Fic: "In the Springtime" (Part II of IV)
( Part I.)
"So, did you know French when you came over here?"
They've pulled up a couple of chairs on to the balcony, and Frank enjoys the air as he lifts his face up to the breeze. The smog of the city doesn't quite reach them up here, and the air smells good. He knows they're just going to pollute it in a second with their cigarettes, but that comes with the territory.
Gerard makes a humming noise. "Only a couple of phrases, I guess. You know, merci, au revoir, that kind of thing."
Frank whistles. "And you're fluent after, what, a year?"
Gerard nods his head, smile all pleased. "Year and a few months, yeah." He shrugs and reaches for the lighter. "I mean, it helps being thrown into an atmosphere where you're fucked if you don't learn, you know?"
Frank really hopes he never actually has to know and nods fervently. "Still, that's - wow, impressive." He reaches over when Gerard does and plucks the lighter from his fingers. "Say something," he offers as he cups his hands around the cigarette.
Gerard laughs at him. "What do you want me to say?"
Frank inhales the first drag. "Fuck, anything you want, as long as it's in French."
He's been looking mostly at a window across from them, where a light had come on in the kitchen. There's a kid in there, making himself a sandwich, by the looks of it. Now Frank turns his head to look at Gerard. His face mixes with the falling shadows; his hair is becoming inky black. Frank wants to reach over and touch it again, which is weird, really, as he's never particularly had a thing for greasy hair.
Gerard is silent a while, and Frank almost loses patience when Gerard finally opens his mouth. "Je veux vraiment te baiser."
A shiver runs its way down Frank's spine, because damn, that is hot. He has to clear his throat before he can ask what it means, and even then Gerard just cocks his head at him and gives him a bit of an evil grin. "You should look it up. There's a double meaning in it."
Frank throws his shoe at him.
*
The ashtray is smoking along with them. It's dark, but just like with any other respectable metropolis, the stars are nowhere to be found. Frank still looks for them by inertia. It's warm and pleasant and he feels like he's maybe floating somewhere not in reality, and if he stares at the sky long enough, he knows he'll feel a bit like he's in space and that's pretty nice, too.
"Fuck, this is nice," Gerard says out of nowhere and Frank huffs out a laugh. They've got the little rickety ashtray table in between them, but he can feel Gerard's warmth radiating next to him. He reaches back to scratch his head and plays with the ends of his hair, where he hasn't gotten it trimmed recently, humming.
Another light turns on in the building across from theirs. This time, there's a woman, maybe Frank's age, maybe a bit older, padding her way across the living room. He can't see her face very well, but even from this distance, she looks striking. Tall, built, nicely wide around the hips, with long auburn hair. She's tying it up in a ponytail as she makes her way into another, darkened, room.
When Frank turns towards Gerard, he sees him watching her, too, and for some reason, it makes him smile. "Do you ever think about other people's private lives?" he asks.
Gerard startles out of his reverie and turns to face Frank. "What do you mean? Like, their sex lives?"
"Yeah. Like. You're passing a dude on the street, and he looks like someone you might find interesting, like not to sleep with or anything, just as a person. Ever have that?"
Gerard looks kind of confused, but goes with it. "Sure, all the time."
"Right?" Frank ashes on the ground and shifts in the chair until he's more comfortable. "And then do you wonder what his life is like outside of that street? Like. What're his friends like? What stupid faces does he make during sex?"
"What he looks like when he isn't wearing clothes," Gerard chimes in, looking past Frank, maybe at the dude they're both picturing. "What his lover might look like…"
Frank feels himself grinning like an idiot. "Exactly."
Gerard's gaze comes back from wherever he'd been floating and he returns Frank's smile. "Shit, I think about that all the time. That's half the fun of doing art, imagining that shit."
Frank laughs. He feels weirdly free, like he could say whatever comes to mind and not feel like an idiot. "I used to miss train stops, watching people and wondering about that."
Gerard hums and exhales smoky rings. "I always wanna know what people's sex lives are like. Like, all the gory details, down to the bone, you know?"
"Creep," Frank teases.
"I think we already established that," Gerard says, looking down at his own lap and smiling crookedly. Frank smiles back, remembers.
"Yeah. Obviously, likewise," he finally says. "I wondered what you'd be like in bed first time I saw you."
Gerard's gaze shoots up. "No fucking way, are you serious?"
Frank shrugs. "Yep." Right after Gerard had given him that first smoke. In fact, he'd specifically wondered what Gerard would be like fucking Frank through the floor, but he doesn't mention that now. Maybe another time.
Gerard's face darkens with the blush and he bites his lip. "Was your imagination right? Like…did I live up to it, or what?"
Frank scrunches up his mouth in an attempt not to answer, but he can't just let it go. "Better," he says into his lap. "You were - are - so much better."
When he looks back at Gerard, Gerard's eyes are all white irises, pupils focused directly on Frank. Frank drops his gaze and scratches at a non-existent itch on his arm. "What, is that weird?"
"No, I… That's good," Gerard replies and pauses. "I wondered about you, too. Not, like, right away, but." He catches Frank's gaze and Frank squirms a little in his seat, trying to stop his ass from going numb.
"And?"
"I -" He pauses. "I still wonder about some things," he says, kind of quieter this time.
"Oh, yeah?" Frank kind of likes where this is going. "Like what?"
After a thoughtful silence, Gerard says, "Well." Then he stops and clears his throat. He's splaying all five fingers on his hand out like he's trying to spread them as far as they'll go, then making a fist. He goes through this a couple of times until Frank rolls his eyes at him.
"Spit it out, what?" Gerard is clearly fishing for something specific, and Frank is all ears now.
"It's kind of personal, I guess," Gerard finally says, and his voice is kind of uncertain.
Frank tilts his head. "How personal?"
Gerard scrunches up his face. "Pretty fucking personal."
"Well, we've been pretty fucking personal," Frank points out, not adding that maybe flying across an ocean on three weeks' notice is about as personal as you can get. "So, shoot."
Gerard bites his lip before asking. "So, how much of a bottom are you, really?"
Frank can't stop himself from giggling. "What do you think?"
Gerard takes a drag and squints while he exhales before answering, but he doesn't look uncomfortable or uncertain anymore. Frank can't stop grinning, because what the hell. He loves talking about this shit. Their mouths are mere inches apart by the time Gerard answers, "All evidence points to you loving to get fucked."
His breath is warm and smoky and Frank leans in even closer and nudges Gerard's mouth with his own lips. "You might be onto something there," he whispers. Gerard's tongue touches Frank's, slowly, and Frank feels his fingers curl up into fists, feels his entire body shivering beneath his skin, like ripples over water.
"And the hair thing," Gerard whispers, so soft, Frank can barely hear him.
"The hair thing?" Frank tries for casual, but fails pretty bad. His lungs keep constricting as he waits.
"Yeah, your hair thing. I wanna explore it a bit more," Gerard says, gaze flickering across Frank's face, and brings a hand up to tug hard on the hair at the base of Frank's skull. Frank curls over and gasps before he can even process what happened. "Yeah, that," Gerard murmurs against him and does it again.
Frank moans. He can't fucking help himself, Gerard is everywhere, surrounding him. He can barely manage to get the words out. "It's pretty self-explanatory," he pants and stops himself from begging Gerard for more, but only just.
Gerard's nose brushes his own and Frank can feel the heat radiating off Gerard's cheeks, he must be burning up. Frank isn't really much better. He can feel the tension in Gerard's hand, his shoulders, he has no idea what's going to happen next, but maybe it's time to ask some questions of his own. "You got a plan here?"
The next moment, the rickety table holding the ashtray clatters to the ground and Gerard is practically in Frank's lap, thighs squeezing, hand clutching at the back of Frank's head. Wow. Okay.
"To fuck you through the fucking floor," Gerard breathes in his ear and Frank's everything shudders, his belly swoops; he's giddy with it.
"Yes, please," is just about all he can manage through the fog.
*
Frank is tied to the headboard by a belt and a tie with Gerard's tongue just barely touching his ass. All he can focus on are the headboard slats in front of him. His thighs are shaking. "Ger - Gerard -"
Gerard doesn't say anything, because his tongue is currently fluttering so light and feathery, Frank can barely feel it. What he can feel is making his eyes roll to the back of his head. Fucking Gerard, Jesus.
Frank hates being teased as a general rule. He hates how bored he gets, he can't stand it when guys try to show off their prowess by going just near enough to not be enough at all. He tends to lose any interest and has to will himself to get hard again when they stop teasing and start actually doing.
Right now, he's fucking hard as a rock, balls heavy and tight, and he's whining, gasping, barely recognizing his own voice. Fucking Gerard.
Frank can't even touch him, he can't do anything but writhe, pinned into place by Gerard's hands gripping the backs of his thighs so tight, his skin stings. Frank can sort of talk, though, and he does, babbles at Gerard in words even he barely understands, mostly pleading, sometimes cursing. Gerard just moans against him. Frank's thighs keep almost giving out on him and forcing him to slide back, rut against Gerard's face. He can't even get a clue into what Gerard is thinking because he can't see anything but the empty wall in front of him, and he's barely aware of anything anymore when Gerard finally stops teasing.
At the first flutter of his tongue against Frank's asshole, Frank's back arches and he almost bucks Gerard off. Gerard's hands tighten around his thighs and bite into the skin there, a warning. Frank tries to relax, but mostly fails and he doesn't really care, he's strung so tight, he feels like he's going to snap. This feels too good, too fucking crazy, for him to do anything more than shudder against Gerard's face and desperately want Gerard's dick where his mouth is.
The restraints on his wrists are probably leaving serious marks and his hands have the headboard in a white-knuckled grip. His skin feels sensitized, raw, burnt out; he maybe wants to cry.
"Oh, fuck, oh God, just - oh God, fuck me already," he whimpers and knows that Gerard won't listen to him. Frank signed up for this, he knows, but it doesn't mean he can't beg. "Want your dick in me, Jesus, Gerard, just fucking do it, please, please -"
Gerard doesn't listen, of course, and Frank is past ready to crawl out of his skin. All the sensations start bleeding into one pulsating thrum of fucking need, all the places in his body he isn't used to noticing zinging and whining. He gasps when he feels something harder than Gerard's tongue slide inside and almost cries from relief when he realizes Gerard is using his finger. For a long moment he feels suspended in motion, everything throbbing around his bones.
When Gerard finally fucks him, he fucks him so hard, Frank's dick almost drills a hole through the wall between the headboard slats. They're both damp all over, his sweat mixing in with Gerard's, Gerard's mouth leaving wet trails down Frank's neck and shoulder and Frank can't even hold his head up anymore. He's slumped with his back against Gerard, head resting in the crook of his neck, and he's shouting himself raw. Gerard feels so fucking good inside him, huge and hard and just what he fucking needs.
"Jesus, Frank, you're so fucking tight, so good, baby," Gerard chants and Frank could listen to the loop of his voice forever, if Gerard keeps talking filthy like this, undone, riding without a filter. Frank wishes he could touch him with his hands, but he settles for the rest of his body, his fingers clenching around the headboard, instead. Gerard's shaking the bed, they both are, and Frank really hopes the walls have been soundproofed, because they'll have some pissed off Frenchmen in the morning if they haven't.
"You're such a good fuck, Frankie, I love you begging for it, beg me again, what do you want, tell me, I wanna know -"
Frank's voice catches in his throat. "Touch me, please, touch my dick," he gasps. Gerard's hand eases its death grip on Frank's ribcage and slides down his belly and wraps around Frank's cock. Frank cries out and then whimpers, "Kiss me, please, just -"
He doesn't have to ask twice because as soon as he turns his head towards Gerard, Gerard catches his mouth and it's barely even a kiss. It's tongue and teeth and breath and then Gerard tunnels his fingers through Frank's hair and gives it a hard tug. Frank cries out into his mouth, and Gerard does it again, harder this time. Frank's hips snap up and back and he can't catch his breath, not until Gerard does it again, and then, for one moment, it's like he's floating out of his skin through every pore. Everything curls up, tightens, and then gives out, and Frank stutters out a curse and shoots all over Gerard's fist and the headboard and the wall and he doesn't, doesn't care, because Gerard's cradling his head in his palm, face pressed against Frank's cheek, murmuring nonsense while Frank shakes apart in his arms. When Frank finally gets his breath back, he realizes he can't understand a single word coming out of Gerard's mouth.
"Oh, t'es incroyable, je te veux, juste comme ça, je te veux pour toujours, Frank," Gerard whispers and keeps fucking him, just as hard but less steady now, and Frank whines low in his throat, he wants to know, he wants to know -
"Gerard -"
"Frank, Frankie, I want you to -"
"What, what -"
"Wanna come in your mouth, let me fuck your mouth." Gerard sounds delirious and on the brink, but Frank pulls away from him immediately, chanting, "yes, yes, fuck, yes," and his mouth waters.
Gerard grabs Frank's hips and pulls out steady but pretty damn quick, too, cursing. Frank gasps from the pressure being released, the soreness and sudden emptiness, but he can't even think about it too much, because Gerard unties one of his hands with clumsy, shaking fingers and as soon as Frank's released, Gerard tugs off the condom and wedges himself on his knees in between Frank and the headboard. Frank doesn't need Gerard's hand to guide his head down, but he relishes it, anyway, leans into it, almost fucking purrs.
He loves Gerard's dick, loves the shape, how it stretches his mouth, loves the desperate noises Gerard makes when Frank first licks it base to crown. Positioned as he is with one hand on Gerard's hip and the other resting at an awkward angle still tied to the bed, he still can't fucking get enough of this - the taste, pre-come mingling with the rubber, the salt of Gerard's skin underneath. Gerard's fingers are still wrapped around Frank's hair, holding him steady for the rhythm of his hips. Frank closes his eyes and tries to remember to breathe through his nose; he keeps forgetting to breathe at all.
Gerard is babbling above him, mixing languages and metaphors and Frank can feel how fucking close he is. He slides his freed hand down to touch Gerard's balls and when Gerard moans and spreads his legs, Frank pushes further back, over the tendon and past it, past it until he finds what he's looking for and starts rubbing as he sucks. Gerard goes fucking crazy.
"Ah! Frankie, God -"
His hand tights in Frank's hair and Frank's dick stirs; unbelievable. He sucks harder, lathes his tongue against the base and then he feels it. Gerard's head thuds against the wall when he comes, his dick pulsing huge in Frank's mouth, filling his throat. Frank sucks him through all of it, allows his throat to take it, knowing that he probably shouldn't have, and knowing it's way past all the "should haves," anyway. He can barely hold himself up, it's like he's hanging by a string. Or by a belt, maybe.
When Gerard pushes him off his dick, Frank is barely conscious. His dick is half-hard, but there's nothing he plans on doing about it. He feels Gerard's unsteady hands undoing the restraints and almost falls over, except that Gerard catches him awkwardly by the ribs.
"Hang on," he whispers and lowers Frank to the bed. Frank falls willingly.
He's sore and lying sideways in a wet spot and blissed out and a bunch of other things he isn't going to poke at too closely right now. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Gerard gets up and makes his wobbly way to the bathroom. Frank can hear him pissing in the dark and thinks he should do the same, but he just can't imagine walking right now.
He floats in the reeking-of-sex cloud of the bed until Gerard stumbles back and half falls on him. Frank laughs and paws at his side. Gerard's hair is a mess, and there's a bright spot on his cheek. Frank reaches up and touches it with a tip of his finger. Gerard turns his head to drop a light kiss on his hand.
"You good?"
Frank just grins and shuts his eyes, throwing up a half-hearted thumbs-up. He wishes he could keep Gerard company in his post-sex state of awake, but his body is pretty much done with consciousness.
Gerard turns over the pillows stained with come and resettles the sheets around them. Frank tries to gather up enough energy to mock him, but he falls asleep with his head on Gerard's chest, instead, one arm thrown over his sticky belly. He smells the smoke of Gerard's cigarette as he drifts off, and briefly wonders what Gerard's dreaming about with his eyes open.
*
Frank wakes up once in the middle of the night. His eyes fly open from some dream he can't chase back, and when he shifts to try for a more comfortable position, Gerard wakes up, too. There's a split moment when Frank is disoriented and barely awake, and then Gerard's arm pulls him in and just like that, they're kissing. Frank's heart squeezes in his chest and he lingers on the edge of reality for another long moment of sharing Gerard's breath.
They fall back asleep almost immediately, but right before he drops off, Frank feels like something huge just settled itself in his chest. He just can't figure out what.
*
When Frank wakes up in the morning, it's to a crack of thunder. He stretches and winces, feeling the pop and ache in every joint. He's sore in some expected places, and his left shoulder feels like it's been popped out of its socket and popped back in without pain killers. He stretches it a little while he looks out the window. Gerard had been so intent on fucking Frank into the bed, they never even shut the curtains, and now Frank watches the sky roll in angry, grey waves. Rain is coming down vertically, splattering the glass door, round loud drops landing on the balcony, and probably on every roof, too, but he can't see that far. Every now and then, lightning flashes. It's stupidly beautiful. He's always loved thunderstorms.
He shifts and feels Gerard breathing evenly behind him. Still asleep. Frank crawls out from under the covers and carefully pads over to the balcony door on stiff and tight legs. He feels like a little kid, looking out the window at the raging storm outside. He loves the power of it, the raw smell of electricity in the air.
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, feeling a little guilty, because immediately, the sounds of rain and thunder are amplified by about a thousand. He quickly steps out onto the balcony and shuts the door behind him. He has to make a bee-line around the furniture Gerard threw around last night in his quest to fuck Frank through the floor, but he makes it out to the railing without stepping on anything that got broken in the process, and then leans over it.
He's wet almost immediately. His feet are freezing from the cold cement and his dick is trying to crawl inside his balls. It's fucking exhilarating, and it's always better to get wet naked than having cold, wet clothes clinging to you, anyway. He turns his face up to the storm and knows it's probably stupid; the last thing he needs is to get sick while on vacation, but the air is mostly warm, and he's never really been that smart, anyway.
His eyelashes stick when he opens his eyes again and blinks at the drenched city in front of him. It's so different from home, but doesn't feel like a strange place. He watches two girls run under an awning with newspapers over their heads when there's a muted click behind him and the door's thrown open.
Gerard has to yell in order for Frank to hear him, even though they're a foot away.
"I didn't know you were such a romantic!"
Frank laughs without turning around and waits for Gerard to join him. After a while, he has to turn around, anyway, because Gerard is a pussy. "What, you afraid to get a little wet?"
Gerard is standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around himself and his nose wrinkled. He's also stark naked and half-hard and wilting. Frank cracks up and extends a hand. "C'mon, live a little!"
Gerard purses his lips and cranes his neck to see if there's anybody around. Like there are other crazy people who'll stand on open balconies during thunderstorms with morning wood. After a moment of hesitation, though, Gerard steps outside and gets instantly soaked. "This isn't as fun as it looks in movies," he yells in Frank's ear and Frank just laughs.
"It's better! You're feeling it, aren't you?"
Gerard bumps their noses together and huddles in close. "I'm not sure that's a good thing."
"You're a total pussy, man," Frank laughs again and wraps his soaking arms around him, tilting his face up as droplets slide down their noses and chins. "You should kiss me to make this a real movie moment."
Gerard cracks a lop-sided smile and shrugs. "Yeah? I don't know, I'm not really feeling it right now."
Frank punches him on the arm. "How about now?"
"Oh, well, then," Gerard nods and brushes their lips together. He tastes like rainwater, and when Frank touches Gerard's tongue with his own, he tastes sleep underneath. Gerard is wet and cold against him. Frank should probably relent and get them inside, but fuck it, he's not man enough to let go yet. Gerard hums against him, then bites Frank's lips. His fingers dig into Frank's hips and he must have bruises, because it smarts; it also sends shivers up his spine.
The rain lets up while they're kissing, going from sheeting water to a light drizzle within moments; a real spring storm. The sky lightens over the horizon and what finally drives them inside is a series of catcalls coming from various open windows and the street below. They're breathless and laughing by the time Gerard latches the door closed and sags against Frank, his giggles drying out in the crook of Frank's neck. Frank tries to balance them both enough not to fall on the bed and get it wet.
"Now will you take a fucking shower with me?" he asks when Gerard steps back and starts shaking out his wet hair like a dog.
"Didn't we just get all clean?" Gerard whines, and Frank really should have seen that coming. Mikey had warned him. It's like talking to a three year old.
"There was a lot of fucking last night and rain doesn't actually constitute getting clean."
After that, he doesn't give Gerard the option, just leads him by the hand to the bathroom and bodily pushes him into the tub. It takes them a while to get clean, but at least Frank leaves the bathroom secure in the knowledge that he did his best. If he was a girl scout, he totally would have earned those stripes.
*
It's the day of the gallery opening, which means Gerard has to run around and "get shit done," which leaves Frank to bum around Paris by himself. At least that's what he tells himself, until Gerard casually mentions that the place they had lunch at the other day has free wifi.
So, really, what it means is that after waving Gerard off, Frank drags out his laptop and pretends not to be working from France. It's a bit of a challenge, what with the city looking kind of beautiful after being washed by storms, and the fresh air getting mixed in with the gritty smell of the river. He's sitting right in the doorway, looking out at the water lapping, and it does take him a while to drag his attention back to his computer.
Then he spends over an hour going through several pages of backlogged emails and trying not to rip his hair out and trust that shit is getting done without him. He's suspecting Ray of not cc'ing him on all the problems, but he's got no proof to back any of it, even though Ray is exactly the sort of asshole who expects Frank to not think about work while on vacation.
His finger is hovering over the call button on his phone, after the latest of Matt's diatribes about unnecessary workload and insufficient resources takes a pretty scary turn towards the end, when somebody taps his shoulder.
"Huh?"
Frank whips around and sees that a young guy's pulled up a chair next to him, sitting cozy like he means to stay a while. Frank frowns. "Uh." He would normally either ask if he can help him or if the dude would kindly fuck off, Frank's busy, but he's in France. Dude probably doesn't even speak English.
Which, of course, is a totally ridiculous assumption, because the dude opens his mouth and asks, "You are an American, oui?" in perfectly lucid, if accented, English.
"Oui." It's out of Frank's mouth before he can process it. "Uhm. Can I help you?"
The guy is young, maybe younger than Frank. Pretty good-looking, too, if you go in for tall, dark-haired dudes with distinct noses, which Frank absolutely does. The guy smiles and oh, yeah, he's also got dimples.
"Oui, I think you can."
He settles in closer, forcing Frank to pull his laptop away from danger on the slightly unbalanced table, and rests his chin on his hand. "You are, hmm, very interesting looking, I think."
Frank blinks. "Uh - excuse me?"
The guy takes his chin off his hand and reaches out in what looks like a handshake. Frank is kind of too stunned not to accept, and also, he was raised by Linda Iero. He's never not going to shake a stranger's hand when it's offered, thanks, Mom.
"I'm Adrien," the guy offers, shaking Frank's hand. Frank pulls away pretty quick and does his best not to wipe his clammy palm on his jeans.
"I'm, uh, Frank."
Adrien breaks into a huge smile. "Frank! Well, it is nice to make your, uh, acquaintance."
Frank is still totally at sea, because - is he seriously getting chatted up by a random French dude right now? All evidence points to "yes," but it seems too absurd to even contemplate.
At this point, Adrien is kind of really in Frank's face, and Frank can smell the sharpness of his clothes, tobacco mixed in with spices. He finally manages a "You, too," before he can locate his balls again, at which point he demands, "Is there anything I can help you with? I'm kind of working here."
Adrien leans back but doesn't stop smiling at him, which is kind of bizarre; Frank would have been backing the fuck off by now. Instead, Adrien tilts his head and squints, like he's really contemplating Frank, which is the quickest way to piss Frank off. The dude seems nice, but Frank is mostly done with him. "Yes?"
"Am I - please tell me if I'm wrong, but am I correct in assuming you are, what's the word…queer?"
Frank thinks his eyeballs might actually pop out of their sockets and clatter away like in a Tom & Jerry cartoon. "What the fuck?"
"Oh!" Adrien's eyes grow large and alarmed. "I did not intend for that to be an insult, my apologies!"
Frank makes a gesture that he hopes is universal for what the fuck and get on with it before I pop you one, and waits for an explanation.
"It is just - you are rather striking, yes? And I was wondering - that is, I thought it might be easier to get the prosaic things out of the way, you see?"
Frank doesn't, like, at all. "Get the what out of the where, now?"
"Oh, you know," Adrien waves a hand around to illustrate his elusive point, "the tedious business of ‘I am not interested in your sex', all that - homosexual or not stuff."
Frank thinks he might be swimming up to what this guy is taking a whole century to get to. He decides to cut to the chase. "So, you wanna know if I'll suck your dick, basically. If I am interested in, uh, your sex."
Frank is pretty impressed with how wide Adrien's eyes get, but he's a bit wary of the eagerness there. "Oui, oui, yes!" Adrien exclaims and wraps his arm around the back of Frank's chair. "And, if I may be so bold, I have a feeling that you are interested?"
Frank can't not laugh. In another life, maybe. "Adrien, I'm sorry," he says, as graciously as he can manage. "While I am, as you put it, queer, I am not interested in your, uhm, self, in particular."
"Why not?" He looks genuinely surprised and disappointed, and Frank pauses and wonders: really, why not?
He leans back against the wall, at this point basically sideways in his chair, and searches for a reason that won't make him question his own sanity. He finally settles on, "I'm here with someone," and hopes that does it.
"Oh," Adrien nods and moves away. "You are here with someone, I see. Where is he?"
Frank scratches the dull surface of his laptop. "Working. Right now."
"He is French?"
Frank laughs. "No. But he lives here. In France, I mean." For now.
Adrien leans back a bit more and tilts his head in a smile. "Fascinating. And is he as - sympathique - cute - as you?"
Frank hears his own stupid giggle. "Cuter. And he speaks French." Jesus, is he bragging? What the fuck.
"Well, would he be up for - getting to know me better, perhaps?"
Frank has to give it to the guy - he doesn't give up easy. And Frank has no idea how to answer that question for Gerard. Would he? Frank doesn't think he would be, though, so it's probably a moot point. He hopes so, anyway.
Just as he's about to open his mouth and say something to drive Adrien away from him for good, their topic of conversation walks through the door. It takes Gerard a moment to spot Frank at the corner table, but Frank can see the very second it all clicks together, and he blushes despite himself. Then he feels stupid, and blushes even more, and then the (totally unnecessary) guilt sinks in. Jesus, he wasn't even doing anything, but the look on Gerard's face is pretty comical. And kind of unreadable, at the same time.
"Frank?"
It isn't until Gerard calls out Frank's name uncertainly that Adrien turns his head and adds two and two together. Or maybe one and one. Frank leans forward and gives Gerard a grin, hoping to reassure him, though of what, he has no fucking idea. The whole thing is ridiculously awkward, and maybe a little funny, or maybe it will be eventually.
"You finish up early?" he asks as soon as Gerard's walked up to the table and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. His eyes are bright, maybe a little tired.
"Yeah, apparently they didn't need me anymore, or whatever."
Gerard's voice is distracted, and he's shooting glances at Adrien. Frank has no idea what to do. Adrien, it seems, is feeling none of the awkwardness hanging around the table. He reaches out his hand as soon as Gerard's is within shaking distance, and smiles as he purrs, "I'm Adrien, it is a pleasure." He pauses and Frank can practically feel him raking his gaze over Gerard. "You are Frank's someone, I see."
Gerard's mouth is hanging open, kind of sideways, and it would be pretty funny, if Frank wasn't busy wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He clears his throat and shakes his head and finally decides, fuck it, why is this guy the one running the show?
"Gerard, Adrien here decided to join me for lunch. He was just wondering if you'd be up for a threesome."
"Oh, yes!" Adrien nods eagerly and turns his large eyes onto Gerard. "What are your thoughts?"
Gerard's mouth drops open even wider, but Frank waits him out, hoping the absurdity of it all will click for Gerard any minute now. Finally, it does - Gerard snaps his mouth shut, then grins slow and fucking beautiful. "I leave you alone for an afternoon, and you've already set up a threesome? Tsk-tsk-tsk." Frank purses his lips against a grin. Gerard tilts his head and gives Adrien an assessing look. "Mmmm, no. I'm sorry, Adrien, I don't think so. It was nice to meet you, though. Ready, Frankie?"
Frank is ready. He extricates himself from a disappointed-looking Adrien, and bites his lip as he stuffs his computer back into his bag - he'd laugh, but that might be rude. Instead, he tries not to fumble with his bag too much, and to remember to grab his phone off the table. He leaves the half-empty coffee cup and walks around until Gerard's within reach.
He's not expecting the kiss Gerard lays on him, but he leans into it by force of habit, and his stomach flips over. He didn't expect to start this habit. It's nice, though, he could get used to it. Gerard's mouth is familiar and hot, and his hands feel nice around Frank's face. Frank loses a bit of time in the kiss, and his head swims.
"Hotel?" Gerard asks when he pulls away, and Frank realizes that they've both forgotten there's anybody around at all. Gerard's gaze is on Frank's, and Frank watches him back. His shoulders start to ache from the awkward way he's holding his bag.
"Oui," he finally says and heaves the bag up over his chest. Gerard throws him a tiny grin and leads him out by the hand. Bye, Adrien.
*
Frank has every noble intention of getting Gerard naked and dirty once they're back at the hotel, but his limbs feel heavy and he has to admit that, once again, his body is against him. He can't believe he's still this jet-lagged and exhausted. Maybe he's just old.
It doesn't help that Gerard notices and mocks him, nose crinkling up with his grin. "Need another nap, grandpa? I'll wake you up for your evening tea, don't worry."
"Fuck you," Frank says, yanking his shirt over his head. "You ever have Epstein-Barr, motherfucker?"
Gerard wrinkles his nose again, this time looking confused. "What the fuck is Epstein-Barr?"
Frank skims out of his pants. "It's like mono, and it fucking sticks, okay?" So, he's vaguely lying - he hasn't been all that sick in a few years, but a relapse now and then isn't, like, out of the realm of possibility. He just wants a nap, okay?
"Well, that sucks," Gerard concedes and throws the covers back so Frank can crawl under them. When Frank's all snuggled up in the bed, Gerard hovers a little, like he doesn't know where to go. Frank feels like a dick - he's kind of taken over Gerard's room with his everything.
"Sorry, I can totally not, uh -"
"Hmm?"
"You don't have to, like, be quiet or anything, I sleep like the dead." Frank watches Gerard's brows unfurl and he stops paying attention to his own discomfort. Gerard's just so fucking pretty, Jesus.
"Hey, I'm fine," Gerard says and Frank has to force himself to hear the words, because he's kind of in that space between deep thought and light sleep already. He solves Gerard's hovering problem by yanking on his hand and bringing their faces together.
"Wake me up in an hour?" he whispers. He hasn't slept this much in years, he realizes. Maybe it's because he hasn't had a vacation in longer. It's comfortable now, for some reason, knowing he can, doesn't need to rush anywhere. There are still days of laziness ahead of him.
Gerard's smile is barely a breath away from his own. "Sounds good."
After a brief kiss which kind of makes Frank crave a smoke, Gerard straightens up and Frank turns over, so he doesn't get distracted. He wants to be totally awake tonight, and he has a feeling it's going to be a bit of a late affair. He lets himself drift away to thoughts of nothing in particular and the sounds of Gerard's quiet shuffling, until all the city sounds get cut off with the balcony door shutting, leaving Gerard on the other side.
*
" - not that nervous… Haha, you're hilarious…"
Frank's pillow is damp, and the light is diffused behind his eyelids. He stretches out his legs and moves his head so he's not in the wet spot anymore.
"Don't - don't put Ma back on the phone, oh for the love of - hi, Mom."
Frank smiles despite himself and tries to figure out how long he's been asleep. Gerard's voice is muted through the door, but Frank bets if the balcony doors were open, Gerard would be practically yelling. Frank lies there and pretends not to listen to the one-sided conversation.
"Everything's all set. … Yes, I'll send you pictures. … No, but someone will be, I'm sure. …. He'll be busy, Ma. No, not - ugh. Tell Alicia to get off the line, what the hell."
Frank sniggers and finally cracks his eyes open. He admits that he's awake, but it's nice to just lie there and stretch and enjoy the cool room from under the covers. Maybe Gerard will come in to wake him up once he's off the phone and he can drag him under the covers.
"- fine, mom, oh my God. … of course it was … I don't know. It's nice. ….All right, I won't vomit on his shoes. … Yeah. … Okay. Love you, too. … Hey, Mikes."
Frank's brain is swirling in lazy circles, and he tries to picture where Mikey is right now. Clearly not working - is he at the Ways'? His and Alicia's place? He's probably at the Ways', and Mrs. Way is prying, while Don pretends not to be from behind the paper. Frank laughs at the image, then tries to figure out what Mikey could be saying to Gerard. How weird that Frank knows him so much better than he knows Gerard, but it doesn't - almost doesn't feel like it.
He turns over and watches Gerard's back for a while, where he's lounging in the chair, face turned down, phone barely visible in his hand. Gerard's got that sketchpad resting on his lap, half filled in with drawings Frank can't make out from the bed.
He can't hear him anymore, just the muted sounds of words, nothing distinct. He's heard Mikey on the phone with Gerard a couple of times, and it always cracked Frank up how quiet and secretive he'd sound, so different from the everyday Mikey Way who monotoned his way through each work day. Now, it makes something tweak in Frank's chest. Brothers. That's got to be nice, having a person who knows everything about you and loves you, anyway.
He strains to pick up even a word or two, but no dice - Gerard's mumbling something that doesn't even sound like a language. Frank gives up and watches Gerard's hand clutching the phone. He likes Gerard's hands, they look like those hands artists draw all the time. Every knuckle is distinct, the tips of his fingers blunt and cool-looking.
He yawns and fights the covers off, trying to tell the time on the alarm clock. It's five seventeen, time to get up, anyway. He sees Gerard click the phone shut and slowly tuck it away into his jacket.
Part III
"So, did you know French when you came over here?"
They've pulled up a couple of chairs on to the balcony, and Frank enjoys the air as he lifts his face up to the breeze. The smog of the city doesn't quite reach them up here, and the air smells good. He knows they're just going to pollute it in a second with their cigarettes, but that comes with the territory.
Gerard makes a humming noise. "Only a couple of phrases, I guess. You know, merci, au revoir, that kind of thing."
Frank whistles. "And you're fluent after, what, a year?"
Gerard nods his head, smile all pleased. "Year and a few months, yeah." He shrugs and reaches for the lighter. "I mean, it helps being thrown into an atmosphere where you're fucked if you don't learn, you know?"
Frank really hopes he never actually has to know and nods fervently. "Still, that's - wow, impressive." He reaches over when Gerard does and plucks the lighter from his fingers. "Say something," he offers as he cups his hands around the cigarette.
Gerard laughs at him. "What do you want me to say?"
Frank inhales the first drag. "Fuck, anything you want, as long as it's in French."
He's been looking mostly at a window across from them, where a light had come on in the kitchen. There's a kid in there, making himself a sandwich, by the looks of it. Now Frank turns his head to look at Gerard. His face mixes with the falling shadows; his hair is becoming inky black. Frank wants to reach over and touch it again, which is weird, really, as he's never particularly had a thing for greasy hair.
Gerard is silent a while, and Frank almost loses patience when Gerard finally opens his mouth. "Je veux vraiment te baiser."
A shiver runs its way down Frank's spine, because damn, that is hot. He has to clear his throat before he can ask what it means, and even then Gerard just cocks his head at him and gives him a bit of an evil grin. "You should look it up. There's a double meaning in it."
Frank throws his shoe at him.
*
The ashtray is smoking along with them. It's dark, but just like with any other respectable metropolis, the stars are nowhere to be found. Frank still looks for them by inertia. It's warm and pleasant and he feels like he's maybe floating somewhere not in reality, and if he stares at the sky long enough, he knows he'll feel a bit like he's in space and that's pretty nice, too.
"Fuck, this is nice," Gerard says out of nowhere and Frank huffs out a laugh. They've got the little rickety ashtray table in between them, but he can feel Gerard's warmth radiating next to him. He reaches back to scratch his head and plays with the ends of his hair, where he hasn't gotten it trimmed recently, humming.
Another light turns on in the building across from theirs. This time, there's a woman, maybe Frank's age, maybe a bit older, padding her way across the living room. He can't see her face very well, but even from this distance, she looks striking. Tall, built, nicely wide around the hips, with long auburn hair. She's tying it up in a ponytail as she makes her way into another, darkened, room.
When Frank turns towards Gerard, he sees him watching her, too, and for some reason, it makes him smile. "Do you ever think about other people's private lives?" he asks.
Gerard startles out of his reverie and turns to face Frank. "What do you mean? Like, their sex lives?"
"Yeah. Like. You're passing a dude on the street, and he looks like someone you might find interesting, like not to sleep with or anything, just as a person. Ever have that?"
Gerard looks kind of confused, but goes with it. "Sure, all the time."
"Right?" Frank ashes on the ground and shifts in the chair until he's more comfortable. "And then do you wonder what his life is like outside of that street? Like. What're his friends like? What stupid faces does he make during sex?"
"What he looks like when he isn't wearing clothes," Gerard chimes in, looking past Frank, maybe at the dude they're both picturing. "What his lover might look like…"
Frank feels himself grinning like an idiot. "Exactly."
Gerard's gaze comes back from wherever he'd been floating and he returns Frank's smile. "Shit, I think about that all the time. That's half the fun of doing art, imagining that shit."
Frank laughs. He feels weirdly free, like he could say whatever comes to mind and not feel like an idiot. "I used to miss train stops, watching people and wondering about that."
Gerard hums and exhales smoky rings. "I always wanna know what people's sex lives are like. Like, all the gory details, down to the bone, you know?"
"Creep," Frank teases.
"I think we already established that," Gerard says, looking down at his own lap and smiling crookedly. Frank smiles back, remembers.
"Yeah. Obviously, likewise," he finally says. "I wondered what you'd be like in bed first time I saw you."
Gerard's gaze shoots up. "No fucking way, are you serious?"
Frank shrugs. "Yep." Right after Gerard had given him that first smoke. In fact, he'd specifically wondered what Gerard would be like fucking Frank through the floor, but he doesn't mention that now. Maybe another time.
Gerard's face darkens with the blush and he bites his lip. "Was your imagination right? Like…did I live up to it, or what?"
Frank scrunches up his mouth in an attempt not to answer, but he can't just let it go. "Better," he says into his lap. "You were - are - so much better."
When he looks back at Gerard, Gerard's eyes are all white irises, pupils focused directly on Frank. Frank drops his gaze and scratches at a non-existent itch on his arm. "What, is that weird?"
"No, I… That's good," Gerard replies and pauses. "I wondered about you, too. Not, like, right away, but." He catches Frank's gaze and Frank squirms a little in his seat, trying to stop his ass from going numb.
"And?"
"I -" He pauses. "I still wonder about some things," he says, kind of quieter this time.
"Oh, yeah?" Frank kind of likes where this is going. "Like what?"
After a thoughtful silence, Gerard says, "Well." Then he stops and clears his throat. He's splaying all five fingers on his hand out like he's trying to spread them as far as they'll go, then making a fist. He goes through this a couple of times until Frank rolls his eyes at him.
"Spit it out, what?" Gerard is clearly fishing for something specific, and Frank is all ears now.
"It's kind of personal, I guess," Gerard finally says, and his voice is kind of uncertain.
Frank tilts his head. "How personal?"
Gerard scrunches up his face. "Pretty fucking personal."
"Well, we've been pretty fucking personal," Frank points out, not adding that maybe flying across an ocean on three weeks' notice is about as personal as you can get. "So, shoot."
Gerard bites his lip before asking. "So, how much of a bottom are you, really?"
Frank can't stop himself from giggling. "What do you think?"
Gerard takes a drag and squints while he exhales before answering, but he doesn't look uncomfortable or uncertain anymore. Frank can't stop grinning, because what the hell. He loves talking about this shit. Their mouths are mere inches apart by the time Gerard answers, "All evidence points to you loving to get fucked."
His breath is warm and smoky and Frank leans in even closer and nudges Gerard's mouth with his own lips. "You might be onto something there," he whispers. Gerard's tongue touches Frank's, slowly, and Frank feels his fingers curl up into fists, feels his entire body shivering beneath his skin, like ripples over water.
"And the hair thing," Gerard whispers, so soft, Frank can barely hear him.
"The hair thing?" Frank tries for casual, but fails pretty bad. His lungs keep constricting as he waits.
"Yeah, your hair thing. I wanna explore it a bit more," Gerard says, gaze flickering across Frank's face, and brings a hand up to tug hard on the hair at the base of Frank's skull. Frank curls over and gasps before he can even process what happened. "Yeah, that," Gerard murmurs against him and does it again.
Frank moans. He can't fucking help himself, Gerard is everywhere, surrounding him. He can barely manage to get the words out. "It's pretty self-explanatory," he pants and stops himself from begging Gerard for more, but only just.
Gerard's nose brushes his own and Frank can feel the heat radiating off Gerard's cheeks, he must be burning up. Frank isn't really much better. He can feel the tension in Gerard's hand, his shoulders, he has no idea what's going to happen next, but maybe it's time to ask some questions of his own. "You got a plan here?"
The next moment, the rickety table holding the ashtray clatters to the ground and Gerard is practically in Frank's lap, thighs squeezing, hand clutching at the back of Frank's head. Wow. Okay.
"To fuck you through the fucking floor," Gerard breathes in his ear and Frank's everything shudders, his belly swoops; he's giddy with it.
"Yes, please," is just about all he can manage through the fog.
*
Frank is tied to the headboard by a belt and a tie with Gerard's tongue just barely touching his ass. All he can focus on are the headboard slats in front of him. His thighs are shaking. "Ger - Gerard -"
Gerard doesn't say anything, because his tongue is currently fluttering so light and feathery, Frank can barely feel it. What he can feel is making his eyes roll to the back of his head. Fucking Gerard, Jesus.
Frank hates being teased as a general rule. He hates how bored he gets, he can't stand it when guys try to show off their prowess by going just near enough to not be enough at all. He tends to lose any interest and has to will himself to get hard again when they stop teasing and start actually doing.
Right now, he's fucking hard as a rock, balls heavy and tight, and he's whining, gasping, barely recognizing his own voice. Fucking Gerard.
Frank can't even touch him, he can't do anything but writhe, pinned into place by Gerard's hands gripping the backs of his thighs so tight, his skin stings. Frank can sort of talk, though, and he does, babbles at Gerard in words even he barely understands, mostly pleading, sometimes cursing. Gerard just moans against him. Frank's thighs keep almost giving out on him and forcing him to slide back, rut against Gerard's face. He can't even get a clue into what Gerard is thinking because he can't see anything but the empty wall in front of him, and he's barely aware of anything anymore when Gerard finally stops teasing.
At the first flutter of his tongue against Frank's asshole, Frank's back arches and he almost bucks Gerard off. Gerard's hands tighten around his thighs and bite into the skin there, a warning. Frank tries to relax, but mostly fails and he doesn't really care, he's strung so tight, he feels like he's going to snap. This feels too good, too fucking crazy, for him to do anything more than shudder against Gerard's face and desperately want Gerard's dick where his mouth is.
The restraints on his wrists are probably leaving serious marks and his hands have the headboard in a white-knuckled grip. His skin feels sensitized, raw, burnt out; he maybe wants to cry.
"Oh, fuck, oh God, just - oh God, fuck me already," he whimpers and knows that Gerard won't listen to him. Frank signed up for this, he knows, but it doesn't mean he can't beg. "Want your dick in me, Jesus, Gerard, just fucking do it, please, please -"
Gerard doesn't listen, of course, and Frank is past ready to crawl out of his skin. All the sensations start bleeding into one pulsating thrum of fucking need, all the places in his body he isn't used to noticing zinging and whining. He gasps when he feels something harder than Gerard's tongue slide inside and almost cries from relief when he realizes Gerard is using his finger. For a long moment he feels suspended in motion, everything throbbing around his bones.
When Gerard finally fucks him, he fucks him so hard, Frank's dick almost drills a hole through the wall between the headboard slats. They're both damp all over, his sweat mixing in with Gerard's, Gerard's mouth leaving wet trails down Frank's neck and shoulder and Frank can't even hold his head up anymore. He's slumped with his back against Gerard, head resting in the crook of his neck, and he's shouting himself raw. Gerard feels so fucking good inside him, huge and hard and just what he fucking needs.
"Jesus, Frank, you're so fucking tight, so good, baby," Gerard chants and Frank could listen to the loop of his voice forever, if Gerard keeps talking filthy like this, undone, riding without a filter. Frank wishes he could touch him with his hands, but he settles for the rest of his body, his fingers clenching around the headboard, instead. Gerard's shaking the bed, they both are, and Frank really hopes the walls have been soundproofed, because they'll have some pissed off Frenchmen in the morning if they haven't.
"You're such a good fuck, Frankie, I love you begging for it, beg me again, what do you want, tell me, I wanna know -"
Frank's voice catches in his throat. "Touch me, please, touch my dick," he gasps. Gerard's hand eases its death grip on Frank's ribcage and slides down his belly and wraps around Frank's cock. Frank cries out and then whimpers, "Kiss me, please, just -"
He doesn't have to ask twice because as soon as he turns his head towards Gerard, Gerard catches his mouth and it's barely even a kiss. It's tongue and teeth and breath and then Gerard tunnels his fingers through Frank's hair and gives it a hard tug. Frank cries out into his mouth, and Gerard does it again, harder this time. Frank's hips snap up and back and he can't catch his breath, not until Gerard does it again, and then, for one moment, it's like he's floating out of his skin through every pore. Everything curls up, tightens, and then gives out, and Frank stutters out a curse and shoots all over Gerard's fist and the headboard and the wall and he doesn't, doesn't care, because Gerard's cradling his head in his palm, face pressed against Frank's cheek, murmuring nonsense while Frank shakes apart in his arms. When Frank finally gets his breath back, he realizes he can't understand a single word coming out of Gerard's mouth.
"Oh, t'es incroyable, je te veux, juste comme ça, je te veux pour toujours, Frank," Gerard whispers and keeps fucking him, just as hard but less steady now, and Frank whines low in his throat, he wants to know, he wants to know -
"Gerard -"
"Frank, Frankie, I want you to -"
"What, what -"
"Wanna come in your mouth, let me fuck your mouth." Gerard sounds delirious and on the brink, but Frank pulls away from him immediately, chanting, "yes, yes, fuck, yes," and his mouth waters.
Gerard grabs Frank's hips and pulls out steady but pretty damn quick, too, cursing. Frank gasps from the pressure being released, the soreness and sudden emptiness, but he can't even think about it too much, because Gerard unties one of his hands with clumsy, shaking fingers and as soon as Frank's released, Gerard tugs off the condom and wedges himself on his knees in between Frank and the headboard. Frank doesn't need Gerard's hand to guide his head down, but he relishes it, anyway, leans into it, almost fucking purrs.
He loves Gerard's dick, loves the shape, how it stretches his mouth, loves the desperate noises Gerard makes when Frank first licks it base to crown. Positioned as he is with one hand on Gerard's hip and the other resting at an awkward angle still tied to the bed, he still can't fucking get enough of this - the taste, pre-come mingling with the rubber, the salt of Gerard's skin underneath. Gerard's fingers are still wrapped around Frank's hair, holding him steady for the rhythm of his hips. Frank closes his eyes and tries to remember to breathe through his nose; he keeps forgetting to breathe at all.
Gerard is babbling above him, mixing languages and metaphors and Frank can feel how fucking close he is. He slides his freed hand down to touch Gerard's balls and when Gerard moans and spreads his legs, Frank pushes further back, over the tendon and past it, past it until he finds what he's looking for and starts rubbing as he sucks. Gerard goes fucking crazy.
"Ah! Frankie, God -"
His hand tights in Frank's hair and Frank's dick stirs; unbelievable. He sucks harder, lathes his tongue against the base and then he feels it. Gerard's head thuds against the wall when he comes, his dick pulsing huge in Frank's mouth, filling his throat. Frank sucks him through all of it, allows his throat to take it, knowing that he probably shouldn't have, and knowing it's way past all the "should haves," anyway. He can barely hold himself up, it's like he's hanging by a string. Or by a belt, maybe.
When Gerard pushes him off his dick, Frank is barely conscious. His dick is half-hard, but there's nothing he plans on doing about it. He feels Gerard's unsteady hands undoing the restraints and almost falls over, except that Gerard catches him awkwardly by the ribs.
"Hang on," he whispers and lowers Frank to the bed. Frank falls willingly.
He's sore and lying sideways in a wet spot and blissed out and a bunch of other things he isn't going to poke at too closely right now. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Gerard gets up and makes his wobbly way to the bathroom. Frank can hear him pissing in the dark and thinks he should do the same, but he just can't imagine walking right now.
He floats in the reeking-of-sex cloud of the bed until Gerard stumbles back and half falls on him. Frank laughs and paws at his side. Gerard's hair is a mess, and there's a bright spot on his cheek. Frank reaches up and touches it with a tip of his finger. Gerard turns his head to drop a light kiss on his hand.
"You good?"
Frank just grins and shuts his eyes, throwing up a half-hearted thumbs-up. He wishes he could keep Gerard company in his post-sex state of awake, but his body is pretty much done with consciousness.
Gerard turns over the pillows stained with come and resettles the sheets around them. Frank tries to gather up enough energy to mock him, but he falls asleep with his head on Gerard's chest, instead, one arm thrown over his sticky belly. He smells the smoke of Gerard's cigarette as he drifts off, and briefly wonders what Gerard's dreaming about with his eyes open.
*
Frank wakes up once in the middle of the night. His eyes fly open from some dream he can't chase back, and when he shifts to try for a more comfortable position, Gerard wakes up, too. There's a split moment when Frank is disoriented and barely awake, and then Gerard's arm pulls him in and just like that, they're kissing. Frank's heart squeezes in his chest and he lingers on the edge of reality for another long moment of sharing Gerard's breath.
They fall back asleep almost immediately, but right before he drops off, Frank feels like something huge just settled itself in his chest. He just can't figure out what.
*
When Frank wakes up in the morning, it's to a crack of thunder. He stretches and winces, feeling the pop and ache in every joint. He's sore in some expected places, and his left shoulder feels like it's been popped out of its socket and popped back in without pain killers. He stretches it a little while he looks out the window. Gerard had been so intent on fucking Frank into the bed, they never even shut the curtains, and now Frank watches the sky roll in angry, grey waves. Rain is coming down vertically, splattering the glass door, round loud drops landing on the balcony, and probably on every roof, too, but he can't see that far. Every now and then, lightning flashes. It's stupidly beautiful. He's always loved thunderstorms.
He shifts and feels Gerard breathing evenly behind him. Still asleep. Frank crawls out from under the covers and carefully pads over to the balcony door on stiff and tight legs. He feels like a little kid, looking out the window at the raging storm outside. He loves the power of it, the raw smell of electricity in the air.
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, feeling a little guilty, because immediately, the sounds of rain and thunder are amplified by about a thousand. He quickly steps out onto the balcony and shuts the door behind him. He has to make a bee-line around the furniture Gerard threw around last night in his quest to fuck Frank through the floor, but he makes it out to the railing without stepping on anything that got broken in the process, and then leans over it.
He's wet almost immediately. His feet are freezing from the cold cement and his dick is trying to crawl inside his balls. It's fucking exhilarating, and it's always better to get wet naked than having cold, wet clothes clinging to you, anyway. He turns his face up to the storm and knows it's probably stupid; the last thing he needs is to get sick while on vacation, but the air is mostly warm, and he's never really been that smart, anyway.
His eyelashes stick when he opens his eyes again and blinks at the drenched city in front of him. It's so different from home, but doesn't feel like a strange place. He watches two girls run under an awning with newspapers over their heads when there's a muted click behind him and the door's thrown open.
Gerard has to yell in order for Frank to hear him, even though they're a foot away.
"I didn't know you were such a romantic!"
Frank laughs without turning around and waits for Gerard to join him. After a while, he has to turn around, anyway, because Gerard is a pussy. "What, you afraid to get a little wet?"
Gerard is standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around himself and his nose wrinkled. He's also stark naked and half-hard and wilting. Frank cracks up and extends a hand. "C'mon, live a little!"
Gerard purses his lips and cranes his neck to see if there's anybody around. Like there are other crazy people who'll stand on open balconies during thunderstorms with morning wood. After a moment of hesitation, though, Gerard steps outside and gets instantly soaked. "This isn't as fun as it looks in movies," he yells in Frank's ear and Frank just laughs.
"It's better! You're feeling it, aren't you?"
Gerard bumps their noses together and huddles in close. "I'm not sure that's a good thing."
"You're a total pussy, man," Frank laughs again and wraps his soaking arms around him, tilting his face up as droplets slide down their noses and chins. "You should kiss me to make this a real movie moment."
Gerard cracks a lop-sided smile and shrugs. "Yeah? I don't know, I'm not really feeling it right now."
Frank punches him on the arm. "How about now?"
"Oh, well, then," Gerard nods and brushes their lips together. He tastes like rainwater, and when Frank touches Gerard's tongue with his own, he tastes sleep underneath. Gerard is wet and cold against him. Frank should probably relent and get them inside, but fuck it, he's not man enough to let go yet. Gerard hums against him, then bites Frank's lips. His fingers dig into Frank's hips and he must have bruises, because it smarts; it also sends shivers up his spine.
The rain lets up while they're kissing, going from sheeting water to a light drizzle within moments; a real spring storm. The sky lightens over the horizon and what finally drives them inside is a series of catcalls coming from various open windows and the street below. They're breathless and laughing by the time Gerard latches the door closed and sags against Frank, his giggles drying out in the crook of Frank's neck. Frank tries to balance them both enough not to fall on the bed and get it wet.
"Now will you take a fucking shower with me?" he asks when Gerard steps back and starts shaking out his wet hair like a dog.
"Didn't we just get all clean?" Gerard whines, and Frank really should have seen that coming. Mikey had warned him. It's like talking to a three year old.
"There was a lot of fucking last night and rain doesn't actually constitute getting clean."
After that, he doesn't give Gerard the option, just leads him by the hand to the bathroom and bodily pushes him into the tub. It takes them a while to get clean, but at least Frank leaves the bathroom secure in the knowledge that he did his best. If he was a girl scout, he totally would have earned those stripes.
*
It's the day of the gallery opening, which means Gerard has to run around and "get shit done," which leaves Frank to bum around Paris by himself. At least that's what he tells himself, until Gerard casually mentions that the place they had lunch at the other day has free wifi.
So, really, what it means is that after waving Gerard off, Frank drags out his laptop and pretends not to be working from France. It's a bit of a challenge, what with the city looking kind of beautiful after being washed by storms, and the fresh air getting mixed in with the gritty smell of the river. He's sitting right in the doorway, looking out at the water lapping, and it does take him a while to drag his attention back to his computer.
Then he spends over an hour going through several pages of backlogged emails and trying not to rip his hair out and trust that shit is getting done without him. He's suspecting Ray of not cc'ing him on all the problems, but he's got no proof to back any of it, even though Ray is exactly the sort of asshole who expects Frank to not think about work while on vacation.
His finger is hovering over the call button on his phone, after the latest of Matt's diatribes about unnecessary workload and insufficient resources takes a pretty scary turn towards the end, when somebody taps his shoulder.
"Huh?"
Frank whips around and sees that a young guy's pulled up a chair next to him, sitting cozy like he means to stay a while. Frank frowns. "Uh." He would normally either ask if he can help him or if the dude would kindly fuck off, Frank's busy, but he's in France. Dude probably doesn't even speak English.
Which, of course, is a totally ridiculous assumption, because the dude opens his mouth and asks, "You are an American, oui?" in perfectly lucid, if accented, English.
"Oui." It's out of Frank's mouth before he can process it. "Uhm. Can I help you?"
The guy is young, maybe younger than Frank. Pretty good-looking, too, if you go in for tall, dark-haired dudes with distinct noses, which Frank absolutely does. The guy smiles and oh, yeah, he's also got dimples.
"Oui, I think you can."
He settles in closer, forcing Frank to pull his laptop away from danger on the slightly unbalanced table, and rests his chin on his hand. "You are, hmm, very interesting looking, I think."
Frank blinks. "Uh - excuse me?"
The guy takes his chin off his hand and reaches out in what looks like a handshake. Frank is kind of too stunned not to accept, and also, he was raised by Linda Iero. He's never not going to shake a stranger's hand when it's offered, thanks, Mom.
"I'm Adrien," the guy offers, shaking Frank's hand. Frank pulls away pretty quick and does his best not to wipe his clammy palm on his jeans.
"I'm, uh, Frank."
Adrien breaks into a huge smile. "Frank! Well, it is nice to make your, uh, acquaintance."
Frank is still totally at sea, because - is he seriously getting chatted up by a random French dude right now? All evidence points to "yes," but it seems too absurd to even contemplate.
At this point, Adrien is kind of really in Frank's face, and Frank can smell the sharpness of his clothes, tobacco mixed in with spices. He finally manages a "You, too," before he can locate his balls again, at which point he demands, "Is there anything I can help you with? I'm kind of working here."
Adrien leans back but doesn't stop smiling at him, which is kind of bizarre; Frank would have been backing the fuck off by now. Instead, Adrien tilts his head and squints, like he's really contemplating Frank, which is the quickest way to piss Frank off. The dude seems nice, but Frank is mostly done with him. "Yes?"
"Am I - please tell me if I'm wrong, but am I correct in assuming you are, what's the word…queer?"
Frank thinks his eyeballs might actually pop out of their sockets and clatter away like in a Tom & Jerry cartoon. "What the fuck?"
"Oh!" Adrien's eyes grow large and alarmed. "I did not intend for that to be an insult, my apologies!"
Frank makes a gesture that he hopes is universal for what the fuck and get on with it before I pop you one, and waits for an explanation.
"It is just - you are rather striking, yes? And I was wondering - that is, I thought it might be easier to get the prosaic things out of the way, you see?"
Frank doesn't, like, at all. "Get the what out of the where, now?"
"Oh, you know," Adrien waves a hand around to illustrate his elusive point, "the tedious business of ‘I am not interested in your sex', all that - homosexual or not stuff."
Frank thinks he might be swimming up to what this guy is taking a whole century to get to. He decides to cut to the chase. "So, you wanna know if I'll suck your dick, basically. If I am interested in, uh, your sex."
Frank is pretty impressed with how wide Adrien's eyes get, but he's a bit wary of the eagerness there. "Oui, oui, yes!" Adrien exclaims and wraps his arm around the back of Frank's chair. "And, if I may be so bold, I have a feeling that you are interested?"
Frank can't not laugh. In another life, maybe. "Adrien, I'm sorry," he says, as graciously as he can manage. "While I am, as you put it, queer, I am not interested in your, uhm, self, in particular."
"Why not?" He looks genuinely surprised and disappointed, and Frank pauses and wonders: really, why not?
He leans back against the wall, at this point basically sideways in his chair, and searches for a reason that won't make him question his own sanity. He finally settles on, "I'm here with someone," and hopes that does it.
"Oh," Adrien nods and moves away. "You are here with someone, I see. Where is he?"
Frank scratches the dull surface of his laptop. "Working. Right now."
"He is French?"
Frank laughs. "No. But he lives here. In France, I mean." For now.
Adrien leans back a bit more and tilts his head in a smile. "Fascinating. And is he as - sympathique - cute - as you?"
Frank hears his own stupid giggle. "Cuter. And he speaks French." Jesus, is he bragging? What the fuck.
"Well, would he be up for - getting to know me better, perhaps?"
Frank has to give it to the guy - he doesn't give up easy. And Frank has no idea how to answer that question for Gerard. Would he? Frank doesn't think he would be, though, so it's probably a moot point. He hopes so, anyway.
Just as he's about to open his mouth and say something to drive Adrien away from him for good, their topic of conversation walks through the door. It takes Gerard a moment to spot Frank at the corner table, but Frank can see the very second it all clicks together, and he blushes despite himself. Then he feels stupid, and blushes even more, and then the (totally unnecessary) guilt sinks in. Jesus, he wasn't even doing anything, but the look on Gerard's face is pretty comical. And kind of unreadable, at the same time.
"Frank?"
It isn't until Gerard calls out Frank's name uncertainly that Adrien turns his head and adds two and two together. Or maybe one and one. Frank leans forward and gives Gerard a grin, hoping to reassure him, though of what, he has no fucking idea. The whole thing is ridiculously awkward, and maybe a little funny, or maybe it will be eventually.
"You finish up early?" he asks as soon as Gerard's walked up to the table and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. His eyes are bright, maybe a little tired.
"Yeah, apparently they didn't need me anymore, or whatever."
Gerard's voice is distracted, and he's shooting glances at Adrien. Frank has no idea what to do. Adrien, it seems, is feeling none of the awkwardness hanging around the table. He reaches out his hand as soon as Gerard's is within shaking distance, and smiles as he purrs, "I'm Adrien, it is a pleasure." He pauses and Frank can practically feel him raking his gaze over Gerard. "You are Frank's someone, I see."
Gerard's mouth is hanging open, kind of sideways, and it would be pretty funny, if Frank wasn't busy wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He clears his throat and shakes his head and finally decides, fuck it, why is this guy the one running the show?
"Gerard, Adrien here decided to join me for lunch. He was just wondering if you'd be up for a threesome."
"Oh, yes!" Adrien nods eagerly and turns his large eyes onto Gerard. "What are your thoughts?"
Gerard's mouth drops open even wider, but Frank waits him out, hoping the absurdity of it all will click for Gerard any minute now. Finally, it does - Gerard snaps his mouth shut, then grins slow and fucking beautiful. "I leave you alone for an afternoon, and you've already set up a threesome? Tsk-tsk-tsk." Frank purses his lips against a grin. Gerard tilts his head and gives Adrien an assessing look. "Mmmm, no. I'm sorry, Adrien, I don't think so. It was nice to meet you, though. Ready, Frankie?"
Frank is ready. He extricates himself from a disappointed-looking Adrien, and bites his lip as he stuffs his computer back into his bag - he'd laugh, but that might be rude. Instead, he tries not to fumble with his bag too much, and to remember to grab his phone off the table. He leaves the half-empty coffee cup and walks around until Gerard's within reach.
He's not expecting the kiss Gerard lays on him, but he leans into it by force of habit, and his stomach flips over. He didn't expect to start this habit. It's nice, though, he could get used to it. Gerard's mouth is familiar and hot, and his hands feel nice around Frank's face. Frank loses a bit of time in the kiss, and his head swims.
"Hotel?" Gerard asks when he pulls away, and Frank realizes that they've both forgotten there's anybody around at all. Gerard's gaze is on Frank's, and Frank watches him back. His shoulders start to ache from the awkward way he's holding his bag.
"Oui," he finally says and heaves the bag up over his chest. Gerard throws him a tiny grin and leads him out by the hand. Bye, Adrien.
*
Frank has every noble intention of getting Gerard naked and dirty once they're back at the hotel, but his limbs feel heavy and he has to admit that, once again, his body is against him. He can't believe he's still this jet-lagged and exhausted. Maybe he's just old.
It doesn't help that Gerard notices and mocks him, nose crinkling up with his grin. "Need another nap, grandpa? I'll wake you up for your evening tea, don't worry."
"Fuck you," Frank says, yanking his shirt over his head. "You ever have Epstein-Barr, motherfucker?"
Gerard wrinkles his nose again, this time looking confused. "What the fuck is Epstein-Barr?"
Frank skims out of his pants. "It's like mono, and it fucking sticks, okay?" So, he's vaguely lying - he hasn't been all that sick in a few years, but a relapse now and then isn't, like, out of the realm of possibility. He just wants a nap, okay?
"Well, that sucks," Gerard concedes and throws the covers back so Frank can crawl under them. When Frank's all snuggled up in the bed, Gerard hovers a little, like he doesn't know where to go. Frank feels like a dick - he's kind of taken over Gerard's room with his everything.
"Sorry, I can totally not, uh -"
"Hmm?"
"You don't have to, like, be quiet or anything, I sleep like the dead." Frank watches Gerard's brows unfurl and he stops paying attention to his own discomfort. Gerard's just so fucking pretty, Jesus.
"Hey, I'm fine," Gerard says and Frank has to force himself to hear the words, because he's kind of in that space between deep thought and light sleep already. He solves Gerard's hovering problem by yanking on his hand and bringing their faces together.
"Wake me up in an hour?" he whispers. He hasn't slept this much in years, he realizes. Maybe it's because he hasn't had a vacation in longer. It's comfortable now, for some reason, knowing he can, doesn't need to rush anywhere. There are still days of laziness ahead of him.
Gerard's smile is barely a breath away from his own. "Sounds good."
After a brief kiss which kind of makes Frank crave a smoke, Gerard straightens up and Frank turns over, so he doesn't get distracted. He wants to be totally awake tonight, and he has a feeling it's going to be a bit of a late affair. He lets himself drift away to thoughts of nothing in particular and the sounds of Gerard's quiet shuffling, until all the city sounds get cut off with the balcony door shutting, leaving Gerard on the other side.
*
" - not that nervous… Haha, you're hilarious…"
Frank's pillow is damp, and the light is diffused behind his eyelids. He stretches out his legs and moves his head so he's not in the wet spot anymore.
"Don't - don't put Ma back on the phone, oh for the love of - hi, Mom."
Frank smiles despite himself and tries to figure out how long he's been asleep. Gerard's voice is muted through the door, but Frank bets if the balcony doors were open, Gerard would be practically yelling. Frank lies there and pretends not to listen to the one-sided conversation.
"Everything's all set. … Yes, I'll send you pictures. … No, but someone will be, I'm sure. …. He'll be busy, Ma. No, not - ugh. Tell Alicia to get off the line, what the hell."
Frank sniggers and finally cracks his eyes open. He admits that he's awake, but it's nice to just lie there and stretch and enjoy the cool room from under the covers. Maybe Gerard will come in to wake him up once he's off the phone and he can drag him under the covers.
"- fine, mom, oh my God. … of course it was … I don't know. It's nice. ….All right, I won't vomit on his shoes. … Yeah. … Okay. Love you, too. … Hey, Mikes."
Frank's brain is swirling in lazy circles, and he tries to picture where Mikey is right now. Clearly not working - is he at the Ways'? His and Alicia's place? He's probably at the Ways', and Mrs. Way is prying, while Don pretends not to be from behind the paper. Frank laughs at the image, then tries to figure out what Mikey could be saying to Gerard. How weird that Frank knows him so much better than he knows Gerard, but it doesn't - almost doesn't feel like it.
He turns over and watches Gerard's back for a while, where he's lounging in the chair, face turned down, phone barely visible in his hand. Gerard's got that sketchpad resting on his lap, half filled in with drawings Frank can't make out from the bed.
He can't hear him anymore, just the muted sounds of words, nothing distinct. He's heard Mikey on the phone with Gerard a couple of times, and it always cracked Frank up how quiet and secretive he'd sound, so different from the everyday Mikey Way who monotoned his way through each work day. Now, it makes something tweak in Frank's chest. Brothers. That's got to be nice, having a person who knows everything about you and loves you, anyway.
He strains to pick up even a word or two, but no dice - Gerard's mumbling something that doesn't even sound like a language. Frank gives up and watches Gerard's hand clutching the phone. He likes Gerard's hands, they look like those hands artists draw all the time. Every knuckle is distinct, the tips of his fingers blunt and cool-looking.
He yawns and fights the covers off, trying to tell the time on the alarm clock. It's five seventeen, time to get up, anyway. He sees Gerard click the phone shut and slowly tuck it away into his jacket.
Part III