Archive of Our Own

Frank’s leaning against the side of the van when he feels his arms break out in goosebumps and a chill run from the pit of his stomach and all the way up to the back of his neck. Fuck. He’d felt the slight thickness in his throat and tender lymph nodes on his neck the day before, but he’d woken up this morning and thought maybe he’d gotten lucky. Not the case, it seems. He shivers uncontrollably again, and this time Mikey sees.

“You okay, man?” Mikey asks, an eyebrow raised. Makes sense, it’s fucking July in DC, no way is Frank cold.

But no way is Frank fucking sick either. “Yeah, I just need a cigarette I think.” Mikey nods, buying it for now. Frank slinks away and crawls into the van, ostensibly digging around for his smokes, which are actually in his pocket. Really he’s looking for his hoodie and the emergency stash of knock-off DayQuil he keeps in his backpack.

He dry-swallows the pills, which is a bad idea. He can immediately feel his stomach lurch and he braces himself on the front bench seat, swallowing convulsively against the sticky feeling in his throat and breathing in and out real slow. “Fuck, Iero,” he hears from behind him. “You fucking drunk already?” Otter, fuck.

And Ray, apparently, because the next thing Frank hears is Ray sighing and saying, “Just don’t puke in the van, Frank.” Frank turns around.

“M’cool, guys. No problem.” He waves a hand around, slipping his sunglasses on and tugging his hood up over his head. If he leans up against the side of the van, the metal’s still kind of warm. Fuck, this blows.

“You’re a weird motherfucker,” Otter tells him, resettling his baseball hat on his head and going to rummage around in the back of the van.

“What time is it?” he asks Ray.

“Four. Me and Mikey and Gee are going to walk around town for a while, you wanna -”

Frank does wanna, because he loves these guys like fucking family, but it’s really not a great idea if he wants to be able to stay standing on stage tonight. So he shrugs. “Just gonna crash in the van for a while. Bring me back a Coke or something?”

“Sure,” Ray says, because Ray’s actually a fucking decent person and... shit. Frank should have said yes, Ray’ll think he’s lazy or something for wanting to sleep but -

This really, really blows.

*

When Frank wakes up it’s to Gerard’s face just inches from his own, looking part guilty and part concerned. He tries to ask him what’s up, but can’t quite get the words out around all the phlegm in his throat. He clears his throat then tries again. “What’s up, man?”

“It’s time for our sound check,” Gerard says, still looking a little shifty. He makes a weird, abortive hand movement toward Frank, but then just reaches up to run his fingers through his hair. Twitchy bastard.

It takes everything Frank has to roll into a sitting position without crying out in pain. He aches all over. This isn’t a cold - this is the fucking flu, as nasty as Frank has had it in ages. And now is a bad fucking time. The worst fucking time. “On my way!” he replies to Gerard. Too cheerful - he sounds like a chipmunk. What the fuck is it about Gerard? Frank can’t lie to him for shit. Not that he normally wants to. Except. Well. About the things he does want to lie about.

Gerard shrugs again, still looking twitchy - seriously, and Otter wants to accuse Frank of breaking into the booze stash early? He stuffs his hands in his hoodie pocket and shuffles back toward the venue. Frank grimaces, zips his hoodie up to the very top, and follows him.

*

Frank is really glad they already loaded all their shit on stage for sound check and he doesn’t have to move much or lift anything heavy. Just standing there while Gerard makes hand motions at the sound guy is enough to make him feel like he’s gonna die. He has no idea how he’s gonna get through the show tonight, but for now, he just tries to breathe slowly and stay upright without leaning on his rig too much. Once they’re finished, what he really wants to do is crash out in the van again until it’s time to go on. Instead, he goes to pick up coffee and sandwiches at the nearby gas station with Gerard. Because even when he feels like dying, apparently he still can’t say no to Gerard.

“Frankie, look,” Gerard says, dragging Frank away from where he’s staring muzzily at the soda case and tucking his hand into the bend of Frank’s elbow. “Breakfast sandwiches.” He points at a collection of vaguely squashy-looking foil-wrapped lumps under a heat lamp. “You can get egg and cheese. We can all get breakfast sandwiches.”

“It’s six-thirty, Gerard,” Frank points out.

“Pretend, motherfucker. Use your imagination. We can get coffee and orange juice too, okay?” He beams into Frank’s face, all splotchy dye job and wonky teeth and just - Gerard. Frank thought he knew him before. The My Chem guys were a fixture in his practice space long before he joined the family. But before was nothing compared to now.

“Okay, Gee. Breakfast.”

“You can carry this.” Gerard hands him a half gallon of orange juice and a handful of sandwiches and smiles. Frank cradles the food against his chest and follows him back to the van, Gerard trailing streamers of steam and coffee aroma.

Frank feels a little better after food and some coffee. He’d even chugged down several glasses of the orange juice Gerard forced on him. But he doesn’t feel better for long, and he spends the entire two sets before theirs huddled in a corner offstage, leaning against some cases and shivering. He passes it off as nerves when Toro comes by to make sure he’s ready to go. Ray puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently, then goes over to his side of the stage. Gerard appears out of nowhere and holds out his hand to help Frank up without saying anything. Frank puts his guitar on and tries to walk onstage without shuffling too much like a zombie.

He manages to get through the first half of the set okay, carried by Ray’s thrashing and Gerard’s agonized vocals, losing himself in the music like always. This is why he can’t screw this up, because it feels too fucking good to be onstage with these guys. Ray needs him, he reminds himself. Ray can’t play all these parts himself, they’re a team, they’re -

Frank spins out of a chord progression and staggers, almost losing his footing, covering it by lunging over to poke at a pedal. He hangs his head and hits the next chord and lets himself stand very still for a moment. Gerard, who was upstage just a second ago, is suddenly downstage screaming into his mic, pressing up against Frank - letting Frank press against him with forehead and shoulder and upper arm. He’s there for an entire verse, sweaty and solid and almost obscenely warm. Then he’s gone, and Frank grits his teeth and plants his feet again.

Two more songs, and he spends the first with feet spread, playing to his speaker, the head of Mikey’s bass briefly bobbing in his peripheral vision. Mikey ambles over, nudging his toes against the side of Frank’s foot. Frank looks up, past Mikey to Ray. Ray catches his eye and smiles big and wide and delighted before curling around his guitar to rip into the solo. Frank nods once to himself and turns back to the crowd. He presses his face right up into his mic for his backup vox and screams, throat feeling like it’s ripping apart but he doesn’t care, he’s gone. The crowd screams when he drops to his knees and he keeps going, falling to his side and then his back and flailing into a position where he can keep playing, just one more, just one.

When he opens his eyes, Gerard is leaning over him, still singing, his face curtained in hair and his eyes fixed steadily on Frank. He stays there for a while, staring, while Frank stares back and just tries to breathe and keep his arms moving. Gerard finally moves away when they have just the bridge and a chorus left, and then finally, the song is over. Usually the noise from the crowd at the end of a set gives Frank enough energy that he feels like he can do the whole thing over again, just as hard and twice as fast. Not tonight. Tonight he’s not even sure if he can sit up, let alone get himself and all of his shit off the stage. He lies there, in the dark, surrounded by claps and whistles and the buzz from his amp. He doesn’t realize he’s passed the fuck out for a second until Gerard yanks him out of it by attempting to pull him to his feet.

They manage to get Frank’s feet under him, but he’s not steady on them at all, and he leans against Gerard pretty heavily as they walk backstage together. Someone takes his guitar from him, he thinks it might be Ray. He hears Mikey ask, “Is he okay, Gee?”

Frank feels Gerard nodding against the side of his head. “I think he just played too hard or something. None of us really slept last night. I’m gonna go put him in the van.”

Gerard leads them through the back of the venue, and Frank stumbles along beside him. He tries to protest at one point, “What about my gear, I need to-”, but Gerard cuts him off and says he’ll come back and take care of it. Gerard actually participating in load out or load in is a fucking miracle or something. Frank doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s grateful for it when Gerard pushes him down onto the back bench seat of the van and covers him with a ratty blanket that smells like feet. Frank doesn’t even care, it’s the best blanket in the world right now.

“Get some rest,” Gerard says, brushing Frank’s sweaty hair back from his forehead where it’s getting long. “I’ll be back soon.”

Frank tries to say, “Okay, thanks, later,” but he’s asleep before he can open his mouth.

*

He dreams he’s on a pirate ship and wakes half-seasick. The swaying and the cursing had just been the rest of the band loading the van and the trailer around him, and they’re already on the road, and the seasick was - well, sick. He swallows hard, and a bottle of water appears in front of his face. He grasps it at the bottom and lowers it to take a swig. An arm brushes his shoulder as the bottle’s taken away again and Frank realizes suddenly that his head is lying on - and he’s been drooling on - Gerard’s thigh.

The denim under his cheek is warm and smells a little like lighter fluid and stale beer. Fucking hell, Gerard is actually a fire hazard. And here he thought Mikey’s hair was their biggest concern. Gerard’s fingers also smell like stale beer, and like nicotine, which is seriously unfair. But they’re cool and carding gently through the short hairs around Frank’s ear and it feels ridiculously good. “Sorry,” he rasps.

“For what?” Gerard answers quietly, and Frank turns onto his back, cranes his neck to look around the van. It looks like Ray is driving, which means Mikey is either playing DJ or sleeping in the passenger seat, which means Otter is probably passed out on the other seat.

“Drooling on you,” Frank whispers back, wiping at the corner of his mouth.

“Not for ‘hiding the fact that I have the Balmorra flu from my bandmates and freaking them the fuck out when I need to be dragged offstage?’”

Frank looks up at Gerard. He doesn’t sound pissed. He doesn’t sound drunk, either, just tired and - well, concerned and a little freaked. Shit. “Sorry,” he whispers again. “I didn’t want to not play, or make us cancel the gig, or....” He stumbles into silence, then adds, “Not that you need me, Ray can -”

“Shut up, Frankie.” Now Gerard does sound a little pissed. “Of course we need you.” His mouth twists at the corner, and his fingers start up in Frank’s hair again, twisting the slightly longer pieces at his temple this time. “I knew,” he adds after a moment. “I was waiting all day for you to tell me.”

Frank swallows thickly again, not just around the nausea, but around the lump in his throat. Fuck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just... I wanted it to be perfect, I guess.” Which is stupid, he knows.

“That’s fucking stupid, Frank,” Gerard says, further proving that he can read Frank’s mind. “Touring is never gonna be perfect. But if we trust each other with shit, then we can get close.”

Frank thinks about taking him seriously for a few seconds, but Gerard’s doing that thing where he holds himself as still as possible so he doesn’t bust up laughing. Frank pinches the inside of his thigh so he squeaks and tries to squirm away. Frank’s head gets jostled in the process, but his right arm and leg were numb anyway, so he uses the opportunity to shift around a little. “Are you gonna make me fall backwards into your arms and shit now?”

Gerard laughs and squeezes Frank’s hip before going back to stroking his hair. “Nah. You already proved it by letting me touch your ladies.”

Shit, Frank had seriously been out of it if he managed to forget about his guitars, let alone playing a show half dead. He turns his head up to look at Gerard’s face. It’s funny from this angle, all jaw, and Frank can see up his little upturned nose. Or well, he could if it wasn’t dark. “Thanks for doing that for me.”

Gerard looks down and smiles softly. “You’re welcome, Frankie. Try to get some more sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Frank says around a yawn, snuggling back down against Gerard’s warm leg. He drifts off again, only to wake a few hours later when the van stops and Gerard attempts to wriggle out from underneath him. He mutters and clutches at Gerard’s knee, and Gerard squeezes Frank’s fingers for a moment and whispers, “Rest stop. D’you need the bathroom?” Frank shakes his head. “Okay, stay here then, Frankie. I’m gonna get you some stuff.”

Frank’s eyes are closed - still closed, really - when the sliding door rattles and he hears the mutters and shuffling noises of his bandmates rearranging themselves. Someone climbs in back with him, and hands start shoving at him gently and sort of ineffectively.

“Frankie,” Gerard whispers, “sit up.” Frank blinks and struggles to push himself up off the seat. Gerard is perched on the edge of the bench, holding out two bottles. “More orange juice. And TheraFlu,” he adds, wiggling the medicine bottle hopefully.

“Shit,” Frank mumbles, “Gee, that’s stuff’s expensive, especially from a rest stop. I’ll -”

“Worry about it later,” Gerard interrupts and shoves the bottle at him. Frank takes it and pries off the safety seals, eying the bottle for a moment before just taking a healthy swig, then another. Gerard already has the orange juice open and passes that over next.

Frank wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “You practicing your candy striper skills, Gee?”

“Fuck you, if we’re sleeping together I just want you to stop snoring,” Gerard shoots back. Then visibly plays back what he just said in his head and gets all twitchy. If Frank wasn’t so goddamn tired, he’d take that and run with it, but right now he’s tired and he discovers he doesn’t really want to.

“You’re the big spoon,” he says, tugging at Gerard’s sleeve until he stretches out with his back pressed against the seatback. Frank nestles back against him and hooks their feet together, nudges with his elbow until Gerard wraps an arm securely around Frank’s chest.

“Go to sleep,” Gerard mumbles. Frank’s already mostly there.

*

Frank wakes up again when the van door slams shut. He can see daylight through his closed eyelids, so he figures they must be where they're playing tonight. He's warm and cozy and feeling noticeably better than he was the last time he was awake. Or at any point the previous day, really. Thank fuck for Gerard. Who is still sacked out behind Frank, if the steady puffs of warm air against the back of Frank's neck are anything to go by. He wriggles around and gets himself turned around so he's facing Gerard. He had been planning on gently poking Gerard's nose until he woke up, but Gerard changes that plan when he pulls Frank even closer, nuzzles his face in Frank's neck, and slides his hand down Frank's back to grope his ass.

Frank hesitates for a moment, mostly because he'd imagined first moves being made when they were both awake to notice them. But if Gerard can read Frank's mind half as well as he seemed to be doing yesterday, then he has to know how Frank feels, that they've been dancing around this... thing between them practically since they first met. So Frank takes that moment to get his mind set, then he presses forward with his hips a little, and wraps his arm tight around Gerard's waist.

Gerard wakes with a noise that’s half a word, and his hands tighten. Then he goes very deliberately still. Now that he’s awake, maybe Gerard needs a moment too. Frank lets him have it, then noses under Gerard’s jaw and presses his lips to Gerard’s neck.

“Gee,” Frank says, voice low and quiet like it’s a secret, then kisses his way up Gerard’s jaw and to his cheek. Gerard tugs his free hand out from between their bodies and runs his palm over Frank’s head. He cups the back of Frank’s head and leans in to kiss Frank’s temple. Then their noses brush together and Gerard’s mouth is right there and it’s still a surprise when their lips touch. Gerard sighs into the kiss like he actually can’t help it. Maybe he can’t. When the surprise dies down, Frank just feels relieved, like everything’s finally right about all of this.

One kiss turns into two turns into more - a lot more, and Frank curses inside his own head when he has to pull back and take a few deep breaths. Gerard pulls back too and actually lays his hand across Frank’s forehead. “Are you kidding me?” Frank mumbles.

“Are you okay?” Gerard says, his own forehead wrinkled. “You’re sick, Frankie, you shouldn’t be -”

“Yes I should,” Frank interrupts. He leans back in and kisses Gerard again, a bit more forcefully this time. Gerard melts into the kiss and wraps his arms more firmly around Frank. He shifts them around a little so that Frank is mostly lying on his back on the seat and Gerard is mostly lying on top of him. Frank doesn’t even care that he has to break away from Gerard’s mouth every third kiss or so to breathe, this is the best thing he’s felt in a long time. Possibly ever. He’s just slipping his hands underneath Gerard’s shirt when there’s a loud bang against the side of the van and the door slides open.

“I knew this was gonna happen,” says Otter, sounding aggrieved. “Put that shit away, we all have to sleep in there.”

Frank cranes his neck to look past Gerard’s shoulder and sees Otter, looking annoyed, and Ray looking sort of... cheerfully concerned. Mikey is behind them, looking like nothing at all, but Frank somehow feels like he approves.

Load in is easier today, and Gerard nags him every four hours to take more medicine, and somehow the show is starting and then over in a blink of an eye. It’s their last booking on this mini-tour and Gerard is on fire. They all are, and he’s fucking proud of himself for keeping up. Frank’s pretty sure everyone in the audience got their money’s worth, even the people - still most of them - who aren’t there for them, or don’t care.

Fuck ‘em. They don’t know what they’re missing. This is Frank’s band and they’re fucking amazing.

He leaves the stage limp and drenched with sweat, but still feeling a thousand times better than the night before. After load out, he plucks the keys from Ray’s hand and bounces them in his palm a few times. He’s had, like, one beer - they fuck with his cold meds - and he’s pretty sure... “It’s only three hours to Jersey, dudes.”

They all look at each other, then back at him. “Let’s go,” Ray says.

Frank drives, Ray beside him with the passenger seat leaned back talking sixties blues-rock because he knows it’ll keep Frank awake, and he gets them home, gets the van parked in front of the Ways’ house. Gerard and Mikey are leaning against each other in the front bench seat, and Frank reaches back to shake them awake. Gerard stumbles out of the van last, and Frank doesn’t even pretend he’s thinking about going home, just grabs Gerard’s hand and drags him straight to the basement.

He’s going to get so much shit from Mikey tomorrow, but he doesn’t even care.

They’re barely down the basement stairs when Gerard slips his hands underneath Frank’s shirt. Frank helps him out by grabbing the bottom of his hoodie and pulling both it and his t-shirt off and dropping them on the floor. He goes for Gerard’s shirt next, but it’s a struggle because Gerard went straight for Frank’s collarbone with his mouth. It feels good, though, so Frank runs his hands up and down Gerard’s back and moans softly.

When Gerard doesn’t stop, Frank goes for his pants instead. He gets them open and then rubs his hand over Gerard’s cock through his underwear. It feels as satisfyingly big as Frank thought it would, and he pushes Gerard’s jeans and briefs down and off his hips so he can stroke it for real. Gerard groans against Frank’s neck and sticks his hands down the back of Frank’s jeans, and shuffle-walks them over to the bed. He pushes Frank down on his back, shoves the rest of his own clothes off, then climbs on top of Frank.

Frank puts his hands in Gerard’s hair and tugs his face down for a kiss. He sucks on Gerard’s bottom lip and then his tongue, but he has to break away and gasp when Gerard finally gets his pants open and starts jacking Frank’s cock.

“Frankie,” Gerard kisses Frank’s temple then whispers in his ear. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Frank groans, partly because of what Gerard is doing with his hands, and partly out of frustration. “Fuck, me too. Why didn’t you say anything? Had to wait until I was on my deathbed or something?”

Gerard leans back and rolls his eyes. “No.” Then he smiles all softly at him. “This isn’t a hookup, Frank, it’s you and me. I just needed to be sure. And fuck you, you could have said something too.” Gerard tugs Frank’s jeans and underwear down and off his legs and they’re both finally naked. “In fact, let’s make that a rule, okay? No more hiding when you’re about to fucking pass out onstage.”

“Yeah, okay,” Frank nods.

“I’d rather make you pass out myself,” Gerard adds with a hilarious eyebrow waggle.

Frank giggles and stretches his arms over his head, totally on display. “Knock yourself out.”

Gerard’s answering grin is wicked in the best way possible, and he kisses an obvious path down Frank’s chest and stomach and noses around his groin. He nips at the soft skin of Frank’s inner thigh, which makes Frank squeak. “Something you want?” he asks, licking around the base of Frank’s cock.

“What do you think?” He tries his hardest not to just thrust up into Gerard’s face, but it’s a near thing. Gerard chuckles and trails the tip of his tongue up the underside of Frank’s cock, stopping to close his mouth around the head, then pulling back and licking his way back down. He pushes Frank’s legs further apart and sucks on his balls. Frank can’t hold back a loud moan, and he grabs his legs behind his knees and tilts his hips back, completely opening himself up for Gerard. Gerard groans, which feels fucking amazing on Frank’s balls, then releases them with a wet smack and licks at the soft skin behind them, and then down around Frank’s hole, making Frank shiver.

He whines a little when Gerard sits up, but Gerard just leans over to dig around in his bedside table. He comes back with a small bottle of lube and a condom. He slicks his fingers, then leans back down and sucks Frank’s cock into his mouth as he slides a finger inside.

Gerard wraps his free hand around the base of Frank’s cock and starts jacking him slowly in time with the thrusts of his finger, using his tongue on the head, occasionally dipping down to take Frank’s cock fully in his mouth and sucking. Frank can only moan. He wants more of it all - more suction, more pressure, more fingers - and he doesn’t know what to ask for. But Gerard knows, because he adds a second finger as he sucks hard at the head of Frank’s cock.

Gerard is sucking in earnest now, moving his hand faster and taking Frank deep - really deep. Frank is fucking impressed. He’s gonna lose it soon. He’s already being way too fucking loud, so he wrenches the pillow out from under his head and holds it over his face. Just in time too, because Gerard slips in a third finger at the same time he flicks his tongue over the head and Frank’s hips snap up and he shouts into the pillow as he comes down Gerard’s throat. Gerard sucks him through it, still moving his fingers, and Frank feels another shudder rock through his body.

Gerard pulls off and leans up to tug the pillow out of Frank’s hands. He tosses it on the floor beside the bed. “Smothering yourself is not the answer here,” he mutters, voice a little gravelly.

“Then fuck me,” Frank tells him. Gerard grins again, quick and sharp, and pulls his fingers out. Frank gasps and his hips lift. Gerard’s not entirely fooling him, though. Frank can see how his hands shake a little as he rolls the condom on. Then he grasps Frank’s thighs and pushes in and they both make the same noise, something between a gasp and a sigh.

Gerard’s not exactly gentle - Frank thinks he’s too far gone to be gentle - but Frank doesn’t care. He wants more, right now, and he grabs for Gerard’s shoulders and pulls him closer and tells him so. “More. Harder,” he says, and Gerard laughs and clutches at Frank’s hips.

“Impatient?” He does it, though, snapping his hips harder until Frank’s gasping syllables of his name. He’s so fucking sensitive he’s practically seeing stars. He squeezes his eyelids shut and tips his head back against the mattress, and Gerard leans in to bite at his neck, licking up to his jaw and breathing into his ear. He trails his other hand down Frank’s stomach to his cock, which is half-hard again already and Frank knows that with some attention, he’d be ready to go again. But he’s tired, and his head is swimming, and he intercepts Gerard’s hand and laces their fingers together instead.

“You can owe me one,” he says, cutting off with a groan as Gerard pins his wrist to the mattress by his head and changes his angle. Then Frank really is seeing stars. He gasps and clutches at Gerard’s side with the hand that’s not pinned.

Gerard leans in and kisses him, tugging at Frank’s bottom lip with his teeth and licking into his mouth. “Frank, m’gonna -” he pulls back and mutters against Frank’s mouth.

Frank says “Yes,” and arches up into him, wrapping his legs tighter and pulling Gerard close until he groans and swears and comes.

Gerard collapses on top of Frank. He’s heavy, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable. Frank holds him while they catch their breath, running his fingers through Gerard’s sweaty hair. After a few minutes, Gerard sighs and pulls out, then gets up and goes into the bathroom. Frank rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in Gerard’s other pillow. It feels like he’s gone forever.

“Frank, roll over,” he hears Gerard say after a while.

“Mmmmmrph,” Frank says.

“I have tea. And cold meds. And sweats. And a washcloth.”

“What are you?” Frank grumbles, but he rolls over anyway, because he knows the washcloth, at least, is a gesture coming from Gerard. It takes him at least three times as long as it probably should, but he gets himself - and a complaining Gerard - cleaned up, puts on the comfortably ratty sweats, and sits up enough to swallow the pills and cup the hot mug in his hands. “I don’t know if I can stay awake long enough to finish this, Gee,” he mumbles into the hot surface.

“S’ok,” Gerard answers around a yawn, picking the abandoned pillow up off the floor and curling up next to Frank. Frank tries, but after a few more sips he sets the mug aside next to a Boba Fett figurine on Gerard’s cluttered nightstand and curls into the curve of Gerard’s body, sticking his face into Gerard’s neck and kissing it a few times before letting out a slow breath and closing his eyes. Gerard kisses the top of his head, wraps his arms tightly around Frank, and hums happily.

Frank falls asleep thinking about their next tour - thinking about tomorrow.