fic part 2
The band is shitty, but the pit is on fire. There's a burly, blond, aggressively enthusiastic dude who seems to keep finding his way into Frank's space, biceps and hips and snarling smiles. It's exactly what Frank needs. He gives back as good as he gets, throws himself around as hard and heavy as he can. He comes out bruised and sweaty and shirtless, burly blonde in tow.
Frank fucks him in the bathroom, pressing his face into the cubicle wall with a hand twisted in his blond hair as he ruts into him from behind. They're both noisy and drunk and it's good, it's satisfying. The guy offers him his number when they're done and Frank says sure, lets him scrawl it on the back of his hand between his tattoos. Whatever. It's usually less hassle than just turning them down outright.
Back in the club, the band is packing up for the night. Frank finds his shirt and heads for the bar.
"Jäger," he tells the bartender. "Straight up."
"Frank?"
He fucking knows who it is as soon as he sees the hair. He looks older, obviously, and a little thinner, but the hair is exactly the same. "Fucking hell," Frank says.
"Wow," Gerard says. He's wide-eyed, half-drunk, and still pretty. Frank can't help but laugh, rubbing a sweaty palm over his face. "Um." Gerard blinks a few times, looks around a little aimlessly at the empty stools next to him. "Can I get you a drink?"
Frank pointedly holds up the Jäger the bartender just set down for him, and then downs it in one go. "Thanks anyway," he rasps, teeth bared against the harshness of the alcohol burning down his throat. He slams the glass down, throws a couple of bills on the bar, and turns to leave. He's not angry, exactly, but his stomach feels tight and hot, vision swimming a little. He knows he wants to get as far away from Gerard as possible.
"Wait," he hears Gerard say faintly, "Frank, wait," but Frank's already shoving through the door onto the street. The cool night air is pleasant on his overheated skin, through the tattered rips in his shirt, and Frank lights a cigarette as he trudges down the street towards his car. He is not running, but he isn't fucking sticking around, either. He hears the club door open, quick footsteps behind him, and curses under his breath, keeping his head down. Maybe Gerard will take the fucking hint.
"Frank!"
"Motherfucker," Frank snarls to himself, kicking his car in the back tire when he reaches it. When he turns around Gerard is right there, out of breath and twitchy. "What?" Frank asks him harshly, and then, suddenly, "Fucking weird me being the one running away from you, huh?"
"Oh god," Gerard says, eyebrows screwing up. He's wearing an old, black, beat-up leather jacket, just like the last time Frank saw him. Maybe it's the same fucking one. "Look, can we just--"
"What?" Frank says again, taking a couple of steps forward. Gerard's still taller than him, but not by much, and he seems smaller with the way he shrinks back into himself when Frank gets in his face. "What the fuck do you even want from me, Gerard? Fucking tell me so I can go home."
"You're driving?" Gerard asks, expression turning worried. "But you're drunk."
Frank snorts. "The fuck do you care?" He was actually planning on walking to Dewees', but he doesn't feel like telling Gerard that.
Gerard looks upset. "I do. I do care, Frank, please. Look, I live near here. Why don't you come back with me?"
Frank laughs bitterly. "What, so you can fuck me and then kick me out? Sorry, I'm not really--"
"No!" Gerard says, voice rising. "No, I just. I just wanna talk, Frank, please."
Frank stares at him. The edges of his vision are a little blurry, just like the last time Frank saw him. It only makes this feel even more surreal. Maybe this isn't even happening. Maybe someone spiked Frank's fucking drink. How does Gerard even remember him? "But why," Frank eventually asks, a little desperately now. His head is spinning. He can't deal with this right now. "What do you even want to say?"
Gerard looks at him, eyes wide and earnest, lips set in a worried little line. "I just," he starts, and then sighs. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry, okay? Fuck, I know it was years ago, but I've always felt really shitty for running off like that, Frank. Will you just."
"What?" Frank asks again, but there's no venom in it now. He doesn't know why his heart is pounding; it was years ago. Fucking four of them. Frank should not still be hung up over this. He didn't think he even was.
"Come back with me," Gerard says softly.
"Yeah," Frank says, surprising himself. "Yeah, okay."
*
Gerard's apartment is a fucking mess. Gerard opens the door and Frank nearly falls over a stack of boxes right in the goddamn doorway. "Sorry," Gerard says sheepishly. "I, um, just moved in."
Oh, okay. So that explains why he suddenly just appeared in Frank's club. Frank shrugs, edging around into what is apparently Gerard's living room. Boxes everywhere, then, overflowing with books and paper; an ugly old couch, countless used cups and plates stacked on the floor and on a battered-looking coffee table. There's a desk against the wall under the window, and it's the only thing that looks actually lived-in. Pots bulging with pens and pencils, a tray full of paper and card, some elaborate-looking elevated drawing board with metal rulings. There's an easel, too, and canvasses leaning against a box full of art supplies.
"You're... an artist?" Frank says slowly.
Stood in the middle of all the mess, Gerard scuffs his toes against the dirty beige carpet. "I guess," he says.
Frank doesn't know what that means. His eyes scan the room a little aimlessly. The air is thick, tense. Frank doesn't know what to say. Between this and the ten minute silent walk here, he doesn't feel that drunk anymore.
After a long moment, Gerard stutters, "Um, so--"
"So why did you run away?" Frank interrupts. He didn't mean to say it, entirely, but fuck it. This is still really fucking weird, and Frank just wants to know, finally. Even if he's sure he knows already; he's still spent a lot of time only hearing it in his own head, and now he wants to hear it for real. He wants to hear Gerard say it was just a fuck, say he didn't really want him. If he can just hear him say it, maybe Frank can--
"Because." Gerard hesitates. He's looking mostly at the floor, awkwardness laced into every limb, and Frank just wants to tell him it's fine, he gets it, he was a stupid naïve kid who didn't understand how hookups go - but he doesn't. He watches Gerard rub his palms together, sighing again a little desperately. "Because I'm chickenshit, I guess."
"Yeah," Frank agrees. Gerard winces a little, but Frank goes on, "I mean, I know I was a sad fucking virgin, but it's not like I couldn't have handled you just telling me you didn't want to see me again, for fuck's sake. You didn't have to fucking run away like--"
"What?" Gerard says, looking up at Frank for the first time. "What, no. That wasn't why I," Gerard pauses, eyebrows narrowing with confusion. "No, you said. You said you were trashed. You pretty much told me flat-out you had no idea what you were doing."
Frank opens his mouth to protest, but then - oh. Oh yeah. He remembers. Feeling giddy, feeling fucking awesome. Tongue-trigger happy and rambling right off the top of his high little head. But he didn't - that's not what he meant. "I did," Frank says, shaking his head. "No, I did know. I was just."
"And in the kitchen," Gerard goes on quickly, voice gaining weight now, "When you kissed me--"
"You kissed me!"
"Well, fucking exactly!" Gerard says frantically, hands flying up in frustration. "I kissed you because you asked me to, because you seemed fine, you weren't fucking, like, falling all over the place - you didn't," he trails off, crossing his arms over his chest and looking hard at the wall. "You just weren't acting like you were out of it, okay."
"But," Frank frowns, "you knew I was high, dude. Come on, you must have!"
"Well, yeah," Gerard says tightly. "I mean, obviously I knew you weren't fucking sober, but I at least thought you knew what you were doing, and when you said that, I just - I dunno, I just felt. Like, dirty. Like I'd taken advantage of you." He looks utterly miserable, hunched up inside himself, and something kicks in Frank's gut, twists up into his chest.
"No." Frank's moving forwards, a couple of wide steps until he's right in front of Gerard. Gerard jumps a little, flinches like he's going to step back, but Frank grabs him by the arms. "No," Frank says again, softer, and Gerard looks at him, eyes big and slightly panicked, hands suspended in mid-air between them. "I wanted it. I wanted you."
"You didn't even know me," Gerard says quietly.
It's true. Fuck, that was partly what had got Frank so much about it, the fact he couldn't stop thinking - obsessing, really - about something that by all rights should have meant nothing. "No," Frank admits, leaning closer. "But I wanted to. I would have. If you'd let me."
"God." Gerard closes his eyes briefly. "I wish I hadn't just - ugh. But I guess I just freaked out. I didn't even fucking know how old you were, christ."
"Sixteen."
Gerard's eyebrows crease up even more. "Fuck. I was nineteen."
"And now I'm twenty," Frank goes on smoothly. "And I still -" For a moment he thinks about not saying it, about making his peace and leaving. About letting this go, finally. Finally.
Gerard's face is open, anxious, and still so fucking pretty; it's like Frank's seeing him for the first time all over again. Like this, right here, is entirely new. "I still want you," Frank finishes.
"Frank." Gerard licks his lips, barely, and Frank can't help it - he leans in and kisses him. Gerard huffs a harsh breath against Frank's mouth, hands grabbing instantly for Frank's shoulders, and he kisses Frank back. It's deep and hot from the start, clutching hands and teeth. Frank lasts about ten seconds before he's pushing at him, shoving him back onto the couch and straddling his hips.
"If you're gonna run away after this you better fucking tell me now," Frank breathes when he pulls back for air, impatient hands shoving at Gerard's jacket.
Gerard makes a forceful, negative noise and surges up - gets his wet, open mouth on Frank's neck as the jacket gets tossed carelessly onto the floor. They make out hard and fast, hands everywhere, until they're both panting and grinding their hips, both hard in their jeans. It's messy and desperate and Gerard's mouth and hands are interfering, distracting, stopping Frank getting Gerard naked, and horizontal, sweaty and moaning and possibly begging-- fuck, that's an idea. Gerard wasn't a virgin last time, wasn't fumbling or clueless or anything other than rocking Frank's world, and now -
Now Frank wants to give it back, show Gerard what he's learned since that fucking closet. He wants to rock Gerard's world.
Frank forces himself to pull away, pressing Gerard back with firm hands on his chest. "Bedroom?"
"Down the hall," Gerard gets out, face flushed. Frank practically drags him there, half-tripping over each other. Gerard loses his shirt before they reach Gerard's bedroom, and shit, he's fucking gorgeous, pale and pliant under Frank's fingertips.
Frank has to shove him up against the door when it closes, get his hands on Gerard's hips, waist, arms while Gerard fumbles for the light switch. He's definitely thinner than Frank remembers, but Frank's fingers still dig pleasingly into that fleshiness around his waist, the sweaty dip of his back when Gerard arches into his hands. For a second there's the weirdest stab of déjà-vu, mind swinging back to Gerard pressing him up against that closet door. Only - it's not dark, and Frank's not high, he can see everything. He can see Gerard's bare skin, the way his own hands look against it. Gerard's dark eyes, dark hair, dark jeans bulging deliciously at the front.
"Oh, yeah. I remember this," Frank breathes, hand dropping to cup Gerard's cock through the denim, rubbing slowly, feeling him hard and straining against his palm. "Remember how fucking big you are."
Gerard makes a low, breathy noise, and yeah, Frank remembers those, too. He unbuckles Gerard's belt, pulls his jeans open, and - hey, Gerard's wearing underwear this time, impressively tenting the front of a pair of purple (fucking purple) boxer-briefs. Frank's mouth is already watering even before he sinks to his knees.
"Frank," Gerard's breath catches, hands grabbing for Frank's shoulders as Frank hooks his fingers over the waistband. "You don't. You don't have to, I--"
"I thought about this," Frank cuts him off, talking quietly, like he's admitting a secret. He kind of is, he supposes. "For months after. Wondered if I'd tried to suck you off, if I'd been better, then you wouldn't have run away." Gerard makes a sad sort of noise, starts to speak, but Frank goes on hastily, "But mostly I just thought about it when I was jerking off. Thought about if I'd got on my knees in the dark and just let you fuck my mouth. If I could even have taken it. If you would've made me take it."
Gerard's breathing hard above him as Frank pulls the briefs down carefully, leaving them bunched up with Gerard's jeans around his thighs. And fuck, yeah, Frank wishes he'd got to see this last time. Gerard hard and huge, straining up against his stomach, the way Frank's hands look cupping his hipbones. Frank leans in straight away, licks long, slow lines up Gerard's cock, base to tip, flicking the tip of his tongue against the head and speaking lowly, "Thought about you coming on my face. Making me feel used, dirty."
Gerard makes a strangled noise, hands clutching at Frank's shoulders as Frank goes down on him as far as he can. Frank's done this a lot, but fucking hell, he has to work to get Gerard into his throat, wrapping a hand around what he can't take. Gerard tastes good, sharp and a little sweaty, filling up Frank's mouth and nose with his smell, turned-on and heady. Frank's heart is thudding in his ears, eyes welling up, and Gerard's hips are twitching, like he's fighting not to just fuck forwards into Frank's mouth. Frank braces his free forearm over Gerard's hips, pulls back to breathe, and goes down again. And then again. Saliva pools in his mouth, leaking through the seams of his stretched lips, until Frank's chin is dripping and Gerard's cock is shining with Frank's spit.
When Frank finally pulls back, throat sore, breathing hard and leaking in his pants - Gerard's fingers are twisted tightly in Frank's hair, and his chest is flushed almost as much as his face. "Fuck, Frank," he says hoarsely, looking down at him like he's never seen him before, eyes huge and dark. And suddenly, in a rush of clarity or maybe madness, Frank wants. He knows exactly what he wants.
"Yeah, you should," Frank says, and god, his voice is wrecked. "You should fuck me."
"Uh," Gerard says a little desperately, chest heaving. "Are. Are you sure?"
Frank watches his own wet hand stroke Gerard's cock, plush skin sliding, head slick. He says, "Yeah," and it's weird to mean it, weird to want it, when he's never--
"Fuck, okay," Gerard says, running a hand through his hair. "Let's - we should. Bed."
Frank's heart is pounding, gut churning with nerves. He feels light-headed when he stands, but Gerard's pulling him close and kissing him, licking at the wetness smeared around his mouth as he walks them backwards, kicking out of his jeans as he goes. It reminds Frank that he's still fucking fully dressed; he pulls his shirt up and Gerard steps back to help him tug it off before pressing Frank back onto the bed. Gerard has black, paint-stained sheets that smell like smoke and fabric softener, and Gerard's weight on top of him - his bare body resting between Frank's thighs - is really, really awesome.
What's also awesome are Gerard's hands, smoothing over Frank's chest, head bowed to watch his fingers trace Frank's tattoos. "Mmm," Gerard hums, fingertip skirting the flame over Frank's heart, circling his nipple lightly, trailing down to the birds on Frank's hips. "I like these."
"Yeah?" Frank asks breathlessly, stretching a little as he leans back on his elbows, because yeah, he's proud of his ink, and Gerard's touch is intent, slow, taking it all in. His fingers stroke Frank's stomach, tracing the faint red lines where his jeans have been digging in, opening the fly as he kisses and sucks on Frank's neck.
Unlike Gerard, Frank isn't wearing underwear. He kind of left them in club bathroom. But Frank doesn't want to think about that, now. It suddenly seems extremely unimportant.
"Oh," Gerard says, high and surprised, and Frank grins, pushing his hips up to help Gerard get his jeans off. It kind of fades from his face when Gerard presses his lips to Frank's stomach - licking teasingly close to Frank's cock, dragging his tongue up until he's sucking on Frank's nipples, one then the other until Frank's panting, falling back flat and pulling at the sheets with impatience. "Gerard, come on."
"Shhh," Gerard soothes, hands sliding up Frank's thighs, bringing them up around Gerard's hips as he leans down, braces himself over Frank. "You're not the only one who's thought about this."
"What?" Frank tries to ask, but Gerard kisses him again, deep and messy and shit, suddenly it's serious, both of them naked and hard and pushing against each other, Gerard's hand wandering between Frank's legs, sliding down the back of his thigh. When his fingers tease at Frank's hole Frank breaks away to swear, breathing hard against the sudden rush of fear. "Uh, you should - I've never." Shit, his face is flaming. He can't believe he just-- Gerard just knew last time, but Frank's not exactly unpracticed anymore. He really likes to think he's past that whole blurting out stupid shit thing.
Gerard stills, raising his head to look at Frank. The realization that spreads slowly over his face is almost comical. "Oh, my god. Seriously?"
"Shut up," Frank grumbles, pulling at Gerard's shoulders, but Gerard's smiling, lopsided and strangely familiar in a way that tugs behind Frank's ribs. "No, it's okay. Just a little, um. Déjà vu."
"Fucking tell me about it," Frank growls, finally succeeding in pulling Gerard down, pressing his mouth to his ear. "Now fuck me."
Gerard makes a pleased noise of agreement, and shoves his tongue in Frank's mouth. Frank gets back into it straight away, stomach swooping not entirely pleasantly, but Gerard's hands slide down his body, curl around his hips - urging Frank over, rolling him onto his front. Which, okay. Okay.
Frank exhales hard into the sheets, trying to calm down, and Gerard kisses at his shoulders, the nape of his neck, knee between Frank's thighs, nudging them further apart until Gerard's kneeling between them. "I thought about this, too," he's saying, voice low behind Frank's ear. "Well, not this, specifically, but." His mouth is between Frank's shoulderblades, the mattress dipping as he goes lower, licking down Frank's spine. "I felt really bad for a long time, thinking I might have fucking messed you up or something."
No, Frank thinks. It didn't mess him up, not in the way Gerard's thinking - but he can only make a negative noise, because he's suddenly lost the power of speech. Gerard's mouth is on his lower back, hands fanning over his cheeks and spreading them and oh god, Frank thinks he knows where this is going but he's not sure, he's never -
Gerard's tongue is hot and wet, dragging up from the base of Frank's balls to his tailbone. "Mmm, yeah," Gerard drawls over Frank's shocked moan. "I remember I really wanted to use my mouth on you, but you wouldn't let me."
"Couldn't--" Frank gasps as Gerard licks him again, back arching and hands fisting in the sheets. "Couldn't have - handled it, fuck."
"You handled my fingers though," Gerard says, and shit, there's that fucking porno voice again, the one Frank's been hearing in his dreams ever since that fucking closet. "God, you were so hot. I was jerking off to the sounds you made for months. Like, it was all I could think about, even though I still felt bad. Just couldn't stop myself." He laughs a little against Frank's ass, breath hot and teasing on the sensitive wet skin. "Guess we're both kind of sad, huh?"
"I'll be really sad if you fucking stop," Frank spits out in a rush, and Gerard laughs again before his tongue is back - all long, slow strokes over Frank's hole, circling and then pressing in, fucking into him with quick, firm jabs. Frank swears, forehead sliding sweaty against the sheets. He knows he's making stupid noises but it's just-- he can't believe how this feels, how worked up he's getting just from Gerard's tongue in his ass. It's actually ridiculous how ready to come he is from this, cock jerking against his stomach with every lap of Gerard's tongue, hips moving helplessly against the bed just to get some form of relief, some friction.
When Gerard finally pulls back Frank almost whimpers; he's so turned on and he can feel how wet he is, Gerard's spit sliding over his asshole and dripping from his balls. Gerard leans over him to fumble in his bedside table and Frank licks his dry lips as he hears the rip of foil, the click-squelch of lube. He feels giddy, strung-high, not even nervous anymore. All he can think about is feeling Gerard inside him, feeling his body open around that big dick of his, Gerard's hips flush against his ass and his voice low and heated in Frank's ear.
Gerard gives him two slick fingers at once and Frank moans gratefully; it's been a while since he's fingered himself and the stretch is just right, the undertone of hurt giving the heat that climbs up his spine a sharp, overwhelming edge.
"God, still hot," Gerard says breathlessly and Frank grunts something, demanding. Three fingers feels like more but still not enough; it's like he's a fucking virgin all over again. Maybe there's just something about Gerard that brings that out in him, Frank thinks wildly. "Can't believe you've never done this."
"Fuck me," Frank tells him again, the record stuck in his head, and Gerard - Gerard does.
His cock pushing in draws a moan from both of them, Frank's half-choked and gasping because holy shit, he feels that. That's a lot. Gerard doesn't mess around, doesn't try to treat Frank like something delicate, thank god. He just goes for it, leans over Frank's back with hands braced either side of him and rocks his hips slowly, burying himself an inch at a time. It kind of hurts, but that's never exactly been a turn-off for Frank - the deeper Gerard gets the better it is, the more it makes Frank feel like he's going to go insane from how fucking full he feels.
When Gerard's hips finally flush against his ass, Frank lets out a hard, overwhelmed breath. Gerard stills, hair brushing Frank's shoulders as he gets out, "Okay?" breathing hard.
Frank can't even speak. He just nods, face in the bed - and after a long, tense moment, Gerard sits up and pulls back. Slow, still so slow, and Frank gets a bunch of sheets in his mouth and bites down, muffling the strangled noises he makes as Gerard slides back in. Jesus christ.
"Frank." Gerard's grunting and shifting his weight, knees sliding against the inside of Frank's thighs, fingers digging in to Frank's hips. "Fuck, can you - can you get up on your knees for me?"
Frank doesn't think he can, but Gerard's hands are firm, coaxing, pulling his hips up until Frank manages to get his knees under himself. "Oh my god," Frank spits as the angle changes, his back arching and hips tilting, letting Gerard get even deeper. He buries his face in his forearms and tries to breathe through it. He's shaking, a little, thighs trembling. He can't help it, he feels completely wrecked - and exposed like this, in a way he's never wanted anyone else to see before.
He doesn't know why he's letting Gerard see it now. There's just something about this guy that makes Frank want to give him everything.
"Yeah, yeah," Gerard's murmuring to him in the porn voice, draped over Frank's back, fucking him with sharp, rolling thrusts of his hips. "S'good, you feel so good - so tight, god, how. How come you never?"
"Just," Frank gets out, breaking off to moan and pant when things suddenly amp up, their movements getting easier, more fluid. "Just never - I dunno, I--"
Gerard's hips kick just right and Frank swears, fumbling a hand under himself so he can jerk off, fast and hard. The pace kicks up in response, skin starting to slap together, both of them breathing hard. "So how's it feel?" Gerard pants.
It feels overwhelming, almost painful. It feels like Frank's not going to walk right for days, like he's going to fall apart as soon as Gerard pulls out. It feels fucking incredible. Frank tries to tell him that, but he's about to fucking come already, pulsing in his own hand and clenching around Gerard's cock. Gerard's teeth dig into his neck and Frank chokes out a warning; a hand joins Frank's on his dick, the other sliding up his chest, cupping Frank's chin and turning his face so Gerard can swallow his noises as Frank comes hard, all over their fingers and the sheets and his own stomach.
Gerard moans and fucks into him faster, harder-- fucking Frank back down into the bed, fucking him through Frank's orgasm and out the other side. Frank whines into the bed, strung-out and oversensitive, but he doesn't want Gerard to stop. Fuck no - he wants Gerard to use him, keep going until Frank literally can't take it anymore, every nerve ending in him screaming for Gerard to stop.
It doesn't happen. Gerard comes with the same gorgeous throaty noise Frank remembers, and the pulsing of his cock inside that Frank doesn't, sticky hands petting clumsily at Frank's thighs and arms and sides. They lie together in a sweaty heap for a while, breathing hard and sticking together.
"Sorry about your sheets," Frank eventually says, because it seems like the thing to say. He is lying in one hell of a wet spot.
Gerard makes a laughing, snorting sort of noise into Frank's shoulder. "S'okay. Not like-- um. Let's just say they needed a wash anyway."
Frank makes a snorting laughing noise of his own. Gerard's still inside him, face in Frank's skin, greasy-damp hair in Frank's face, and Frank doesn't know how he feels. He feels good, he thinks. Fluttery, content. He does hiss a little when Gerard pulls out, but even the zap-shock of being so suddenly empty - feeling so open and raw, doesn't change that. Frank still really, really wants a cigarette.
And he doesn't want to leave, which is strange. This is usually the part where he starts getting his shit together.
Gerard rolls off him, ties and chucks the condom, and fumbles in the draw again, coming up with a cigarette in his mouth like he read Frank's mind. "You want one of mine?" he asks and Frank nods gratefully, rolling onto his back with a high, thin wince. Gerard makes an acknowledging noise. "Yeah, sorry. You'll be feeling that for a while."
Propping himself up on his elbows to take the smoke Gerard hands him, Frank looks at him. Despite everything, there's still a small part of Frank that's expecting Gerard to freak or kick Frank out - but Gerard just smokes, looking quite calm, sat hunched forward over his half-crossed legs. He's pale and soft and fleshy and so far from what Frank usually picks up it's funny, but Frank's attracted to him anyway. Still.
"You wanna stay?" Gerard asks him then, and suddenly that nervousness is back, tugging at his fingers. It's seriously confusing, especially since Frank's stomach is still tacky with come and Gerard's dirty, drawling voice is still fresh in his mind.
Frank nods again, surprising himself. "Yeah." He doesn't know what this is, what happens now, but he knows he wants to stay.
They smoke together silently, lying side by side, not-quite touching. When they've finished Gerard fetches Frank a washcloth, turns the lights off, and pulls the covers over them. This is still really weird, but Frank's tired, aching to his bones, and Gerard's emitting heat next to him, present and comforting.
He falls asleep pretty quick.
*
When Frank wakes up, his head is throbbing, his ass and thighs are screaming, and he has no idea where he is. It's dim in the room, but light enough to see, like the morning light is escaping around the edge of blinds. Frank's really hot and he doesn't know why; when he shifts he feels something really warm and really soft pressing all along his back, steady breaths against his nape and an arm draped over his side and--
Oh, yeah. Frank stops squirming, but Gerard's already stirring, groaning a little against the back of Frank's neck, low and vibrating. Frank can tell when he wakes up because his whole body goes stiff, breathing stilling and tensing in pace.
After a long pause he goes to pull back, but Frank reaches behind himself and stops him. "Don't."
"Sorry," Gerard mumbles. "I, er, move in my sleep a lot."
"It's. It's fine." Frank can't remember the last time he woke up with someone, let alone fucking spooning with them. Kyle hadn't stayed over much, and most of the sex he's had has been in bathrooms and basements. He does pull away though, just because he is really fucking hot. He lets the sheets pool around his waist and lays back down, turning to face Gerard.
Gerard looks back at him, face a little flushed, hair stuck to his forehead and neck. "I am sorry about, y'know," he suddenly says, voice a little tight. "Running off."
"It's okay," Frank says, and it is. Whatever's happened, whatever the fuck's going on now, Frank feels okay. With Gerard, with himself. "It was just. I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was insane."
"It was your first time," Gerard says understandingly, but Frank shakes his head.
"It wasn't just that. I mean, I'd pretty much been ready to do it for weeks." He laughs a little, remembering moaning to Dewees in his basement, getting high and frustrated and going home to jerk off. "It was just you. Fucking, kissing me like that, in front of everyone. I couldn't get over it."
"You told me to," Gerard reminds him, but he's smiling, visibly relaxing. "Me neither. That you just let me, I mean. Like, you were a virgin, and you still didn't care. You were fucking fearless. And - I don't know, I guess that turned me on."
"Oh yeah?" Frank says knowingly, raising an eyebrow. "You get off on stealing vulnerable young boys' innocence, sicko?"
"No!" Gerard protests, and then catches on. "Oh, fuck off. Stop laughing at me, asshole."
Frank stops laughing, mostly, but only because Gerard's stupid pouty face is making him want to kiss him too much.
"Mmph," Gerard huffs against Frank's mouth when Frank pulls Gerard into it with a hand curled around his jaw, kissing him until they're both breathless.
When Gerard starts making awesome little whimpering noises and pressing his hips forward into Frank's, Frank pulls back. There's a full, squrimy feeling in his stomach. It feels like anticipation.
"So," he says, grinning at Gerard's flushed face. "You wanna get breakfast?"