Chapter Text
Frank slid back into the Range Rover in pre-dawn darkness, having just squired Gerard from the diner to his home, a third floor walk-up in an old, not-quite-hip neighborhood. There had been no invitation to come up or push for more than a sweet, clinging goodnight kiss. Gerard had been fizzing with caffeine and inspiration, itching to go to work, night owl mode activated. Their conversation in the diner had consisted mostly of Gerard's stream of consciousness babble about Catholic art, homosexuality during the Renaissance, William S. Burroughs, and a history of sex workers and strip tease from the Bible to the Roaring Twenties. Frank had occasionally interjected thoughts, his heart squeezing in his chest when he imparted facts or observations that were new to Gerard. His eyes lit up as if Frank were the setting sun, and he dazzled him with a flash of tiny teeth, remarking "of course! I never thought of it that way?" or "I didn't know that...I'm so glad I met you, Frank" with a genuine grin that made Frank want to wedge his body into heavy armor and battle the entire Eastern seaboard for just one more chance to see that smile again.
Between those moments, Gerard had talked and swilled coffee and somehow made a plate of blueberry pancakes disappear, and Frank had listened, soaking up every raise of his eyebrows and downward quirk of his lips, sipping his café au lait and picking at a single pancake and veggie sausage patty. The food was good, but what he was starved for was the man in front of him, who somehow still stood out in the motley assortment of 3 am New Yorkers: drag queens and club kids and stylish elderly couples and harried, rough-looking workmen. In the garish sea of cotton candy hair and glitter and Dickies and Italian wool, Gerard still shone diamond-bright.
"Art is supposed to destroy constructs, challenge us, light a fire in our minds. It's not a mirror, it's a hammer. But I also kinda just want to shock people," he smirked, twirling his syrupy fork to point at Iggy Pop's face erupting from his t-shirt. "Maybe I'm a wannabe rock star," he shrugged, licking the dripping fork with a total unawareness of the lewdness of it all. "All of this has been done, you know. It's not that original, it's pretentious, but maybe all artists are, and anyway-"
"It hasn't been done by you," Frank said gently. "No one's seen anything like you before."
Gerard blushed and dipped his head, long black locks falling into his eyes.
"Maybe that's how it'll be different," Frank continued. "You're the rock star who wants to burn down the world, you're the one wanting to smear yourself with blood and guts and cum and call it art. And I'm the creep taking pictures of it, making it glamorous, or obscene, or pathetic. Maybe that voyeuristic element is what will—"
"--make it transcendent," Gerard finished, maybe more poetically than Frank would have, but he nodded, lost in his dazzling gaze.
"I think you're right, Frankie. Fuck, am I glad I met you." Gerard blushed harder and bit his lip, reached across the table to trail soft, pale fingers over the back of Frank's left hand. Frank tried not to visibly shiver as the touch electrified his body. The fact that he'd gone from Frank to Frankie within the space of an hour was making him lightheaded. "Too bad somebody else snagged you first."
Frank chuckled nervously, then caught Gerard's fingers with his own, threaded them together and squeezing lightly before releasing them. "I--look, it's...complicated. But I'm not...as snagged as you might think."
"I really am lucky then," Gerard smiled, his voice low and smooth, golden-green eyes flashing at Frank before focusing shyly back on his plate.
"Let me get this," Frank gestured to the table, pulling out his wallet. He could tell the night was at an end, that Gerard was ready to greet the dawn fucking or sketching, but it couldn't be the former for him, not yet anyway.
"I still have to be a little careful," he blurted out as the waitress approached with his card and receipt.
"For now, anyway. But I'm...committed to this. I'm not going to back out, or freak out, whatever happens. Promise."
Gerard nodded, eyes twinkling, shredded a strip off his paper napkin. "I get it, Frankie. It's okay. so...do I just text you? I'm assuming calls aren't that...ideal right now."
"Sure, sure. Texting is fine. We can talk sometimes, but I’ll need to initiate that.”
"I'll try not to blow up your phone too bad," Gerard smiled, and there was a little bit of hurt, a little sting of uncertainty in his eyes, but Frank knew Gerard was resilient, and he was counting on his capricious attention span to keep him distracted. The pain and longing should be Frank's alone to carry, a stony burden on his back.
Frank pulled into his own driveway as the sky was beginning to lighten, stomach twisting in a knot as his situation weighed on him. There it was, home: the thousands of bricks that shored up the four walls of his life. He imagined walking inside to a disaster; a chandelier dropping on his head, crystals shattering to dust on the polished hardwood as it all caved in, crushing him, falling down around him. He wasn’t even in the same world anymore. Gerard and his magic didn’t exist here.
He hadn’t been surprised by the absence of texts or calls from his wife. She’d still be asleep now, and he could sneak into his man cave and curl up on the couch, pretend to be sick. He texted his boss (up all night sick, still have a fever, won’t be in) and sighed as he exited the car, all of his being wishing he’d stayed with Gerard. Damn the consequences. The house was dark and still, smelling of furniture polish and the sage oil Angela liked to burn. He tiptoed upstairs, brushed his teeth and quickly pissed in the guest bathroom, and sank into the comfortably worn sofa, pulling a throw blanket over himself after toeing his shoes off. He was quickly pulled under by exhaustion, but as sleep claimed him he was smiling, seeing Gerard’s eyes.
“Frank! Frank!” A voice was braying way too closely to his ear, and someone was shaking his shoulder.
“What the fuck,” he grumbled, cracking one eye open to see Angela hovering over him, dressed and coiffed in her upper-class Jersey mom finery already, her fruity-vanilla perfume a bit sickening this early.
“What’s going on with you? You didn’t go to work? Are you sick?” Her thin gold-ringed hand came down on his forehead, and it was ice cold, but it always was. “You got a fever.”
“What time is it?” He burrowed down further in the blanket, willing her to go away and let him go back to sleep.
“Just after noon. You didn’t come home last night neither.”
He sighed heavily. “Yeah, I did. It was really late, and I was feeling sick, so I didn’t want to bother you in case I kept needing to puke.”
She crinkled her perfectly rhinoplastied nose. “You’re hungover then?”
“No. I had a couple drinks after work, went to a movie, then went to a diner afterwards. Think something I ate made me sick.”
“Well you better call the doctor if you’re not better by tonight. Remember I’m going to Miami with the girls this weekend, so you’ll have Max.”
“How could I forget,” Frank groaned. Spending the weekend with his 13-year-old son usually meant working from home, on standby in case of emergency. Maybe he’d get dinner with him, if he wasn't spending the night with friends. Their eldest, the love child, was a sophomore at Columbia. Cate was already fully out of the nest, her bedroom repurposed as an extra guest room. They saw her on holidays and their annual summer trip to Cape May.
“Anyway, I’m going to lunch. You want me to pick you something up?”
“No….thanks.” He rolled over so his back was to her, pressing his face into the well-Febreezed couch cushions.
“Alright, well. There’s ginger ale downstairs if you need it.”
“Got some in the fridge.” He withdrew his arm from its blanket, pointing to the dorm fridge next to the couch. “Have a nice lunch.”
“Uh-huh,” she huffed, finally leaving, and he heard her heels clicking down the hall and down the stairs.
Frank wondered how the fuck was this his life, as the heater clicked on and he dozed to its comforting hum.
He awakened to the clatter of activity downstairs, his wife's voice rising above the din. He was hard, and he also had to piss. He rubbed his eyes and groaned, reaching for his phone. Almost 6pm. His head was fuzzy with sleep, and his mouth was dry and felt full of sawdust. Six text banners from Gerard filled his screen, and he grinned, his insides all shivery just at seeing the "G." He made a mental note to disable banner notifications for now.
As he trudged to the bathroom, tendrils of his dream emerged, blurry images clearing up with each increment he came awake. Gerard's face, bright and animated and beautiful, smiling at him, then turning away, his luscious mouth falling open in pleasure. Frank shuddered as it hit him full force. They'd been walking down some street together, and the sky opened up, drenching them. They ran into a nearby church for shelter, and it was suddenly a vaulted-ceiling cathedral, and Gerard had been pressed up against stained glass, more beautiful and holy than any saint, and Frank had been on his knees, tracing the shape of his erection with reverence, the dream ending before he could get his pants open.
He took down his own pants now, squirting some of the hand lotion on the counter into his palm, sighing with relief as he got a slick hand around himself. He gazed ahead, the pastel swirl of the shower curtain becoming a window into his dream, and he let his dream self get Gerard's pants down. His memory supplied the approximate size and shape of his cock, and the zephyrous whimpers that echoed like music in the cathedral. His orgasm hit as he imagined Gerard thrusting deep into his throat and spurting down it, unable to control himself. Frank hissed at the pleasure, trembling and exalted, till he came down and was back in his body, his hands coated with cum and desert-pear scented lotion, his bladder throbbing savagely. He washed his hands, pissed, washed his hands again, and took a quick shower, changing into the sweats and hockey jersey he kept in there.
Dinner was routine; a light pasta dish with vegetables from Angela’s cousin’s eatery two blocks over. Two glasses of pinot grigio for his wife, a beer for Frank, Max chattering about Japanese class and soccer camp and his friend’s new pit bull pup, Frank spinning a story about his miraculous recovery from whatever kept him out of work today. It was routine, but not as comfortable as it usually was. Normally Frank bore the family ritual with tuned-out tolerance of his wife’s complaints and genuine interest in his kid's day, but now he found himself tuning out the whole thing. The world had changed. Or, perhaps, he had changed, and was simply seeing the world differently.
He stepped out onto the screened-in back deck afterwards, Max shut away upstairs with homework, the wife watching some shitty movie while instagramming and probably spending more of his money on Amazon. Not really his money, though. His money would be gone so fast if he split.
He sighed, deep breath in, taking in the smoky night air, calmed by cricket song. He hit his vape, letting the THC filter through his bloodstream, relaxing him even before the high hit, just because he knew it was coming.
Finally, finally, he could give Gerard’s texts his full attention. His heartbeat sped up, blood rushing south just at the thought of the man.
I know you’re probably asleep, but I’m amped. So many ideas brewing. I’m going to pull an all nighter. Or all-dayer. Haha. Need more coffee.
So I’m fucking storyboarding this shit. Good thing I’m used to comics. This is going to be a-fucking-mazing. I think.
So I know a place we could probably shoot most of this. My friend lives in a loft, it’s like a renovated warehouse/studio. Really amazing space. Great energy. The studio part is ginormous and we could set up little sets or whatever for our shoot.
Not gonna lie, I’m having a little trouble planning this out. The trouble is in my pants. Haha. I’ve never really written or drawn anything super porny, besides, like, weird fanfic when I was younger. It’s a problem, Frank. I have a REALLY BIG problem. Wish you were here ;)
Fuck I can’t concentrate anymore. You need to get over here. Text me when you’re up. I’m going to jerk off and crash. I may not be up till dark idk. I’m on vampire time lol.
Fraaank I think I need your mouth on me. I’m in bed naked and I’m about to fucking explode. Wish I could send you a pic. Plz text me back asap or just get your ass over here. Wish I could leave my door unlocked so you could wake me up properly. Xoxo G <3
Frank suppressed a groan at the image of Gerard gloriously naked and tangled in bedsheets, stroking himself. Or sleeping sweetly, lips parted, the sleepy little hums he might make if Frank were there to wake him. He’d slide under the sheets as quietly as he could, rain soft kisses down his neck and collarbone, lick his way down, cover his throbbing arousal with more gentle kisses until he felt him stir awake. Perhaps Gerard would prop himself up on his elbows and gaze down at Frank, eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded, bucking his hips up with a whine till Frank sucked him fully into his mouth.
wish I could be there to wake you up, too, he typed with a harsh sigh. you have no idea.
text me back when you get up. sadly I can’t escape for the night but I should be able to see you tomorrow if you’re free. fam is going out of town, and I’ll be alone this weekend.
alone and at your disposal. ;)
He saw no need to elaborate further on his family. Angela would be in Miami, and Max, he’d learned, would be at a friend’s family’s lake house. He felt no guilt at his luck. It wasn’t like he’d be sneaking around, after all.
glad you’ve been inspired, can’t wait to see what you’ve drawn, whenever it’s ready.
btw you are welcome to send any sort of pics you’d like. xo frank
He thought about adding a heart, as Gerard had done, but it seemed a bit much. He’d already promised to be at his disposal, surely that would convey his eagerness.
Frank snuck back inside to grab another beer and returned to the deck, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the chair to his left. It was serene out here, if a bit chilly. The air wasn't as oppressive as that inside the house. He'd just hang out here till it got too cold.
He'd just hit his vape again when Gerard texted back. Frank couldn't hide the grin as the banner flashed across his screen.
Hey Frankie, I just woke up I dreamed about you ; )
oh yeah? was it a good dream?
Mm hmm
Frank was about to ask for further details when he received a block of text.
I was giving you a lapdance at the club, in one of the booths, but there was no one else there. You started fucking me while I was on your lap, then all of a sudden the place was kinda full, and waiters kept coming by, and I had to try to keep a straight face so they wouldn't know. Then suddenly we were in the diner, but I was sitting beside you, and you were trying to jerk me off under the table, but the same thing happened, we kept getting interrupted, and... woke up like this
His phone pinged with a photo attachment notification, and Frank clicked on it, his hand nearly trembling.
Gerard had sent a selfie from a high angle, his face in the foreground, eyes heavy lidded, sleep-puffy lips half-smiling. From there the pale expanse of his torso trailed down to his cock, flushed deep pink, filled with blood and pointing rigidly towards his navel, black sheets bunched up just beneath.
Frank's mouth filled with spit.
jesus christ, he typed clumsily, looks like u need a hand babe
Want your hands, Gerard replied
Fuck I want your hands on me, your tattoos, fuck
you're touching yourself, aren't you? Frank palmed himself through his sweats, achingly hard again.
Yes
You want me to take a video? I'II do it for you
fuck yes. wanna see you get off thinking about me
Ok Frankie. I'll send it as soon as I'm done x
Frank was sweating, and he furtively glanced around, as if all their neighbors might be peering over the fence. He adjusted his pants and pulled his jersey down in case he ran into anyone inside, and reentered the warmth of the house. It was just as quiet as before, the odor of tomato sauce and garlic lingering in the air. He found his earbuds on the granite-topped desk in the kitchen nook.
Locking himself in the half bath at the end of the hall, Frank flipped the switch for the exhaust fan and turned the water on low before popping his earbuds in.
He barely had a chance to glance at instagram before another text came over.
Here you go, Frankie. Hope you like it. ;)
Frank bit his lip, suppressing a groan. Gerard had gotten done so fast. The knowledge was dizzying, sparking his nerves with arousal and sizzling the few brain cells he had left. This was the second time in the space of a few hours that he'd be getting off to this man, and not once had Gerard left his thoughts.
He was utterly consumed with the memory of silky black hair and smooth pale skin, those sweet succulent lips and the honeyed glow of his eyes. He felt completely unhinged.
give me a few minutes, babe, got to be sneaky. ;)
Take your time xx
I'm getting coffee and a shower.
Frank grinned like an idiot, got comfortable on the toilet lid, and propped his phone up on the vanity.
Gerard had set his phone up somewhere between his legs, perhaps on a tripod or a stack of books, Frank had no idea. He was sprawled out on a mound of pillows, knees bent and spread wide. The camera was almost at his eye level, and he was biting his lip, looking directly at Frank through lowered lashes as he ran his hands down his torso to his grinding hips. His cock was swelled to bursting, an inflamed dark pink, his smooth, soft lower belly wet with precum. He brought his right hand up, licking it obscenely, getting it slick with spit, before wrapping it around himself, the stroke firm and slow. A desperate whine filled Frank's ears, and his dick twitched in his pants as he gripped the counter. He wasn't going to touch himself till it was over, didn't want to distract from a second of Gerard.
He was bucking his hips up harder now, hitting a shaky rhythm, cupping his tightly drawn balls with his left hand and massaging them lightly. He spread his legs wider as his hand sped up, his fist twisting on every downstroke, thumb grazing the swollen wet head of his cock. Harsh gasps came from Gerard's bitten-red lips as he thrust up once, twice, three times more, a husky moan ending in "Fraaaaank" uncurling from his throat, his body arching up off the bed, bowstring-tight, head fallen back against the pillows and eyes screwed shut as his orgasm hit, arcs of cum streaking the now flushed and damp skin of his torso.
"Oh fuuuck, " Gerard groaned as he plummeted into the throes of aftershock. He shuddered with pleasure, the muscles in his abdomen and inner thighs visibly jumping. Frank, nearly panting himself, knew his toes were curling under the sheets. He let go of his cock, and it gave one last twitch before beginning to soften. Gerard dragged his fingers up through the mess on his stomach and brought them up to his mouth, delicately licking the cum away as he looked into the camera, into Frank, with bleary-fucked out eyes.
When his hand was clean, he gave a little giggle and sat up, waggling his fingers at the camera before leaning over to shut it off. Frank closed his eyes, feeling feral. How could this seductive creature writhe in such cinematic ecstasy one second, then transform into an absolute cutie pie the next? He was gone.
Fucking done for.
He shoved all thought away as quickly as he shoved his sweats and briefs down, barely needing to fist his dick before he was spurting all over his hand. He felt his back arch, gritting his teeth against the blistering pleasure.
you are a demon, Frank texted after he washed his hands, suppressing a laugh at his sweaty, red-faced, flyaway-haired image in the mirror.
and thank you. that was unbelievably hot. YOU are unbelievably hot. New Jersey's poet laureate over here.
Ping. Another selfie. Gerard was freshly scrubbed, bright-eyed and pink cheeked and unbearably adorable, holding up a mug emblazoned with the Count from Sesame Street.
Cheers, Frankie. Glad you liked it ;)
And YOU are also unbelievably hot. I can't wait till tomorrow
same
Frank grinned at his screen. His heart was lighter. His house and the world around him no longer existed. It was just him and Gerard, tethered together in a limitless daydream.
They texted for a bit longer, then he trudged up to bed, slipping quietly under the sheets next to his wife, dead to the world in her nightly medicated haze. Their king-sized bed could have easily fit another body or two between them. They hadn’t curled together in that gap in five, seven, ten years, he couldn't remember. Frank had long thought it an impassable gulf, perhaps a void, in the shape of the people they used to be. He’d carried that same void within him for just as long, but he no longer felt so empty.
Angela was already gone when Frank swam out of sleep into consciousness Saturday morning. She'd texted him a Notes reminder with her hotel info and Max's school and soccer practice schedule for Monday. She'd be back Monday night, and his son would be back tomorrow evening.
He shuffled downstairs in the same getup he'd gone to bed in. He shared a bowl of cereal with Max, glad to have a little time with him, then shoved his feet into a pair of slides and grabbed his keys. Max, still small for his years, clambered into the backseat with his backpack, eyes glued to his phone for most of the ride to the lake.
Frank put Danzig on, the self-titled first album, and smothered an elated grin when his little guy showed a grudging curiosity.
“I can show you how to play this riff when you get back, if you want,” he said casually.
“Really?” Mildly surprised eyes, so like his own, looked back at him in the rearview.
“Sure thing, little man,” he said, and the kid rolled his eyes and laughed, returning to the dopamine lure of his phone
Frank blinked away rising tears. If he were closer to his son, maybe he could endure this life a little more gracefully. But he’d always followed Angela’s lead when it came to the kids, and that had usually meant inserting them into ceaseless extracurriculars and social events. They were both gregarious and had taken well to the constant activities and distractions, and it did seem to be setting them up for success. Frank couldn’t relate, though. They hadn’t been kids for long, had given away their childhood magic so readily. He knew most kids wanted to be grown, wanted the approval of their parents and peers, so that didn’t really surprise him. He couldn’t help but feel that Angela had been desperate to steer them away from the restless whimsy that plagued her husband and prevented him from fitting in.
Soon enough, the suburbs gave way to a grimy little one strip-mall town, and then the homes stretched further apart and increased in size. The air even smelled sweeter, he thought. When he drove back after dropping Max at his friend's massive lake house, he took his time, stopped at a mom & pop joint for a milkshake, savoring the quiet morning breeze. If they’d lived out here, away from the nearby bustle of the city and the neighbors and family right on top of them…if if if.
Frank pulled back into his driveway, his heart sufficiently sunken again. He tossed the remainders of the shake into the outside bin and let himself in to shower.
He didn't know what to wear to see Gerard. He'd met him in a rather impressive suit, but that wasn't him. He usually bummed around the house in sweats and sports jerseys, wore nicer jeans and button-downs for casual social events. He wanted to look cool, though, and he flicked through the racks of old band tees in his closet. (Fuck keeping them folded in drawers, what a pain in the ass THAT was to sort through.)
He settled on dark-wash jeans and a faded Cure shirt, topped with a flannel. The look was kinda Cool Dad Who's Trying Too Hard, so he exchanged the Cure for a plain white v-neck, adding a charcoal gray hoodie. He'd caught that his tattoos turned Gerard on, so showing off more ink couldn't be a bad thing. He filled a backpack with a couple extra t-shirts, boxers, socks, toothbrush and deodorant, and condoms and lube. He felt the strangest inclination to bring a guitar, but quashed it.
on my way, he texted. see you soon xo
Gerard’s reply came within seconds.
<3 <3 <3 I'm all stocked up on coffee and Diet Coke. We can get pizza tonight! Can't wait to see you xxx
Frank grinned like an idiot as he locked up the house and climbed into the Range Rover, and the smile didn't leave his face the entire trip. He blasted the Misfits, feeling free and not a day over 25. If this was a midlife crisis, he was all in.
Gerard had insisted on meeting him outside his building so he didn't get lost, but when Frank saw his lean, striking silhouette on the sidewalk, smoking and rocking from side to side the way he had outside of the club, he realized Gerard was just excited to see him too. His stomach did the swoopy rollercoaster thing again, and his cheeks hurt from smiling.
Frank snagged a parking spot just down the block, and crossed traffic to Gerard's side of the street. In daylight, he saw that his apartment was over a coffee shop/bakery. How apropos.
Gerard's face lit up when he spotted him, and he dropped his cigarette, crushing it beneath his Converse. Frank's heart caught in his throat at the sight of him. He was dressed much the same as he had been Thursday night. A colorful yet faded Bowie tee, extremely tight and worn black jeans, and the leather jacket. Long black strands of hair fell over his eyes, grazing the exquisite cut of his jaw. The golden late-afternoon light made his skin and eyes glow. His beauty had not been exaggerated by stage lights or starlight or whiskey. He was a work of art, all on his own.
"Hey," Frank said profoundly when he got within six feet of Gerard, raising his hand in awkward wave.
Smooth, his inner voice snarked.
Gerard cheeks pinked and he lunged forward. Frank expected an armful of Gerard to collide with him, but he froze and bounced on his heels instead, tucking his hair nervously behind his ear. If anyone else had done that, if FRANK had done that, it would have looked insanely oafish, but Gerard managed to make his awkwardness look graceful and intentional.
"Hey Frankie." He gave a small smile before looking down at the pavement.
Frank was frozen as well, too painfully aware of their situation to be affectionate with Gerard in broad daylight.
Night had lent them a magical anonymity. Now they were two men in a public space, two men who had been (fornicating, his mind supplied) sexually intimate, and he felt like everyone could tell. He knew the city was more progressive than his neighborhood and the people he surrounded himself with, but he imagined someone driving by and screaming "Fag!" at any moment. There was that, and there was the fact that he and Gerard had been really intimate, in the flesh and even more so over the phone, texting each other with a familiarity that belied reality. He was captivated by Gerard but didn't really know him yet. Maybe the phone had tricked him into thinking he did.
"So, you wanna see my place?" Gerard pointed to the doorway to the left of the coffee shop, then shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Or like, just hang out?" He tilted his head to the side like a quizzical cat.
"Yeah, sure. I mean yeah, we can go to your place," Frank laughed, hoisting his backpack higher on his shoulders. "That was the plan, right?"
"Yeah?" Gerard smiled, eyebrows lifting, his eyes questioning, unsure.
“OK, let's go," Frank added a weight of certainty that he didn't quite feel to his voice, and trailed slightly behind Gerard. "So are you down here all the time? It figures you'd live over a coffee shop."
"Not as much as you might think. I'm such a homebody, and that means I try to even avoid walking downstairs. But they sell their own roast there, by the bag, so they keep me kinda stocked. Don't tell them, but I still like Starbucks better. I’ll leave my house at least once a week for a fucking PSL.”
"I’m guessing you mean pumpkin spice and not NFL seats,” Frank teased. “OK, I promise not to tell the people in the coffee shop I've never been to that you're cheating on them with Starbucks," he laughed, following Gerard upstairs, and when that high-pitched giggle floated down to him, it felt easy between them again.
Gerard was three flights up (the couple who owned the coffee shop occupied the second floor), and Frank reminded himself to add some cardio to his workout schedule, which mostly consisted of bench presses and squats in his garage to keep his muscles up.
“Welcome to my lair," Gerard intoned in a dramatic Lugosi voice as he flung the door open.
Frank fell in love with it instantly. The living area/kitchen was cozy but not NYC-standard tiny. The floors were wide, scuffed dark wood planks, paint-stained here and there. A cushiony sunset-orange sofa dominated the room, the coffee table before it littered with books, notebooks, sketch pads, colored pencils, and several coffee mugs.
There were art prints and movie posters hung on the olive-green walls (they almost match his eyes, Frank marveled), a sketchbook and ripped-out drawings on the tiny dining table, and a large canvas propped up on the massive H-frame easel in the corner by the window. Half the painting looked nearly finished. The right half.
Frank stood before it, taking in the wash of bright yellows and oranges that framed the silhouette of a woman in armor.
"Joan of Arc," Gerard said softly, coming to stand beside him. "One of my favorite muses."
"It's amazing." Frank replied honestly. "I didn't know artists worked like that, though, or is the other half going to be something else?"
"I don't always work like that," Gerard scoffed. "I just do what feels right. I think the other half will be darkness, her other side wandering through like a desolate landscape. With skulls and shit maybe. Or it could just be flames. Not sure yet."
“I fucking love your place," Frank enthused, drinking in Gerard's shy but pleased grin. "It's so...homey. But like, unique and artsy too. It even smells homey." And it did. It should be a cologne. Old wood, old books, a touch of leather, the heady aroma of oil paint, and Gerard's scent of coffee, tobacco, and that light, ethereal perfume he wore.
"It smells like I don't clean," Gerard laughed. "But life's too short, you know? As long as I have clean dishes and clean clothes, who cares about dust."
"Right," Frank agreed, thinking of Angela's obsession with appearances and the housekeeper/nanny who was at their home five days a week. He slid his backpack off his shoulders, setting it down on one of the three mismatched chairs around the dining table.
"So, uh, it's just this room, and the bedroom down that way, and the bathroom to the right." Gerard waved his hand towards the short, dark hallway.
Frank was suddenly hit with the looming knowledge of Gerard's bedroom and bed, and what might happen there. The things he brought. He willed himself to not get hard already, tried to avoid even looking at Gerard. The air grew heavy with tension, and Frank's nerves were fraying.
"Do you want to eat now, or you want to go ahead and look at my ideas?" Gerard piped up, visibly flustered.
"I couldn't eat now," Frank said honestly. "But if you're hungry?"
"No, Frankie," Gerard murmured, trying to catch his eyes. "You want a drink?"
He exhaled heavily; just now aware he'd been holding his breath. "A drink would be great. You said you had Diet Coke?" Gerard was already halfway to the fridge.
"Ta-da!" An ice-cold can was thrust into his hand, and Gerard popped the top of his own soda.
"You know, Frankie," he continued, talking over Frank's attempt to thank him, "you seem kind of nervous? Are you alright? I don't want this to be--there's no pressure here. For...anything. I just wanted to show you my ideas. And….spend time with you." Gerard's eyes were wrecking him, enormous and hopeful and slightly bruised.
"I'm sorry," Frank sighed. "I'm sorry." He sat down his drink and pulled Gerard to him, his eyes misting up at the way Gerard just melted bonelessly into the hug. He felt so good to hold, so warm and alive and soft, despite his leanness, so Frank held on, till the embrace was just this side of crushing. He smacked a kiss onto his neck and Gerard gave a pleasant little squeak, and Frank released him then, though he held tight to his hand.
Gerard's cheeks were rosy, his lips red and smiling, those long dark lashes just a little wet as well.
"I'm just a fuckup," Frank said lightheartedly. "I'm not used to this. My life is so routine, and I guess you swept me off my feet, sorta. I don't know how to act about it really. Even if it was just the art, that's a huge shift for me. Let alone the other stuff."
Gerard gave a breathless little laugh at that, but his gaze was warm and understanding.
"So, I'm sorry. And in advance too. For however weird I might be while I try to figure out how to navigate all this." (Fling? Affair? What the fuck is 'all this' actually? he wondered, but didn't voice the question.)
Gerard squeezed his hand, eyes sparkling and color high. "I can deal with weird. I'm the queen of weird. It's only hard to handle if you go quiet and don't tell me if something's bothering you. I know I come off as a genius and all," he smirked, "but I'm pretty fucking dumb when it comes to, like, emotional interaction. If I like you, I like you, it's all upfront. I'm not a mind reader, Frank. And I like you. A lot."
Frank felt himself heating up, and he reddened from his plunging neckline to his forehead. "I like you a lot too, Gerard. I've just got a lot of...stuff. Being closeted all my life, toxic masculinity bullshit, all that."
"And I don't have that kind of past, really," Gerard returned. "My family was really supportive of me being artsy and weird and kinda queer. I was so strange in school I even confused the bullies, so they left me alone. I've been lucky. But I'll give you a learning curve, okay? Just try not to overthink it. I know we just met the other night, but it seems like when we ignore the bullshit and just go with the flow, things could kinda fall into place. Serendipity." Frank melted at his crooked little grin.
"Yeah, you know, you're right. All right, Miss Serendipity, want to show me your ideas now?" Frank rubbed his hands together.
Gerard beamed and yanked a chair out for Frank, legs scraping horribly against the hardwood, and plopped down next to him. He pressed himself tight against Frank’s arm, leaning into his space to flip his large sketchbook open. Frank inclined his head, breathing his scent in deep. It was a little different today, now there was a coconut shampoo or hair product in the mix. And he was wearing his perfume again. Dizzy, he snaked his arm around Gerard and tugged him just a little bit closer.
“Ok, just let me show you and kinda word vomit at you before you say anything. So, a friend of mine has a studio in the neighborhood, it’s like this really cool industrial warehousey space. Really high ceilings. Anyway, I was thinking we could shoot there, just like build sets, you know? For this one I was thinking we could shoot it at Fairytails, but it would be just as easy there. All we’d need is like, an armchair and some nice lighting.”
The sketch was of a longhaired man, presumably Frank, sitting in an armchair, back to the camera. Smoke from a cigar hung in the air. Gerard had roughly sketched himself out, wearing panties and the Xs over his nipples, dancing for Frank. Behind Gerard was an enormous stained-glass window, the refracted light casting colored beams over his body.
“That’s me?” Frank pointed.
“Yeah, sugar. Thought we could get in one kind of anonymous cameo. Anyway, it’s not only social commentary, it sums up how we met, and like, the mental stuff we have going on. Trauma. You know? And this next piece would be my POV. Well, not mine, but shot from the side. Your face could be in shadow, or cropped out entirely. We really only need to see a body, and like your hands obviously.”
Stripper Gerard was kneeling before Frank in this sketch, a tattooed hand raking back his hair from his face, holding him still as Gerard’s lips closed around the barrel of his gun. It was no metaphor either, he was literally sucking on a pistol. His eyes were closed, face streaked with tears.
“So, this is bringing a heavier element in. It was kind of a joke that the guys at the club thought you were some kind of crime lord when you came in, but you know it happens. Anyway, this is a part of the story too. Fucking Catholicism and organized crime, hell the Church is a bastion of organized crime, and I’m not talking about the mob either, you know. Just…corruption to the extreme. And it’s also a commentary on violence being sexualized, like, you can pull so much from this image.”
Gerard flipped another page, raking his hair back from his face. “So we’re continuing the religious imagery, and it’s juxtaposed with an art reference and a literary reference.” Gerard had drawn himself draped delicately across an altar, nude, the stained glass window still casting its rays, and there was a bank of dripping candles lit behind him.
“This is based on a Henry Wallis painting, The Death of Chatterton, about a writer who killed himself. He was holding rejection letters in the painting,” Gerard laughed. “But I’ll be holding a Bible. I thought about being dressed like a priest, but that would be too many clothes, and I think it would be better if there were like a shadowy priest figure in the background. You could play him or we could photoshop it in or get Geoff to do it. He’s the guy who rents the studio. Oh and Chatterton had drunk poison in the painting reference, so I thought I could be holding a goblet too, poisoned communion wine, or it could be fallen to the floor, and I’d have wine stains on my mouth. And maybe like, streaks of cum on me too. We could try it both ways.”
Frank bit his lip, willing himself to stay quiet per Gerard’s wishes. He loved the concepts so far, could see them fully imagined in his head, but he was overwhelmed by Gerard’s physical closeness and the imagery spread before him. He didn’t know if he could survive this little presentation without jumping his bones, let alone the shoot itself.
“So the next one, the death of Saint Sebastian. He was tied to a cross and shot with arrows, and this will be referencing the Botticelli painting. Obviously with some differences to make it more psychosexual.”
Frank knew the piece, and Gerard had sketched himself bound to the X shape of a St. Andrew’s cross instead of the milder image of the painting.
“You know how people use clothespins in BDSM, I was thinking we could do like, metal clothespins instead of arrows, or those bulldog clips. It’ll hurt like hell, but it’ll look amazing. And I’d rather do that than needles,” Gerard shuddered. “There should be cum on me instead of blood, too. Lots of it. We’ll probably need to use something fake so it doesn’t dry up, like there’s that cum lube. Anyway, these are the four main pieces I have in mind. Obviously we can add on to this. Maybe we can go full blasphemy and do a Christlike crucifixion, I don’t know, I feel like that might have been overdone. But these would be huge pieces, we’d fill them in with smaller pieces, maybe close ups from these scenes, or just little blasphemous sexual scenes, like a close up of me jacking off with a rosary wrapped around my hand, you know, shit like that. Anyway, what do you think?”
Gerard dipped his head and caught Frank’s eye, practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes gleaming, the sleepy shafts of sunset pouring through the windows turning them a warm, translucent gold.
Frank laughed nervously, sure he was about a hundred shades of red, wondering if Gerard could see through the wood of the table to the wood in his pants. “I mean, it’s crazy, it’s obscene, but I expected that, I guess? I feel like it could get me assassinated or put on some Vatican hit list. But, it’s also as brilliant as I expected. You sure you want to do this, babe?”
He cursed himself for the “babe,” but Gerard grinned wide, showing his teeth and some of his gums, all crinkly nose and batted lashes. Frank fancied that he was melting into the floorboards, he was so dazzled by this creature. When Gerard really, really smiled, it was accompanied by an angel choir and heavenly rays of light.
“I’m really, really sure, Frankie.” Gerard squeezed his hand. “I haven’t been so sure, so pumped about something in a long time. And this show will just be the beginning. I’ve got fucking comic ideas now, darker stuff than I’ve done before. Think Constantine meets The Punisher, with like street hustlers and bombing the Vatican. I don’t know, it’s a jumble in my head right now. I’ve got a notebook—”
Frank surged forward, threading his fingers through those silky black locks and pulling Gerard's face to him, stopping his words with a hot, hungry kiss. Gerard’s eyes widened, and he flapped his hands in surprise before he surrendered, leaning into Frank and wrapping his arms around his waist.
Frank shivered as their tongues touched, a little jolt of electricity shooting down his spine. He deepened the kiss, chasing Gerard's shaky, muffled moan, pulling back a moment later to slide their wet lips together again, nipping at Gerard's pouty bottom lip.
"Fuuuuck," Gerard swore, his breath hot against Frank's neck. "I wondered when you were going to shut me up."
Frank smirked and pulled him flush against his body, feeling his rapid heart and quickened breath and the hard, hot pulsing shape in his jeans.
"Wanna give me the rest of the tour now?" he murmured.
Gerard pried himself away, holding loosely onto Frank's hand, hair falling in his darkened eyes, the black slash of his brows so stark above them, lips curling in a delicious little smile. Frank was breathless with lust.
How was this man real? He was an erotic vision sent to earth specifically to tempt and torment. When Gerard looked at him like that, aloof and otherworldly, he wanted to fall to his knees in worship. And when he made himself vulnerable, let the soft light within him glow out of those doe eyes, Frank was driven to return the torment, to wrestle cries of pleasure from his throat, to wreck and ruin him, then wrap him up in his arms and kiss him until the world fell away.
He was pulled down the shadowed hall into the bedroom, where he got a few seconds to drink in the purple walls and overflowing bookshelves before Gerard began nuzzling his neck, stringing wet little kisses along his jaw, his throat, his collarbone. He stripped Frank of his hoodie and dropped it to the floor, running his slender fingers over his arms, trailing fire in their wake.
"Fuck, you're covered," he gasped, biting his lip. "So hot, Frankie."
Frank went in for another kiss, finally getting his hands on that amazing round ass, caressing and kneading as Gerard groaned and ground his hardness against Frank's hip. He got his hands under the black denim thighs and hoisted Gerard up, snickering as he squealed and wrapped his thighs around his waist.
"God, I didn't know you were so strong," Gerard gasped as Frank flung him onto the silvery faux fur blankets and climbed atop him, one arm circling his slightly sweaty back and the other cradling his head, his mouth immediately seeking the artful curve of his neck and bruising his pale skin with burning kisses.
"You like being manhandled, hmm?"
Gerard nodded, eyes screwed shut and hair a mess already, clawing at Frank's shoulders and rutting shamelessly against him as he continued to mark him with his lips and teeth.
"Please," Gerard whined, not sure what he was begging for.
Frank pulled away and looked down at him, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet, eyes heavy lidded and blazing under his feathery sweep of lashes. He held his gaze as he ground his own arousal against Gerard's, biting his lip as Gerard threw his head back, keening, thrusting up against Frank. He felt Gerard's thighs tremble around his waist and he extricated himself, not wanting him to come yet.
"Mmmnnn," Gerard pouted, rolling over to try to mount Frank's thigh and get himself off.
Frank laughed and pushed him onto his back again, pinning his arms down.
"Look at you," he breathed. "You're so close, aren't you baby? About to burst."
Gerard whined and nodded, shoving his hips up at nothing, and Frank stared at his crotch, amazed. The tight denim was seriously stressed as his hard cock tented it out, and the lack of room in his pants meant his dick was trapped directly under his fly, unable to fully expand. The tip of it pushed the bottom of his belt buckle up, almost flipping it horizontal. Frank had never seen such a wondrous sight.
"God, you're so fucking hard. And those pants are so fucking tight," he breathed, cupping the warm shape with his hand.
"Please," Gerard begged, tears threatening to overflow his pretty eyes. "Please help me, Frankie, I can't take it anymore." He moaned helplessly, hips undulating under the light pressure of Frank's hand.
"It's so uncomfortable, isn't it, baby?" He teasingly traced the ridge of his erection with a light fingertip as Gerard nodded fervently, a broken sob wrenched from his throat.
"Do you think you could come like this?" He pressed the belt buckle down with his thumb, giving Gerard some more friction. He was rewarded with a ragged cry, and Gerard bucked his hips up, his head thrashing back and forth on the bed.
"No!" he wailed. "It's too tight...it...hurts," he mumbled, so far gone he had no words to describe the sensation. Frank's touches were too light, the jeans too binding for his cock to even swell to full hardness.
"Almost like a chastity cage," Frank mused. Gerard nodded, frowning as tears streaked his face, and Frank quickly undid his belt, not wanting to prolong the torment any further. He got Gerard's fly down, tried to wiggle the jeans down over his hips, but they weren't budging much. He shoved down Gerard's bright green briefs to release his cock as much as possible, smiling as it plumped out to its impressive full size, twitching against his belly. Gerard rolled his hips up, whimpering, and Frank dove all in, sucking the throbbing length into his mouth, not caring as Gerard wailed and thrust deeper, unable to control his need.
Frank rubbed his thumbs over Gerard's hips in reassurance, trying to relax his throat. It had nearly been decades since he'd had a dick in his mouth, and for all he cared this was his first time. His eyes rolled up in his head, intoxicated by the hot heaviness filling his mouth, the taste of skin and salt, the slight bittersweet of the pre-ejaculate that was leaking steadily into his mouth.
Gerard moaned, propping himself up on his elbows, soclosesoclosesoclose, but wanting to see those tanned, tattooed hands dig into his hips, Frank's eyes closed in reverence, lips stretched wide around him and that sexy inked throat working as he swallowed.
"Please, I, oh Frank please, I-" Gerard gasped as Frank's eyes flew open, staring right at him, a sleepy hazel green.
He moaned low in his throat, vibrating around the cock in his mouth, and Gerard cried out, tossing his head back as he thrust up, again and again and again, his body going stiff and arching off the bed as he came down Frank's throat.
Frank gagged a little on the last thrust, Gerard was that deep inside him, but he focused on swallowing instead of the claustrophobic choke, shuddering as he felt Gerard pulse and twitch through his orgasm, the hot jets of cum shot shooting out so quickly he barely got a taste. He was dimly aware of rutting against the bed throughout, a few shaky seconds away from his own climax. He held Gerard in his mouth until he began to soften, swirling his tongue gently around to get every last drop of ejaculate, Gerard's whimpers echoing around him, his belly shuddering with each wrecked breath beneath his hands. He found the weight of a warm and soft dick in his mouth comforting, and he imagined he could almost fall asleep with Gerard tucked away inside him.
He was too afire with lust to feel sleepy though, and hellbent on unleashing his desire. He intended to make Gerard feel thoroughly and utterly pleasured if it was the last thing he did.
So, Frank didn't stop. He lifted his head up, catching Gerard's drowsy gaze as he licked his lips. "So good, baby," he slurred, pressing a kiss just below Gerard's navel.
Gerard giggled breathlessly. "Fuck, Frank. I think my soul left my body." He ran a trembling hand through Frank's hair. "Now why don't you climb up here and fuck my mouth?”
Frank's cock twitched with interest at the offer, and his eyes fell closed at the mental image. But he shook his head.
"Nope."
“What—” Gerard bit his lip in confusion, brow furrowed as he watched Frank, who was now (with surprising success) tugging his jeans over his hips, down his legs, and onto the floor. Frank slid up his body, strong callused hands slipping under Gerard’s soft, threadbare tshirt. He gasped as rough-textured thumbs teased his nipples into hardness, and his head fell back languidly as Frank took his mouth in a molten kiss.
“I’m not even close to being through with you,” Frank said when he broke the kiss, eyes drilling deep into Gerard’s. He was pinching his nipples now, twisting slowly until Gerard was keening and arching up off the bed. He tugged the shirt over his head, maintaining eye contact as he drew his index finger over his semi-hard cock.
Gerard hissed at the sensation. “Still-still sensitive, Frankie.”
“But you’re getting wet,” Frank murmured, seeing the little glistening trail of precum. He swiped his finger through it, dragged his finger over Gerard’s rose-petal lips, his own mouth falling open as Gerard’s tongue swiped out to lick it, and then suck Frank’s finger into his mouth.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?" Gerard mumbled before releasing his finger. "It could be your dick instead, but you have to be stubborn,” he pouted, but his pupils dilated, his breath hitched as Frank shook his head firmly and lowered his mouth to the stiff peak of his nipple.
“I told you, it’s not playing out that way,” Frank countered smoothly as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth.
“Fuck yes,” Gerard whined, writhing against the man. “Do your worst, Iero.”
Frank grinned, and set about his complete ravishment of Gerard Way. He poured his soul into it, all the years he’d been dead and yearning, intent on repaying Gerard for every time he’d looked at him and felt his feet leave the ground, blessing him with fevered kisses and branding him with his teeth and nails. Gerard opened to him like a flower, sucking up every illicit drop of pleasure and begging for more. No part of him was left untouched. Frank flipped him onto his front, tangled his hand into his hair while sucking and biting the back of his neck, dragging blunt nails down his spine, sliding down to sink his teeth into that ripe ass, spreading him open and licking the treasure inside until he was dripping wet with Frank’s spit and his own sweat, begging for Frank’s cock. Frank ignored him and pushed him onto his back again, kissing and tonguing over the red furrows that crisscrossed Gerard's hips, temporary tattoos from his skintight jeans. He raked his nails down his hamstrings and calves as he sucked sweet inner thigh flesh into his mouth, licked a stripe over his balls and sucked them both inside. Gerard came again, crying out with shock at the sudden spontaneous jolt, and Frank licked him clean, crawling up his body to drool cum into his mouth as he kissed him slow and soft and deep. He quaked, near sobbing as Frank held him close, murmuring nonsense into his mouth, against his ear.
He shoved Frank weakly away, rolling him on his back, and pulled at his t-shirt, yanking the neckline down to lick a swath over his chest piece and wetly mouth at his nipples. Frank groaned and managed to assist Gerard as he attempted to wrestle him out of his shirt and jeans.
“Fucking Christ, Frankie, look at you,” Gerard breathed, trailing his fingertips reverently over the stories written on Frank in ink, stories of a life unlived. He dug a condom and lube from under the blankets, rolling it onto him with shaky hands, and Frank reached up to help, barely able to take his eyes from Gerard’s face, flushed red and thoroughly fucked over. Gerard leaned forward, pale thighs trembling around Frank, his eyes manic and intense, brow furrowed as he worked himself open, needing little prep after the way he’d been tonguefucked. He eased down slowly, and Frank groaned deep in his chest, pinned down by Gerard’s eyes. The pleasure was nearly unbearable, and Gerard writhed atop him in an exquisitely obscene dance. He tossed back his head, droplets of sweat flying from his black locks like diamonds, stroking his own cock as he chased a third climax.
“God, god, god,” Frank swore, thrusting hard up into him, emptying himself completely, his field of vision studded with stars and his ears ringing softly. He perceived nothing but the ecstasy of Gerard, an angel enraptured, a demon enthralled, his cries fuzzy in Frank’s ears as he spilled over the swallows on his belly, the webbing on his chest.
Gerard wilted against him, fluids squelching between their bodies, and Frank wrapped him in a snug embrace, his throat suddenly tight, his eyes full of water. He’d sought solace here, and he’d found it. He’d found the magic of Gerard lighting up as he revealed new pieces of his story, as he was possessed by inspiration, as he came alive under Frank’s touch. But he’d found sorrow, too, and the night bloomed towards bittersweet dawn, reminding him each second of its end. It was nearly Sunday, and he knew the few hours they'd spend together tomorrow would fly by with surreal speed, and his other life would reclaim him.
They joked and laughed and kissed and snuggled. They ordered a fantastic pizza from down the street and ate it in bed, straight out of the box, watching a horrible monster movie on SyFy, their laughter easy, even as it wounded Frank’s heart. He fervently agreed when Gerard said excitedly “Let’s stay up all night!” and he made them coffee, which they drank, at 2am, with a shared bowl of ice cream. Maybe if they didn’t go to sleep, the night would stretch on, into exquisite eternal darkness, where they could love and play and curl up together in neverending bliss.
The coffee didn’t keep them awake or halt time in its tracks, nor did the movies, nor did Gerard’s seemingly limitless supply of energy. They dozed off as zombies staggered onscreen, wrapped around each other, unaware that the night was over.