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He’s already watching Frank as he walks onto the stage in the mid-afternoon summer sun, a pair of fishnet tights peeking through the rips in his red-stained duct-taped jeans. ‘Just doing something new’ was all he’d said when Gerard asked, shrugging him off. Point is, Gerard’s looking when Frank leans over his mic stand, shirt riding up to show a sliver of pale skin and a flash of pink that nearly blends into his belt. It’s not a solid enough look to confirm anything, but it’s certainly enough to spur on wishful thinking and to glue his eyes to Frank’s waistband. He doesn’t even attempt subtlety the next time Frank bends over his guitar, nearly choking as a light pink waistband slips up above the edge of his loose jeans.
Gerard’s face tinges pink in a way that he hopes the sun will excuse for him and his focus wanders as he constantly has to double his efforts to keep himself in their music and his own performance. The rest of the band and audience seemingly staying thankfully oblivious to his plight. It’s a good test of patience if anything, the rest of the set seeming achingly long and the dutiful clearing of the stage for the next band more tedious than usual.
He lets out a sigh once they’re out of sight and out of direct sunlight: eyes glued to Frank’s ass like he has x-ray vision or something. And wouldn’t that be cool. It doesn’t matter though because he can’t even make out the shape of his underwear from how loose the denim slides over Frank’s ass. The band is talking about… something, he’s not sure what and he doesn’t bother to pay attention, spacing out even when his eyes shift out to the horizon of the festival ground.
He catches Frank starting to move in his peripheral and his eyes snap to his body as he saunters over, hips almost deliberately swaying as he does. His feet seemingly guided by his dick as he kicks up dust. Frank doesn’t quite press to Gerard’s, it’s too hot for that, but he does let his hand slip down to brush his. It’s a comforting gesture, a pause, before the conversation resumes under the small spot of shade they’ve claimed for themselves. Gerard now chiming in occasionally as he feels the light brush of skin against his knuckles like a third degree burn. Eventually, Mikey slips away to go see another set and Ray is pulled into another conversation with a different band’s guitarist.
Now that their alone—relatively speaking—Gerard can’t help but let his eyes drift back down to the elastic band of the fishnets that peeks above Frankie’s jeans and at what he thinks is under them. “Like em’?” Frank asks, startling Gerard from his staring as he plucks at the band that keeps them high on his hips, sitting midway up on the ink that makes up his swallows.
“They’re cool,” Gerard says as casually as he can manage. And they do, creating a very casual look with Frank’s usual dress and their more…promiscuous… implication. Or not promiscuous, but like sex appeal or something. It’s kinda like softcore shit, but not at all, because fishnets are a totally normal thing to wear and-
Frank snort cuts off his spiral, maybe aimed at his answer, maybe aimed at his definitely red face. “Try to sound like you mean it.”
“I’m just thinking about what you have on under them,” Gerard blurts before he can stop himself. Maybe he drank more than he thought.
To Frank’s credit he doesn’t play totally dumb. “You see something?” he smirks, purposefully toying with his waistband. Or well… he always does like playing coy.
“Something pink,” Gerard tells him, swallowing.
“Yeah?” Frank says encouragingly, “what’d you see, Gee?”
Gerard keeps his eyes carefully above the hips, but not high enough to meet Frank’s bright eyes. Somehow staring at Frank’s barely visible nipples doesn’t read as the most respectful either, but it’s what he’s got. “I dunno.”
Clearly, Frank is taking joy from Gerard’s awkwardness as he places a hand against Gerard’s back pocket, shifting to stand in front of him. “Whatcha think you saw?” he teases before commanding, “tell me, Gerard.”
“Pink… panties” he spits in a quick whisper, like it’s somehow even close to the dirtiest thing happening in the damned tour. Maybe it's just different when you want in on it.
Frank smiles, big and fond, “say that any quieter and no one would believe you’ve ever cross dressed.”
It’s not an unwarranted tease and Gerard lets his face dip down close enough that he can feel the sunburn off Frank's cheeks. “Whatever.”
He can practically taste the quirk of Frankie’s lips—they’re just that close—when he says, “wanna see em’?” breath brushing unbearably on his chin and lip.
And, oh, he’s never wanted something more. Gerard’s head pops up as he scans the festival grounds for somewhere semi-private in the milling crowd. And then he’s pulling Frank along behind some van he’s never seen moved that’s parked beside a building.
Frank lets out a bright giggle as he’s pulled along, chucks kicking dry summer dirt onto the bottoms of his jeans where they’re bunched up from being too long for his legs. Gerard wonders halfheartedly about maybe rolling them for him, just so he stops tripping over his own pants in the bus. He doesn’t think about it for very long though, too busy pushing Frank against the side of the van by his belt loops, crashing into his body shortly after like he just can’t quite slow the inertia of his own feet. The clash together clumsily like a supernova of tension and skin, Frank’s hand slipping up to cup his face and press a chaste kiss to his jaw.
Quickly growing impatient with Frank’s loving routine he twists his face away and smashes their mouths together. It’s wet and messy, the press of Frank’s lip ring cool and the ring in his nose occasionally bumping against his skin. Whoever said musical ability made for good lovers was right, because even in their desperation and scrambling hands there’s a rhythm, like an ever present metronome in both their heads.
After what seems like an infinite amount of time and too finite a moment, Frank breaks away twisting his face away from Gerard’s following lips that simply suction to his neck instead. Frank lets him be there for a moment, sucking a cherry red mark onto the crook of his neck. “Didn’t you want to see something?” he pants out. Voice soft and almost fond as he forcefully pulls Gerard back by the back of his hair.
Gerard moans quietly at the feeling before he processes Frank’s reminder. He drops down to his knees like a man possessed, hands pawing at Frank’s belt hopefully.
Frank’s grinning, letting one hand fall to the side while the other pushes greasy hair out of Gerard’s face for him. “Go for it.”
Taking it as holy word, Gerard undoes Frank’s belt with practiced speed, dropping his jeans down to his ankles. He pulls back for a moment just to drink it in, the full effect of soft fat pushing against the wide diamonds of the fishnet tights, a basic pair of pink panties under--objectively modest--causing divots where the elastic digs into his hips and the sliver of ass the back of the underwear doesn’t quite cover. They really are fairly basic pair of panties, the only indication he hadn’t picked them out at random from wherever being how perfectly the pink shade matched his belt.
Gerard stares openly, unabashed, his hands coming up to grip on either side of Frank’s hips. Feeling the hard bone under the fat of his stomach and torso when he squeezes. He must hold on too hard because Frank hisses and slaps his hand looking like he’s about to speak when-
“Hey, is Frank Iero back there?” a familiar voice interrupts in the near distance, shocking them both out out of their bubble and into the rather public place they’ve chosen to do this. Frank moves to pull up his jeans, but Gerard’s hands remain glued to his hips, so he can only pull them up part-way.
“Yeah,” says an unfamiliar voice responds, before quickly tacking on, “I wouldn’t go back there, man.
“No? I mean, alright,” the familiar voice says, sounding disappointed.
“Nah, he’s back there with the vocalist, uh-” the unfamiliar voice begins.
“Gerard Way,” the familiar voice provides.
“Yeah yeah, back there with Gerard Way, and you should have seen his face, looked a little like he was going to eat that dude right up.”
Frank looks down at Gerard, eyes twinkling with some sort of untold delight, mirth dancing unrepentant. Then again, who doesn’t like being desired. Gerard just nods slightly.
“Huh,” the familiar voice manages, “I guess I’m not that keen to see if he’s on his knees back there like he does on stage.”
The unfamiliar voice makes an agreeing noise and now Frank’s really grinning. Clearly amused by the irony of the words while Gerard’s so eagerly on his knees for him.
“Yeah, okay. I just wanted to ask him a question or two about his guitar,” the familiar voice says, seeming a bit sulky.
“You’ll catch him later, dude, c’mon there’s a party over by-”
But Gerard doesn’t catch the rest of it, attention stolen away by Frank’s hand on his cheek, callouses pressing to the soft skin of his cheek. There’s footsteps fading in the distance and then Frank teases, “having fun down there?”
It takes a moment to realize he means the kneeling and Gerard presses his face into Frank’s hand and thigh, “Yeah,” he says breathily, “why’d that guy sound familiar?” he asks, the thought on his mind.
“Hm?” Franks says, “oh. He’s a guitar tech for our stage.”
“Oh,” Gerard stares at the pale pink in front of his face, the warm smell of sweat and summer welcoming him in. “I’m going to suck you off.”
Frank blinks, “okay.” Well, okay until Gerard moves to mouth at his clothed dick. “Nope, pause.” Frank stops him by pushing away his face.
“Why?” Gerard pouts, giving his best wide-eyed look.
“I borrowed these, I’m not letting you put your mouth on them. Frank tells him, sounding mildly scandalized as he pushes down the fragile material of the fishnets.
Gerard doesn’t agree, but he waits with barely constrained anticipation as Frank leaves them hanging around the middle of his thighs. He rests his face against the pale skin of Frank’s thigh, licking up his inner thighs before teasing his tongue over the pink fabric.
It seems he’s been deemed worthy, or Frank didn’t mean the panties, because Frankie doesn’t attempt to stop or slow him, hands gripping at his shoulders in a try at composure. Gerard really starts at it too, making the fabric damp as he mouths around Frank’s erection like he’d rather be doing nothing else.
He only stops when Frank jerks his head back by his hair, making Gerard whine at both the desired pain sparking at his scalp and the loss of wet musk in his face. “Get on with it,” Frank chastises, trying to push down his panties with one hand.
Gerard happily helps peal them down to let Frank’s dick slap out and the hand in his hair loosens, gently pushing him towards Frank’s pelvis. He takes to it similarly at first, licking with enthusiasm before taking Frank down part way, his hand taking the other.
“Smart,” Frank half comments, half praises. Gerard squeezes his hip. The sound of soft careful moans make up a more private moment than the open sky above them and the shade cast over their bodies provides. It’s almost romantic, like fucking on a picnic blanket in your backyard.
Gasping out, Frank smacks against his shoulder with a hand. “Slow,” he demands.
Slowly pulling off with a slick slide, Gerard looks up with an arched brow. “Already?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frank lets out a harsh breath and his cheeks go even pinker than before. “Not my fault the only people I fuck are hot.”
And the weirdness of a guy like Frank having limited experience comes back to him in a rush. Like yeah, Gerard might be four years older, but- Frank has the look of someone who gets around. Still, the understanding that after this he’s going to flip open his sidekick and call his girlfriend about everything they’re doing and the shows they’re playing gets to him. It’s almost like second hand vulnerability. “Yeah, whatever,” he says.
He slides Frank’s dick back down his throat, knees shifting between his feet until Gerard’s crotch is positioned on top of the plastic toe of Frank’s chuck. Rutting down against the toe and ankle of the shoe and letting the motion move his mouth.
“Kinda gross man,” Frank comments.
“You’re letting me,” Gerard points out halfheartedly.
It doesn’t seem to actually gross Frankie out enough for him to take his foot away and he just kinda shrugs and shuts his mouth. So yeah, he’s grinding down on his band mate's shoe with his dick halfway in his mouth. What about it. What else is touring for.
And the message he adds on hastily in his head, because he’s having sex with Frank Iero and who knows if he’ll sense Gerard’s internal monologue and be in one of his moods about the great importance of what they’re doing. They go back and forth like this, switching roles between The Self-righteous and The Hedonist.
It seems he’s safe though, because the guy in question is biting his own hand, the other massaging Gerard’s neck in a gentle rhythm. And god he hopes there’s no room in either of their heads for making calls to action. The summer evening is hot and their bodies hotter with pent up arousal and need. The pace is slow and steady, an almost convincing charade of endless time. Still, they go, in-sync to their shared beat count.
And then they’re crashing into release, desperate and leaking horny desire. And Gerard’s being pulled up by his face into a gentle kiss, almost startling in it’s chasteness as he hurries to swallow. And his boxers shift uncomfortably as he falls into Frank who’s back is against the van. And they’re all gentle hands and mouths as they ride out the high of their orgasms. And that comes to a soft end as Gerard slumps against Frank’s shorter frame and Frank sighs heavily.
The hot wind brings them back to their place behind the van and next to some building being use to hold stage building tools or something. “Did you hear where that party they were talking about was?”
“Huh?” Frank asks against Gerard’s forehead. “Oh, no. Just follow the noise.”
“Yeah, alright,” Gerard says, peeling his body away from Frank’s, knowing well enough that if he doesn’t he’ll never let go. He watches Frank wipe off his dick the best he can and wipe it on his jeans, carefully pulling up his panties and fishnets, the fabric creating the same appealing image it did the first time.
Frank looks up and notices Gerard’s face as he’s pulling up his jeans. “Didn’t you just cum?”
“Yeahhh,” Gerard drags out, unsubtly palming his now sticky crotch.
Frank rolls his eyes, “good luck with that.”
“Not coming with the the party either?” Gerard asks.
“Nah, man. I just came.” Frank jokes and Gerard’s hand drops down to his side.
“Really?”
Frank shrugs, “not feeling it. I’ll find you later.”
“If you find a skirt I’ll let you fuck me,” Gerard says hopefully.
Frank just raises an eyebrow and grabs at his back pocket. He takes out a nearly flat pack of smokes and an honest-to-god matchbook.
Gerard opens his hand, expectant.
Frank laughs, “you’re going to have to supply your own addiction one day, Gee.”
“You know they don’t fit in my jeans.” Gerard retorts, cut short when a cigarette is carefully held up to his lips.
He takes it into his mouth obediently and only pouts around it a little as Frank dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Come closer,” he says, touching the ends of their cigarettes together as he strikes a match on the first try. He cups his hand around their faces to keep the wind from interfering, the glow of the flame making an almost intimate heat, just for them. Gerard wonders idly about what kind of album you’d write about fucking your rhythm guitarist. Probably not an MCR one. Maybe a solo project someday, an EP.
With probably very deliberate avoidance, Frank doesn’t address Gerard’s wandering mind, squeezing his arm gently after shaking the match out.
He leans into the touch. “You gonna terrorize that guitar tech?”
“If he wants to find me so bad he will.” Frank says confidently. “See ya, Gee.”
“Think about that skirt thing, Frankie. Think about it.” Gerard calls after him, getting a middle finger in response as he watches the way Frank’s hips shift as he walks away. Once he’s out of sight Gerard’s focus shifts back downward, hand creeping down his waistband. These jeans really are tight.