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It’s past two and Frank is already in bed, eyes shut and just starting to doze when he sees the faint glow of his phone through his closed lids. He groans out loud, groping around for it and bringing it to his face, squinting at the tiny fluorescent numbers on the front screen. Gerard. Frank’s pulse surges because he’s an idiot, and he flips it open.
hey. u awake? the tiny letters say. Frank bites his lip.
ya y
cant sleep. Frank’s not only an idiot, he’s a piece of shit. Because now he should be worried that Gee’s freaking out or something, but instead he feels a tiny, ridiculous twinge of hope that's still enough to make his heart race and—no, he tells himself firmly, scrubbing a hand over his face and forcing himself to act like a decent human. Jesus, Gerard might need him and all he can think about is how much he fucking wants—god. He takes a breath, and types, u ok?
just feel wrd. And, yep, Frank’s definitely a piece of shit. Gee’s totally freaking, Frank can hear it in his text. A follow-up: cn u come here
Frank doesn’t even hesitate before typing, b right there wuts ur room #.
426 thx frnkie
He closes his eyes again for a second to steel himself before unraveling his cocoon of blankets and stretching to his feet, whimpering a bit in mourning of his first hotel night in weeks. Then he rolls his eyes at himself, telling himself to fuck off, because Gerard needs him and Gerard’s more important than a couple hours of sleep; with that he quits whining, pulls on sweatpants, a t shirt, and some socks, and swipes his room key off the desk on his way out the door.
The hotel corridor is nearly silent as Frank plods along the garish blue and green carpet. It’s too bright and he feels like he’s in a parallel universe. Music is blasting faintly from room 405 and everything smells like chlorine even though Frank’s pretty sure this hotel doesn’t have a pool. Finally he approaches Gerard’s door, yawning widely and running a sleepy hand through his hair before knocking softly. He hears quiet shuffling on the other side and a pause.
The door opens and Gerard looks...not good. Actually, he hasn’t looked this not good in a while. Gee’s two months sober now and he seems like he’s doing alright—doing well, even—but right now...he’s standing back from the door, nervously biting a nail, eyes lost and darting around like he’s not quite sure he trusts his surroundings, hair sticking straight up like it only does when he’s been running his hands through it nonstop. In other words, he’s flipping a fuck and has been for the past few hours. Frank’s heart sinks a little.
“Hey,” Frank says gently, stepping through the doorway as Gerard moves silently aside to let him in, closing the door and locking the deadbolt behind him. “Hey,” he says again when Gerard doesn’t make eye contact, brushing a hand up Gerard’s arm to rest on his shoulder. Gerard’s wearing his Star Wars pajama pants and Frank’s Misfits shirt.
“Thanks for comin’ down here,” he mumbles, taking a shuddering breath before continuing. “I hope I didn’t...I know it’s like, super late, I just—”
“Gee, don’t worry about it,” Frank says, panicking a little when he sees what look like tears forming in Gerard’s eyes. “Hey, come here.” He pulls Gerard into a tight hug, feeling Gerard’s erratic heartbeat against his own chest and pretending he doesn’t hear Gerard sniffling into his shoulder. Gerard’s arms come up to wrap around Frank, and they stand there for a few minutes, barely out of the doorway, swaying from side to side. Inside Frank’s decidedly less composed, trying not to overthink this, because it’s been...well, two months since they’ve touched like this, since they’ve spent the night together, since they’ve fucked, and Frank has no idea what their deal is right now, and—shit, he’s totally overthinking this.
Frank reaches a hand up to softly pet Gerard’s hair (which, incidentally, is nearly wet with grease—gross, but whatever). “Do you want to talk about it?” Frank whispers, squeezing Gerard tighter. A labored pause.
“...No.” Gerard says, voice muffled in Frank’s hair. “Can you just...do you wanna stay for a while?” Frank pulls away, gripping Gerard’s upper arms and smiling.
“Hell yeah,” he says, ignoring the stupid lump rising in his throat and fluttering in his chest. “The O.C. reruns aren’t gonna watch themselves.”
Out of sheer habit, Frank guesses, they end up in their usual positions—Gerard propped up against the headboard, Frank between his open legs and using Gerard’s chest as a backrest—and they watch shitty late-night TV for a while. Gerard’s got one arm slung over Frank’s shoulder, laid over his chest almost protectively, as if Frank was the one dealing with panic attacks and night terrors instead of Gerard. And this is totally fine, doesn’t have to mean anything, right, friends cuddle all the time, fuck toxic masculinity. Frank’s so chill about it that he ends up thinking about just how chill he is and how he’s not sweating and his skin’s not buzzing at all instead of watching the TV, until he realizes it’s nearly four and, fuck, they have to get up soon.
“Gerard?” Frank asks, tilting his head back a bit into Gerard’s neck, but just ‘cause he’s sleepy, not because Gee’s skin is soft and he smells like sweat and cigarettes.
“Yeah,” Gerard answers, eyes still unfocused in the direction of the television. He strokes Frank’s chest with his thumb lightly like it’s by accident and Frank thinks determinedly about his grandma, and Mikey’s dirty socks.
“’S late,” Frank says, “We gotta sleep.” Gerard tears his eyes away from the glow of the screen to stare down at Frank.
“Alright,” Gerard says, but doesn’t move. His expression is unreadable.
“Okay,” Frank agrees, making to sit up. Then—
“You could stay,” Gerard says evenly. Oh.
“Okay,” Frank says weakly.
They first get up to brush their teeth and pee—Gerard literally peeing with one hand and brushing his teeth with the other while Frank grimaces by the sink—and then make their way back to the bed that’s not covered with Gerard’s junk. And, yeah, of course they’re sharing, they’ve shared loads of times, even...even before. You’re being an ass, Frank tells himself firmly as he reaches over to flip off the lights.
Once it’s dark, Frank rolls over to face Gerard, shoves aside all his weird stupid feelings, and scoots close to take Gee’s hands in his own. Gerard’s staring at him, eyes wide and still a little buggy-looking, so Frank moves even closer to tangle their feet together too. Gerard takes a shaky breath but seems to relax a little. Good. All that matters is that Gee’s okay.
“So,” Frank says in a low voice, “What’s up?” Gerard sighs.
“You know,” he monotones, “death, anxiety, existential dread.” For a split second it looks like he’s about to crack a smile, but then something in his eyes falters and he looks down. “Now I can’t drink it away.”
“Fuck,” Frank agrees, squeezing Gee’s hands. Gerard looks back up. “Hey, that’s why I’m here though, right?” Gerard’s eyes go softer and he blinks. The silence stretches. He looks like he’s working up to say something, idly running a toe over Frank’s ankle. Frank doesn’t think he knows he’s doing it.
He closes his eyes, like looking at Frank is too much, before finally breathing, “You know you’re my best friend, Frankie. Like, besides Mikey.” Oh god, fuck, now it’s too much for Frank too. Suddenly he feels like—no, knows—he’s about to have a heart attack, or cry, or kiss Gerard. “I really...I really don’t think I would even be—”
“Shut up,” Frank cuts him off in a murmur, not wanting to hear the rest, not trusting himself to speak louder, “Gee, don’t—just...” he trails off, collecting himself. “You’re my best friend too, of course you are. I can’t even think...” Frank can’t finish the thought. Silence falls over them again. The room is so dark, illuminated only by the faint reddish glow of the alarm clock. Frank’s heart is literally about to beat out of his chest, so he closes his eyes too. God, he can’t remember the last time he was this close to Gerard and now he’s the one flipping a shit.
“Frankie?” Gerard whispers. Frank opens his eyes and can dimly make out Gerard’s gaze, eyebrows just barely furrowed, searching. Frank can’t move, can’t fucking breathe, so Gerard leans ever so slightly forward until their lips brush, in a gesture that seems way too loud in the dark, silent room. Frank’s breath hitches and Gerard stutters, “oh shit, Frankie, I’m sorry, shit, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t even fucking—,” Frank starts, dropping Gerard’s hands to wrap his arms around Gerard’s neck and then they’re kissing for real, like they’re gonna die if they don’t: desperate, hungry kisses that are all bumping jaws in the dark and gasping into one another’s mouths. Gee’s clutching Frank’s hips now, dragging him closer, sliding up under his t-shirt to touch his bare skin and it takes Frank a second to realize that’s him moaning because god, oh god, it’s been so fucking long and he hadn’t even realized how much he’d been missing this, craving this. And then Gerard’s got a thigh between his legs and he’s rutting up against his hip, and yeah, duh he’s hard, they’re both hard, and holy shit the friction on his dick feels fucking good.
And it’s Gerard, with his frantic, roaming hands, and his soft little Oh god, Frank’s, and his eyes, bright in the almost-dark and gazing—actually gazing—at Frank with something like reverence, like they’re not dry-humping in a hotel room.
“Is this...” Gerard whispers, hand trailing down Frank’s bare stomach to rest at his waistband, “Is this alright?” He sounds breathless, almost nervous.
“God, fuck, yes, it’s alright,” Frank groans, and his eyes actually roll back in his head when Gee gets a hand on his dick, stroking him once slowly, firmly, from base to tip.
“Fuck, just—” Frank gasps, moving away just enough to shove a hand between them and into Gerard’s pajama pants, and finally, finally he’s grasping at Gerard’s dick, so hot and hard and big, and Frank looks down even though he knows it’s say too dark to actually see but he can’t help it, he missed Gee so much, missed doing this with him. He twists his hand and Gerard inhales sharply, shuddering.
“Good?” Frank grunts, and Gerard gasps a shaky “Yeah,” and then they’re jacking each other off in earnest, writhing together in the dark still fully clothed. Gerard gives a little whimper and uses his other hand to cup the back of Frank’s head, and Frank mimics him. It’s a million fucking degrees under the blankets but there’s no fucking way Frank’s stopping to kick them off. Gerard’s working him just right and Frank’s leaking so much his cock is wet; Gee’s hand is sliding easily over him and Christ, he’s feeling so much, can tell Gerard is too, they’re both panting with it. He moans and jerks Gerard faster, relishing in the feel of hot, velvety skin under his palm, and Gerard’s making all these little noises that make Frank want to cry, so instead he just presses their foreheads together and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Shit, Frankie,” Gerard says between breaths, “I—I fucking missed you, I—”
“—missed you too,” Frank breathes, pulse kicking as he feels his orgasm building in his thighs, “God, fucking missed you so much—”
“—didn’t know if—”
“—neither did I—” Frank says, and then he forgets what he was going to say next because he’s groaning and coming all over Gee’s hand and his own sweatpants, head spinning as Gerard strokes him through it. “Fuck,” he gasps against Gerard’s lips, turning his hand around so he can rub his thumb over the head of Gee’s dick while he jacks him, and soon he feels Gerard’s hand tighten in his hair.
“Fuck, gonna come,” Gerard chokes out.
“Yeah, fuck, c’mon,” Frank whispers, cupping Gerard’s jaw, high off his own orgasm and the smell of Gerard’s sweat and precome and the heat. In the next breath Gerard tenses up, nearly tearing Frank’s hair out as he gasps and swears through his orgasm, shooting all over Frank’s hand and oh, oh shit that’s good, Frank wants to lick it off him, wants it all over his face.
They slow and go still. Frank’s eyes have adjusted to the dark now and he can see Gerard, see his wild hair and his open, earnest expression, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing returns to normal. They look at each other for a beat, then Gee grabs either side of Frank’s face and kisses him deep and hard, and it’s so desperate and so vulnerable and Jesus, Frank loves him, Frank’s going to die with how much he loves him. He slides his arms up Gerard’s back and pulls him as close as he can, wishing he could pull him even closer, thinking maybe all he wants to do in his entire life is be pressed up against Gerard, kissing him in the dark, holding him tight so that nothing can ever hurt him.
When Gerard pulls away it’s just enough to whisper, “You’re here,” into Frank’s mouth.
“I’m here,” Frank manages, “I’m always here, ‘kay?” not even caring that his voice catches.
Gerard shifts to drape an arm over Frank’s waist, and Frank pulls another pillow over to get comfortable. When he’s done arranging himself Gerard’s breathing slower and deeper, and his eyes are closed, face relaxed and brow unfurrowed like maybe the world’s not so terrifying anymore, at least for now. Frank has a second to remember they’re both covered in jizz, that they should really clean themselves off or at least get rid of their pants, but Gee’s a human furnace and Frank’s so warm and sleepy, and his last thoughts before drifting off are a loud I love you, like his brain blurted it out or something, and how he wishes if he listened closely enough he could hear Gerard think it back.