Mouth Invaders

by hysterikall

Summary:

Frank learns about Gerard's special skill. Gerard has a unique New Year's wish. The shy guitarist wants to put his brazen frontman to good use...so he finally shuts up.

The weight landed on his ankles, catapulting Gerard out of his beauty sleep. A rude awakening. Especially as something cold and wet steadily seeped into his blanket.

“Oh shit, sorry dude,” Gerard heard the voice in tandem with the clink of a spoon against the bowl. Must have been milk currently spilling onto their feet. He wasn’t sure who exactly sat on him, though. 

They were at maximum capacity. Last night’s drunken revelry had resulted in every bed, chair, and corner of the house occupied by multiple hungover bandmates. Gerard had managed to score the couch–or, at least, he’d argued for it. His kid brother, Mikey, ended up on a single bed in the room over with guitarist Ray. Otter wouldn’t have sat down so politely. That left one suspect for the cereal-eating alarm clock: Frank. 

“Ugh… mornin’.” Gerard croaked.

The heavy weight shifted from Gerard's ankles to the tips of his feet as Frank moved himself to a sliver of empty couch. The frontman rubbed his face and tried to kick-start the waking process. The TV set then joined the morning choir. 

Gerard wiggled his toes under the weight. “You know, you could just sit on the floor.”


“You know,” Frank mumbled through a mouthful of cereal, “you could just move your feet.”

The guitarist chowed down on his food, ignorant to Gerard’s request. A rogue cushion made its way to Frank’s head, but the frontman was not one for sports or early morning ambient exercise, so it landed far away from the target. With a stuttering and high giggle, Frank leaned back onto the feet at the end of the couch. Gerard knew that if Frank was up, then the rest of the house would stay cocooned in dreamland, and the sleeping couch-dweller had drawn the short straw to be roused by his early bird friend. Gerard had no choice but to push through his spinning headache, sit up from their cradle, and rub shoulders with the living.

Gerard watched Frank watching the TV. He looked barely living. The dark circles around his eyes were indicative of a pot-induced coma, and his hair was sticking up randomly. Frank wasn’t an early riser by choice, much like most of the insomniacs Gerard knew. But he was definitely bothering Gerard by choice.

"Sleep alright?" Gerard asked, knowing the answer was probably 'no.' 

"Nope." 

A lousy game show hummed on the screen, and Gerard had moved barely an inch, only to lean on his elbow and finally let Frank onto the couch properly. They ended up sharing the small blanket. Frank had complained about the cold, and Gerard argued that he ‘should’ve put his bowl in the microwave.’ Gerard had felt their face go red as he lifted the blanket to welcome Frank, as they had forgone jeans to sleep bare-legged in boxer shorts. 

Lately, the guitarist had wedged himself into Gerard's routine. It started with a spark at that first house party, where Frank had followed him around like a lost puppy. It gradually grew into shared beers and talk of music, into sharing the stage itself. Prior to joining the band, the guitarist's constant concern for Gerard had finally pushed Mikey to drag his brother out. At the Eyeball summer party, he’d plopped Gerard on the deck chairs with Frank, betting they'd bond over their glaring similarities. 

And they did. 

Their lives slowly merged without a decision, like two streams meeting in the same riverbed, even beyond the music. Friendship, dependency, and something warmer blurred until even they couldn't say where one ended and the other began. Stolen glances and lingering touches left much to consider for those who knew them both, but behind closed doors, and when whiskey entered their veins, the two had still much to discover about each other. 

Despite all this: Gerard was shy. He was shy about his body, almost bordering on prude. He was shy about his bare legs under the thin blanket, but Frank’s passing comment hadn’t helped.

“Woah, almost blinded me there. So pale.” 

The lousy morning TV was advertising their New Year’s segment, and Gerard ruminated on the evening plans for that day. He’d had several choices, from the record label shindig, to a friends-only gathering, to playing a local show. After relentless touring, the gig offer was rejected, but Gerard still wanted to go out with a bang–and kick it off with a bang, too. 2003 felt like a strange number, futuristic and impeding. He needed to mark that in a ceremonious way. 

Frank tucked his hands under his knees, and Gerard wondered how it was possible that fridge-temperature milk was enough to make Frank’s teeth chatter. Gerard was craving a cold drink of their own, as his mouth was swollen and dry. They sighed and shoved locks of tangled hair from their eyes to look towards their guitarist. 

“D’you wanna get closer? It’ll help…” 

The short man nodded, and without a word he lay down with his head on the armrest, swinging a hand over Gerard’s body. His knees tucked into Gerard’s, and cold toes slipped under his friend's legs yet again. 

“Dude, why are you so friggin’… cold..?” Gerard pulled the blanket over his friend’s bare arm, and the two lay together in a familiar quiet that was neither awkward nor misleading. Frank’s hand simply rested, it didn’t wander or grab. Gerard kindly asked if his friend could see past their shoulder.

“Sorta. But you kinda stink.”

Their weekly shower was overdue, and Gerard was aware of it. Last night’s beer still clung to his hair, which was the likely suspect for Frank’s observation. The game show host on the small screen was making smarmy advances at the unsuspecting contestant, spewing nonsense about making ‘somebody’s year.’ Shuffling behind Gerard, the smaller man’s stomach pressed against the small of their back. His breath smelled like cigarettes and cinnamon. 

“You thought about what you wanna do today?”

He hadn’t noticed his eyes closing, but Gerard tried to think about Frank’s question with minimal effort.

“Guess… just go with whatever everyone else wants.”

“I’m asking about you, dipshit.”

“I dunno!” Gerard’s voice got high and pitchy. “The whole temporal side of it… feels fun. The clocks and stuff. I’ll be too fuckin’ wasted to remember, so it doesn’t matter where we end up.” 

The artist was grasping at multiple thoughts and hacking them together to form a sentence, hoping his friend would understand. He’d always wanted to do something special the moment the clock hit midnight. But that was too obvious.

“Temporal?” Frank asked, “Like, fried shrimp?” 


As the TV played, the two musicians let out small laughs and observations, but Gerard’s eyes gradually grew heavy once again. He could feel the faint pulse of his friend’s heart, realising they preferred to sleep in the embrace of a warm body, rather than alone with a liquor bottle.
The room’s swaying movements–the byproduct of said liquor–had cradled Gerard back to restfulness, but not a deep sleep. As he floated between sleep-states, he could hear the whistling of Frank’s nose behind him. Frank had also fallen back asleep. Gerard was screwed now; there was no way he could get up to take a piss or make his morning coffee without waking him. And his poor friend needed all the sleep he could get. 

Gerard's arm hung off the edge of the couch as it slowly went dead. Their nail polish had almost gone now. Gerard considered a fresh coat for New Year’s Eve, provoking more thoughts about tough decisions… Label party, house party, it probably didn’t matter; he was gonna rock out, get shitfaced, and, ideally, not end up counting sheep before counting in the new year. 

As he stretched and tensed his fingers, trying to focus his blurry vision, he felt a light touch on his rear. Almost like a knocking at the door. Something lightly tapped their backside, and Gerard blushed upon the realisation that his sleepy friend was the unfortunate victim of delayed morning wood. Butterflies swam in his stomach as he calculated his next move, once again weighing up difficult options. Frank needed every opportunity to rest, but Gerard couldn’t just simply lay there and let it happen… Could they? It was a natural occurrence, after all. Like lightning strikes on church steeples. Natural, unfortunate… and a tad exciting. 

Gerard’s eyes darted around the room as he tried to think of other things, and they suddenly grieved the safe cocoon of solitude, of their garage full of comic books and drawings where no one could interrupt him or put his nervous system on trial. Frank had often tried to break into that cocoon, always timing it when Gerard’s head was in a comic, or nose in a sketchbook. It wasn’t off-putting as much is was confusing; Gerard couldn’t fully understand why Frank liked him so much.

"Mm..."

Another light touch and a tiny whimper from Frank was enough to send Gerard into a spiral. He suddenly imagined what Frank could be dreaming about, and recalled Frank’s fondness for the cute booking agent with the red hair. Their head swam with ideas and vidid conjurings of the cute booking agent sandwiched between Frank and a thin bedroom wall. They pictured Frank’s face, jaw slack and cheeks hollowed, and the sweaty sheen of olive skin shimmering in a sleazy, low light. They pictured the cute red-head, softly moaning in delight and welcoming Frank’s eager thrusts. Gerard looked to their nails to dispel the thought, heart fluttering. With one final whimper and light pressure to his backside, he finally succumbed to embarrassment.

In an agonising hurdle, Gerard unpeeled himself from Frank’s clutches and slapped his hands onto the floor to steady himself. Crawling off the couch was easier said than done as the room lurched from left to right. His friend roused behind him, just yawning and rubbing his eyes innocently.

“Mmf–huh..?” 

With an almighty push, Gerard almost toppled and stood upright, feeling the blood rush from his head to his arms and feet, and to other unsuspecting places. The blanket trailed after him, so they flung it back at Frank. It smothered his face as he giggled beneath it. Gerard left the room with tense fists, covering his junk, which had also been steadily rising–to no fault of his own. 

“Yo, wait, Gee–!”

“Bathroom!” Gerard shouted as he dashed through the cold kitchen. 

Frank yelled back. “Coffee!”

-

 


A coin would decide their fate. 

The five of them sat in a circle around the dinner table–an oblong, sweaty, and hungover circle–to watch Ray flip the quarter. There were apparently limited options for New Year’s partying; it was a choice between the cute booking agent’s house party, and the label shindig. The New Year’s show was a definite ‘no’ from Brian, who’d practically begged Gerard to give their voice a rest for a few weeks in anticipation for album tracking.

At the makeshift head of the table, Ray was the perkiest among a crowd of hungover, weary bandmates. He posed a question to the less business-savvy of the group, fiddling with the coin between his knuckles.

“If we ditch the label party, do we lose our contracts?” 

Otter let his cigarette hang, offering an apathetic shrug, and winged an empty carton at Gerard. The frontman caught it with a theatrical pout before sailing it to Frank, who was already pulling out a fresh pack from his jeans.

“Heads.”


“Tails.” 


“Heads.”


“Fuckin’… heads will roll, dude!” 

The coin made its way into the air and landed on the wooden table with a suspenseful clunk, four pairs of eyes following, and one pair looking at Gerard.

Otter tutted, and Ray threw up his big arms in celebration.

“We’re still in business!” 

Gerard flicked his lighter to life and took a drag as he looked to Frank from across the table. He had been staring, but fixed with a blank expression. On the surface, his best friend’s typical emotional range oscillated between bluntness and joviality with no middle ground. But Gerard had spent enough time with Frank to be intuitive to his true feelings. At least, they made a solid estimate.

“You…Frank wanted to get with the girl!” Gerard jeered, and everyone joined in on a chorus of hooting and hollering.

Frank, who just grinned at all the heckling, tapped his cigarette into a soda can. His croaky voice pierced through the chatter.

“Gee, you’re going to shower, right?” He asked, watching for his friend’s reaction, knowing full well it was a topic of contention. Gerard scrambled for a response, their brain still mush from the rude awakening earlier that morning.

“Why do you care?” 

“You’re not going to shower until next year?! Gross!” 

The band all burst into laughter, and Gerard stuck their tongue out at his plucky bandmate and headed to the garage to ready himself for the sensory nightmare of a winter shower.

Naturally, the eager guitarist followed. 

 
-

 
Leaning on the doorframe of Gerard’s converted garage, a He-Man toy was being violated between fidgety fingers. The short man watched his best friend rummage through T-shirts in the cluttered room. With a throaty grunt, Gerard dropped a pile of tees onto the bed.

“What’s a New Year’s baaaaand?” They slurred their words, particularly leaning on the ‘a’ in band for no reason other than dramatic effect for the audience of one. Gerard still felt unsteady on their feet, and the darkness of his garage bedroom was slowly pulling him out of the party mood and beckoning him back to his comic books. 

Frank twisted He-Man’s arm. “My Chemical Romance.”

“Haha! That never ends well…”

The guitarist then sat on the end of the bed in silence, lifting up the corners of Gerard’s T-shirts to see what kind of collection he was carrying. Frank had seen each shirt in rotation. Every stain and cigarette burn was a catalogued event that he could recount on demand. Some of them had also certainly not been washed since. Frank slumped back into Gerard’s duvet–lovingly cased in Star Wars sheets–and placed his arms behind his head. 

“You disappointed?” Gerard asked as they followed Frank to the mattress, the two of them separated by the pile of clothes. 

Frank waited a moment. “It’s just a party.”

The frontman knew what Frank meant. He was disappointed. Gerard brought their fingers to their mouth to bite their nails, a pre-shower ritual, and spat out chips of nail polish, making a mental note to reapply it later. The mood was pensive, and Gerard forced himself to look over at his friend. Even as Gerard braced himself, the room continued to spin. But Frank’s stoic presence kept them anchored.  

“You wanted to play the show, didn't you?” Gerard asked, puncturing the silence.

Frank nodded, lip ring between his teeth. The booking agent wasn’t the forefront of Frank’s mind after all; he wanted to play the gig. The guitarist was a pressure cooker, and the usual vents, drinking, and drugs, weren’t enough to keep the steam at bay. Gerard gave a half-assed gesture to show their sympathies, and went back to planning his outfit and idling around in his room. Playing music was always what Frank needed, whether he liked it or not. However, the band had ‘toured enough’, apparently, and a break was mandated by usually money-hungry manager Brian. Gerard couldn’t help but agree that a gig would truly kickstart the year with a bang. Frank interjected with the sound of a clicking lighter. 

Gerard tutted. “Come on, Frankie, you can’t do that in here anymore–”

“Have you ever, like, wanted to do something the moment it hits zero?” 

Gerard pushed hair from their eyes and stood over Frank, one leg between his thighs. With arms crossed, they tried to look menacing so Frank would cease his smoking. He then fumbled for the cigarette, but the hangover had sabotaged their fine motor skills; Frank, predictably, was quicker, not allowing Gerard the privilege of grabbing it.

“Whatever, man... You mean like, at midnight?” Gerard interrogated.

“Yeah. Temporal. Clocks. You mentioned it earlier.” Frank took a drag and blew it into his friend’s pout. Gerard couldn’t help but notice the way Frank’s eyes were so bright, so warm, and inviting. His eyes invited them in, but his mohawk, tattoos, and piercings were designed to push them right back out. It didn’t work. 

Gerard let out a long hum whilst he tried to figure out why Frank looked that way. Why Frank looked so… inviting. It was probably the hangover. The singer pondered their midnight wishes, thinking about what could kickstart the year with a bang. Fireworks were a given. Guns were fun… on paper. A score or a kiss would be nice, but they were typically failing in the bold and brazen department, unless he was on stage–or well and truly drunk. It was a pipe dream; Gerard wasn't the smoothest of sailors, even when intoxicated. 

Looking down on the shorter man, Gerard watched Frank’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and took another inhale. His friend’s t-shirt was stretched thin over his chest, and Gerard felt a pang of jealousy that he could wear something so tight. Gerard remembered how Frank had a new tattoo under there; he was brandishing a corny black flame above his heart, although they hadn’t seen it in a while. Then, a thought popped into his head.

“Oh. Yeah, there’s one thing but…" Gerard mumbled, “but I’m not gonna tell you.” 

He succumbed to the gentle rocking of the room around him and fell onto the wall, one hand leaning on a poster. Riding the wave of mischief, their other hand reached out to take the cigarette from Frank. 

“What is it?” Frank smirked, snapping his hand away.

“No, I’m not gonna tell you…” 

The guitarist suddenly squeezed his thighs around Gerard’s leg, who yelped and grinned with a high-pitched squeal befitting of a teenage girl. Gerard witnessed the result of Frank’s recent progress in his home gym, and he flashed his canines to the smug man below him. Frank bit his lip and squeezed harder. 

“Tell me!” 

“No!” Gerard whined and giggled as his guitarist swung him off balance.“Frank, stop–!” 

Gerard reached down and stuck his fingers in Frank’s armpits, eliciting a loud grunt from the shorter man, followed by the familiar belly laugh that filled Gerard with an unmatched ferocity. For good measure, Gerard attempted to swing his free leg upwards to land on Frank’s stomach, but he miscalculated, again, and the guitarist grasped at their ankle. The bandmates wrestled as Frank worked hard to stop the house from burning down, and shoved his cigarette in his mouth to prevent such a thing.

“Tell me!” Frank mumbled from a half-closed mouth, half-giggling and half-grunting as Gerard tickled him. He tried to get Gerard in his guard, attempting to pull him down. It didn't go unnoticed that Frank was trying to draw out the moment for as long as physically possible.

“Fuck–! Dude!” Gerard conceded and removed their hands, knowing that if he was jerked around any more, he might empty his stomach out onto Frank and the pile of t-shirts. “Alright, fine! Jeeze…”  

Ray shouted ‘You guys alright?’ from the other side of the house, and the bandmates replied “Yeah!” in unison like two plucky, clandestine teens on prom night. Gerard steadied themselves and Frank loosened the pressure on their leg.

“It’s… I’ve always wanted to–Like… The moment it hits…” Gerard stood back up and shimmied out of Frank’s grasp, making sure to take the cigarette out of his mouth as they did. He stubbed it out on an empty piggy bank. 

Gerard cleared their throat, continuing. “I’ve wanted to like… climax.”

“Climax?” Frank immediately giggled, and Gerard flinched to give him another scare, although they'd succumbed to their blushing. “Okay! Sorry. Do go on…”

“Dude, it’s not–Okay, so, I was jerking off once, and I didn’t time it right. But to reach the climax, right there and then…that would be–”

“Different kind of fireworks?” Frank raised his brow in a way that was annoyingly charming. His choice words felt like they were pulled right from Gerard's head.

“Exactly! A different kind of fireworks…”

Frank reached out, and Gerard took his hand, their palm clammy against his as they pulled him up from the bed. The damp contact made him wince inwardly–their shower couldn't come soon enough, and the scuffle had left Gerard feeling a little worked up. The guitarist, wide-eyed with flushed cheeks, suddenly had a random idea.

“Do you have a Motorhead shirt?”

-

The party was as expected. Put enough loose canons, hotheaded has-beens and wannabes in an upmarket suburban home, and the trouble makes itself. The label had ‘rented out’ a seven-bed home in the nicer part of town, but it was more likely a favour pulled in from a friend. That’s why Brian had been uptight all night about cleanliness and order. 

Gerard’s band rubbed shoulders with many interesting folk, many of whom were much older and wiser than them, and many were absolute deadbeats. Like any party on the scene, the band also had to fight off gaggles of excitable girls–“We don’t do groupies!”–who had ditched their boyfriends to crash the party. The entertainment was a mediocre DJ, an impromptu jam session, beer pong, and all the usual suspects that led to early-outers collapsing in hallways and heads in toilet basins. In the end, Gerard had chosen the Motorhead shirt, sitting on freshly showered skin and sitting underneath a tattered leather jacket. He’d grabbed his crotch many times that night, showing off a shiny new belt buckle to anyone who dared to look.

“Yeah, it’s a freakin’ BAT!” Gerard yelled, man-handling the buckle and balancing a vodka Red Bull in their other hand. He used his protruding pinky to wipe away his freshly washed hair, and the unsuspecting victims of his gloating were looking around for an escape route. Mikey luckily swam to the rescue, although it was mostly Frank hanging off Gerard’s hip that night. Frank didn’t really drink, and he didn’t really like parties, so he frequently dipped in and out of the scene to chain-smoke cheap cigarettes and look at the stars outside by the empty pool. Gerard had followed him, only because Mikey had abandoned them to grab more beers.

The weather was dipping into low temps, so the outdoor area was free of mischief. Frank’s teeth chattered against the cold as he poured smoke into his lungs and exhaled bitter mist, stuffing his free hand into his hoodie pouch. Two guys walked past him, both with equally loose footing, debating about something as they went by. 

“He’s like if a dude was a girl trying to be a dude…!”

“Yeah man, looks like a chick, but dressed like my Uncle.”

“If he’s a chick, then we’re fucking busssssted...”

Frank chuckled, knowing with 90 percent certainty that they were talking about his best friend and band’s fairly androgynous singer, who was currently mulling behind Frank, nursing a vodka. They froze when they looked up to see the topic of their conversation, staring right back at them, biting their nails. 

One of the guys stuttered, his arms hanging loose as his buddy held onto his shoulder, elbowing each other as they looked past Frank to stare at Gerard. With a flick of the Gerard’s hazel eyes upward, the two friends suddenly turned bashful. 

Frank sniped them a look, as if to ask ‘Can we fucking help you?’

“Yo… Um… They got a room for this, inside. You don’t have to… be outside, y’know.” The men snickered and fell over their words. 

Frank nodded, and the two drunk dudes went on their way. Gerard, none-the-wiser, spat on the floor and watched them leave, unbeknownst to him that he’d had everyone at the house party questioning his gender the whole evening. He took a sip and went back inside, silently. With a gob of spit to join Gerard’s on the floor, Frank followed.

Gerard stumbled back into the fray, the door flying open as music thumped in their ears. Frank shifted around the crowd as he followed Gerard, who was stopped by three people on their way in to congratulate them on their new potential contract. As Gerard sipped and spoke with laudable confidence and coherence, they shifted from foot to foot, feeling the buzz from validation and recognition hit harder than any drink they’d swigged that day. Frank waited for the Gerard-fest to finish before following him upstairs. Gerard felt like his sidekick was burning holes into the side of his head, and he appeared to look frantic whenever he lost Gerard in the crowd. 

The smoking room was more like a vestibule to a grand home office kept behind a locked door, and it sadly wasn’t decked out in all the velour and luxury of a Snoop-esque Cali green room. A low coffee table sported a few loose papers and grinders, and mirrors decorated with loose dust. The smell of weed lingered, leading to the assumption that the room also doubled as a hotbox. It was at least quieter up here. Frank immediately sat down to roll another joint. He needed something to do with his hands, if he wasn’t going to play a show.

After looking around at the artwork on the wall and mumbling about their origins, Gerard strutted over to Frank and made a smoking gesture with their fingers. 

The guitarist held up his cancer stick. “Pot.” 

“Oh. I don’t… wannit…” 

Gerard fell onto the leather couch across from Frank, and it creaked under the weight. The house was upmarket, but its furnishings were all cheap. It felt like a rental party house. It made him feel like they might just be somebodies. Yet, something was missing. 

“Damn… party… sucks! I don’t even… we shoulda played the damn show, Frankie. And I don’t know where Mikey went…” 

Outside the wide open window, a loud roar of a plane flying overhead joined the choir of the hum of 90’s dance music, and Frank wondered what time it was. Gerard hiccuped and growled on the other side of the room. The short man felt his knees trembling and his bones ached. He sank into the feeling as he stood up to look outside the window. 

Gerard whined from the couch, asking for a normal cigarette again, as he’d traded his pack for a disgusting hot cocoa laced with rum. He pouted and looked at his friend in his ill-fitting hoodie, seeing the a microscopic strip of skin between the hem and his studded belt on his low jeans. No wonder he was cold.

Frank ignored him and looked out at the sky, wondering where Ray was. Ray loved to look at the stars. Gerard was biting his fingers when Frank finally returned to the couch. His recently trimmed nails didn’t stop him from ripping tiny specks of skin from his thumb with his teeth. Frank took out his pack, pulled Gerard’s hand down, and placed a cigarette between his friend’s lips. Still holding the pads of Gerard’s hand, Frank sat down to join him.

“You’re… thanks.” Gerard lulled their head to the side, words slurring. “Dude, you’re cold. A-gain!” 

“You gotta sober up, Gee.”

“Am not.” 

Gerard realised he’d got his wires crossed, mistaking the words ‘you gotta sober up’ for ‘you’re drunk,’ although he didn’t want to hear either of those. Frank leaned in with his lit joint, and touched the tip of Gerard’s cigarette, and they both inhaled to ignite the flame. Frank pushed the hair out of Gerard’s face, as it had become loose and silken after their long shower earlier that day. It fell back down again. Frank laughed, and sat cross-legged next to the singer on the sofa. The analogue clock on the wall read that it was just nearing 11 p.m. The night was young, but Gerard’s big bang was feeling more and more like a distant dream. 

As the two smoked in silence, trading glances and trading death sticks, the world felt like a heavy ocean. It carried Gerard up and down on rolling waves, and even the air tasted like salt. The singer let out a guttural groan and reached down for his drink.

“Duuuuude, we gotta partyyyy…”

Frank hoisted their wrist from the clutches of tempting alcohol, and pulled his hand to land in his lap. Frank shook his head, grabbing the cigarette from between Gerard’s fingers, and put it between their lips again, as if to say ‘this is better.’

Two people then came pouring in, their eyes widening as they spotted the bandmates on the couch. They were also staggering on their feet–sneakers and high heels, respectively–and made sure to leave a passing remark to Gerard and Frank as they retreated back out to the hallway. 

“Fuckin’ faggots at Eyeball…” They giggled and sneered.

“It’ll be Reprise next year, scumbags!” Frank yelled.

The woman shouted something as they turned the corner, and Gerard wondered where everyone was going. But he didn’t pay it too much mind–the less people were leaving the party, the better it was for them. Then, it suddenly dawned on him that they were heading to the fireworks display.

Gerard shot up. 

“The fire! The fireworks, Frankie–that’s my… Mikey’s gonna–”

Frank pushed him back down, and Gerard felt his insides swell.

“Wha-? Frank, come on…” Gerard barely put up a fight, but he was determined to see those fireworks. Just not right now. He felt too drunk and possessed to even begin to think about his wish for welcoming the New Year, and instead just melted into Frank’s touch. Gerard then rolled his head around the lounge chair, hacking up spit and scrambled to find the right words. They gave up halfway, and decided they would rest there for a moment, before heading back into the fray. Frank  shoved his fingers under Gerard’s legs for warmth. They could feel the cold through their jeans. Frank’s eyes were glinting again, the light from the opulent chandelier above them refracting in his eyes. Gerard wished he had his sketchbook. 

As the frontman rested their head on the couch, his friend played sentry, sitting and watching and smoking as Gerard caught a few winks. Much to Frank’s relief, Gerard wasn’t already past the point of no return, and a little bit of rest would help space out his friend’s awful binge-drinking habits. Not that Frank was much better–he was slowly getting off the grass, but it was proving difficult with his recent stomachaches.

The clock ticked by and the DJ downstairs had started playing some Eurotrash nonsense. So much for a rock-n’roll party. Gerard’s eyes twitched and danced as their eyes peeled open. Frank’s knee was bouncing on top of his friend’s, and the rhythm felt unavoidably lewd, but Gerard was drunk; being horny was usually not far off. 

Gerard’s thoughts went to his midnight kiss, and they had singled out a few victims at the party, but eventually chickened out, surmising that if people wanted him, they would come. He knew that he’d also be disinterested as soon as they opened their mouths. There was a brief conversation with a long-haired, crazy looking six-foot metal dude that opened Gerard’s eyes to the intimidating world of djent supergroups. It had also opened up their mind to the idea of putting his tongue through a stretched gauge and running his dick along sub-dermal implants. But that was an experience for another time.

Bracing his hand on Frank’s twitchy knee, Gerard leaned down again to pick up his drink again, and was rudely interrupted, again, by Frank cupping his jaw and pulling his friend’s head back up to face him.

“You need to relax, dude. If you don’t stop, I’m gonna put something worse in there.” Frank retorted as he stuffed the a dead cigarette butt into Gerard’s mouth. Without warning, Gerard decided to spit it out into onto the rolling table.

“Frankie, watch this.” 

With no further words, Gerard then opened their mouth wider than a can of soda, and reached in. Frank’s eyes opened to the fullest extent and he leaned in as Gerard found the back of his throat. It was bizarre, and sudden, and disgustingly lewd. Frank could see everything–all of Gerard’s cavities and fillings, the bumps and ridges of his mouth, all the way to the back, before the full width of Gerard’s hand obscured his view. Gerard’s usually soft and supple pink lips were stretched over their hand. 

“Holy shit… Dude… What the fuck?!” Frank was beside himself, unsure what reaction was appropriate, and he looked around to check if Gerard’s brother was also here to bear witness to the freak show. 

Their hand then pulled out slowly, and a trail of spit followed. 

Frank’s eyes bugged out of his head, his smile wider than it’s been all night. It was random. Kind of hot. And a bizarre thing for Gerard to do immediately after waking up. Frank just fell into a fit of giggles, falling back onto the couch, feet raised, clutching his stomach. Gerard loved the way that Frank laughed, and the way his teeth looked; it reminded him of a coyote. The trickster then let out laugh of their own, to reassure Frank that he was not under any duress. Nor was he trying to impress…

Frank had his head in his hands, a slew of shrill giggles emitting from his own mouth, which suddenly felt very small. After the laughter finally died down, he took another toke of his joint, and blew the smoke into his feet. He was really bad at quitting weed.

“Man…” Frank gushed. What the hell was that all about? 

“Hey, hey–I’ll do it again. This time…” Gerard’s voice hitched in their throat as his excitement grew. He’d forgotten about the drink. “Just watch me… hey, Frankie, you watchin'? Put your finger back there. Back here.” 

Gerard lifted up their head and extended his throat to show Frank the sweet spot–the back of his throat, the uvula, pointing to it. 

“What? Gross! I’m not touching that.” 

“Aw, come on… Just, I’ll show you. You can put your finger here, I swear…” Gerard’s pitch raised as he explained, watching how Frank’s eyes intensely followed Gerard’s gesticulating. He seemed to be closer than before. Like how sometimes the moon appears huge, for no reason. 

Gerard continued, “I swear, I won’t even touch it. It’ll go all the way, dude…”

“You must be a real hit with the ladies.”

“No, dude–come on man! I wanna see how far I can go.” Gerard asked nonchalantly, as if it were a simple request between friends. They opened their mouth again, this time taller than it was wide, to make an ‘o’ shape, tongue sticking out for maximum access.

“Dude–your tongue… You didn’t do that last time.”

Gerard was bored of waiting around, and grabbed Frank’s empty hand, extended the middle finger and shoved it into his mouth. He kept going, past the first joint, to the second, to the knuckle, until going any further would render Gerard incapable of holding back. The guitarist’s wide eyes and frown softened as he relaxed into it, eyes wandering all over Gerard’s face. A tiny drop of spit trickled down the corner of Gerard’s mouth, which sent electricity flying through the both of them at equal pace, but it was unspoken. 

The drink made it difficult for Gerard to stay still, but the sensation of the cold radiating from Frank’s finger and the subtle tinge of sweat created addictive distractions in Gerard’s body. Frank kept his reaction more under wraps, but Gerard noticed how the joint burned and burned with no attention paid to it. Frank pawed at his crotch slightly, covertly trying to make it look like a readjustment, and then rushed his hand back to his side. 

The wide-throated singer hiccuped ever so slightly, and Frank pulled back.

“Fuck, dude, sorry–”

With a little cough, Gerard grinned, and wiped their mouth.

“I’m fiiiine. It doesn’t work on me like that. I need something, like… waaaaay bigger…” Gerard drawled, the side of their mouth falling more than usual as their hands gestured to something ‘way bigger’ (and it was comically way bigger than Gerard’s entire torso.)

“You’re nuts. I never knew you could do that.” Frank cleared his throat, and went back to his joint, hand resting on his crotch.

In shoddy movements, Gerard placed a leg behind Frank and leaned their head on the arm rest, Frank nesting between their legs.

“Do it again.”

“What? You’re so fuckin’ weird.” Frank tucked his joint behind his ear, making sure it was out before it was obscured by his burnt-orange hair. 

“Watch… It’s no biggie, man. It feels good.” 

Gerard stuck out their tongue and made an ‘aahhhh’ noise, and started shoving fingers down his throat with reckless abandon. They gave rein to the sensation, feeling whole and full and desperate to show Frank their awesome skill that they definitely didn’t do at home in his own time. 

People walked past the room and covered their hands over their mouths and whispered as they witnessed the innocent depravity unfolding on the leather couch. Pulling out his damp fingers again, Gerard made a confession.

“Honestly… nothin’s ever made me gag before…” 

With his arm now loose, they reached down to the floor to pick up their drink, and Frank batted it away immediately by grabbing their wrist.

“Man, come on!” Gerard put on his best whine. “I’m sobering up here! Just a sip…”

Frank leaned back and shook his finger as his friend frowned underneath him, eyes sparkling and lashes grazing his cheeks in a way that seemed unfair. The guitarist untangled himself from Gerard and headed to the door, swinging it shut and locking it. He then hoisted a wooden chair from the desk and propped it under the door-handle. Gerard looked on as his friend made preparations for what looked to be a zombie apocalypse.

“You good?” Gerard asked, his eyes darting all over Frank’s face and body to try and establish his friend’s current emotion, but to no avail. He twisted their body round to watch Frank stack things against the door, without a word.

Gerard continued, “I don’t mind if they wanna watch, Frankie! Maybe we can get Otter’s drumstick in my fuckin’… throat. Ugh… What time is it, anyway?” 

Frank didn’t say a word as he sat back down on the couch, nestling himself between Gerard’s legs.  With a slow, calculated movement, Frank rested two fingers on Gerard’s lips to interrupt their rambling. The frontman froze, and couldn’t help feel curious as the vodka ran its course, and the corners of his mouth stilled as Frank pressed. The younger of the two was evidently playing a game to pass the time, to help Gerard sober up, so they wouldn’t check out before midnight rolled around. 

Frank pulled down Gerard’s bottom lip to reveal a small strip of pink, damp flesh. His other finger pushed Gerard’s top lip up, revealing their stained teeth. Frank pushed and Gerard unhinged his jaw willingly, opening up their mouth tall. Frank rested his calloused fingers on Gerard’s tongue ever so slightly, and Gerard made a microscopic flinch, but maintained eye contact on Frank’s furrowed brows. It was as if his best friend was thinking deeply, like he was plotting something, or maybe he was concerned about Gerard’s ability. 

“So that’s why you can sing… like that.” Frank muttered, voice low and gravelly as he pressed on Gerard’s yellowed tongue. 

The singer voiced an ‘uh-huh’ from their open throat, and he couldn’t help but poke their tongue out further. Frank looked so concentrated. So inviting. His micro-expressions gave much to be desired, but their inspecting eyes were kicking up a storm in Gerard’s nervous system.

The guitarist wormed his fingers up the tongue, deeper and deeper into the pink cave, and Gerard loosened their jaw further as his guitarist’s leathery finger-pads worked their way to the back. He wasn’t sober enough to calm the twangs of electric activity in their groin.

“Can’t reach that… shit, this is so freaky.”

Gerard then naturally tilted their head up, slowly working their head down Frank’s fingers, not allowing his mouth or teeth to touch the sides them. There was a moment where Gerard thought he heard Frank curse under his breath, and he looked almost like a sheen was forming on his friend’s forehead. Gerard leaned forward, looking Frank into his inviting eyes as curled the end of his tongue slightly to barely touch the base of his friend’s knuckles. Frank seemed to flinch slightly as he audibly gasped, although barely. His brow twitched, and Frank’s own mouth had started to fall slack. He was hovering above Gerard’s crotch, knees to the sides of his friend’s legs, and he was slowly lowering himself down. They were mixing in dangerous territory. Gerard considered the whiskey might have been overkill, as he felt a throb against his jeans. The tension grew and grew until Frank burst the bubble.

“Wow. It’s like a… game of fuckin’ Operation.” 

The tension shattered, and Gerard laughed, spluttering around Frank’s fingers, choking on his friend’s dumb words. With a few hefty coughs, like the smokers they were, the two exchanged the laughter, and Frank leaned back onto his ankles, the tension dropping off a sheer cliff edge as they found themselves back in the friend zone. They both shared a generous sip from the drink, and there was a loud knock at the door.

“Occupado!” Gerard yelled, voice cracking, and the voices outside the door talked among themselves for a moment. Gerard heard something about fireworks, before wondering if it might have been his brother looking for him. He remembered the display would be happening soon, and was antsy to get back downstairs to the party.

Meanwhile, Frank laughed and threw his head back. “Fuck. Man. I gotta get me a girl who can do that.” 

Thoughts of fireworks were abandoned, as Gerard suddenly sheltered his heart from the rain of arrows beating down onto it. It was the familiar sting of jealousy, but Gerard swallowed the feeling with a gulp. His voice quivered slightly.

“I mean… I just did that.” 

Frank’s laugh subsided as he leaned onto the couch on his elbow, smiling widely at his friend, tiny giggles still making his shoulders rise and fall. Gerard had never noticed how Frank’s neck and jaw looked like the perfect size and shape for a vampire to feast on. He’d feasted on it himself, before–as target practice.

“You did. It’s true. You’re really multitalented.” Frank heckled as he poked his finger in the hole in Gerard’s jeans, tickling their kneecap for no reason other than being an asshole. The tension suddenly grew again, it was hard to ignore, and they’d be damned if they didn’t do something about it soon. 

“…And you know you’d make a cute girl, too.” 

Gerard’s head was swimming and his pants were becoming uncomfortable as the inebriated frontman tried to push down Frank’s words and think of something else. They panicked upon the realisation that Mikey would be looking for them both. 

In a blur, as Gerard’s mind was lost in thoughts of jealousy and fireworks and zombie apocalypses, Frank had started to straddle him. The tempest was suddenly struck by a flash of lightning: Frank gripped Gerard’s leather jacket, pieces of it loose in his fingers, and leaned in. Their lips melded together in a woozy concoction of weed, vodka, tobacco and buried feelings. Gerard tried to find air. They tried to make sense of the situation. Their crotch, however, instinctively made its way upwards to meet Frank’s.

“F-rank… What’re you–”

Frank was moaning around Gerard’s lips as he parted them with his tongue, and the frontman searched for an anchor to ground him in the moment. Distant music thumped through the floors, but the loudest sound was his best friend, whimpering in all manner of pathetic. If anyone was the girl here, it was Frank. In all the commotion, Gerard hadn’t noticed that his thoughts were contradicting his actions. Their hands were scrambling for touch all over Frank’s hoodie, and his mouth had willingly opened up for Frank’s tongue and wisps of fiery breath that poured down Gerard’s throat like molten sin. 

“We-we can’t–”

The guitarist ignored his friend and pulled them both upright, wrapping his legs around the back of Gerard as their noses pressed together, hands snaking around thrifted clothes and dyed hair. 

It had all happened so fast, but they didn’t stop. They couldn’t. It was the same thing that happened in the Safeway parking lot and the same thing that happened in the van outside the Fireside Bowl, and the same thing that had happened on Frank’s birthday. They knew it was wrong, they knew it would get them in serious trouble; Frank especially knew that Mikey would gut him like a fish if he found out. But they couldn’t put an end it to it, no matter how hard they tried. In a distant timeline, they both knew that if Gerard had been born a girl, Frank would be meeting her at the end of the aisle in no time. 

Pushing aside taboo, Gerard reached to unbuckle Frank’s belt. Their mouths wrapped around each other and Frank felt the sharp slice of his friend’s razor-like teeth on his tongue. Gerard returned the favour, taking it a step further to lick Frank’s mouth before inserting himself back inside. It was terrible, uncoordinated, with tongues all over teeth and the bitter taste of deadly vices lingering.


“It’s alright…” Frank breathed down Gerard’s throat, and the clinking of a belt buckle coming undone filled the room. The music downstairs had quietened as people poured outside onto the lawn, awaiting the fireworks display.

With cold fingers, Frank held Gerard’s face with such ferocity that Gerard felt like a victim. His tiny nails dug into Gerard’s soft, white skin, to leave small pink crescents in his cheeks. The taller of them returned the favour, grabbing Frank by the scraggly ends of his shitty mohawk, pulling his head to reveal the pure, empty skin of his neck. Gerard had found the perfect spot.

Bingo. No one would see it, if it was here… 

He sank his teeth into a scorpion tattoo that had recently been engraved into Frank’s neck, and the singer took the rare opportunity to play vampire. It had been a while since they gave a hickey, so Gerard couldn’t remember how to do it. He wasn’t sure if he should suck or press or bite, so they just plunged their small canines into the odd-legged scorpion. Frank recoiled with a gasp, before melting into the sensation. The guitarist’s hand released from Gerard’s jacket as it rushed to unzip his pants, shoving his hand down below. 

“Ohh…” Frank moaned, fingers disappearing to assist in something that Gerard wasn’t privy to. 

A wet ring had formed around Frank’s tattoo, leaving his scorpion encased within a halo of pink-tinged lust. Gerard placed his hand over Frank’s and moved it out of the way, deciding it was their turn to touch. His friend’s dick was pulsing in response, and Gerard ached to see how his face was reacting.

Frank had his head tilted back again, his arched eyebrows were pressed together, eyes closed and jaw exposed. The plump, moist lips of his guitarist looked so perfectly kissable, but Frank had other plans. Pulling Gerard by the hair, the guitarist guided their drunken vocalist to to unfurl him from the couch, knocking the coffee table back as they scrambled to the floor. Gerard fell, their knees raw and bare from the holes in their jeans, and hovered above Frank’s crotch.

No words were exchanged, just intense looks and wandering hands. Gerard shuffled backwards, making sure to let Frank know they were willing by following his eyes. They reached down and pulled out the tattooed man’s growing dick, giving it a hurried squeeze before stroking it rhythmically. Gerard revelled in the sight; his usually stoic guitarist was writhing and twitching underneath their touches, gasping in ever-increasing intensity and volume. Frank would briefly check the clock, and then melt back into ecstasy. 

Knocking the table again, Gerard wanted to bring the conversation back to their special talent.

“You know, I’m good at this…” Gerard leaned on his ankles, his knees scraping the floorboards beneath him, as they pointed their pink tongue at the target. Frank whipped his head down to look see what ‘this’ meant.

Gerard continued, their tone casual and almost mean-spirited, as if they were bartering at an arcade machine. “Hey, Frank. If–if you can make me gag, I’ll give you… um, thirty bucks.” Gerard played with Frank’s dick like a microphone as he spoke. 

Frank’s mouth twisted. “Fifty. But you gotta do it like…” He croaked, his cool, calm demeanour slowly unraveling as they headed closer to the end of the year, as Gerard toyed with him with a tongue in their cheek. 

“Shit…

… Fifty, but you gotta do it like a girl.” 

“Deal.” 

Gerard squeezed the head, and licked a long stripe from bottom to top. It wasn’t an impeding size, but it was fun to hold, and Gerard’s long, artistic fingers felt at home wrapped around it. The singer’s long tongue curled around the shaft as he pulled up, ignoring the motion sickness building. 

“You betterrr… give me all you got….” Gerard slurred, their pitch heightened and words drawn out. They wrapped their lips around the head and worked his mouth down, and down, and down. With a hiss, Frank reached for Gerard’s hair to grip them tightly, moving his friend’s head up and down in a motion that he’d only seen in the dirty pornos sniped from Brian’s house. Unlike the pornos, Gerard possessed a depraved, genuine hunger; like Frank’s dick was oxygen, and they were running out of air.

Gerard was almost faultless, for while, but it could have been the weed talking. Frank felt at home in Gerard’s mouth, like it was made for him, and Gerard felt at home with his lips wrapped around his friend. Just then, a stray tooth snagged Frank’s skin. Pulling off, Gerard rubbed Frank’s dick on his cheek as he grinned. Strands of their hair fell onto Frank’s glistening head, and Gerard was none the wiser, to make for a filthy and uncomfortable scene. 

“My bad.” The frontman grinned, their boy voice making a drunken return. “You wanna … go deeper?” They asked with a hiccup, slightly breathless, lips a delightful shade of pink. 

Frank fell back into non-verbal territory and shook his head, trying to telepathically communicate to his best friend that this is all he’s got–he can’t grow any bigger. 

“Get up. Stand up…” Gerard’s accent had doubled-down, which was a given whenever they drank. 

In an awkward tangle of legs and arms and Frank hitting his calves against the table, the shorter man stood up, trying not to let go of his friend’s hair. Gerard hooked their claws around the hem of Frank’s boxer shorts, fingers digging into warm flesh as they immediately sank into the full length of their friend’s member, relishing in the feeling of his throat filling to the brim, soaking in the sweat and the smells and the sensation of their mouth stretching out. 

“Jesus, fuck–”

Gerard pulled Frank closer, and buried his nose in Frank’s bush as he nuzzled it. There was nothing like this. His mind went back to that morning, how Frank had been dreaming and getting hard. The artist was making it his mission to have Frank having wet dreams again, but about Gerard–and only Gerard. 

They relaxed their jaw fully as Frank started naturally thrusting inwards and outwards. Gerard’s throat was being used, and that’s all he craved. Gerard looked up pleadingly to his friend, reminding him that this is what he’s here for, as well as writing music and watching TV together. Frank was almost panting, cheeks flushed and a thin rope of spit hung from his lip, swinging with his movements. 

Gerard’s talent was, at most, sloppy, but there was no doubt that he could take it all one go without complaint. 

“Shit. You weren’t kidding…” Frank panted, his voice cracking as it barely escaped his throat. His best friend’s earlier gloating didn't go unnoticed; they really could take it all.

Frank cupped Gerard’s face with one hand, and gripped his jet black hair with his other. Then, in all manner of crude and barely disguised secrecy, he fucked his friend’s mouth until he forgot where he was. It was the noisiest he’d been all night. 

Gerard rolled his eyes to the back of his throat, and a roaming hand made its way to his bat belt, which came undone after a couple of tries. He instantly shoved his hand down his jeans, pulling his cock free as it hit his stomach. Frank’s eyes widened. 

“Fuck. Better you than me…” Frank whispered, imagining how he’d be instantly cornered by Gerard’s length, how he’d be fighting for his life no matter how wide he could open his mouth.

To make the most out of his friend’s talent, Frank hit the back of Gerard’s throat, and to everyone’s surprise, the talent coughed. Frank’s lips curled and he raised a brow to prove a weak point. Gerard looked up with wet eyes and a mouth full of cock, another stray canine delicately grazing Frank’s dick.

“Oh… Do you owe me fifty dollars now?” The guitarist gloated.

Gerard nodded and went back to work, their hazel irises disappearing behind quivering eyelids. Without warning, the guitarist grabbed Gerard’s hair and slammed into their throat, testing the waters and challenging his friend’s earlier theory. 

With a loose groan, the talent opened wider. 

Down below, they were hurriedly stroking himself as Frank fucked their mouth, eyes looking up to put Frank in an impossible situation and raise his blood pressure. Maybe fifty dollars wouldn’t be enough to cover the damages. 

On the floor, Gerard had spread his legs wide, knees poking from ripped jeans and red and raw from friction. His washed hair was losing its sheen, now sticking to their clammy face and curling in tiny knots. The scenes of the party faded as the two bandmates lost themselves in their forbidden cohort, a stack of furniture the only barrier between them and a career-decimating scandal. 

Frank pulled Gerard off, and with another slam pushed him back to the base of his dick. He tensed his hands, veins protruding as his blood pumped wildly around his small body. The only feeling second to this was playing guitar wildly on stage. Frank did it again, and Gerard whined around him. The guitarist paid no mind to the potential protest, and continued to pull Gerard off with a sharp tug, before making their way back down. 

“Fuck–” Frank exhaled below a whisper, and his head fell back almost parallel with the floor. He was using his friend’s talent for nothing other than simple, sick, pleasure. Frank was 21 years old, after all. He had urges. He had needs. And he had the perfect outlet. His perfect outlet was looking up with doting eyes as they pawed at their thick cock. The feeling of his throat being used and violated didn’t occur to them before, but god forbid Gerard has to give normal head for the rest of their life. It was addictive. Gerard moaned quietly as they continued to service their friend. 

“Mmf…”

Frank pushed his full length into Gerard’s mouth again, paying another visit to the back of their throat, and he held it there as he gripped Gerard’s jaw. Then, Frank dug in his fingers into their face again, pulling at Gerard’s mouth with his thumb, studying his little teeth and stretching the corners of his mouth into a smile.

“How the fuck do you do this…” Frank whispered as his thumb joined his cock inside Gerard’s mouth. 

Gerard could tell the exact moment that Frank felt his heart pop and the vein in his forehead burst. He knew Frank was angry at him for keeping this a secret. Last time they’d hooked up, it had just been kisses and mutual jerk-off sessions and fingering. The guitarist had seen Gerard unravel, he’d seen them completely undone–mostly off the stage. But on stage, Frank had heard Gerard talk shit about dick and fall to his knees, legs spread and shoving a mic into their mouth in the heat of the moment before a song. Frank had no reason to consider that his vocalist loved to have his fucking mouth abused behind closed doors.

The talent felt smug, knowing that his party trick could finally be useful for something, apart from getting himself off by shoving things down his throat and touching himself in his basement. 

“Fuck. Dude. Your mouth is… I just–…” Frank wiped Gerard’s mouth and pulled out. The scene was atrocious. Gerard’s pink cheeks marked with tiny crescents, their mouth red and swollen, drool pooling from each corner, his jet black lob of hair was thoroughly messy, with loose strands sticking to his face and making lewd curls around the ridges of his brow bone.  Frank was usually a man of few words. But he’d completely succumb to Gerard’s drunken offering. Back down on the floor, Gerard just giggled like a girl.

“It’s insane.” Frank huffed, “I need to fucking find me a–”

Gerard looked up as they placed a hand to the floor, steadying themselves and waiting for the end of the sentence

“…it’s whatever. Just fuckin’… you're crazy.” 

With a vacant, hypnotic glare, Gerard let a trail drool fall out of their mouth and into their dick as he rubbed the head, not breaking eye contact with the huffing and puffing punk-chick-looking guy above him. His friend’s scorpion tattoo had grown purple. 

Frank looked to the clock, and Gerard craned their neck to follow, but he succumbed to his weak cognition and fell to the floor. On the ground, Gerard spotted the drink that had been slowly turning room temperature an arm’s length away from them. He reached for it, and Frank grabbed their hair to pull him back onto his forgotten dick.

“Nah, man.” 

Gerard groaned with eyes rolling up and dancing lashes, melting into the taste. He was so, so thirsty, but they couldn’t deny their other vice. They pulled off, spit making its way to the floor. 
The talented grumbled, “If you want me to do it like a girl, at leaaaast call me… a bitch…or somethin'.” Gerard whined, biting their lip and pushing hair from his face. He made a good point, and Frank considered it.

The talent on the floor started rubbing himself off faster with purposeful intent to join Frank in the realm of pleasure, but Frank denied them again by stepping away. Gerard leaned back on their knees, wiping their mouth with their decaying leather jacket, and he asked what was going to happen now.

His best friend said nothing, just waddled to the blinds and pulled them down, ignoring the full view of the bustling crowd out on the lawn below. Gerard made a sneaky reach for the drink. Frank turned just in time to see their best friend tip his head back, the clear liquid vanishing down their throat at lightning speed. A harsh, girlish giggle escaped, followed by a hiccup as they bit their lip. A flash of smug pride warmed them–and they knew exactly how much it would piss Frank off.

Frank crossed his arms. 

“Motherfucker.” 

“Oh come awhnn…! Was thirsty.” Gerard scrambled up from the floor, his hand slipping on the table to send papers and empty bottles flying everywhere. As they found their feet, the room twisted around them. They fixed their eyes on their own shoes, desperate for a fixed point in the spinning world. Waltzing over to Frank, the newly charged frontman grabbed his friend by the hair, and stuck his tongue down his throat. It was reciprocated, despite Frank’s protest, and their lower halves rubbed together to start a forbidden fire. 
 
Frank whimpered first, but changed his stance suddenly, and in a flash he suddenly pried open Gerard’s mouth to shove his fingers down their throat.

“Try and drink now.”  He growled. 

Frank ignored the spluttering from his deviant friend below him. Their eyes were glassy like a doll's, their old leather jacket flaking away like porcelain scraps. Although Gerard didn't break so easily.

“So fuckin’… talented.” Frank murmured as he watched a pink tongue wind itself like delicate ivy around is finger.

Frank added another as he stoked the back of Gerard’s throat like a dying flame, searching for the button that would upend Gerard’s stomach and remove the toxic poison. It didn’t work, and the talent, with eyes moist and teary, just smiled crudely around Frank’s digits. They were unstoppable. A performer, always. And Gerard knew the current displays of power were just that–a display. The talent knew he was still in control. They knew Frank wanted to use Gerard for his sick release, and no matter how much Gerard pushed… he knew Frank would come crawling back.  

Gerard started to cough, but it came from his lungs, lungs that had been butchered and abused from five days of partying and endless cigarettes. He choked on Frank’s fingers as the guitarist watched the spit fly from his mouth and around his fretboard hand. 

Silent, and relishing in his new role as judge, jury and executioner, Frank pulled his fingers out. Gerard grasped his own dry, ruined throat. Black bangs fell in front of their eyes yet again, and he braced himself on the desk, head hanging down. Frank watched his talented friend search for a defeated breath. He’d won the round. But Gerard was determined to win the war.

With a creeping grin, Gerard lifted his head up to see Frank’s usual stoic expression was slowly fraying at the edges, especially as he continued to thumb himself.

“Frankie…you …if I was a girl, would you…?” Gerard panted, hiding behind a lock of hair. “Would you do the same for me?” 

The guttural voice of his best friend filled Frank with a hazardous curiosity. Frank squeezed his dick as he considered the scenario. He wondered if he would get on Gerard’s knees and give him head–if Gerard had a pussy. He thought that maybe sucking dick wasn’t so bad. His eyes flicked up to the clock. The party felt like a distant memory, but the hour drew ever closer to midnight. They were suddenly at odds with each other, and with the time, so Frank hatched a plan to bring them back to the spontaneous passion they’d so easily melted into earlier. 

The shorter man shrugged to move swiftly on. “Maybe.”

He stepped into Gerard’s personal space, his cock meeting first with Gerard’s, and he paused to run his calloused fingers down Gerard’s damp neck. Frank hissed when Gerard returned the favour, as the singer slipped a finger under the hem of his jeans to run across the length of his stomach. Frank shivered, bucking up involuntarily.

“Sure, you would. You just…totally follow me ‘round… all the time,” Gerard mumbled, “Looking all weird and hungry… you’re like, sick sometimes, I guess.” 

With pressure points calculated in their head, Gerard lifted up Frank’s hoodie, the cold air seeping in from the half-open window and whirling around them. Frank’s skin pricked with goosebumps as fingers found their way to Frank’s nipples. 

“If you were a girl–I mean, sometimes… you’re like, a punk chick–” Gerard continued to ramble away into Frank’s neck, ignoring his friend’s trembling breath and tiny gasps. “Don’t scream like a girl, though…” 

Gerard squeezed and his other hand pressed deeply into Frank’s hip. Gerard pulled him closer, and they started to thrust into each other, denim fabric and flesh rubbing against each other to re-ignite the task at hand. 

“You… If we do this, y‘gotta stop followin’ me around…” Gerard slurred, and he wasn’t sure if he was making sense as their vision blurred around the edges and their legs felt heavy. 

The frontman twisted and squeezed hard on the soft olive flesh that was spilling into his thumb and fingers. Gerard leaned into Frank’s neck, taking a deep breath, the scent of sweat and patchouli and hair gel and weed filling his nose. He mumbled into Frank’s skin as his inhibition faded.

“This year was so awesome… gonna make a new fuckin’ record, too, dude…”

Frank rested his head on Gerard’s ahoulder, moving it up and down to rub himself in it, loose strands sticking to his mouth–it smelled like flowers, soft and sweaty. He could feel the vibrations of Gerard’s voice as they rambled away. The time drew nearer.

“Gee, just shut the fuck up.” Frank ordered, murmuring into his friend’s lop. “Get on the couch.” 

The talent cackled and made a bizarre noise from the crook of Frank’s neck, and both of their hands dropped to the dip of Frank’s hips. He grunted as he thrusted against Frank’s cock one last time, before stumbling to the couch. Frank followed, and immediately plowed three fingers between Gerard’s lips, mostly to cease the nonsense rambling. He wasn’t sure about the plan. Gerard smirked and willingly obliged, eyes locked onto Frank’s face as he mouthed around the offering. 

With a tight grip around their wrist, Frank made Gerard suck on their own fingers, sending a message that something else was going to happen between them. Gerard’s guard dropped, the diva attitude melting away. The talent let out a drawn out moan as they closed their eyes, pulling out their hand to lick a long, wet, lewd stripe from the base of their hand to the tip.

There was no stopping the words that fell from Frank’s lips. 

“Good girl.”

Gerard’s eyes widened, their cock dripping, completely undone at the sentence his guitarist had just uttered. The talent grew more intoxicated by the second, but they weren’t sure if it was the drink, or his affection for Frank, but they felt woozy and their heart raced in their chest. 

Frank looped his fingers around Gerard’s jeans and pulled them down. 

“On your knees.” 

The vocalist obliged and fell onto all fours on the couch face first, hair lightly dusting the surface and leaking saliva all over the leather. Frank wanted to wipe the stupid grin off their face, even though, deep down, it relaxed him. 

“Gee.”

“Yeah…” Gerard replied, eyes closed and head nuzzling into the cold leather. 

“You gotta say you want it.” 

Gerard smushed their face one more time before looking up to Frank. His friend’s heavy eyelids and hard nipples made the singer feel crazy and hypnotic, like his vodka has been laced with an aphrodisiac. It felt good to have his throat stretched. It felt even better to have his ass stretched. But that was a talent they usually kept to themselves–until now.

“Frankie, I wannit… I–I friggin’, you know I do. Fuck.” Gerard panted into the couch and leaned backwards. They hooked a wet finger around their entrance and inserted it slowly. The singer tensed around it, seeing flashes of colour behind his eyes. The searing pain coiled with overwhelming pleasure to craft a deadly mix. The two of them together were always a deadly mix. 

“Gonna hurt, Gee.” 

Frank’s dick pulsed as Gerard entered another wet finger. As he leaned up onto his knees, the guitarist spat into Gerard’s asshole, and Gerard stretched backwards, arching their back like a cat. That was all the help he would get, as Frank was too afraid to put his fingers inside Gerard, even though his friend had returned the favour on his last birthday. 

With his free hand, Gerard’s nails dug into the leather sofa as he opened himself up, and Frank looked to check the clock. 

Fuck. 

He didn’t have long. 

Hooking his finger upwards and downwards and around to make himself squirm, Frank leaned over and pressed his dick against their thighs. Leaning into the side of Gerard’s head, pushing back his hair with his other hand, Frank licked the top of their ear. Gerard writhed and left out a long, hefty moan. That was the sweet spot. 

“Can you take it?”

“Ugh–Fuck, yeah. Do it. Make me…fuckin’…remember this year. I want it.”

“You gotta shut up.” Frank knew that they had to keep it down; even if everyone was out on the lawn, one lone straggler who recognised Gerard’s voice could be the downfall of everything they'd built together. 

“No–I need you… You can do it. Do it to me. Like prom night…” 

With a sigh, Frank nuzzled his nose into Gerard’s fucked up hair one last time. Gerard added another finger, and it looked like they resisted somewhat, but his fingers were well and truly nested inside. Frank spat onto his dick, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be enough. 

“You, Frank. It’s gotta be you…” Gerard panted. He felt a trail of pre-cum bubble up and drip onto the couch. He wanted it.

In clumsy movements, Frank pulled out a condom from his wallet and ripped it with his teeth. Gerard moaned away underneath him, his fingers thrusting in and out of his hole like it was easy. They had taken a particularly long shower earlier that day. Frank hazarded a guess that Gerard’s fingers had already paid a visit inside, which worked in his favour.

Like a burning hot iron, Frank entered Gerard as he wailed beneath him. He stayed still for a moment, and pooled a gob of spit into the crevice of his mouth before letting it drip onto his dick. The pain subsided momentarily, and Frank’s dick throbbed inside Gerard. Frank gently pushed in again, and Gerard hissed. The pain brought him to the teetering edge, then it subsided to make way for pleasure. 

“One more time.” Frank whispered into Gerard’s ear, making sure to keep the energy calm. 

“Give it to me, please…” Gerard didn’t get the memo, as he slurred his words loudly.

Frank pulled out and Gerard whimpered, mumbling ‘are you kidding me’ under their breath, before Frank pushed in again. The frontman grunted and balled their hands into fists, throwing their head up to the ceiling. The pleasure was warm and rounded, but the pain was stinging and acidic. The inflicted pain and inflicted pleasure pushed the boundaries of Gerard’s tolerance as Frank started to gently rock. Frank hung his mouth open to let a constant trail of spit fall down onto his dick as he watched it slowly exit and enter. His eyes looked up to the clock again. The New Year was almost here. Frank’s nerves bundled as he tried to contort himself to maximise their chances of their wish coming true, as he pushed down thoughts of sin and hellfire.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m–Fuck,” Gerard face-planted the couch again as he pressed his brows together, his face in morphing from a performance to one of genuine ecstasy.  “I wish … you were in my mouth too.” 

Without hesitation, Frank hooked his fingers around Gerard’s mouth as his best friend released another long moan. People were giggling outside, stragglers who’d probably come to crash the party, and Frank checked that his barrier mechanism was still in working order.

“Fffffuuuuuck, Frank–” Gerard’s teeth and tongue chewed around Frank’s fingers as they whined, and Frank tried to ignore his own burning desire for Gerard to bite harder. The searing pain met with burning pleasure to form a toxic combination for the two of them, which had been the theme of the night. Gerard’s throat was dry and hoarse but his dick was leaking, positively dripping all over the nice leather, bouncing and throbbing with every thrust.

“You’re so… fuck!” Gerard growled again, similar to how they did on stage, but rough around the edges and a lower pitch than most had heard. “Keep fuckin’ going…” 

Frank grunted in Gerard’s ears, trying to remind them what was at stake, despite the fact that they were both near the edge and both deeply, unfortunately, unequivocally in disgusting love with each other. 

“Keep fuckin’ quiet.” 

The guitarist weaved his fingers between Gerard’s tongue, feeling his desperate, squirming, moist muscle aching for attention. Everything about Gerard was aching for attention. Frank eyed the clock again, released his fingers, and pushed into the small of Gerard’s back, digging his nails into the soft skin.

“No… in my mouth… please…”

Frank was nauseated at his thoughts, thinking that, if Gerard wanted their wish, he had to touch him there. He was embarrassed by what he’d become, how he could even talk about touching his frontman and best friend so easily, but his hands found their way to Gerard’s dick nonetheless. It filled his hand entirely, the circumference of it leaving him grateful that he wasn’t on the receiving end. Gerard’s veiny cock pulsed between Frank’s thumb and forefinger as he started to move his hand in fast, fervent strokes.

“Ahh...” 

Gerard rubbed their face in the leather again before looking behind him to see Frank, pulling in and out of his hole. His mohawk had deflated a little, hair unruly and sweat patches forming on his thin shirt. Gerard grinned mischievously, and Frank responded by slamming hard into Gerard’s sweet spot to teach him a lesson in manners. He mewed in responsed, finally trying to stifle their moans.

Frank heard the hum of the crowd outside, and he knew they were soon approaching the time. The New Year was any minute now. He thrusted hard and deep, pressing his thumb on the head of Gerard’s cock and jerking it like he did his own. Gerard writhed and squirmed beneath him, arching his back like a cat, and mewing like one too. Frank leaned back, both his hands now digging into the pale of his friend’s hips as he thrusted with little confidence and all speed. 

“Oh god…”

“You gonna drink again?”

“No, I swear–“

Frank hit hard and fast, and Gerard saw stars and tasted acid. He ached to have his mouth filled, too. 

“No–fuck– I wannit. I swear. Frankie….”

Gerard’s raised his ass skyward as his thighs started to tremble, beads of sweat falling from his cheek to his neck, adding to the layers of smells his terrible decaying leather jacket already possessed. Their hair, which had been so nicely washed earlier that day, was back to its messy and unruly state.

“Yeah, you do...shit." Frank tried to hold back a moan. 

The frontman quivered and grasped the arm rest of the leather sofa, and Frank picked up the pace. He spat again, this time carelessly, and he lathered Gerard’s ass with sweat and spit as he worked hard to keep the pace on Gerard’s dick. He felt his wrists twinge in pain as he looked at the time again.

If he wasn’t going to be quiet, maybe he didn’t deserve their wish. Fingers flew into their mouth again to put a stop to the talking, but it just resulted in long moans. Frank felt the crevices and cracks and corners of his friend’s sharp little teeth, and Gerard seemed to press forward to try and swallow Frank whole from both ends. 

Frank grasped at the disgusting leather jacket and fucked his best friend like they owed him money, watching his dick slide in and out so easily, hitting Gerard’s prostate with poor accuracy but with intense and pining physicality that seemed to be doing something. The frontman was unrecognisable to most–pants at their ankles, head bowed and mouth falling to the side to let out ungodly and unfamiliar whines fall from their swollen pink lips. But Frank was becoming all too comfortable with this sight. 

The familiar build up of pressure began to circle the base of Frank’s dick, his nerves pinged with electricity and his dick twitched in time with the countdown outside. Gerard’s hole was so tight and unforgiving, it was growing difficult for Frank to hold back. He’d been brought to the edge by his friend’s talent, so there was no telling when he’d finally cave in–but it was sneaking up on him. 

Frank looked down as Gerard swallowed him whole and fought to let him leave. Gerard was completely undone beneath him, but the talented singer knew they still had the power.

Frank wanted to change that.

Outside, the crowd started the countdown. 

“30!
29!
28!”

“Good girl… shit-”


Frank maintained a half-decent rhythm, but he suddenly didn’t know if he could time it right on the money, either. He’d forgotten about the accuracy needed to pull this off. He picked up the pace on Gerard’s dick again and swerved his body back and forth in a blind panic, but he couldn’t stop the feeling that overwhelmed his body completely. His mouth fell open and small moans escaped him, with no chance for him to continue playing it cool. The familiar sensation was building up inside him, and the sight of his friend, bent over and used, almost sent him over the edge. In that moment, Frank bit the inside of his mouth, to test his own limits and push his own physical boundaries. It sent him over the edge. 

 

“22!
21!”

 

In a flash of hot, blinding light, Frank’s dick pulsed repeatedly, as he shoved his full length into his best friend, emptying himself and filling Gerard to the brim. He whimpered in a vain attempt to hold back a moan, but the noise grew louder as his cum spilled into his frontman. 

 

“Ohhhh… damn…” 

“Wow–inside…"

 

Frank's length throbbed as he felt the condom fill up with his seed, and the voltage hit him like a truck as he dug in his fingers, letting the release consume him completely. He wasn't thinking of taboos or sin or anything else other than the sickly hot feeling of using his friend for his much-needed relief.

 

"Inside your good girl…” Gerard huffed. "That’s...kinda hot!"

“12!
11!”

Frank rode the waves of pleasure, his girth throbbing and twitching, as he continued to work hard to bring Gerard to the same place.

“Frank, fuck, faster-shit,” Gerard thrusted back onto Frank’s dick, tongue creeping from their mouth.

He wasn’t sure if he could go faster, so he thought quickly on his feet, and flung his arm forward to curl his fingers inside Gerard’s mouth, both hands spreading his lips and jaw open, splaying his callouses around Gerard’s dry tongue, searching for the limits he’d reached earlier. He thrusted upwards and pulled his friend's head back with his fingers hooked inside their mouth, like he was trying to tame a horse. Gerard whined like a pornstar in response, and dug their shoes into the sofa. His eyes rolled up and his tongue wrapped itself around Frank’s digits to push them further into his throat. Frank bucked his hips to try and aid him as he tried to reach as far as he could into Gerard’s throat. 

“Hng...” 

“5!
4!
3!
2!
1!”

The crowd cheered and whistled and hollered. Bottles popped and fireworks whizzed into the air with a bang, some with a crack and a pop, but mostly Frank wasn’t paying attention.
Gerard was trembling underneath Frank, and he tried to lift their torso up, but they buckled beneath the weight. Shallow rivers of sweat trickled down their thighs, and Frank let out an exhausted exhale as echoes of pleasure still visited his groin. 

“Oh god. Fuck. Shit, I'm gonna... wait... fuck–!”

Gerard's words were obscured by the hands in his mouth, but they still cried out into the night, not at all heeding Frank's earlier warning, as they reached their hand down to their cock and stroke it fast. The tip lightly touched the sofa, and the sensation, paired with their full mouth, sent them into a dizzying, erotic spell of lust incarnate. In a heap of hungry yelps and pulsating waves, Gerard panted, jerking himself hurriedly to the edge. With a wide mouth and hard cock, Gerard started to cum. Frank pushed himself into his best friend and they grunted under their breath, grasping the base of their dick as it bounced and throbbed, spilling out endless ropes of white cum onto the sofa. It didn't seem to stop, and Gerard's face was unlike anyone in any crowd had seen. The sheen of sweat on their eyelids almost looked like glitter eyeshadow, and their mouth, open and abused, was like a scene from an illegal R-rated movie. If anything, Gerard was making it really hard for Frank not to follow them around.

"Fuck..."

The singer grunted, let out a few struggling gasps, before slumping into the sofa. The fireworks banged and crashed like thunder. A maniacal cackle started to appear from the crannies of the sofa. 

“Hah. Haha. Hahahaha!”

From panting to laughing, Gerard fell back into their typical diva self, morphing their whimpers into ridiculous sounds of laughter to try and dispel the situation. “I just got FFFFFUCKED!” They growled, low and buttery and monstrous. Frank slowly pulled out his sore, wet dick and gave Gerard's hip one last squeeze.

Going commando, Frank began to buckle himself back up and soak in the sight: Gerard's flushed, pink skin, weak at the knees and the elbows, hair in delicate waves and curls around their puffy face, ass dripping and multiple pools of liquid sloshing around the couch as a dirty reminder of what happened.

Frank tightened his belt–a little too tightly, to punish himself for caving in–and made a poor attempt to fix his hair. 

“Happy new year, Gerard.” Frank said bluntly, before picking up the drink cup and tossing it out the window. The fireworks continued to crash and boom outside, and people ooh’ed and ahh’ed, none the wiser that Eyeball’s latest hot piece had just been defiled and spoiled so perfectly. 

Gerard rubbed a thumb over their swollen dick before putting it in their mouth, tasting his handy work. They struggled to lean back, as their muscles quaked. Then, a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, and Gerard was being pulled upright. The room rose and fell and sank around him, and it felt like eons ago that they’d entered this infinite party. But it was only midnight.

“Frankie–! Was it on the…zero? On the mark?” Gerard panted as he reached for a loose cigarette on the table. 

With a slightly trembling finger, now scored with tiny, red bite marks, Frank pushed the hair out of Gerard’s face, and shrugged.

The smallest smile lifted the corners of the guitarist’s mouth, and Gerard let out a deafening giggle. The frontman admired Frank’s hasty return to normalcy, but he could see it on Frank’s face, they could smell it as it clung to Frank’s skin: Sex was written all over him. His unruly hair, the damp sheen, the damp spots on his clothes and the purple bruise on his neck. Frank’s bright and inviting eyes were slightly dulled now, but his little smile filled Gerard with butterflies. That could have been the alcohol. Gerard knew, at least, people always expected the vocalist to look a little desheveled and out of place. But Frank looked like the one that had been fucked. 

Gerard pulled his trousers up haphazardly and sparked up, flashing Frank a smile.

 

"Well… man, there’s always next year!” 

 

-

Notes:

took a break from tgwwtbg to write self-indulgent long winded bullets porn. sue me!! i was meant to publish on NYE but oh well. the timings are probably off but whatever. enjoy!

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