's brood has her cornered now. Mom clears her throat, then asks, "And how is Gerard?"
Frank grins and rolls his eyes all at once, then pokes Gerard in the side. "He's good, he got me at the airport."
He can practically feel her whirring approval. "Of course he did, good for him." There's a pause in which Frank is not entirely sure which direction to take this now, and then Mom interrupts his thoughts with a delicate cough. "Well, you go have fun and enjoy and take pictures for me, okay?"
Frank thinks he's maybe blushing to the roots. "Will do!"
"Bye, honey, and call me again, okay?"
"Bye, Mom, love you."
Gerard bumps Frank's shoulder as his mom's voice says, "Love you, too, honey," and he flips his phone shut.
*
"So, where are we?" he asks, jogging up to where Gerard's stopped at an intersection, looking every bit the shitty tour guide he'd promised he'd be. Frank doesn't mind, but he's curious - new country, different language, might as well use his resources. Gerard looks less distracted when he turns to Frank, like he's maybe zoning in on an answer.
"We're in Montparnasse right now," he says. Frank makes a "go on" gesture, because so far, that means nothing. "It's, you know," Gerard flaps a hand back and forth, "one of the Parisian neighborhoods? I really love it," he adds in a smaller voice.
"Oh, yeah?" Frank looks around - it looks like what he imagined Paris to look like, if he'd ever really imagined it. Older than New York, and prettier. "So, what's different about it from all the other ones?"
They fall into step once the light changes, Gerard slouching next to Frank in his black t-shirt, jacket and jeans, pale and dreamy-looking. He looks super young, all of a sudden, and Frank thinks he can picture him slouching his way to school, art portfolio in one hand, cigarette in the other.
"At some point it became this, like, artist ghetto, I guess," Gerard starts after clearing his throat. "All these amazing artists everyone knows today got started here, you know? They fucking, like, thrived in poverty, because it was cheap to live here, and they had studios and just - made all this incredible art, you know?"
Frank can get behind that. "Yeah? Like, who? Anyone I've heard of?"
Gerard throws him a look that could almost be considered dirty, or maybe just unsubtle. "Picasso, for one."
"Obviously," Frank says. "Anyone else?"
"Modigliani," Gerard recites a little distrustfully, like a kid with a phrase book. Frank whistles, and Gerard throws him a look that's totally different and tilts his head. "You know his stuff?"
"Hey, not a total slouch, here," Frank says, skating kind of close to offended, but too lazy to really get there. "That ex, John? He had his entire house, like, decked out in Modigliani reproductions. It kind freaked me out at first, all those dark-eyed sprawling naked women, you know?" There was one across from Frank's side of the bed, and she'd watch him fall asleep four nights out of seven.
Gerard has now stopped walking and is just staring at Frank, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah?"
Frank clears his throat and looks up the street at all the people passing them and shrugs. "Yeah, I don't know, I kind of got used to them. I'd, like, make up stories for them in my head, about why they looked so sad, and why they were lying on white sheets framed in red, that kind of stuff." Frank actually missed them after he and John broke up. He shrugs and looks back at Gerard now. "Is that dumb?"
Gerard doesn't answer, but he's suddenly close and his hands - Frank blinks and Gerard's cupped Frank's face and closed his eyes. The next moment, they're kissing, except - it's a kiss and more, or less, Frank can't actually tell, but something about it is different.
Whatever it is, it makes Frank's knees feel like a slight kick might knock them out from under him. He clutches at Gerard's hands around his face, then slides his fingers down and just touches Gerard's wrists, feels the pulse there, hangs on. The underside of Gerard's tongue is slippery and soft and pliable and he stays there, stays as long as Gerard lets him.
They break apart and when he cracks his eyes open, Frank can't see much besides the blinding sun. Gerard's face comes into focus with black eyelashes and a red spot on his cheek that Frank has seen there before. They're both smiling, and on an impulse he grabs onto the stretched out collar of Gerard's t-shirt and hauls him back in.
He wasn't done with the kissing part yet.
*
"Why aren't you taking me to the Eiffel Tower?" Frank demands after an hour of walking around the artist ghetto, which is clearly, he might add, seeing much better days now. He wishes he'd maybe seen it back when there were starving artists milling out on the streets, making their art, or at least that's what he's picturing from Gerard's tales.
Gerard groans. "Really? The Eiffel Tower? Can't I take you to the Arc de Triomphe and call it a day?"
Frank grins bigger and nods, "And there, too!"
Gerard sighs like Frank is asking him to build the fucking thing.
"Oh, come on, I'm in Paris! I can't go back to my mother and tell her I never climbed the Eiffel Tower. She demanded pictures, okay? Plus, it's, like, right there."
They've seen it pop in and out view this whole time, winking between trees and buildings, and Frank still can't believe it. He's in fucking Paris.
"Fine, fine, okay," Gerard concedes and snakes a smoke out of his pack. Frank's got the lighter for him before he's done and he watches Gerard's cheeks hollow as he lights up, hand cupped over Frank's. His hair is a bit greasy at the roots and smells faintly of smoke, and Frank gets a hundredth urge in an hour to mess it up even more.
"Thank you," he finally says once Gerard's stepped away. It comes out a lot more breathless than he'd expected. He also means it.
Gerard purses his mouth around the cigarette, but Frank can tell he's smiling, anyway.
"You're fucking welcome."
*
They walk around for another hour, and Frank concedes he may be ready for a nap and the Eiffel Tower will probably still be there tomorrow. The sleepless flight is still catching up with him, and he's mostly slumped against Gerard's side by the time they shuffle back to the hotel. Gerard is smiling while opening the door, the kind of smile he's probably only peripherally aware of, and Frank watches him and hums a little to himself. It's déjà vu, the nice kind.
This time, he takes a moment to appreciate the room, though, and finally notice that there's a balcony. That's nice. He likes those. The rest of the room is cluttered with Gerard's stuff - so much of it, you'd think he actually lived here. Pencils, markers and sketchpads cover most of the desk surface, and clothes are strewn about everywhere else. Frank wishes for a moment he could see Gerard’s place in Grenoble, see what he’s like in his natural habitat. Maybe someday.
His skin is prickling with exhaustion again, but he might be a little too wired to sleep. They move around each other in companionable silence - Gerard propped up with a hand on the table, sliding his shoes off one by one, Frank slumped on the side of the bed, undoing his own laces. The stillness feels good after the bustle of the city, and he allows his whole body to stretch out on the bed, pants and all.
Gerard turns around and watches him, head tilted to the side. Frank licks his lips and quietly watches him back, his own smile the vaguest impression of his mood. He hopes this is enough to convince Gerard to join him, because he's just a bit too tired for pouncing, which is what he really wants to do while Gerard stands there, looking beautiful.
Maybe this is why it feels like a long time until Gerard shrugs out of his jacket, then slides his t-shirt up and over his head, and climbs onto the bed. As Frank watches his body move towards him, everything switches from low to on, click by click, like an engine revving up, he's fucking ready.
He catches Gerard's lips with his own and immediately it's like there's not enough air left in his lungs for this. His hands shake and he fumbles with his own jeans, then Gerard helps with his, even though his hands shake just as bad. When he looks back at Frank through his bangs, Frank catches his mouth in another kiss, this one more desperate than the one before, and the next few moments are just a blur of taste, shoving elbows, and snagging waistbands, until fucking finally, they're touching skin to skin. Hips and hard dicks lined up, and Gerard shoves up against him and their knees bump against each other from the impact. There's just enough pain that Frank doesn't come the next moment. He hisses through clenched teeth.
"Shit, sorry, hang on," Gerard mumbles, then anchors himself up over Frank on his arms, lines their legs up, and shoves his hips down again. This time, there's no awkwardness, just pure white heat and Frank scrambles against him, pinned down, and begs for more, harder, again.
Gerard is so close to him now, Frank buries his nose in his neck and hangs on. His hands slip on Gerard's bare skin and he thrusts up again and again and again, and he sinks his teeth into Gerard's neck when everything tightens and he comes, every bone in his body shuddering beneath his skin. Gerard gives a quick cry in his ear. Frank's shaking so hard, he's clamped onto Gerard from all sides - arms, thighs, and he can't unclench enough to let go.
The next moment, Gerard manages to shake him off enough to wrap a hand around his own cock and Frank just catches one incredible glimpse of Gerard's face right as he comes, all over Frank's stomach and his own fingers. Frank can't look away even after Gerard sags down, hunched over himself, and takes shallow, quiet breaths. "Shit."
"Yeah." Frank's voice catches in his throat. He clears it and feels his lips uncurl in a slow grin. He could probably sleep now. He watches Gerard - the sag of his white shoulders, the slump of his soft cock, the spread of his fingers on his thighs. They catch each other's eye and it feels like maybe there's a thunderstorm coming, or maybe it's just them. Maybe it's him alone, but he doesn't think so. He pulls Gerard down to him and doesn't give a shit about the mess between their stomachs.
It's a while until he's able to sleep, after all.
*
For dinner, Gerard takes him out to a vegetarian place he had apparently scouted out last week, which Frank, predictably, finds ridiculously endearing. He also touches Frank's hand over the tabletop while talking, almost like he doesn't even know he's doing it. Frank keeps catching himself wondering when this - thing, this thing between them - is going to get awkward or weird. He also keeps catching Gerard staring at him with that tilted, slightly squinty-eyed look that sends Frank's belly into a spiral of excited nerves. It's like trying to exist on two separate planes, maybe, or like his body is having a tug of war without his permission.
When the waiter comes to take their order, Gerard orders for both of them, and Frank drinks his sparkling water until the waiter leaves. He thinks maybe a beer would go down better, but he's not an asshole, no matter what Toro may believe.
"So, tell me what to expect at your show," he says instead. It isn't for another couple of days, but Frank likes to be prepared.
Gerard smiles. "The gallery opening? Uhm, some art, I guess."
"With a lot of dick?"
Gerard colors the tiniest bit. Frank seriously cannot wait for this thing. "Yeah, something like that." Then he rubs the back of his neck and plays with his hair a bit. "I guess there's going to be some, uh, people I know? And, like, an art critic or two, I think."
"Big-time?"
Gerard nods slowly, kind of unfocused. "Yeah, pretty big."
"You nervous?"
Gerard chews on his lip and he's clearly lying when he shakes his head. "Nah. I mean, it's not my first showing or anything."
"Ever get big art critics before?"
"Well, I mean… I guess not," he says slowly and frowns. "Are you trying to psych me out? ‘Cause that's kind of a crappy thing to do."
Frank cracks up. "Nah, just giving you shit. I think it's awesome, actually."
"Well, clearly," Gerard grins. "I've never had anyone travel across an ocean to see my shit before."
Now it's Frank's turn to flush. He didn't really travel across the ocean to see Gerard's art, but close enough. He is looking forward to it. "Mikey told me to take pictures, by the way." Right before he added that the pictures better not be of Gerard's junk. Frank made no such promise and got away with it only because he's the boss. He really needs to check in with them tomorrow, see that the place is still standing and all.
"He thinks my art is weird," Gerard sighs. "I mean, I guess I can't blame him."
He sounds almost wistful. Frank's never had a brother, no siblings at all, so he doesn't know what it's like to miss them, but he knows Mikey talks about Gerard almost with a kind of sick reverence, to a point Frank had never understood. Not until now, maybe. "Is it really all dick, or were you just pulling my chain back home?"
Gerard hems and haws a little. "It is and it isn't, I guess. I mean." He sighs and pushes hair out of his eyes. "I love the human form, so I guess it's a theme."
"So, what, you draw a lot of naked dudes just because?"
Gerard bristles a bit, then sags down. That's also becoming a theme. "Yeah, I do. And, like, okay." He leans forward to continue. "I started out just drawing models, like you do in art school, right?"
Frank nods.
"But that shit gets boring super-fast, so you start to develop your own style, seeing what works," Gerard continues. His eyes kind of light up the more he talks. "I guess I went through periods of realism, but that's not what I wanted to do. So I started mixing media, working with wood and metal as well as oils, basically everything you could mix and couldn't." He only pauses to take a gulp of his water. "I drew a ton of buildings and all these, like, industrial landscapes, because it seemed like an important statement on society or whatever at the time." He pauses and looks at Frank like he just wants to make sure Frank is still listening. He is. "And that sold, and I was gaining all kinds of success, but I just kept coming back to the part where I found people way more interesting."
Frank thinks about it. "Curves instead of lines?"
Gerard's eyes widen and he grins. "Yes, exactly! Like, I'd see someone sitting on the train and just stare at the folds of their clothes, you know, and like, why are they sitting the way they are? Why does this dude have a hunch to his shoulders?"
Frank totally understands, except. "So, where does all the dick come in?"
Gerard doesn't even pause. "Comes with the territory of loving dick, I guess."
Frank's pretty glad he doesn't have a drink in his hand, but he sputters, anyway. "Is that, like, an artistic vision?"
Gerard grins and leans in closer, until Frank can make out the dusting of stubble around his jaw, and Frank can't look away from his eyes. "Maybe, but mostly my own personal preference. I find the male form to be pretty fucking hot."
Frank's mouth does a weird thing where it goes dry, then fills up with spit. He wants his hands over Gerard's male form pretty bad. Instead of attacking him across the table and scaring the other patrons, though, he licks his lips and leans back. "I can get behind that," he answers with a grin. "So is that why Mikey finds it weird? He doesn't share your, uh, personal preference?"
Gerard purses his lips in a kind of twisted smile. "Well, there's more to it than dick, I guess. You'll just have to see."
Frank sighs. "Fine, be mysterious. What did you order for me?"
Turns out, Gerard ordered Frank a Pixar film. "I'm having ratatouille? Seriously?"
Gerard just laughs at him.
*
They bump shoulders on the meandering way back to the hotel. It's barely even eleven, and Frank is feeling all kinds of mellow and happy and a buzzing sort of something that hasn't gone away since he landed. It feels like the longest day ever already, but maybe that's what happens when you cross oceans. He wouldn't know.
The walk shouldn't take them by the river, but Gerard does. It's like they've both agreed they're not ready to be back at the hotel yet, and they're quiet, enjoying the night. The streets are busy, and Frank watches beautiful girls scatter by on high heels and dressed-up boys, brushing hair out of their eyes and attempting to catch up. Everywhere, like a brook babbling, is a language he doesn't understand, and by his side is Gerard, cigarette clutched between his fingers, jacket rustling against Frank's shirt whenever he takes a drag. He's pretty far from home.
Frank thinks he should maybe ask Gerard something, like about pets or childhood or school, but he has no idea how. Maybe it's something that has to happen, like, organically. Gerard seems like the sort of dude who would totally talk about this shit for ages, so maybe he doesn't want to. Fuck it, though, Frank's curious.
"So when did you realize you loved dick?" he asks. He actually meant to ask about the other stuff, but apparently, he's got dick on his mind. Gerard looks over at him with huge, surprised eyes.
"What?"
Frank waves his hand around. "When did you realize you were gay?"
"Oh," Gerard says, like it's a different question. His eyebrows draw together in thought. Frank gets a momentary weird urge to lick between them. "Middle school, I guess?"
Frank pauses mid-step. "That early?"
"Is that early? Huh," Gerard says and also stops, cigarette dangling between his fingers.
"I don't know, I didn't figure it out till high school," Frank says with a shrug.
They're right by the bank of the river, so it seems kind of natural that they pause at the wrought-iron gates and lean against them. Frank tilts his face up to Gerard's, and Gerard is looking out across the water to the other side. Frank follows his gaze and wonders if it's still Paris over there, or what.
"Hmm, yeah, no, I knew pretty young," Gerard finally says, then adds with a crooked smile, "So did my entire family, apparently."
Frank laughs. "That obvious, huh?" Gerard just gives him a look. Frank raises his hands, palms up. "Okay, I guess it was. Hey, my mom didn't know until she caught me with a dude's dick in my mouth, so."
Gerard actually winces. "Jesus, seriously?"
Frank laughs, even as the memory makes him want to crawl into the deepest hole and die. Suddenly he's really fucking glad they're thousands of miles away. "Yeah, that was a pretty spectacular coming out. Traumatized us both for life, pretty much."
Gerard sounds cautious when he says, "But she's, uh, okay with it, right? Like. Now."
Frank is very happy to report that yes, indeed she is. "She's got all the PFLAG merch her house can handle, she even marched one year," he answers, grinning. "She was fine with it then, too, she just maybe shouldn't have found out through a live-action illustrated guide, is all." In his bedroom in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. It's like he wanted to get caught.
Gerard just laughs and leans in closer. "Who was the guy?"
Frank watches the breeze ruffle Gerard's hair off his forehead. Without thinking about it, he brushes his fingers through it and runs them all the way down to the soft nape of Gerard's neck and feels him shiver. "First great love of my life, I guess."
Gerard squints and quirks his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. "First?"
"Hey, torrid and crazy," Frank whispers back, and his heart hammers in his chest. "You're not the only one with stories."
Gerard leans in to kiss him.
*
They're fumbling for each other's flies as soon as they're through the door. Frank can't remember the last time he wanted to get to someone's skin as bad as he wants Gerard, the last time he's wanted to make someone come as many different ways as he's capable of, the last time just kissing a guy felt like this.
He's on Gerard as soon as they're both naked. The condoms and lube are a mess in his hands, but the wasted time is worth it when he slips out his fingers and sinks onto Gerard's dick, lets gravity pull him down in increments as they both gasp.
Gerard throws back his head and whines, a guttural, needy sound. "Fuck, Frank." Frank shudders, scrambles back, ruts against him.
He rides him hard, propped up with his hands on Gerard's knees, bent back, going fucking crazy. He'll probably feel it in the morning. Gerard thrusts up hard and stutters, so fucking hot with it, and probably leaves Gerard-shaped bruises on Frank's hips. Frank considers getting them tattooed as mementos, maybe. He jerks himself off and slicks his come-stained fingers all over Gerard's cheeks and lips and willing tongue, then licks it off and tries and fails to catch his breath.
*
Gerard takes him to see the Eiffel Tower the next day. Frank's jetlag means that he's barely blinked his eyes open when Gerard pokes him awake, but that's all right. Poking turns into caresses and caresses turn into groping and the kissing is nice, too, so Frank doesn't really complain.
They take the Metro to the tower, even if it seemed a lot closer than that to Frank. The green leading up to it is impressive. The tower is at the center of the city, but seems a ways away from it when up close. Frank isn't afraid to look like a tourist as he gazes up at where it meets the sky.
It's afternoon Parisian time. The day is the sort of sunny that could turn grey and stormy any second, but Frank still feels like lingering outside a bit. Gerard just laughs at him through his cigarette smoke, and then his eyes go round in surprise when Frank's phone starts cranking out "Astro Zombies."
"Ray!" Frank is already mentally counting up the number of hours in which he can fly home and go put out whatever fire they've set to his baby. "What's going on?"
Ray's high voice is breaking up, so all Frank can hear is "Mikey" and "ank" and "ucking" and it's seriously going to be the end of Frank. The call drops and he curses as he walks around, hand held high, trying to get a good signal going. Fucking phone companies.
He hears a high-pitched giggle behind him and glares when he turns. "What? This shit is seriously annoying," he complains.
Gerard just watches him, arms folded across his chest, and nods his head upwards. Frank frowns and snaps his phone shut. "Huh?"
"We could, I don't know, go up on the tower? I bet the reception is pretty good up there."
Frank feels the color rush his cheeks when Gerard gives him a dimpled grin. Oh. "Right."
*
Frank doesn't pay attention to the view until after he's threatened to fire Ray for scaring him half to death with no good reason. He's just hung up on the bastard laughing at him when Gerard folds his hands over Frank's waist and leads him up to the railing. Frank pushes back against him, but not because he's struggling. It feels nice.
"You wanted to see it, so pay attention," Gerard says low in his ear, and every bone down to his toes melts in Frank's body.
"I'm totally paying attention," he says and does. Despite them not being at the very top, it's breathtaking, in a way that makes you take in the sheer size of the city. Paris is huge, bigger than New York and all its five boroughs. Or maybe it just seems that way, and it also makes him a bit dizzy. He can see the river sparkle, the roiling clouds clatter around the distant sky. When he looks down, he sees a whole lot of cigarette butts strewing the platform and snorts.
"I guess there's no ban on smoking out here," he notes and hangs a little over the railing, just to see how far he can push it. Gerard's fingers tighten on his waist and Frank fights him a little, just because he can.
"Oh my God, stop it," Gerard finally snaps behind him, a little panicked, which is adorable. Frank relents and reels back, slumping against Gerard's chest.
"Not a fan of heights?"
"Not a fan of people splattering down onto the ground in front of me," Gerard grumbles and Frank laughs. He doesn't plan on getting splattered today.
*
He takes about a hundred pictures - some touristy tropes for his mom, some stupid shit for the guys, but most are just for himself. Gerard smoking, hair falling in his cast-down eyes. The bend of his neck as he peeks out over the railing, hands wrapped knuckle-white around the metal. Gerard, grinning at Frank and blowing smoke in his face. Gerard laughing. Gerard.
*
Frank drags him over to the Arc de Triomphe and forces Gerard to take pictures of him underneath it. Frank doesn't want those for himself as much as he wants to make Gerard roll his eyes again, which is hilarious because Gerard never seems to catch on. He takes all the pictures Frank asks him to even as he blushes and grumbles.
Gerard takes him to the Louvre afterwards and stands him right in front of the Mona Lisa, and Frank can't deny it. His heart beats just a little bit faster while looking at her smile at him from behind glass. He's surrounded by pushing crowds, indistinct chatter all around, French, German, Swahili, for all he knows, but all he can see is the portrait in front of him and Gerard's profile out of the corner of his eye. He flashes back to their first morning together, when Gerard's skin was warm against his cheek and Frank could hear the beat of his heart like he'd crawled inside Gerard's chest himself. He wonders what Gerard is thinking next to him. They stand there for a while, knuckles touching.
*
Frank doesn't insist on a vegetarian restaurant that night, so instead, they go to a place with hookahs. Frank hasn't been to any hookah bars on his own side of the Atlantic, so this is pretty sweet, he can admit. So is the tobacco they smoke after dinner, and he feels giddy and high on laughter, sprawled across from Gerard on a leather bench that's making his ass slide down bit by bit as he moves. He keeps tensing his thighs just to stay in place, then catches Gerard's eye and almost giggles himself off the bench.
"Oh my God, what the hell is in this shit?" he splutters after he pushes himself back up. He knows it isn't weed, but it can't be just plain old tobacco, either, can it?
Gerard confirms that it's totally tobacco, and takes another drag. He must hold it in just a bit too long, because he comes up hacking, eyes watering, smoke curling out of his nostrils. Frank cracks up again. "Amateur," he wheezes through the laughter. Gerard kicks him in the shin and continues coughing, doubles over.
He's out of it just long enough for Frank to start worrying about not knowing the French equivalent of 911, but then the hacking cough turns into a dry wheeze and then Gerard is punching his own chest and grinning back at Frank. His face is about ten shades redder than his hand.
"Wow, that was - really embarrassing," he gasps and turns even redder. Frank's eyes are watering from the smoke and the laughter and he shakes his head quickly.
"That was hilarious, is what it was. It's like you're, I don't know, thirteen and having your first smoke, trying to impress the captain of the cheerleading squad or something."
Gerard makes a great surprised face, then finally stops coughing for good. "That's incredibly specific," he comments and his voice is still raspy, kind of used. Frank grins harder.
"I'm an incredibly specific kind of guy," he says before he can stop himself. He covers up being an idiot by grabbing the pipe and sucking in more smoke. It doesn't quite have the mellowness levels of weed, but it tickles his mouth and nostrils with sweetness. He fucking loves France.
Part II.