gift!fic for nadja | frank x gerard 1shot
life on the rumor scene
frank x gerard
nc17
5532 words
authornote okay, so this is a fic dedicated to falsepretences because she's done with school (mostly) and met frank and has been having kind of a shitty time recently but hopefully will be cheered up by this! un-betaed, except by myself, so if there are any glaring errors please let me know.

ps i am probably going to use this particular 'verse to write about in the future. also, i have this theory that EVEN MORE PORN would be awesome, so there may be an extra installment of that coming up.

pps thank you nadja for breaking my writer's block. :D i hope you like it.


There are some days when Frank sits around his apartment for hours, wandering from the kitchen to the dining area to the bedroom to the bathroom in nothing but his pajamas, and just regrets.

He lounges on the windowsill cushion and presses his head against the pane of frosted glass and remembers the old days, back in Jersey, when it was just him and his guitar and his buddies and their music and wonders what life would be like if the others hadn’t decided that careers and families were more important than living The Dream. Usually, when he hits moods like these, he calls in sick to work and smokes a pack and a half of cigarettes by himself to while away the time.

And then, in the early afternoon, Sheila the copy chief will call him and ask him why the fuck he’s not in the office today because he’s not going to believe what such-and-such front man just posted on whatever blog. She occasionally promises him coffee in exchange for him to hop a cab down to the office to sit with her and take notes for his next opinion column - a more appropriate description would be that they share Starbucks and laugh at the stupidity of celebrities, but Frank likes to feel productive.

*

Frank has a link directly off the main site. His column is called ‘Frankie Thinks’ and it gets almost as many hits as the ‘Recent News’ page gets per day. Frank likes to claim that it’s because his writing possesses such razor wit and substance. The majority of the office seems to think that it has something to do with the picture of him - all lip- and nose-ring and tattoos and coy smile - that appears at the top of every column. And really, if he’s going to be honest, Frank gets a lot of mail in his suggestion box that consists of lewd comments and headshots and phone numbers in the greater New York area.

*

“You’re interviewing,” Ed says one day, not thirty seconds after Frank sits down in his half-cubicle and fires up the Mac on his desk.

Frank blinks and sips his latte. “Again? I thought that was Mary’s job.”

Ed rolls his eyes and leans against the half-wall that separates their respective offices. “You’re dense, you know that? Mary’s still in the hospital with pneumonia and, from what I hear, those AFI guys had so many good things to say about you that Mike is thinking of just putting you on the payroll for interviews.”

Frank shrugs. He doesn’t think he’s particularly good at interviewing. Last time he covered for Mary it ended up being him and the four band members swapping stories about crazy mosh pits and talking about the effect that music had on their lives. Frank recorded the whole thing and picked out the lines that made everybody sound clever and hilarious to toss together in a sort of half-hearted mash-up.

So maybe his technique is a little sloppy, but he supposes that he can’t really complain about the possibility of a second salary. After all, rent in New York City, even for a one-bedroom number like he has, is pretty steep.

“Who am I interviewing?” he asks. Ed disappears for a moment and Frank listens to the sounds of paper being shuffled.

“Chemical something,” Ed says absentmindedly, still shifting papers. He straightens up again, holding a small yellow memo pad in his hand. “Ah, here we are. My Chemical Romance. Five guys. Says they’re from Jersey. “

Frank’s eyes widen a bit. “Huh,” he murmurs, sipping his coffee. “You don’t say.”

*

The band, My Chemical Romance, is apparently the next hip thing on the music scene.

From what Frank’s gathered they have quite the following - mostly teenaged girls and boys who wear a lot of eyeliner and dye their hair strange colors, with a smattering of older guys and gals who grew up on punk rock - and are rumored to be fairly decent guys. The lead singer seems to have some sort of vendetta against drug and alcohol abuse, something about a downward spiral and then cleaning up and living the sober life, and the music is okay.

It’s not necessarily the kind of stuff that Frank would’ve been into when he was a kid, but it’s not bad either. The lyrics are catchy as hell and mostly about vampires and ghosts and scorned lovers and the triumph of the underdog. Frank finds himself humming it under his breath when he’s trekking back from the daily morning Starbucks roundup and wondering what the interview is going to be like.

*

Thursday comes earlier than Frank expects it to. Although, why the fact that it was Wednesday night and he still didn’t have any questions prepared didn’t bother him in the least, Frank has no idea.

His alarm goes off at six, and Frank very nearly hits snooze and rolls over to catch another half hour or so. Luckily, he’d fallen asleep reading another magazine’s article on My Chemical Romance so he catches the bleary picture of the band, all clad in black, and jumps out of bed, hissing, “Shit! I forgot!”

*

The woman who meets Frank at the venue the band is playing that night is in her mid-twenties with blonde hair pulled back from her face in a very severe-looking bun. She glances at him disdainfully, wrinkling her nose at his ripped jeans and his shaggy black hair. He arches an eyebrow and hands her a press pass, fighting the urge to inform her that if she doesn’t like the way he’s dressed she should maybe not be working at a rock and roll venue.

“This way,” she says in a clipped, harsh tone, and turns on her heel, leading Frank down a long hallway.

Frank sighs and mentally chastises himself for not remember to stop and pick up something with a quad-shot of espresso before arriving. He pushes his sunglasses up off his head and pats the pocket of his jacket, making sure his tape recorder is still there because with the way his day is going thus far, it might’ve disappeared into the void.

*

“Hi,” Frank says, eyes sweeping the half-circle of guys sitting on the couch across from him. The front man - Gerard, Frank reminds himself - is on the far left, one ankle resting on his knee, smiling deviously. Frank immediately likes him, although that might just be the hypnotic charm of the Bela Lugosi shirt he’s wearing under his fur-lined jacket. Whatever.

Sitting next to him is what looks like a thinner version of himself - mousy brown hair hidden under a beanie, thick emo-frames balanced on the edge of his nose - who’s the only one that doesn’t actually say hi back. He just inclines his head and offers a little smirk.

“So,” Frank glances down at his tape recorder, sitting on the table, to make sure that it’s recording. Once he’s satisfied that the miniscule red light is on, he nods and looks back up at the band. “You guys are My Chemical Romance, huh?”

“That’s what they tell us,” the big blonde one says, grinning and scratching his chin. The others laugh and Frank smiles.

“I don’t interview very often,” he admits. “So, why don’t you guys start off by telling me what each of you does specifically in the band? For the sake of detail.”

“I’m vocals,” Gerard says. “And I write the lyrics.”

The waiflike one next to him rolls his eyes. “Not to mention coming up with the entire concept of the album,” he mutters, and then grins. “Mikey Way,” he says, waving a little, “and I’m on bass.”

“Bob Bryar,” the blonde states. “Drums.”

“Matt Cortez,” the shaggy-haired brunette on the end says, pointing to himself. And then he pats the guy sitting between him and Bob and says, “And this is Ray Toro, and we do guitars.”

“Cool,” Frank says, nodding. “I used to play a little myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Ray asks, lighting up. “In a band or solo?”

Frank waves a hand at him and says hastily, “Band, for awhile, but that didn’t work out.” He’d really rather not talk about Pencey if he can help it.

Ray’s face falls slightly and he shakes his head.

“Bummer,” Mikey and Gerard say at the same time, and then look at each other and laugh. Matt rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“The brothers Way and their psychic link,” he stage-whispers to Frank, jerking a thumb at the two giggling men. Frank can’t help but smile.

“You seem like a pretty tight-knit group,” he pushes forth in true interviewer style, because he’s sure these guys don’t want to be here at seven in the morning any more than he does. “How’d you guys meet?”

“Well Ray and I,” Gerard says, leaning forward and grinning, “went to school together. And Mikey and I are brothers, obviously. We met Bob when he was a sound tech for The Used and Matt over here was a temp. guitarist who helped us out after there were some problems when our guitarist ditched us mid-tour, and he just sort of stuck.”

“Ah, sweet,” Frank says, nodding his head in approval. “So you’re not all from the same area, then?”

“No,” Matt says, shaking his head. “Those three are from bumfuck New Jersey and Bob and myself hail from Illinois. We’re sort of a motley crew, but, hey, it works.”

Grinning, Frank leans back in his chair and drums his fingers against the armrest. Generally speaking, the band is very open in their conversations, and inherently amusing, so Frank shouldn’t even have to do much editing, except to put all the questions in some sort of logical progression. This is going to be easier than he thought.

*

Overall, the interview goes swimmingly.

Frank gets along really well with the entirety of the band, and he, Ray, and Matt spend a good twenty-five minutes talking about some of their favorite songs to play and what makes a good song as far as musical structure goes. He discovers that Mikey Way, who hadn’t merited a very large part in most of the other interviews he’d read, is actually really, really funny - also, he’s willing to share embarrassing childhood stories of Gerard that Frank is fairly certain nobody else has ever heard - and came up with the name for the band.

After listening to Gerard speak - and watching him gesture flamboyantly - about art school and all of the crazy shenanigans he experienced there, and then about his descent into drug use and the way that he overcame that, Frank’s stomach does a little flip. Because Gerard is sort of a nerd, and, apparently, has some kind of hyperactive imagination and a penchant for gory movies from the fifties, and Frank is almost certain those looks Gerard keeps shooting from just behind his ebony black hair are meant to be flirtatious.

“It was great meeting all of you,” he says truthfully, standing to shake each of their hands.

“Yeah, you too,” Matt grins. Bob comes close to yanking Frank’s arm out of its socket and Mikey shakes for about two seconds before wandering over to the doorway and waving goodbye.

The band files out one by one, and Frank gathers up his tape recorder and his sunglasses and his press pass and turns to go.

Gerard is lingering in the doorway, the rest of the band looming just beyond it.

“When does the article come out?” Gerard asks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his air.

Frank gives Gerard his most charming smile. “Saturday.”

“Oh,” Gerard says, “we have a concert that day. Do you think you could drop a copy off?”

Chuckling, Frank nods. “’course. Where’s it at?”

The smile that Gerard gives him in return would put the sun to shame, Frank thinks. It’s a cliché thought, but it’s the closest he can come to accurately describing the brilliance of the expression. For a second, he wonders if his blood was replaced with soap bubbles when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Great,” Gerard says. “It’s just off Madison. I’ll leave a backstage pass at the ticket kiosk for you.”

“Awesome.” He opens his mouth to continue and Gerard cants his head to the side, just watching. Pursing his lips into a thin line, Frank shakes his head and holds a hand out toward the doorway, the other jammed into the pocket of his jacket. “After you.”

*

He gets as far as, “I totally should’ve asked him out,” before Shiela bursts into laughter and spills her double-chocolate-chip-no-whip-frappucino-light all over the desk.

Frank flips her off and wanders back to his own office.

*

“Here you go, Loverboy. Hot off the press,” Shiela says on Saturday afternoon when Frank wanders into her office to pick up the first copy of the actual magazine.

Sticking his tongue out, he grabs the magazine out of her grasp and flips to page 37, where ‘Frankie Thinks’ is featured each issue. Scanning the lines, he smiles to himself, because this is probably one of the better pieces he’s ever written.

‘In every magazine, newspaper, and e-zine article I read to prep myself for my morning with My Chemical Romance, the members of the band were identified as heroes, saviors, and role models. Once the bitchy venue boss deemed me worthy, I wandered back into the designated interview room, fully expecting to find a handful of guys turning water to wine or raising the dead. After five minutes of talking to them, I realized that they were just normal dudes, and that the only dead they raised were the zombie-reminiscent teenagers that pack the venues at almost every one of their concerts.’

“Perfect,” he says, closing the magazine with a flourish. “Thank you, Sheila.”

Shiela doesn’t look up from her computer screen, just waves vaguely in his direction and mumbles, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

*

The concert is amazing. Maybe that’s just because Frank is standing off to the side of the stage, half-hidden behind a curtain and trying his best to be inconspicuous, but from the way the crowd is roaring, he doesn’t think that’s the case.

He lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment and feels a soft smile spread across his face, pretending that the applause and the screaming is for him.

The lights go off and immediately the band set their instruments down and make their way off-stage.

“Hey, Frankie!” Matt greets once he realizes that Frank isn’t some lucky contest winner or an obsessive fan. He wraps Frank in a quick hug, despite the fact that he’s drenched in sweat, and Frank laughs.

“Hey, Matt. Guys.”

“You came!” Gerard sounds like he’s surprised, and Frank just smiles and nods, tugging a little at one of the rolled-up sleeves of the black dress shirt he’s wearing.

“I promised you a copy of the magazine, didn’t I?” he asks. He pretends not to notice the subtle nudge Mikey gives his brother. Or the wink.

Gerard smiles and brushes his fingers over Frank’s forearm. The crowd is chanting for an encore. Glancing over his shoulder, Gerard rolls his eyes in amusement.

“We’ll be right back,” he says, and really, he doesn’t have to lean in quite so far, but Frank doesn’t mind.

“Okay.” Frank is probably grinning like the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.

*

The dressing room is bright and open and like nothing that Frank has ever seen before. There’s a boatload of makeup cluttered in front of the mirror on the far wall, surrounded by light bulbs, and Bob whispers, “That’s all Gee.”

Frank laughs and Gerard elbows his way between them, leaning in conspiratorially and arching an eyebrow. “Are you saying horrible things about me again, Bob?” he asks, mock-hurt ebbing in his voice.

Bob just mutters something and then wanders over to where Matt and Mikey are attempting to undo their ties.

“So, did you like it?” Gerard asks, resting a hand on Frank’s shoulder.

Frank pretends that the blush is because he’s warm and not because Gerard Way in a schoolboy’s uniform is possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life, ever. He smiles at the red around Gerard’s eyes and nods.

“It was fantastic,” he assures Gerard. “And,” he procures the magazine from behind his back and holds it out, “I brought you this.”

Gerard reaches for the magazine, almost shyly, but Mikey gets there first.

“Sweet!” he says, flopping down in a slightly questionable orange armchair conveniently located in the corner. Frank laughs and Gerard shakes his head.

“Little brothers,” he groans half-heartedly. The rest of the band gathers around Mikey, who begins a story-time circle, reading the article aloud to the other four. Frank stands back a few steps, remaining silent and crossing his arms over his chest, sneaking glances at Gerard’s face to see how he’s reacting at certain parts.

Immediately after Mikey finishes, Bob turns and claps Frank on the back so hard Frank almost falls over.

“Finally, a reporter who does us justice!” he crows, and the rest of the guys laugh.

“I try,” Frank says with a shrug as the band returns to (what Frank assumes is) their normal post-show routine.

After a few minutes spent scrubbing at his eyes, Gerard wanders over, tie loose and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“That was a really good article,” he says, and the honesty in his voice makes Frank’s heart speed up a little.

“Thanks,” he responds. They’re quiet for a second or two before Frank blurts, “So, how long are you guys in town for?”

Gerard rubs absently at his arm and furrows his brow, trying to remember dates and appointments, no doubt. “We’re doing TRL on Tuesday and another concert Monday night, so about a week, I think.”

Frank swallows, ignoring how his collar feels too tight and his tongue feels too thick and he keeps shifting from foot to foot. “So, uh, if you’re not doing anything on a given day maybe we could get lunch or something?”

Gerard gives him a megawatt smile.

*

Frank spends all weekend dreaming about Gerard and praying that he doesn’t fuck things up too badly when they go on their date. The word makes his face heat and his stomach roll, as does the memory of precisely how they’d decided it was a date.

Mostly it involved Frank scratching the back of his neck and Gerard beaming and Mikey grabbing Frank’s arm out in the hall and saying lowly, “I don’t think you will, but if you hurt my brother so help me God I will kill you in the most gruesome way possible.”

All in all, Frank is counting the evening a success.

*

As it would turn out, Gerard loves coffee almost as much as Frank does, and he smokes the same kind of cigarettes and knows obscure facts about Star Wars and taps his foot lightly against Frank’s when he thinks Frank isn’t paying attention. Frank particularly likes the pink color that Gerard turns when Frank taps back.

“You’re from Jersey, right?” Frank says around a mouthful of salad during a - rare - lull in the conversation. Gerard nods and takes a bite of his pasta.

“Mmhm,” he says, sipping a glass of iced tea. “Newark to be specific.”

Frank’s certain his eyes must be huge as he splutters a cough and says, “No shit! I’m from Belleville!”

“You’re kidding,” Gerard intones, staring across the table at Frank. He shakes his head and takes another bite and gestures with his fork - which Frank thinks back on later and finds extremely endearing - and asks, “So how is it that we haven’t crossed paths until now?”

Frank shrugs. “I have no idea. I used to spend a lot of time on the scene out there, so logic says we should’ve but…” He trails off.

“You mentioned you were in a band?” Gerard inquires, and Frank smiles a little wryly.

“Ah, yes. Pencey Prep.” He pauses, heaving a wistful sigh. “Those were good times.”

Gerard pokes around at the food on his plate for a little while and then glances up at Frank. “What happened?” His voice is soft, like maybe he’s treading territory that’s too personal, and Frank smiles to let him know that the question is nowhere near off-limits.

“Difference of interests,” he states, attempting with little success to keep the bitter edge off his words. “The rest of the band thought it was time to settle down and build careers and I thought we were just at the tip of the iceberg.” He shakes his head. “So I just sort of fucked off and moved up here.”

Gerard smiles. “It’s a good thing that you did, huh?”

Frank smirks and tilts his head, tapping Gerard’s foot and awarding himself a point internally when Gerard’s cheeks flush. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s a good thing I did.”

*

“-and I was hoping maybe we’d be able to hang out again?”

Gerard’s voice is tinny and far-away over the speaker of Frank’s cell phone, but Frank smiles dreamily and thinks back on their date, anyway.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, trying not to sound too eager. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work. “What did you have in mind?”

On the other end of the phone, somebody - probably Matt or Bob, or maybe both because it’s just so them - catcalls and Gerard laughs. “I was thinking we could grab a bite to eat and catch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” Frank assures with a nod, even though Gerard can’t see him. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

*

If there was one high school experience that Frank never really thought he would revisit, it’s this. He hasn’t been caught making out in the back of a movie theater since he was a freshman, and yet he and Gerard are standing outside the theater, laughing hysterically and jamming their hands into their pockets because it’s so fucking cold.

“Wow,” Gerard says, still laughing, glancing up at the sky overhead as they stroll down the sidewalk. “That was unexpected.”

Frank grins and chuckles. “Tell me about it. I didn’t even know they had ushers anymore.”

“I know!” Gerard agrees excitedly. “He had the stupid little hat and everything!”

They look at each for a moment and then burst into laughter again. After awhile, when they’ve taken their calming breaths and are wandering Central Park, hand in hand, Frank sighs.

“Gee?” he asks, turning slightly to look at Gerard.

Gerard looks over and smiles shyly. “What?”

And really, Frank doesn’t mean to lean over and kiss Gerard - sort of like he didn’t mean to in the theater, or the other day after lunch - but he does anyway. Gerard kisses him back, and before Frank knows what’s happening they’ve got their arms curled around one another and Frank is leaning up a little on his toes so that they’re on more even footing. Gerard backs him up against a tree, one hand pressed against the bark, the other tugging gently at the hair at the nape of Frank’s neck, and drags his teeth over Frank’s exposed collarbone. Frank groans into the night and is suddenly glad that they’ve come somewhere more secluded.

“How far,” Gerard asks, soft suction of his lips against Frank’s neck, “is it to your apartment?”

Frank shudders. “Ten minutes by cab.”

Gerard nods and kisses Frank on the mouth once, heated. “Let’s go,” he murmurs.

Frank steps in front of an elderly couple to hail a cab and the man calls him something rude, but really, he couldn’t care less because Gerard’s hand is in his, and he can feel Gerard’s skin and Frank has never encountered want like this before in his life.

*

“You’re beautiful.”

Frank’s voice is a whisper in the dark, and Gerard laughs softly and insists that he’s not, but Frank won’t hear a word of it. Because Gerard is laying underneath him, black hair splayed out against the white of Frank’s sheets, all hooded eyes and pale skin. Frank traces his fingertips over the mark he left just below Gerard’s collarbone. He’d been aiming for the neck but then he remembered that, hey, Gerard was sort of a celebrity so he should probably not leave anything visible to the public. Gerard shivers beneath him and Frank presses their mouths together with a groan.

Gerard fists his hands in Frank’s hair and shifts so that it’s him who has the upper hand this time.

“Frankie,” he purrs against Frank’s ear, and Frank feels his cock twitch. “I want to fuck you.”

Frank’s laugh is breathless. “Again?” he asks, teasingly, because this is round three and they’re still going strong.

Gerard’s grin is feline and predatory in the moonlight, and Frank’s abdomen clenches.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Third time’s the charm.”

Gerard digs around in the drawer of Frank’s nightstand for another condom and God is Frank ever lucky that he remembered to restock.

“Let me,” Frank murmurs, reaching up to take the condom out of Gerard’s hand. Gerard smiles and his eyes flutter shut when Frank rolls it down over his cock.

He leans forward so that their chests - and their erections - slide together. Frank gasps.

“Ready?”

Wrapping his arms around Gerard’s neck, Frank nods, and Gerard slides right in. Halfway through round one he’d figured out that Frankie really, really likes it rough.

“God,” Frank hisses, dragging his fingernails down Gerard’s back. Gerard smirks and gazes down at Frank with half-lidded eyes, and pulls back, pausing for a split second before thrusting forward again, hard.

“Fuck, yes,” Frank half-shouts, and Gerard groans Frank’s name in response.

Frank twists his hands in the sheets when Gerard re-discovers the angle necessary to hit his prostate head on every time, and he’s not really aware of the fact that he’s practically screaming until he hears himself.

For once in his life, Frank is glad that the college kids living next door tend to get in late. Even so, he can’t wait to see the looks on their faces the next time their paths cross.

*

“Somebody got laid,” is the first thing Shiela says when Frank flops down in one of her office chairs on the following Thursday morning.

He flashes a smile and winks at her and she laughs. Leaning forward on her elbows and arching an eyebrow she tells him to shut the door and asks how it was.

Frank leans back in the chair and says as enthusiastically as he can manage, “Amazing. Fucking amazing.”

“You lucky bastard,” she teases, slamming her fist lightly against the desk. “Are you two gonna hook up again sometime?”

It’s at this point that Frank’s unshakeable good mood falters a little bit. Because Gerard had sent him a text earlier that morning saying that the band was on its way to the airport and that he’d call as soon as their flight landed. They hadn’t really discussed the whole situation prior to Gerard’s leaving; half because Frank didn’t want to hear about it if Gerard wasn’t interested in hooking up again, and half because Frank was terrified that he would be.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, adding as an afterthought, “I hope so.”

Sheila watches him for awhile before reaching out and running her thumb over the top of his hand. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m sure he’ll keep in touch.”

Frank offers her a half-hearted grin and excuses himself. He needs to go write his next column, after all, and the topic of the so-called “scene mullet” is a difficult one to broach.

*

Frank watches a repeat of the My Chemical Romance TRL episode when it’s on at two a.m. one Friday night. He’s half-wasted because it was Ed’s birthday and his heart stops for a second when Gerard’s smiling face comes onto the screen.

“Hi,” he says, and the camera zooms out to the rest of the band, gathered around him. They all speak in unison. “We’re My Chemical Romance and you’re watching TRL.”

Frank swallows back the acid in his throat and stubbornly ignores the little pang in his ribcage. He hasn’t heard from Gerard in two days, and it’s been two weeks since the band left for the next stop on their tour.

Instead of crying about it, like he so desperately wants to, Frank thanks the powers that be that he had the good fortune to buy TiVo, and rewinds it. He jerks off to Gerard’s face twice before he falls asleep, sticky and feeling like the worst kind of creep.

*

“So,” Gerard says, “the tour’s over next week.”

Frank smiles and taps out the end of the sentence he’d been working on before he answered the phone. “Oh yeah?” he asks, playing along with Gerard’s nonchalance for the moment. It’s been almost two months since the interview, but he and Gerard talk on the phone almost everyday. At this point, Frank is sort of awesome at reading Gerard’s moods just through his words. He feels a little swell of emotion in his chest every time he watches a new television interview and Matt says that he and Ray are really the only single ones.

“What are your plans for after the tour?”

Gerard feigns innocence, and Frank almost laughs. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought I’d take a vacation. Maybe go to Six Flags. You know, the usual.”

At this point, Frank does laugh. “Oh, okay,” he says, disbelievingly. “You’ll have to tell me how the roller coasters are.”

Gerard laughs back from Wisconsin or wherever the fuck he is now - probably on the back of the tour bus, trying to be quiet so the rest of the guys don’t try to steal the phone and mock him, which they do relentlessly despite his best efforts.

“You’ll be the first to hear about it,” he promises. Pausing for a moment, he clears his throat and then continues, “Actually, I was thinking about maybe heading over that way. I mean, New York isn’t too far so I could still go home and visit the family, maybe catch something on Broadway.”

“You and your show tunes,” Frank teases, and can almost hear Gerard’s smile. “Well, if you’re in the neighborhood, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll call you when I get there,” Gerard says.

Frank grins. “I’ll keep my schedule clear.”

*

“It has been far too long,” Frank says, nimbly undoing the button of Gerard’s black pants. Gerard chuckles into Frank’s hair and slips his hands up under Frank’s shirt.

“Eager, are we?” he asks, wrinkling his nose in amusement. Frank kisses it, just because.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

Gerard hooks a hand over Frank’s shoulder, slides the other one below the waistband of his boxers. “You too.”

*

When Frank wakes up, Gerard’s thigh is in between his legs, his back is pressed against Gerard’s stomach, and Gerard’s arm is deadweight over his waist. He yawns and blinks blearily, trying to clear his vision.

“G’morning, sunshine,” Gerard whispers, voice still low and raspy with sleep. Frank smiles and reaches back to run a hand down Gerard’s side.

“Same to you,” he murmurs.

They lay like that for awhile before Frank rolls over and kisses Gerard chastely on the mouth.

“C’mon,” he says, tapping at Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard grunts and attempts to bury himself further beneath the quilt. Frank laughs and kisses Gerard’s cheek.

“Come on,” he insists, tugging Gerard’s arm. “If we get up now there’s time for me to blow you in the shower before we have to meet Mikey for lunch.”

Frank doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone move quite so fast before noon.

*

There are some days when Frank sits around his apartment for hours and reminisces about the good old days, walking down memory lane and succumbing to nostalgia.

There are more days when Frank wakes up to Gerard kissing him and they split a bagel and talk about life and the world and their friends and have coffee and a cigarette apiece. And sometimes Frank spends the day wandering from the kitchen to the dining area to the bedroom to the bathroom, but, increasingly, it’s in the nude and usually with Gerard close behind.

There are some days when he still stops and thinks about what might’ve happened if he followed the path of music, like he planned to when he was young. But then Gerard will rest his chin on Frank’s shoulder and remind him that they have to catch the ferry by ten if they want to make it to his parents’ place on time and Frank thinks that it doesn’t really matter. Because maybe they might’ve met one another and been happy together, but he doubts it.

So he just takes Gerard’s hand and kisses the knuckles and closes eyes and feels the contentment, and knows that he wouldn’t risk losing this for anything else in the world.




to the next part!