Fic: "In the Springtime" (Part IV of IV)
( Part III)
They both light up smokes as soon as they're out on the street, but Frank isn't sure if it's because Gerard is relieved, uncomfortable, or just craving a smoke. He pretends not to watch Gerard for clues and scuffs his feet on the dry pavement. He wishes it was still wet from the storm, because Paris should always be glistening at night - or at least, that's what movies have taught him. When he looks up, about to maybe start a conversation, Gerard is all the way up the street, flagging down a cab.
So much for the smoke.
They sit in twitchy silence in the cab. The windows are rolled down, and the fresh air feels pretty sweet where it hits him in the face and makes everything down to his hair shiver. Gerard is on the other side of the bench, though, his fingers drumming some rhythm on his knee. He feels a thousand miles away, and Frank swallows around his dry throat and closes his eyes. He knows he should maybe say something, pretend like everything is fine, but he can't make his throat open up enough to do it.
He can feel it when Gerard turns his head towards him, but can't actually bring himself to meet his eye for some reason. He has no idea if he's crazy, no idea what Gerard is thinking.
"Frank?"
"Mmm?" Frank bites his lip and finally turns enough that he can flash Gerard a dumb smile. Everything's fine here, he's not busy chasing his own tail and ruining the night in the process, how are you?
Gerard gives him an uncertain smile back, but frowns when he says carefully, "Just - uh, you okay? You're kind of quiet."
Frank feels an overwhelming urge to just lay it out and have it be done with, but they're in a fucking cab, rolling up the meter, and even though the cabbie probably doesn't understand them, Frank still doesn't need a fucking witness to his crap. He shrugs, nodding, and turns away again. He's got some Euro tucked away in the inner pocket of his jacket, and he doesn't know how close they are to the hotel, but he reaches for the bills, anyway.
Gerard falls silent beside him, like he's got nothing else to say, or maybe Frank just missed his chance.
Fuck. Frank kind of wants to crawl out of his skin. He'd expected some weirdness at some point, maybe, but he hadn't expected to - he hadn't expected this, whatever the fuck it is that's suddenly got him by the throat. He hadn't expected it, because he'd been so sure that they were doing a smart thing here, but who in their right mind goes flying halfway across the world to spend a week with a stranger?
But Gerard hadn't felt like a stranger, not since the moment Frank spotted him smoking like a dweeb at Mikey's wedding. He hadn't felt like a stranger at all, not until Frank ran right up against his life, so distant and different from Frank's, so fucking far away, and so unknown.
When the cab pulls up to the hotel, Frank thrusts some bills at the cabbie, ignoring Gerard's extended hand, and scrambles outside. He's pretty sure he didn't owe twenty Euro, but whatever, it's done.
Gerard is a few steps behind him, and Frank wishes he'd waited for him, now, but it's too late to slow down without more awkwardness, so he allows his legs to lead. He passes the foyer with its winding staircase and the horsehair couches. He thinks, three days ago seems like a million years ago, and doesn't look that way again.
Down the hallway, with Gerard's quiet shuffling behind him, Frank pushes the elevator button a bunch of times and fidgets in place as it groans to life. Gerard has picked up on Frank's mood, so he stays back, and when Frank catches his reflection in the elevator's mirrored doors, Gerard looks almost forbidding, closed so tight, you couldn't pry him open with a crow bar. Something clenches in Frank's chest.
The ding of the elevator is the only sound he hears until the room door slams behind them and Gerard throws the key on the dresser and it clatters to a silence. Frank follows Gerard's progress across the room and out onto the balcony. The doors don't quite slam behind him.
Frank curses and goes into the bathroom, where he can mercifully lock the door and not see any of their stuff strewn about the room where they'd left it all those hours ago. He doesn't turn on the light because he doesn't want to catch his own reflection in the mirror, and pisses in the dark.
Afterwards, he pushes the door open slowly, and it's a relief that the room is still dark and Gerard isn't in it. But now that Frank's here, he's got no idea what he's supposed to do. He lowers himself onto the bed with his shoes still on, carefully keeping to the side he's been sleeping on, and turns to look out the window.
He can barely see Gerard in the dark, but he can make out the roofs of the buildings around them, and his insides clench. It reminds him of how the fucking bird hopped from roof to roof, of how he was warm and naked and touching Gerard everywhere, just three short days ago. Now, this whole entire trip suddenly feels like the biggest, most spectacularly stupid idea he's ever had.
He twists around and punches the pillows into shape, wishing he could make himself go out there and explain. It's like he can barely follow the thread that's led him here, that's led them both to a place where Gerard is smoking out on the balcony and Frank is left trying to puzzle out just what in the fucking fuck had happened. Are they in a fight? Who's leading it? He has no idea where to even start.
"Frank."
Frank startles and turns around. Gerard is silhouetted against the open balcony door, his hands clutching both doors. Frank swallows. Gerard probably wants that explanation, and Frank takes a deep breath and rolls over enough to get up. There's got to be some pride left in here, somewhere.
"Gerard," he says as he takes two steps forward. That puts him practically nose to nose with Gerard, and he can see the red spot standing out on Gerard's cheek again, just a darker smudge in the darkness, and his eyes are wide and beautiful and kind of freaked out.
Frank searches for the best way to start, but his brain is way ahead of him. "What is this?" Not the best way to start, admittedly, but it's done, so he plows on. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know!" Gerard exclaims, and the force of it startles Frank back. Gerard runs a hand through his hair and it stays after he drops his hand. "I have no idea what the fuck happened back there, Frank, what the hell?"
Frank's heart stammers so hard, he could probably hear it, if Gerard wasn't yelling. But the question stands, and Frank would probably have demanded the same goddamn thing, if the roles were reversed, but he's on fight-or-flight now, and he can't stop himself.
"I," he starts, then stops, breathing. "I don't know, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here, Gerard, okay? What the fuck am I doing?"
The question is more for himself than Gerard, but Gerard's eyes grow huge and tragic, and he reels back until he's fully on the balcony, while and they're staring at each other across the threshold like they've never fucking seen each other's sex faces, like they've never even met. It's too ridiculous. It's like a translation's been lost, or some important piece of a puzzle.
"I - is it me? What the fuck did I do?" Gerard shakes out a cigarette from his pack and his hands fumble with the lighter. "Why are you all - weird, what happened?"
Frank wants a smoke so bad, he can taste it, and he knows he needs to answer, but he can't, so he shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, looking away.
"You just - you left!" Gerard exclaims on the exhale. "I turned around, and you were gone, and you acted so weird around me after that, fine one minute, and the next… And I barely saw you, and, like, did - was it my art? What the fuck was it, Frankie, what did I do?"
And Frank's thoughts spin to a halt and he looks at Gerard and realizes, he doesn't know.
Of course he doesn't know, how the fuck could he. Right now, it feels like Frank barely fucking knows himself.
He laughs, because this is the weirdest, most ridiculous fight he's had in years. "Jesus, it's not your art, it's your -" muse, he thinks, but that's a cop-out, he knows, so he says, "your life, and you're - we barely even fucking know each other, all right? And I have no fucking idea about any of this, okay, I have no idea what you want, and your ex -" He breaks off because that's not the point. But his mouth is, apparently, on a roll, though, talking without his permission. "What am I even doing here? Why am I here?"
He didn't mean to say the last thing out loud, but now it's out there and the answer is kind of painfully obvious. Gerard's mouth is half-open and his cigarette is smoking without him, clasped loose in his fingers. "Frankie -"
"What." Jesus, his heart is pounding so hard, he thinks any minute now, his ribs will crack with the force of it, and he'll leak all over his bones and under his skin, turn all black and blue all over, and then Gerard could paint him like that, because it would look awesome. He could call it "XXI."
"Frankie," Gerard says, quieter, and it feels like everything's gone quiet and still, even Frank's blood.
He looks up when Gerard calls his name again. "What, Gerard."
"I - wait, what do you mean, my ex?"
Gerard's eyebrows furrow and for one long moment Frank thinks he got it all wrong. It was probably a totally different Paul altogether, and this one really was just a model, and Frank ruined their night, ruined Gerard's night over something that wasn't even true -
"Isn't Paul your - I mean… Isn't he? That ex, the model?"
"Oh. Oh my God, are you serious?" Gerard sounds surprised, which is so fucking stupid, Frank kind of wants to smack him, just a little bit. "Frankie, he's - oh my God, he's - he's in the past. I didn't even - Jesus."
Frank hates how he's hanging on Gerard's every word, so that when he stops talking, Frank thinks he'll trip over the silence.
"You didn't what?" Frank's skin feels like it's burning from needing to know, he feels himself straining forward, like a cartoon character following its nose. "You didn't see the way he looked at you? Or how he basically said you're never coming back home?"
But that's not really true, is it, or fair in any way, and Frank is an asshole, he realizes this now, because none of this is Gerard's fault. Gerard isn't the one who traveled thousands of miles just to see some other guy's fucking gallery opening and fucked it all up in an hour because he couldn't find his feet in time. He wants time to stop for just a goddamn second, so he can make sense of his own head and stop letting his words escape without thinking. "You just - I don't - this isn't -"
Gerard reaches out with his empty hand and for a brief second, Frank thinks he's going to slap him and freezes from the shock. But Gerard reels Frank in by his collar and kisses him, instead, hard and bruising; it's uncomfortable to the point of pain, Frank's lips are mashed up again Gerard's teeth and it hurts, and his breath actually stops in his throat for a long, muddled moment.
Then he frees himself and blindly reaches out until Gerard's jacket is crumpled between his hands, and Gerard's mouth is open and hot over his and they're kissing, deep and slick and smoky. Frank's head swims from the craving and he thinks he maybe moans, but maybe that's Gerard. Jesus, it's such a relief to be close again, Frank shivers all over.
When they break apart, Gerard pants into his mouth but doesn't step back. They're silent for a while, and Frank can feel Gerard's crazy pulse through his clothes. It matches his own.
"Frankie, I." Gerard's whispering, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Frank's ears aren't ringing. "I have no idea what we're doing here, either, okay? I just - I don't want to fuck it up."
Relief floods through Frank's entire being and his voice is shaky when he answers, "Neither do I." He almost did.
"Okay," Gerard breathes out. "I just. Is that why you disappeared? You thought I was - oh, man, was that - oh, man."
Frank shakes him a bit, because he's still got Gerard's jacket fisted in his hands and he knows he was stupid, he doesn't need reminders. "Don't fucking - ugh. I'm sorry." They won't get anywhere at this rate, but he wants to make some things clear. Clearer. "I went out for a smoke because I felt like…I was in the way. And I was -"Just say it. "Jealous." Among other things. "And it fucked me up. I'm sorry I ruined your night, I'm a total dick."
He can't make himself look Gerard in the eye yet, so he looks at Gerard's throat, that dip at the base of the neck that's covered in light sweat and smells like lived-in skin.
"Frankie, don't. You didn't," Gerard almost whispers.
Frank just says ‘ha' under his breath.
"I have no idea what this is, okay?" Gerard continues quietly. "But it feels... I'm just ... scared, I guess."
That can't be a good thing, Frank thinks, except for maybe the fact that they're both feeling it. He wonders if it's for the same reason. "Of what?"
Gerard sighs, but he stays where he is and doesn't fight Frank's hold. Which is good, because Frank's hands are frozen into fists, and there's nothing he can do about that right now. "Of how… huge it seems."
Yeah. It is fucking huge. It has to be fucking huge, for Frank to have just gotten up and left his baby in the hands of Toro, his dog to his mom's crazy brood, and done this crazy thing.
"It's huge for me, too," he whispers. And he doesn't want to fuck it up, either. He closes his eyes and leans in until his lips are on Gerard's throat. He feels Gerard's stuttered gasp all across his skin.
*
"I've only been in love once. I think."
"Oh, yeah?"
Gerard looks impish in the dark, but he's also got those huge sad eyes, and Frank just bites his lip and tries to listen patiently and not hurry it along. It's kind of killing him, though, he wants to know. Gerard's got one hand tucked under his cheek, the other is plucking at the sheets, and he keeps skittering his gaze between Frank, the window, and his fingers.
"Who was it?"
"You know that last real relationship before Paul?"
Frank nods. The waist of his pants is digging into his hips and he's too hot in his dress shirt, but Gerard had pulled him down onto the bed a few minutes ago, kissed him, then looked him in the eye and said, "I want to try something."
Then he started talking. Frank went with it, because all he could feel was the sheer relief of maybe not being the only crazy one in the room.
"Yeah, so… His name was Bert. Robert, but he was this weird guy, you know? So, he introduced himself as Bert." Gerard gives Frank an expectant look, and Frank just nods again. Gerard sighs and plays with the sheets some more. "I, uhm. I was pretty messed up when we met, and knowing Bert didn't really, uh, help. We'd start out at some bar his band was playing at, and then continue to another bar, and then he'd get into some brawl eventually, and we'd get kicked out, so we'd, like, I don't even know, stumble to my place or some motel somewhere, and fuck and drink more and, like, do blow or whatever else he had stashed on him."
Frank's barely breathing. Gerard doesn't seem to question that Frank knows about his sobriety, but then again, it's obvious, right? Frank's got all these questions he wants to ask, but doesn't think he can yet. He shifts until he's more comfortable. "How long were you together?" That seems safe enough, at least.
Gerard huffs out a little hollow laugh. "Oh, fuck, I don't even - about a year, I guess, maybe less?"
Frank can't imagine being with the guy he's picturing in his head even for a month, but he's not Gerard, and he's not an addict. He's not sure he should be asking the next question, but this is headed there, isn't it? "So, what happened?"
Gerard gives another sigh, this one heavier, and palms his cheek in a distracted kind of way. "All kinds of shit, I guess. I mean… I thought he was - fucking crazy, obviously, but in that amazing kind of way? He was - you never knew what Bert was gonna do, and he got me, from the start. We got each other."
Frank's heart is thudding hard and slow against his ribcage and he wonders whether he gets Gerard. He wonders if Gerard gets him.
"Yeah?"
"Well. At the time, I guess. I didn't - I mean, we were seriously messed up. And it wasn't until I got - I got clean that I realized that he didn't get me, we got each other's fucking… crap. You know? We got each other's messes, not… not anything else."
Frank's always been a pretty healthy guy emotionally, all things considered, but he thinks he understands. His ex was no picnic in the park, but Frank fucking loved the cocksucker until the bitter end. "I can get that."
Gerard shrugs and his knee moves up until it bumps against Frank's. "Frankie, I'm… I was such a mess for so fucking long, you know? And I've been sober for twenty months, but I'm not. Like, I'm still scared of slipping. Every day, I'm terrified, you know? What if it's today, or next week, when it hurts more, that kind of stuff."
Frank doesn't know, but he does, so he nods and presses his knee harder against Gerard's. "Were you - were you afraid tonight?"
"Fuck yeah. Did you fucking see that shit? There was fucking champagne everywhere you looked."
Frank's gut twists. He'd never even noticed Gerard looking at the drink trays. Of all the things he'd been wrong about tonight, this was probably beating out all the rest. Gerard gives off that air of such confidence and being above it all, and Frank is so naïve, he might as well be a kid, still. Jesus.
"Does it - get easier?"
Gerard purses his lips. "Yes and no. More no than yes, to be honest, but I don't give myself the…option, the choice, anymore. I just." He pauses. "I can't drink, period. That." He sighs. "That almost takes it out of my hands."
Frank wonders if Gerard thinks of a higher power, if he just doesn't realize that he's the driving force behind it all. Gerard grips the edge of the pillowcase under his cheek and says, "I still remember the feeling of it, the experience of getting drunk. You know?" Frank nods. "And I still want the feeling, because I know it'll, like, whitewash everything, you know? And I want that so much sometimes, it's…" He breaks off and chews his lip. "Mikey got me through the worst of it," he says and it's unexpected, maybe, but it makes sense.
"Yeah?"
Frank only met Mikey a year ago, after Gerard had already moved. How weird that, even a month ago, Gerard was just an abstract guy who had no part in Frank's life at all. He was barely a person.
"I did AA, too, while I was back home," Gerard offers.
"Not here?" Do they even have AA in France?
Gerard hums. "I tried at first, but I didn't know the language well enough. And then, I don't know, I stopped… Not needing it, obviously, but the edge had worn off or something. I really threw myself into my work, I guess."
And how, Frank thinks, but it's a weird jumble of jealousy and pride, so he doesn't say it out loud. It must still show on his face, though, because Gerard is suddenly all motion, and Frank barely gets a chance to blink before Gerard is on him, hands cupping Frank's face, hot breath fanning over Frank's lips.
"Frankie, you just - I don't know how to explain this. This is - it scares the shit out of me, okay?"
Frank can barely get his breath back, but at some point his hands wrapped themselves around Gerard's waist and he's holding onto him so tight, his knuckles are probably turning white. His pulse is thudding in his ears and he feels like he's been flipped upside down and then given a shake, for good measure. "Why?"
Gerard's fingers skitter down Frank's jaw, shaking. "Because I've never - I've never done this sober, okay?"
Frank swallows and tightens his hold. "What about -"
"Paul doesn't count, okay, he was… We fucked. We fucked a lot and we spent time together and it helped, but it wasn't, like. It wasn't like Bert, it wasn't like before."
Frank doesn't want this to be like before, either. Gerard's face is close and his breath is warm and sour from the cigarettes, and Frank is sweating everywhere they touch. It's too much, everything is kind of hazy, but he doesn't want to let go, either, so he takes a deep breath. "But, I mean… What about - all those paintings, all that…"
Gerard relaxes on top of him, which deadens the weight and Frank finally nudges him off and to the side, but keeps his hands on Gerard, letting him know he's here. Gerard stays close, and he seems to be sweating more than Frank. The room is stifled with their breathing.
"He was, I don't know," Gerard answers quietly. "He was important, but not in that way? All those paintings… They're not Paul, they're me. Does that make sense?"
Frank blinks. It's so fucking obvious, he can't even process it for a second.
"He was fun, and a smart, interesting guy, you know," Gerard continues, and he's a bit breathless now, talking too fast and jumbled, "and I forgot, when I was with him. Not really, but it made it easier, and…" Gerard squeezes his eyes shut and chews on his lip some more. His hand is tangled up in his own hair and Frank thinks that Gerard's maybe forgotten it's there at all. He reaches up and gently takes it out of the tangles. He feels a sick sort of pity, but not a pity for anyone in particular. His chest clenches up and he has no idea what to do or what to say, so he goes with his gut and leans in until their noses are touching.
"It's okay," he says right before he kisses Gerard, and he doesn't even know what's okay, or if it really is okay, but Gerard responds with a desperate kind of noise and pushes back, pushes until Frank is on his back and Gerard is over him, hands pinning Frank's wrists over their heads, his knee between Frank's legs.
"Frankie," he pants when they break off, and Frank just tries to catch his breath, because his brain can't process the change as fast as his dick can. He goes from zero to hard so fast, his head spins.
"What?"
Gerard watches him with dark eyes, his mouth open. A beam of light cuts through the room, across the walls, across the ceiling, across Gerard's flushed face, then the car passes and it's dark again. "I don't fucking know," Gerard says, and then laughs at himself. "I've got no fucking idea."
Frank does. He has an idea that maybe they're all talked out for now - at least he knows he is. He also has an idea about the fact that his clothes feel like a fucking sweaty prison by this point. The air around them reeks of sweat and musty sheets, and he takes the lead on this one, rolling Gerard over, pinning him down, stripping him of clothes bit by sticky bit.
He blows Gerard on the sheets they've been messing up for days, sheets replaced by maids, then messed up by them again and again. He blows him fast and deep and messy, losing himself in the down-and-dirty rhythm of it, letting Gerard's dick stretch out his lips until they hurt, and his jaw until it aches, and his throat until he nearly chokes. There's so much spit and pre-come, he thinks he could fuck himself on it if he wanted to, but that's not what he wants.
Gerard thrashes under him, groans in broken words that might be Frank's own name, and twists Frank's hair until Frank thinks he'll pull it right the fuck out, and relishes the pain. Gerard comes fast and hard and hot, and Frank can't even get his breath back after letting go. Gerard slams him into the bed, rips off his pants, tugs down his briefs and finger-fucks him - rough and barely prepped. He doesn't even touch his dick.
Frank wants to shout but his breath gets caught, and his eyes sting from all the sweat, he can barely make out the blur of the ceiling. He doesn't realize he's grabbed Gerard's wrist until his fingers go numb, and even then, he doesn't pull away, just follows the shift and slide of Gerard's bone and sinew until it feels like he's fucking himself on both their hands, rutting like he can't stop, even though it's just this side of the pleasure-pain divide. When he can barely take it anymore, he grabs his dick and jerks himself fast and tight.
"Jesus, your face -" he hears Gerard say through the rushing in his ears, and Frank thinks he snorts in response, and that's how he ends up coming, his cock pulsing in his hand, his ass trembling around Gerard's fingers. He's still panting when Gerard runs a slow hand through his come and licks it off, meeting Frank's gaze.
Frank sinks his head back into the pillows and his chest doesn't feel big enough to fit all of the breath and heart and blood he's got inside.
*
Frank doesn't remember dozing off, but now that he's awake, he realizes he's been dreaming. It's still dark out, and he's damp and sticky under the sheets. It takes him a quick hair-raising moment to realize that Gerard's not in bed with him. Frank's body is up and awake before he's even fully processed the light streaming under the bathroom door.
Oh. Okay.
He slumps back down, but the adrenaline has forced him awake enough that he won't fall back asleep for a while. He hears the toilet flush, then a quick run of the faucet, and when the door swings open, the bathroom's already dark and Gerard is a quiet creeping shadow until he thumps down on the bed and reaches out to touch him. Frank yelps from shock. "Holy crap, your hands are freezing!"
"Mmm," Gerard agrees and snuggles closer, not taking his icy hands off of Frank's waist. "And you're warm," he mumbles.
"Fucker," Frank grumbles back and shoves Gerard's hands away from his person and under a pillow. Gerard makes a complaining noise, but stays where he is. Frank can see his crazy hair outlined in the dark. They both reek of night breath and stale sex, and Frank surprises even himself when he snuggles deeper into the scent and closer to Gerard.
This time when Gerard wraps a hand around him, he doesn't push him away.
"Tell me about you," Gerard whispers against Frank's neck, and Frank laughs quietly.
"What about me?"
"I don't know, something. I spilled my fucking guts, now it's your turn. Here, come here." Gerard maneuvers them until Frank's face is fully buried against his chest, and Gerard's wrapped both arms around him. Their legs get tangled with the sheets, but Frank doesn't mind. He's busy thinking about his own skeletons.
"I don't have that much to spill," he admits after a while.
Gerard makes a disbelieving noise. "Like hell you don't. Spill it, fucker."
Frank giggles, then closes his eyes. "All right. What do you want to know?"
"Your ex."
"John?"
"Is he the Modigliani ex?"
Frank laughs and wishes he could think of him that way. "Yeah, that's the one. So, what?"
"What did he do?" Gerard asks, and it's quiet, like he maybe already knows.
Frank rubs his itchy nose on Gerard's chest. "Hmm." He's not entirely sure he wants to be having this conversation, but it seems like a pretty fair trade-off. "Fucked me over. Broke my heart." He feels so far away from it now, and he never really thought he'd be able to say it so casually.
"How?"
Frank shrugs and grins, "I don't know, the usual way, I guess? Cheated on me, lied about it for months."
"What did you do?"
Frank sighs, because even from far away, apparently, he can still feel that particular brand of humiliation. "Stayed with him for a while after I found out, pretended like it wasn't happening." He rolls away from Gerard, his skin too hot where they're touching.
"That sucks," Gerard says, hand still touching Frank's hip, lightly. He doesn't sound pitying, just sad.
"Yeah, well, afterwards, I dropped him from the label, so I guess we're even," he tells the ceiling and wonders if Gerard will call him on it. He always wondered just how bad that decision had been, but Toro certainly seemed encouraging at the time, and he's a pretty good compass for that kind of shit.
Gerard breaks into giggles and Frank rolls over until he can look at him, unable to stop his own grin. "That's awesome," Gerard manages through the laughter.
"Yeah?" Frank snorts. "He didn't agree."
"He was an idiot," Gerard says and pulls Frank in.
*
Frank pushes Gerard's legs back until he gets what he wants and he takes his time licking him, light and soft until Gerard whines and tries to fight his hold. Frank doesn't let him. He keeps at it, licking, nudging his balls with nose, practically nuzzling Gerard's ass, fucking relishing it. He thinks about Gerard's paintings, thinks about how if he could, he'd paint fucking odes to dick, too. To dick and balls and ass, because Jesus Christ, he can't fucking get enough of it, has to get closer, deeper, more, until his fingers are inside Gerard, feeling the soft ridges, stretching him out, lost in Gerard's voice breaking, everything tightening up, wet and hard and dark and fucking close; until Gerard is coming down his throat and Frank is losing his shit, rubbing himself mindlessly against the sheets, whimpering around Gerard's dick.
*
"So, who is the best sex you've ever had?"
Gerard just watches him, confused at first, then scrunches up his eyes and buries his face in the pillow. His hair is a wreck. "Ugh, fuck off."
"Oh, come on," Frank giggles and pokes him in the side. "C'mon, who was it?" He kind of doesn't want to hear the answer, but he's blissed out and stupid, and doesn't think he'll actually mind. Much.
"Ugh, shut the fuck up. You're -"
"What? Curious? Persistent?" The best?
"Really fucking obnoxious. And, I don't know." Gerard's still mumbling into the pillow, so Frank pushes at his shoulder until he's on his back, then pins him down with his chin on Gerard's chest. Gerard is laughing at him, creating some awesome double and triple chins for himself from that angle, but when he lifts his hand, it's to brush some sticky strands off of Frank's forehead. "Memorable. You're the most memorable."
Frank grins and rubs his nose on Gerard's chest. "Memorable. All right, I'll take it."
*
"Frankie," Gerard whispers against Frank's skin, then bites down so hard, Frank almost kicks him off and groans. "You don't," Gerard continues after he licks the spot and slides down further until he's breathing against the base of Frank's dick, Jesus. "You don't mind that I call you Frankie, right?"
Frank's laugh kind of gets lost on its way out, but Gerard doesn't seem to be listening, anyway.
Frank falls asleep after that, not even waiting for Gerard to turn him over. He doesn't really dream.
*
Frank wakes up in the vicinity of morning. It's hazy grey beyond the window, but it's the kind of hazy grey that turns into a bright and hot summer day once the sun comes up. It isn't until after he's registered the light that he notices Gerard is awake, face turned away, one hand playing with his phone in a sort of mindless gesture that means he's been doing it a while.
Frank watches him for a few long moments, wondering if Gerard will notice he's awake, then gives up the wait and nudges Gerard's bare shoulder with his nose. "Morning," he croaks.
Gerard turns to face him abruptly and gives him a vague smile. "Frankie, hey. Sorry, did that wake you up, too?"
"Did what wake me up?" Frank stretches his arm out wide and yawns while his back cracks.
Gerard bites his lip and wordlessly extends his phone at Frank. Frank frowns, some kind of anxiety settling in, and looks at the screen. Then he blinks and looks back up at Gerard's face. "So, wait. Really?"
Gerard's tiny smile turns into a full-wattage grin, like it had only been contained by the quiet. "Yeah. I can't believe they didn't tell me last night. The motherfucking Whitney, Frank. I sold a piece to the Whitney."
Frank sits up until he can see all of Gerard, beaming with crazy bed-head. "So, what does that mean? I mean, like. For you." He gives a half-hearted attempt at not thinking about what it might mean for him, but man is selfish, and so is Frank, and his heart beats extra fast in the quiet.
"Well, I - I don't know, but I've been thinking." Gerard scoots back against the pillows and fidgets with the duvet under his hands. "I've been here a while, and I really - I mean, I thought. I don't know, but after this, maybe -"
Frank's heartbeat is hollow, like a drum, maybe, or a full fucking drum circle. "Yeah?"
"I think this is probably a good sign that I should come home."
Frank has never had a poker face, but he tries to hide his expression, anyway. He ducks his head and twists his fingers together until they ache, and when he looks back up, Gerard gives him a look, but Frank can't tell what it means yet. His brain is half sleep-muddled, half going into over-drive.
Gerard will have a piece in the Whitney, and Gerard might be coming home. But.
"That's. That's really awesome," Frank manages, trying to sound just the right mix of encouraging and not entirely invested. Of course, it's hard to feel un-invested in the life of the guy you'd all but spilled your guts to just a few short hours ago. A guy whose dick you've sucked, a guy you've let fuck you six different ways from Sunday. Frank is not invested in a great many things, but Gerard is definitely not one of them. Not anymore.
Gerard tips his head back into the pillows and grins at Frank, smile spreading lazily up. "Yeah?"
Frank gives up even trying to pretend. Instead, he lets the whoop of his stomach lead him, just like always, and he moves until he's got Gerard trapped between his arms, leaning over him, chests almost touching, knees and thighs and hips bumping and grinding. From this close up, he can see the birthmark high on Gerard's left pec, the sparse hairs around his nipples, the uneven patches of stubble over his cheeks. Gerard's face is creased with pillow marks, one cutting right through his forehead, like a faded scar.
Before he can even process the movement, Frank tastes Gerard's morning breath on his lips and even with that, the kiss is soft and sweet and he fuzzily thinks that maybe morning kisses are better than any other kind.
When he leans back, Gerard's eyes open slowly, until they're watching each other in the waiting silence.
"If you come home, does that mean we can stop crossing oceans to get laid?"
Gerard giggles and runs a hand through Frank's hair, raising every single goose bump Frank's body has to offer. "I hope so."
"Good," Frank whispers and shivers again. They can figure out the rest as they go along.
For now, he lets himself be pulled down onto warm skin and into sticky sheets and given some awesome morning nookie. Much like morning kisses, it's better than anything else in the world.
~fin~
They both light up smokes as soon as they're out on the street, but Frank isn't sure if it's because Gerard is relieved, uncomfortable, or just craving a smoke. He pretends not to watch Gerard for clues and scuffs his feet on the dry pavement. He wishes it was still wet from the storm, because Paris should always be glistening at night - or at least, that's what movies have taught him. When he looks up, about to maybe start a conversation, Gerard is all the way up the street, flagging down a cab.
So much for the smoke.
They sit in twitchy silence in the cab. The windows are rolled down, and the fresh air feels pretty sweet where it hits him in the face and makes everything down to his hair shiver. Gerard is on the other side of the bench, though, his fingers drumming some rhythm on his knee. He feels a thousand miles away, and Frank swallows around his dry throat and closes his eyes. He knows he should maybe say something, pretend like everything is fine, but he can't make his throat open up enough to do it.
He can feel it when Gerard turns his head towards him, but can't actually bring himself to meet his eye for some reason. He has no idea if he's crazy, no idea what Gerard is thinking.
"Frank?"
"Mmm?" Frank bites his lip and finally turns enough that he can flash Gerard a dumb smile. Everything's fine here, he's not busy chasing his own tail and ruining the night in the process, how are you?
Gerard gives him an uncertain smile back, but frowns when he says carefully, "Just - uh, you okay? You're kind of quiet."
Frank feels an overwhelming urge to just lay it out and have it be done with, but they're in a fucking cab, rolling up the meter, and even though the cabbie probably doesn't understand them, Frank still doesn't need a fucking witness to his crap. He shrugs, nodding, and turns away again. He's got some Euro tucked away in the inner pocket of his jacket, and he doesn't know how close they are to the hotel, but he reaches for the bills, anyway.
Gerard falls silent beside him, like he's got nothing else to say, or maybe Frank just missed his chance.
Fuck. Frank kind of wants to crawl out of his skin. He'd expected some weirdness at some point, maybe, but he hadn't expected to - he hadn't expected this, whatever the fuck it is that's suddenly got him by the throat. He hadn't expected it, because he'd been so sure that they were doing a smart thing here, but who in their right mind goes flying halfway across the world to spend a week with a stranger?
But Gerard hadn't felt like a stranger, not since the moment Frank spotted him smoking like a dweeb at Mikey's wedding. He hadn't felt like a stranger at all, not until Frank ran right up against his life, so distant and different from Frank's, so fucking far away, and so unknown.
When the cab pulls up to the hotel, Frank thrusts some bills at the cabbie, ignoring Gerard's extended hand, and scrambles outside. He's pretty sure he didn't owe twenty Euro, but whatever, it's done.
Gerard is a few steps behind him, and Frank wishes he'd waited for him, now, but it's too late to slow down without more awkwardness, so he allows his legs to lead. He passes the foyer with its winding staircase and the horsehair couches. He thinks, three days ago seems like a million years ago, and doesn't look that way again.
Down the hallway, with Gerard's quiet shuffling behind him, Frank pushes the elevator button a bunch of times and fidgets in place as it groans to life. Gerard has picked up on Frank's mood, so he stays back, and when Frank catches his reflection in the elevator's mirrored doors, Gerard looks almost forbidding, closed so tight, you couldn't pry him open with a crow bar. Something clenches in Frank's chest.
The ding of the elevator is the only sound he hears until the room door slams behind them and Gerard throws the key on the dresser and it clatters to a silence. Frank follows Gerard's progress across the room and out onto the balcony. The doors don't quite slam behind him.
Frank curses and goes into the bathroom, where he can mercifully lock the door and not see any of their stuff strewn about the room where they'd left it all those hours ago. He doesn't turn on the light because he doesn't want to catch his own reflection in the mirror, and pisses in the dark.
Afterwards, he pushes the door open slowly, and it's a relief that the room is still dark and Gerard isn't in it. But now that Frank's here, he's got no idea what he's supposed to do. He lowers himself onto the bed with his shoes still on, carefully keeping to the side he's been sleeping on, and turns to look out the window.
He can barely see Gerard in the dark, but he can make out the roofs of the buildings around them, and his insides clench. It reminds him of how the fucking bird hopped from roof to roof, of how he was warm and naked and touching Gerard everywhere, just three short days ago. Now, this whole entire trip suddenly feels like the biggest, most spectacularly stupid idea he's ever had.
He twists around and punches the pillows into shape, wishing he could make himself go out there and explain. It's like he can barely follow the thread that's led him here, that's led them both to a place where Gerard is smoking out on the balcony and Frank is left trying to puzzle out just what in the fucking fuck had happened. Are they in a fight? Who's leading it? He has no idea where to even start.
"Frank."
Frank startles and turns around. Gerard is silhouetted against the open balcony door, his hands clutching both doors. Frank swallows. Gerard probably wants that explanation, and Frank takes a deep breath and rolls over enough to get up. There's got to be some pride left in here, somewhere.
"Gerard," he says as he takes two steps forward. That puts him practically nose to nose with Gerard, and he can see the red spot standing out on Gerard's cheek again, just a darker smudge in the darkness, and his eyes are wide and beautiful and kind of freaked out.
Frank searches for the best way to start, but his brain is way ahead of him. "What is this?" Not the best way to start, admittedly, but it's done, so he plows on. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know!" Gerard exclaims, and the force of it startles Frank back. Gerard runs a hand through his hair and it stays after he drops his hand. "I have no idea what the fuck happened back there, Frank, what the hell?"
Frank's heart stammers so hard, he could probably hear it, if Gerard wasn't yelling. But the question stands, and Frank would probably have demanded the same goddamn thing, if the roles were reversed, but he's on fight-or-flight now, and he can't stop himself.
"I," he starts, then stops, breathing. "I don't know, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here, Gerard, okay? What the fuck am I doing?"
The question is more for himself than Gerard, but Gerard's eyes grow huge and tragic, and he reels back until he's fully on the balcony, while and they're staring at each other across the threshold like they've never fucking seen each other's sex faces, like they've never even met. It's too ridiculous. It's like a translation's been lost, or some important piece of a puzzle.
"I - is it me? What the fuck did I do?" Gerard shakes out a cigarette from his pack and his hands fumble with the lighter. "Why are you all - weird, what happened?"
Frank wants a smoke so bad, he can taste it, and he knows he needs to answer, but he can't, so he shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, looking away.
"You just - you left!" Gerard exclaims on the exhale. "I turned around, and you were gone, and you acted so weird around me after that, fine one minute, and the next… And I barely saw you, and, like, did - was it my art? What the fuck was it, Frankie, what did I do?"
And Frank's thoughts spin to a halt and he looks at Gerard and realizes, he doesn't know.
Of course he doesn't know, how the fuck could he. Right now, it feels like Frank barely fucking knows himself.
He laughs, because this is the weirdest, most ridiculous fight he's had in years. "Jesus, it's not your art, it's your -" muse, he thinks, but that's a cop-out, he knows, so he says, "your life, and you're - we barely even fucking know each other, all right? And I have no fucking idea about any of this, okay, I have no idea what you want, and your ex -" He breaks off because that's not the point. But his mouth is, apparently, on a roll, though, talking without his permission. "What am I even doing here? Why am I here?"
He didn't mean to say the last thing out loud, but now it's out there and the answer is kind of painfully obvious. Gerard's mouth is half-open and his cigarette is smoking without him, clasped loose in his fingers. "Frankie -"
"What." Jesus, his heart is pounding so hard, he thinks any minute now, his ribs will crack with the force of it, and he'll leak all over his bones and under his skin, turn all black and blue all over, and then Gerard could paint him like that, because it would look awesome. He could call it "XXI."
"Frankie," Gerard says, quieter, and it feels like everything's gone quiet and still, even Frank's blood.
He looks up when Gerard calls his name again. "What, Gerard."
"I - wait, what do you mean, my ex?"
Gerard's eyebrows furrow and for one long moment Frank thinks he got it all wrong. It was probably a totally different Paul altogether, and this one really was just a model, and Frank ruined their night, ruined Gerard's night over something that wasn't even true -
"Isn't Paul your - I mean… Isn't he? That ex, the model?"
"Oh. Oh my God, are you serious?" Gerard sounds surprised, which is so fucking stupid, Frank kind of wants to smack him, just a little bit. "Frankie, he's - oh my God, he's - he's in the past. I didn't even - Jesus."
Frank hates how he's hanging on Gerard's every word, so that when he stops talking, Frank thinks he'll trip over the silence.
"You didn't what?" Frank's skin feels like it's burning from needing to know, he feels himself straining forward, like a cartoon character following its nose. "You didn't see the way he looked at you? Or how he basically said you're never coming back home?"
But that's not really true, is it, or fair in any way, and Frank is an asshole, he realizes this now, because none of this is Gerard's fault. Gerard isn't the one who traveled thousands of miles just to see some other guy's fucking gallery opening and fucked it all up in an hour because he couldn't find his feet in time. He wants time to stop for just a goddamn second, so he can make sense of his own head and stop letting his words escape without thinking. "You just - I don't - this isn't -"
Gerard reaches out with his empty hand and for a brief second, Frank thinks he's going to slap him and freezes from the shock. But Gerard reels Frank in by his collar and kisses him, instead, hard and bruising; it's uncomfortable to the point of pain, Frank's lips are mashed up again Gerard's teeth and it hurts, and his breath actually stops in his throat for a long, muddled moment.
Then he frees himself and blindly reaches out until Gerard's jacket is crumpled between his hands, and Gerard's mouth is open and hot over his and they're kissing, deep and slick and smoky. Frank's head swims from the craving and he thinks he maybe moans, but maybe that's Gerard. Jesus, it's such a relief to be close again, Frank shivers all over.
When they break apart, Gerard pants into his mouth but doesn't step back. They're silent for a while, and Frank can feel Gerard's crazy pulse through his clothes. It matches his own.
"Frankie, I." Gerard's whispering, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Frank's ears aren't ringing. "I have no idea what we're doing here, either, okay? I just - I don't want to fuck it up."
Relief floods through Frank's entire being and his voice is shaky when he answers, "Neither do I." He almost did.
"Okay," Gerard breathes out. "I just. Is that why you disappeared? You thought I was - oh, man, was that - oh, man."
Frank shakes him a bit, because he's still got Gerard's jacket fisted in his hands and he knows he was stupid, he doesn't need reminders. "Don't fucking - ugh. I'm sorry." They won't get anywhere at this rate, but he wants to make some things clear. Clearer. "I went out for a smoke because I felt like…I was in the way. And I was -"Just say it. "Jealous." Among other things. "And it fucked me up. I'm sorry I ruined your night, I'm a total dick."
He can't make himself look Gerard in the eye yet, so he looks at Gerard's throat, that dip at the base of the neck that's covered in light sweat and smells like lived-in skin.
"Frankie, don't. You didn't," Gerard almost whispers.
Frank just says ‘ha' under his breath.
"I have no idea what this is, okay?" Gerard continues quietly. "But it feels... I'm just ... scared, I guess."
That can't be a good thing, Frank thinks, except for maybe the fact that they're both feeling it. He wonders if it's for the same reason. "Of what?"
Gerard sighs, but he stays where he is and doesn't fight Frank's hold. Which is good, because Frank's hands are frozen into fists, and there's nothing he can do about that right now. "Of how… huge it seems."
Yeah. It is fucking huge. It has to be fucking huge, for Frank to have just gotten up and left his baby in the hands of Toro, his dog to his mom's crazy brood, and done this crazy thing.
"It's huge for me, too," he whispers. And he doesn't want to fuck it up, either. He closes his eyes and leans in until his lips are on Gerard's throat. He feels Gerard's stuttered gasp all across his skin.
*
"I've only been in love once. I think."
"Oh, yeah?"
Gerard looks impish in the dark, but he's also got those huge sad eyes, and Frank just bites his lip and tries to listen patiently and not hurry it along. It's kind of killing him, though, he wants to know. Gerard's got one hand tucked under his cheek, the other is plucking at the sheets, and he keeps skittering his gaze between Frank, the window, and his fingers.
"Who was it?"
"You know that last real relationship before Paul?"
Frank nods. The waist of his pants is digging into his hips and he's too hot in his dress shirt, but Gerard had pulled him down onto the bed a few minutes ago, kissed him, then looked him in the eye and said, "I want to try something."
Then he started talking. Frank went with it, because all he could feel was the sheer relief of maybe not being the only crazy one in the room.
"Yeah, so… His name was Bert. Robert, but he was this weird guy, you know? So, he introduced himself as Bert." Gerard gives Frank an expectant look, and Frank just nods again. Gerard sighs and plays with the sheets some more. "I, uhm. I was pretty messed up when we met, and knowing Bert didn't really, uh, help. We'd start out at some bar his band was playing at, and then continue to another bar, and then he'd get into some brawl eventually, and we'd get kicked out, so we'd, like, I don't even know, stumble to my place or some motel somewhere, and fuck and drink more and, like, do blow or whatever else he had stashed on him."
Frank's barely breathing. Gerard doesn't seem to question that Frank knows about his sobriety, but then again, it's obvious, right? Frank's got all these questions he wants to ask, but doesn't think he can yet. He shifts until he's more comfortable. "How long were you together?" That seems safe enough, at least.
Gerard huffs out a little hollow laugh. "Oh, fuck, I don't even - about a year, I guess, maybe less?"
Frank can't imagine being with the guy he's picturing in his head even for a month, but he's not Gerard, and he's not an addict. He's not sure he should be asking the next question, but this is headed there, isn't it? "So, what happened?"
Gerard gives another sigh, this one heavier, and palms his cheek in a distracted kind of way. "All kinds of shit, I guess. I mean… I thought he was - fucking crazy, obviously, but in that amazing kind of way? He was - you never knew what Bert was gonna do, and he got me, from the start. We got each other."
Frank's heart is thudding hard and slow against his ribcage and he wonders whether he gets Gerard. He wonders if Gerard gets him.
"Yeah?"
"Well. At the time, I guess. I didn't - I mean, we were seriously messed up. And it wasn't until I got - I got clean that I realized that he didn't get me, we got each other's fucking… crap. You know? We got each other's messes, not… not anything else."
Frank's always been a pretty healthy guy emotionally, all things considered, but he thinks he understands. His ex was no picnic in the park, but Frank fucking loved the cocksucker until the bitter end. "I can get that."
Gerard shrugs and his knee moves up until it bumps against Frank's. "Frankie, I'm… I was such a mess for so fucking long, you know? And I've been sober for twenty months, but I'm not. Like, I'm still scared of slipping. Every day, I'm terrified, you know? What if it's today, or next week, when it hurts more, that kind of stuff."
Frank doesn't know, but he does, so he nods and presses his knee harder against Gerard's. "Were you - were you afraid tonight?"
"Fuck yeah. Did you fucking see that shit? There was fucking champagne everywhere you looked."
Frank's gut twists. He'd never even noticed Gerard looking at the drink trays. Of all the things he'd been wrong about tonight, this was probably beating out all the rest. Gerard gives off that air of such confidence and being above it all, and Frank is so naïve, he might as well be a kid, still. Jesus.
"Does it - get easier?"
Gerard purses his lips. "Yes and no. More no than yes, to be honest, but I don't give myself the…option, the choice, anymore. I just." He pauses. "I can't drink, period. That." He sighs. "That almost takes it out of my hands."
Frank wonders if Gerard thinks of a higher power, if he just doesn't realize that he's the driving force behind it all. Gerard grips the edge of the pillowcase under his cheek and says, "I still remember the feeling of it, the experience of getting drunk. You know?" Frank nods. "And I still want the feeling, because I know it'll, like, whitewash everything, you know? And I want that so much sometimes, it's…" He breaks off and chews his lip. "Mikey got me through the worst of it," he says and it's unexpected, maybe, but it makes sense.
"Yeah?"
Frank only met Mikey a year ago, after Gerard had already moved. How weird that, even a month ago, Gerard was just an abstract guy who had no part in Frank's life at all. He was barely a person.
"I did AA, too, while I was back home," Gerard offers.
"Not here?" Do they even have AA in France?
Gerard hums. "I tried at first, but I didn't know the language well enough. And then, I don't know, I stopped… Not needing it, obviously, but the edge had worn off or something. I really threw myself into my work, I guess."
And how, Frank thinks, but it's a weird jumble of jealousy and pride, so he doesn't say it out loud. It must still show on his face, though, because Gerard is suddenly all motion, and Frank barely gets a chance to blink before Gerard is on him, hands cupping Frank's face, hot breath fanning over Frank's lips.
"Frankie, you just - I don't know how to explain this. This is - it scares the shit out of me, okay?"
Frank can barely get his breath back, but at some point his hands wrapped themselves around Gerard's waist and he's holding onto him so tight, his knuckles are probably turning white. His pulse is thudding in his ears and he feels like he's been flipped upside down and then given a shake, for good measure. "Why?"
Gerard's fingers skitter down Frank's jaw, shaking. "Because I've never - I've never done this sober, okay?"
Frank swallows and tightens his hold. "What about -"
"Paul doesn't count, okay, he was… We fucked. We fucked a lot and we spent time together and it helped, but it wasn't, like. It wasn't like Bert, it wasn't like before."
Frank doesn't want this to be like before, either. Gerard's face is close and his breath is warm and sour from the cigarettes, and Frank is sweating everywhere they touch. It's too much, everything is kind of hazy, but he doesn't want to let go, either, so he takes a deep breath. "But, I mean… What about - all those paintings, all that…"
Gerard relaxes on top of him, which deadens the weight and Frank finally nudges him off and to the side, but keeps his hands on Gerard, letting him know he's here. Gerard stays close, and he seems to be sweating more than Frank. The room is stifled with their breathing.
"He was, I don't know," Gerard answers quietly. "He was important, but not in that way? All those paintings… They're not Paul, they're me. Does that make sense?"
Frank blinks. It's so fucking obvious, he can't even process it for a second.
"He was fun, and a smart, interesting guy, you know," Gerard continues, and he's a bit breathless now, talking too fast and jumbled, "and I forgot, when I was with him. Not really, but it made it easier, and…" Gerard squeezes his eyes shut and chews on his lip some more. His hand is tangled up in his own hair and Frank thinks that Gerard's maybe forgotten it's there at all. He reaches up and gently takes it out of the tangles. He feels a sick sort of pity, but not a pity for anyone in particular. His chest clenches up and he has no idea what to do or what to say, so he goes with his gut and leans in until their noses are touching.
"It's okay," he says right before he kisses Gerard, and he doesn't even know what's okay, or if it really is okay, but Gerard responds with a desperate kind of noise and pushes back, pushes until Frank is on his back and Gerard is over him, hands pinning Frank's wrists over their heads, his knee between Frank's legs.
"Frankie," he pants when they break off, and Frank just tries to catch his breath, because his brain can't process the change as fast as his dick can. He goes from zero to hard so fast, his head spins.
"What?"
Gerard watches him with dark eyes, his mouth open. A beam of light cuts through the room, across the walls, across the ceiling, across Gerard's flushed face, then the car passes and it's dark again. "I don't fucking know," Gerard says, and then laughs at himself. "I've got no fucking idea."
Frank does. He has an idea that maybe they're all talked out for now - at least he knows he is. He also has an idea about the fact that his clothes feel like a fucking sweaty prison by this point. The air around them reeks of sweat and musty sheets, and he takes the lead on this one, rolling Gerard over, pinning him down, stripping him of clothes bit by sticky bit.
He blows Gerard on the sheets they've been messing up for days, sheets replaced by maids, then messed up by them again and again. He blows him fast and deep and messy, losing himself in the down-and-dirty rhythm of it, letting Gerard's dick stretch out his lips until they hurt, and his jaw until it aches, and his throat until he nearly chokes. There's so much spit and pre-come, he thinks he could fuck himself on it if he wanted to, but that's not what he wants.
Gerard thrashes under him, groans in broken words that might be Frank's own name, and twists Frank's hair until Frank thinks he'll pull it right the fuck out, and relishes the pain. Gerard comes fast and hard and hot, and Frank can't even get his breath back after letting go. Gerard slams him into the bed, rips off his pants, tugs down his briefs and finger-fucks him - rough and barely prepped. He doesn't even touch his dick.
Frank wants to shout but his breath gets caught, and his eyes sting from all the sweat, he can barely make out the blur of the ceiling. He doesn't realize he's grabbed Gerard's wrist until his fingers go numb, and even then, he doesn't pull away, just follows the shift and slide of Gerard's bone and sinew until it feels like he's fucking himself on both their hands, rutting like he can't stop, even though it's just this side of the pleasure-pain divide. When he can barely take it anymore, he grabs his dick and jerks himself fast and tight.
"Jesus, your face -" he hears Gerard say through the rushing in his ears, and Frank thinks he snorts in response, and that's how he ends up coming, his cock pulsing in his hand, his ass trembling around Gerard's fingers. He's still panting when Gerard runs a slow hand through his come and licks it off, meeting Frank's gaze.
Frank sinks his head back into the pillows and his chest doesn't feel big enough to fit all of the breath and heart and blood he's got inside.
*
Frank doesn't remember dozing off, but now that he's awake, he realizes he's been dreaming. It's still dark out, and he's damp and sticky under the sheets. It takes him a quick hair-raising moment to realize that Gerard's not in bed with him. Frank's body is up and awake before he's even fully processed the light streaming under the bathroom door.
Oh. Okay.
He slumps back down, but the adrenaline has forced him awake enough that he won't fall back asleep for a while. He hears the toilet flush, then a quick run of the faucet, and when the door swings open, the bathroom's already dark and Gerard is a quiet creeping shadow until he thumps down on the bed and reaches out to touch him. Frank yelps from shock. "Holy crap, your hands are freezing!"
"Mmm," Gerard agrees and snuggles closer, not taking his icy hands off of Frank's waist. "And you're warm," he mumbles.
"Fucker," Frank grumbles back and shoves Gerard's hands away from his person and under a pillow. Gerard makes a complaining noise, but stays where he is. Frank can see his crazy hair outlined in the dark. They both reek of night breath and stale sex, and Frank surprises even himself when he snuggles deeper into the scent and closer to Gerard.
This time when Gerard wraps a hand around him, he doesn't push him away.
"Tell me about you," Gerard whispers against Frank's neck, and Frank laughs quietly.
"What about me?"
"I don't know, something. I spilled my fucking guts, now it's your turn. Here, come here." Gerard maneuvers them until Frank's face is fully buried against his chest, and Gerard's wrapped both arms around him. Their legs get tangled with the sheets, but Frank doesn't mind. He's busy thinking about his own skeletons.
"I don't have that much to spill," he admits after a while.
Gerard makes a disbelieving noise. "Like hell you don't. Spill it, fucker."
Frank giggles, then closes his eyes. "All right. What do you want to know?"
"Your ex."
"John?"
"Is he the Modigliani ex?"
Frank laughs and wishes he could think of him that way. "Yeah, that's the one. So, what?"
"What did he do?" Gerard asks, and it's quiet, like he maybe already knows.
Frank rubs his itchy nose on Gerard's chest. "Hmm." He's not entirely sure he wants to be having this conversation, but it seems like a pretty fair trade-off. "Fucked me over. Broke my heart." He feels so far away from it now, and he never really thought he'd be able to say it so casually.
"How?"
Frank shrugs and grins, "I don't know, the usual way, I guess? Cheated on me, lied about it for months."
"What did you do?"
Frank sighs, because even from far away, apparently, he can still feel that particular brand of humiliation. "Stayed with him for a while after I found out, pretended like it wasn't happening." He rolls away from Gerard, his skin too hot where they're touching.
"That sucks," Gerard says, hand still touching Frank's hip, lightly. He doesn't sound pitying, just sad.
"Yeah, well, afterwards, I dropped him from the label, so I guess we're even," he tells the ceiling and wonders if Gerard will call him on it. He always wondered just how bad that decision had been, but Toro certainly seemed encouraging at the time, and he's a pretty good compass for that kind of shit.
Gerard breaks into giggles and Frank rolls over until he can look at him, unable to stop his own grin. "That's awesome," Gerard manages through the laughter.
"Yeah?" Frank snorts. "He didn't agree."
"He was an idiot," Gerard says and pulls Frank in.
*
Frank pushes Gerard's legs back until he gets what he wants and he takes his time licking him, light and soft until Gerard whines and tries to fight his hold. Frank doesn't let him. He keeps at it, licking, nudging his balls with nose, practically nuzzling Gerard's ass, fucking relishing it. He thinks about Gerard's paintings, thinks about how if he could, he'd paint fucking odes to dick, too. To dick and balls and ass, because Jesus Christ, he can't fucking get enough of it, has to get closer, deeper, more, until his fingers are inside Gerard, feeling the soft ridges, stretching him out, lost in Gerard's voice breaking, everything tightening up, wet and hard and dark and fucking close; until Gerard is coming down his throat and Frank is losing his shit, rubbing himself mindlessly against the sheets, whimpering around Gerard's dick.
*
"So, who is the best sex you've ever had?"
Gerard just watches him, confused at first, then scrunches up his eyes and buries his face in the pillow. His hair is a wreck. "Ugh, fuck off."
"Oh, come on," Frank giggles and pokes him in the side. "C'mon, who was it?" He kind of doesn't want to hear the answer, but he's blissed out and stupid, and doesn't think he'll actually mind. Much.
"Ugh, shut the fuck up. You're -"
"What? Curious? Persistent?" The best?
"Really fucking obnoxious. And, I don't know." Gerard's still mumbling into the pillow, so Frank pushes at his shoulder until he's on his back, then pins him down with his chin on Gerard's chest. Gerard is laughing at him, creating some awesome double and triple chins for himself from that angle, but when he lifts his hand, it's to brush some sticky strands off of Frank's forehead. "Memorable. You're the most memorable."
Frank grins and rubs his nose on Gerard's chest. "Memorable. All right, I'll take it."
*
"Frankie," Gerard whispers against Frank's skin, then bites down so hard, Frank almost kicks him off and groans. "You don't," Gerard continues after he licks the spot and slides down further until he's breathing against the base of Frank's dick, Jesus. "You don't mind that I call you Frankie, right?"
Frank's laugh kind of gets lost on its way out, but Gerard doesn't seem to be listening, anyway.
Frank falls asleep after that, not even waiting for Gerard to turn him over. He doesn't really dream.
*
Frank wakes up in the vicinity of morning. It's hazy grey beyond the window, but it's the kind of hazy grey that turns into a bright and hot summer day once the sun comes up. It isn't until after he's registered the light that he notices Gerard is awake, face turned away, one hand playing with his phone in a sort of mindless gesture that means he's been doing it a while.
Frank watches him for a few long moments, wondering if Gerard will notice he's awake, then gives up the wait and nudges Gerard's bare shoulder with his nose. "Morning," he croaks.
Gerard turns to face him abruptly and gives him a vague smile. "Frankie, hey. Sorry, did that wake you up, too?"
"Did what wake me up?" Frank stretches his arm out wide and yawns while his back cracks.
Gerard bites his lip and wordlessly extends his phone at Frank. Frank frowns, some kind of anxiety settling in, and looks at the screen. Then he blinks and looks back up at Gerard's face. "So, wait. Really?"
Gerard's tiny smile turns into a full-wattage grin, like it had only been contained by the quiet. "Yeah. I can't believe they didn't tell me last night. The motherfucking Whitney, Frank. I sold a piece to the Whitney."
Frank sits up until he can see all of Gerard, beaming with crazy bed-head. "So, what does that mean? I mean, like. For you." He gives a half-hearted attempt at not thinking about what it might mean for him, but man is selfish, and so is Frank, and his heart beats extra fast in the quiet.
"Well, I - I don't know, but I've been thinking." Gerard scoots back against the pillows and fidgets with the duvet under his hands. "I've been here a while, and I really - I mean, I thought. I don't know, but after this, maybe -"
Frank's heartbeat is hollow, like a drum, maybe, or a full fucking drum circle. "Yeah?"
"I think this is probably a good sign that I should come home."
Frank has never had a poker face, but he tries to hide his expression, anyway. He ducks his head and twists his fingers together until they ache, and when he looks back up, Gerard gives him a look, but Frank can't tell what it means yet. His brain is half sleep-muddled, half going into over-drive.
Gerard will have a piece in the Whitney, and Gerard might be coming home. But.
"That's. That's really awesome," Frank manages, trying to sound just the right mix of encouraging and not entirely invested. Of course, it's hard to feel un-invested in the life of the guy you'd all but spilled your guts to just a few short hours ago. A guy whose dick you've sucked, a guy you've let fuck you six different ways from Sunday. Frank is not invested in a great many things, but Gerard is definitely not one of them. Not anymore.
Gerard tips his head back into the pillows and grins at Frank, smile spreading lazily up. "Yeah?"
Frank gives up even trying to pretend. Instead, he lets the whoop of his stomach lead him, just like always, and he moves until he's got Gerard trapped between his arms, leaning over him, chests almost touching, knees and thighs and hips bumping and grinding. From this close up, he can see the birthmark high on Gerard's left pec, the sparse hairs around his nipples, the uneven patches of stubble over his cheeks. Gerard's face is creased with pillow marks, one cutting right through his forehead, like a faded scar.
Before he can even process the movement, Frank tastes Gerard's morning breath on his lips and even with that, the kiss is soft and sweet and he fuzzily thinks that maybe morning kisses are better than any other kind.
When he leans back, Gerard's eyes open slowly, until they're watching each other in the waiting silence.
"If you come home, does that mean we can stop crossing oceans to get laid?"
Gerard giggles and runs a hand through Frank's hair, raising every single goose bump Frank's body has to offer. "I hope so."
"Good," Frank whispers and shivers again. They can figure out the rest as they go along.
For now, he lets himself be pulled down onto warm skin and into sticky sheets and given some awesome morning nookie. Much like morning kisses, it's better than anything else in the world.
~fin~