Chapter Text
The adrenaline was still buzzing in his ears, a sharp ringing that mingled with the last screams of the audience. Frank descended the stage steps two at a time, ignoring the technicians trying to remove his guitar strap. His chest was heaving, his shirt soaked in sweat, and his mouth still tasted like Gerard’s lip balm. Just five minutes ago, in front of twenty thousand people, he had cornered him against the amplifiers. He had slid his hands around his waist with an urgency that felt real, whispering unintelligible things into his ear off-mic while kissing him with an intensity that almost made them lose the rhythm during the pre-chorus of Helena.
Frank wasn’t going to let that cool down. He tore through the security hallway like a hurricane, pushing open the door to Gerard’s private dressing room without even knocking.
"Damn it, Gee! If you were trying to kill me up there, you almost succeeded," Frank exclaimed with a raspy laugh, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t wait for a response. He lunged directly toward where Gerard was sitting, wrapping his arms around him and searching for his neck with desperation, trying to reclaim that fire he believed they had both ignited on stage. He was wired, vibrating, ready to continue what the fans had only caught a glimpse of.
However, as soon as his hands touched Gerard’s shoulders, he felt something he didn’t expect: rigidity.
"Frank, let go. The show is over." Gerard’s voice held no trace of the heavy breathing from minutes ago. It was flat, distant, almost cutting. He hadn't even turned to look at him; he was focused on removing his makeup in front of the mirror, as if Frank were an annoying assistant and not the person he had nearly merged with on stage moments before.
"Let go," he repeated as Frank leaned over him. His pack of wet wipes fell to the floor, and the one in his hand, half-smeared with makeup, was crumpled into a damp ball. "Schechter will be coming to pick us up soon," he added while the other remained on top of him.
Frank froze, but his hands didn't pull away immediately. His fingers, still trembling from the effort of playing for nearly two hours, sank just a bit deeper into the fabric of Gerard's shirt, as if trying to find a trace of the heat that had been there on stage. Hearing Gerard call him by his name like that, in that "boss" tone, was like having a bucket of ice water dumped on him in the middle of a New Jersey winter.
"Schechter? Who the hell cares about Schechter right now?" Frank protested, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. He pulled back just a few inches, enough to see Gerard’s profile, still obsessed with the mirror. "Ten minutes ago you were devouring me alive, Gee. You literally had me against the amps. Don’t tell me that was also part of the itinerary".
Frank looked down at the wipes scattered on the floor and then back to Gerard’s eyes, searching for a crack, a spark of desire, anything that wasn't that coldness. "You can’t just flip the switch and then turn it off like you’re a goddamn lamp," he muttered, stepping back but remaining right behind him, still invading his space. "Are you really going to act like nothing that happened out there was real? Like it was just... work?".
Gerard leaned over to pick up the wipes and set them back on the vanity. He grabbed one and resumed the movements across his cheeks and under his eyelids.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he replied, looking at him through the mirror. "The show ended, time to change and go. What do you want? What am I supposed to do to get you to shut your mouth? Why are you getting like this?".
Frank let out a dry, disbelieving laugh and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back. Gerard's indifference stung more than the friction of the strings on his fingers after the long set.
"What am I supposed to do? I don't know, maybe not act like I'm a complete stranger!" he snapped, raising his voice more than necessary. "I'm getting like this because what happened out there wasn't 'checking in' at an office, Gerard. You were touching me as if your life depended on it. And now you look at me as if I were a nuisance who won't let you remove your makeup in peace".
Frank took a step forward, ignoring the invisible barrier Gerard was trying to build. He leaned both hands on the edge of the vanity, invading Gerard's reflection in the mirror, forcing him to see Frank's frustrated face right next to his own if he wanted to keep cleaning himself.
"I'm not one of your concept puppets, Gee. You can't use me to give the show a good ending and then put me back in the box until tomorrow," his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, heavy with a resentment that was no longer just arousal. "Is that it? Am I just a prop for the show? Because if so, let me know, so I don't make the mistake of believing you were looking at me, with fire, when you kissed me".
He stayed there, waiting, watching as the wet wipe slid over Gerard's skin, looking for any sign that the man beneath the makeup was still there. Frank kept talking, and talking, and talking. And Gerard hated confrontations. He was behind him, too close.
So he did the only thing he knew worked: he turned toward the shorter man, both hands pulling on Frank's jacket, and yanked him closer, his mouth catching the other's to silence him with kisses.
Silence fell suddenly, but it wasn't the quiet peace Gerard sought. It was a rough clash, a collision of teeth and lips that smelled of makeup, sweat, and frustration. Gerard's grip on Frank's jacket was firm, almost violent—a tactical maneuver to stifle his guitarist's wordiness in the only way he knew Frank wouldn't reject.
For a second, Frank froze, eyes wide with the surprise of the sudden movement. But the adrenaline he brought from the stage hadn't evaporated, and the contact, as manipulative as it was, ignited him again. Frank let out a muffled groan against Gerard's mouth and his hands, which had been resting on the vanity, rose urgently to tangle in Gerard's hair, returning the kiss with an intensity that desperately sought an emotional response, not just a physical one.
He pushed him back slightly, making Gerard's back hit the edge of the furniture, causing perfume bottles and brushes to clink. However, despite the force of the kiss, something felt different. Frank pulled away just a few millimeters, lips swollen and breath hitched, searching for Gerard's eyes at close range.
"See?" Frank whispered against his mouth, heart hammering in his ribs. "You can't tell me this is 'professional,' Gerard. Don't use me to shut me up if you aren't going to hold my gaze afterward, you asshole".
Frank slid a hand behind Gerard's neck, forcing him to maintain eye contact, challenging him to try to return to his role after yanking him like that. To Gerard's frustration, Frank kept talking, looking for a confrontation. So he lowered a hand and pulled him by the neck to bring him close again. His tongue forced its way into the other's mouth, exhaling against his lips, while the other hand dropped to pull his hip, pressing Frank against him.
The groan that escaped Frank's throat was pure instinct, a mixture of triumph and desperation. Feeling Gerard's tongue invading his mouth with that almost aggressive authority, his knees buckled for an instant. This was what he wanted, right? That fire, that possessiveness that left him breathless.
But there was something sharp in the way Gerard held him. It wasn't an embrace; it was an anchor. His fingers on Frank's neck felt like a silent warning, and the pull on his hip, pressing him to the elder's body, was a maneuver of absolute control. Frank let himself be carried away, tangling his fingers in Gerard's shirt, wrinkling the fine fabric while trying to keep up with that tongue that seemed to want to devour him just so he would cease to exist for a moment.
The taste of nicotine and makeup remover became intoxicating. However, amidst the heat, Frank could notice the disconnection. Gerard was physically there, giving him exactly what he asked for, but he did it with a technical efficiency that was frightening. He was suffocating him with pleasure to regain the silence. Frank pulled away a centimeter, just enough to gasp for air, eyes clouded and bottom lip glistening.
"Damn it..." he managed to articulate, voice broken, feeling Gerard's body tense like a violin string against his. "I know what you're doing, Gee. You're trying to make me forget how to talk".
Despite his words, Frank didn't pull away; on the contrary, he pressed his pelvis harder against Gerard's, challenging him to maintain that facade of coldness while their bodies said something completely different.
"Are you going to tell me this is part of the show too?" he whispered, brushing his nose against the other's, his hot breath hitting Gerard's skin. "Because if Schechter walks in right now, I don't think what you're doing with your hands will look very professional to him".
"Shut up already, my God," the taller man grumbled. Why did he insist on continuing with this?. Why couldn't he just close his mouth?. Gerard grabbed him by the jacket again and pushed back, making him slam against the wall. He freed a hand to set the lock on the knob and then returned to him.
He wouldn't let him pull away from the wall; one of his knees forced its way between the other's legs, pushing upward, insistent. His hands ran down the shorter man's sides, and his mouth licked and sucked the salty skin of his neck, pushing aside the shirt fabric. His tongue passed over his tattoo again and again.
The impact against the wall knocked the air out of Frank's lungs, but the metallic sound of the door lock clicking shut was what finally sent his pulse skyrocketing. Gerard's growl, loaded with genuine irritation, was the most honest music Frank had heard all night. Finally, the varnish of "professionalism" was cracking, even if it was through rage.
Frank let out a dull gasp when he felt Gerard's knee pressing hard between his thighs, searching for that exact point of friction that made him arch his back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes tight, throwing his head back, leaving his neck fully exposed to Gerard's tongue.
"Ah... d-damn it, Gee..." he whispered, fingers digging into Gerard's shoulders, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that was starting to spin. The contact of Gerard's tongue on his neck tattoo was electric. He felt every lick, every suction, like a mark of ownership Gerard was trying to impose to reclaim the silence he so craved.
It was a battle of wills: Gerard wanted to subdue him to make him shut up; Frank wanted to provoke him to make him feel. Even though the pleasure was clouding him, Frank couldn't help but let out one last broken provocation, taking advantage of Gerard being buried in his skin : "That's it..." he gasped, with a triumphant and broken smile at once. "Use me to take it out on me... but don't you dare tell me... that this isn't real... when we leave here".
Frank moved one of his hands from the shoulder to the back of Gerard's neck, pulling his hair gently but firmly, forcing him to increase the intensity or stop, while his body trembled under the pressure of Gerard's knee.
Gerard knew time was running out, and also that if Frank kept talking, he would go crazy. His body acted on instinct; he knew exactly where to touch to disarm him. It wasn't the first time. He pushed his knee once more, and his hands went down to the shorter man's belt while he continued biting and sucking his neck, the skin salty and hot.
His fingers unfastened quickly, and he also unbuttoned the pants with almost frantic movements. Gerard lowered the pants enough to slide his hand in and stroke over the underwear. When he was hard enough, he moved the fabric to pull his cock out.
Gerard abandoned his neck to fall to his knees in front of him, his black hair clinging to his cheeks and his eyes fixed on the other's face, while his hands adjusted the shorter man's member and brought it to his mouth. He tasted sweat, soap, and Frank. His mouth stayed open, his tongue running from base to tip over and over, quick movements against the clock.
Frank's world shrank to that small space between the wall and Gerard's body. The sound of the belt being unbuckled and the zipper going down was like a starting gun. He let out a moan that was lost in the ceiling of the dressing room, head hitting the wall softly, while he felt the cold air of the room hit his exposed skin before the heat of Gerard's hand reclaimed him.
When Gerard sank to his knees, Frank felt a vertigo that had nothing to do with the stage. Seeing Gerard like that, hair disheveled, gaze fixed on him, and that almost violent determination to finish this quickly, was too much.
"G-Gerard..." The name came out as a plea, a mixture of supplication and surrender to the taller man. As soon as Gerard took him in his mouth, Frank lost all notion of the confrontation. There were no more arguments, no more reproaches about "professionalism". His fingers dug hard into the dark hair, pulling it erratically while his hips gave small spasms forward, seeking more of that wet, expert heat.
Gerard's tongue, moving against the clock, was taking him to the edge of the abyss in a matter of seconds. Frank grit his teeth, trying not to scream, aware that the camper walls weren't exactly soundproof.
"Shit... you're going to... you're going to make me come in a goddamn second," Frank gasped, eyes rolling back, feeling the pressure rising from the base of his spine.
Gerard didn't stop; on the contrary, he seemed to feed off Frank's desperation, sucking harder, setting a frantic pace that screamed "shut up and finish this now". He didn't stop, if anything closing his lips around the cock, bringing a hand up to grab the base and squeeze a little, while his tongue licked around, forming small circles on the tip and then reaching all the way down. He took it out of his mouth to lick downward, between the testicles, and back up again. His hand moved up and down, pointing the cock toward his open mouth in an obscene gesture. His movements were firm, fast, seeking for the other to come as soon as possible. His breathing was quick, and he groaned when Frank pulled harder on his hair, but he didn't stop. It only encouraged him to continue faster.
Frank was completely disarmed. There was no trace left of the defiant guitarist who had walked in looking for a fight; now he was just a mess of nerves, sweat, and broken gasps. Feeling Gerard's hand squeezing the base and that tongue covering every inch with a technique that was almost cruel for how effective it was, Frank threw his head back, hitting the wall with a dull thud.
"Shit, Gerard!" The cry was barely a torn whisper, a stifled plea as his fingers tangled violently in Gerard's black hair.
The contrast was absolute: the coldness of Gerard's eyes, fixed on him, and the scorching heat of his mouth. It was as if Gerard were claiming his silence through pleasure, devouring his resistance. Frank felt like his heart was going to explode in his ribs; the rhythm Gerard imposed on him was frantic, with no room to breathe, a countdown that was about to hit zero.
"No... I'm not going to... hold it..." Frank managed to articulate, voice cracking. His hips moved by instinct, pushing urgently against Gerard's mouth, seeking that end that would leave him empty and mute.
Just then, the sound of heavy boots echoed over the metal of the camper's outer hallway.
"Gerard? Frank? The transport is ready in three minutes," Schechter's voice boomed from outside the door, followed by a couple of sharp knocks on the wood. "Let's go now, the fans are blocking the back exit".
Frank tensed completely, the panic of being discovered mixing with the intensity of the orgasm already rising through his legs. He looked down at Gerard, eyes misty and pleading, knowing they were seconds away from a professional disaster or an absolute climax.
Schechter's voice made Gerard hasten his movements. For a second, he pulled Frank's cock out of his mouth to speak out loud, enough for Brian to hear him. He blew hot breath over his cock before saying: "I'm changing, give me five minutes!". And he put it back in his mouth, sucking faster, tongue circling, licking. The hand at the base pulled firmer, faster, and his eyes, though distant and cold, remained on Frank's face.
Frank's heart gave a violent leap. Hearing Gerard's voice sound so clear, so controlled and authoritative to answer Schechter while his mouth was occupied in that way, was the final trigger. The cognitive dissonance was too much: the "professional" Gerard talking about logistics while the "real" Gerard was devouring him with savage urgency.
"Gerard..." The name was an agonized whimper that Frank tried to stifle by biting his bottom lip so as not to alert Brian, who was still on the other side of the thin wood.
The suction became stronger, rhythmic, and desperate. The hand at the base marked a beat Frank could no longer ignore. He felt that electric tingle transforming into a tide of heat that clouded his vision. His fingers dug hard into Gerard's scalp, not to pull him away, but to sink him further against him, seeking the depth of that hot throat that claimed everything.
"I'm... I'm going to...!" Frank couldn't finish the sentence. His hips gave one last violent spasm forward and he came hard in Gerard's mouth, body arched against the wall and eyes closed so tight he saw stars.
The spasm left him trembling, breathless, chest rising and falling in a desperate effort not to let out a scream that would betray the sin they had just committed in those five minutes of grace.
Gerard didn't pull away immediately; he maintained contact, finishing his task with the same efficiency he used to clean the makeup from the mirror, before looking up at a completely wrecked Frank. Gerard didn't pull away when Frank finally came. His mouth caught every drop of the thick, hot semen, and he even licked the cock one last time to clean it, swallowing without gagging. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up, kissed him quickly one last time—claiming his mouth, forcing his tongue in to make him taste his own flavor—and then let him go.
With quick steps, he found his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and put on his sunglasses even though he didn't need them at this hour. He opened the door and left quickly, almost running.
"Hey, where's the rest?" he said to Brian, who was less than two meters from the camper. Gerard put a hand on his back, guiding him away from the trailer. "Frank said he went to see some shit about cables, did you find him?"—and he distracted him with logistics and transport talk as he walked away at his side.
Frank stayed there, pinned against the wall, legs trembling as if he had just run a marathon. The taste of himself on his own tongue was the last gift Gerard left him before breaking contact so abruptly that the cold of the room felt like a physical blow. He watched with disbelief, still panting and with somewhat blurred vision, as Gerard recomposed himself in record time.
It was fascinating and terrifying all at once. In less than thirty seconds, the man who had just devoured him with animal intensity had become a distant rock star, hidden behind sunglasses and a backpack. He heard Gerard's voice outside, perfectly modulated, lying to Brian with a naturalness that made his stomach turn.
"Did you find him?" Frank let out a bitter, raspy laugh, letting himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the camper floor, pants still at his ankles.
"Yeah, Gee... I found exactly what I was looking for," he muttered to himself, wiping a trace of saliva from the corner of his lips.
He stayed silent for a moment, listening to Gerard's and Schechter's voices fading toward the vans. Humiliation and pleasure fought for control of his chest. He had gotten what he wanted—to break Gerard's coldness—but the price had been realizing that, for Gerard, that fire could be tucked into a pocket as soon as the manager appeared. He pulled up his pants with clumsy movements, buckling his belt while trying to calm his breathing. He had to get out of there in less than two minutes if he didn't want to raise suspicions, but his fingers were still shaking.
He walked toward the mirror where Gerard had been removing his makeup moments before. He saw his own reflection: hair a mess, lips swollen, and eyes still bright with adrenaline. Then he looked down at the vanity. The wet wipe Gerard had used was still there, stained black and red. Frank took it, squeezed it in his fist, and threw it in the trash can with rage.
"You're a son of a bitch, Way," he whispered, though his body still vibrated from what the "son of a bitch" had done to him.
He left the camper, trying to put on his best "tired guitarist" face, and walked toward the van where Gerard was already sitting, probably checking his phone or talking about the setlist for the next show, as if the last ten minutes had never existed.
Gerard was already seated in the van, talking to Mikey, who was sitting a row ahead, about getting something for dinner when they reached the hotel. Ray and Bob were also up there, with Brian in the passenger seat. When Frank joined them, Gerard looked at him with his sunglasses still on.
"Took your time," he greeted. He had his arms resting on the seat in front of him, wearing the same clothes he wore on stage, and his backpack rested at his feet.
Frank paused for a second at the van door, the night air cooling the sweat on his neck. Seeing Gerard there, so casual, debating with Mikey about whether to order pizza or Chinese food, gave him a mental short circuit. It was as if the guy had a split personality. He dropped into the free seat across from Gerard, feeling the brush of his own still somewhat messy pants against his skin. His eyes scanned Gerard's figure: the relaxed posture, the steady tone of voice, the damn sunglasses that hid any trace of the predatory gaze he had five minutes ago.
"Yeah, well... you know," Frank replied, his voice a bit deeper than normal. He stared into Gerard's dark lenses, knowing that behind them were the eyes that had seen him come. "I had a hard time finding what I was looking for. It was... very hidden".
Brian turned from the passenger seat, checking his watch. "We're all here. Let's go before the kids at the barrier break security".
As the van started up and the engine vibrated under their feet, Frank didn't take his eyes off Gerard. Everyone was talking; the atmosphere was typical post-concert, loaded with exhaustion and camaraderie. Frank stretched out his legs, allowing the tip of his boot to "accidentally" brush Gerard's shoe in the narrow space between the seats.
"Hey, Gee," Frank blurted out, interrupting his conversation with Mikey about the hotel menu. "You've got a smudge there". Frank pointed to his own corner of the mouth, mimicking the wiping gesture, with a lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You missed a bit of... makeup to remove near your mouth. It shows quite a bit in this light".
Mikey turned slightly, curious, but Frank kept his gaze fixed on Gerard, challenging him to get nervous, for his professional mask to falter even a millimeter in front of the whole band and the manager.
Gerard heard him, but didn't even look at him as he brought a hand to his mouth and wiped it with the sleeve of his jacket. He lifted his chin, maintaining the mask, and resumed the conversation with Mikey. However, for a fraction of a second, the singer's face turned a few millimeters toward where Frank was sitting and, taking advantage of being seated across from him, on the next curve where the van turned, he kicked him, pretending to adjust himself in his place.
The impact of Gerard's boot against his shin made Frank let out a snort of surprise, but he grit his teeth so as not to complain out loud. The kick had been sharp, deliberate—a physical warning wrapped in the natural movement of the van. Frank leaned back in his seat, feeling the sting in his leg and, strangely, a spark of satisfaction.
There you are, you son of a bitch, he thought. He had managed to get Gerard to react, even if it was with a silent aggression below everyone else's line of sight.
"Careful, Gee!" Frank exclaimed with a fake note of concern, rubbing his leg while letting out a chuckle that only Gerard would know how to interpret. "You're a bit irritable today, aren't you? Must be the sugar crash after the show".
Ray, sitting next to Frank, shrugged without giving it any importance. "We're all fried, Frank. I just want a shower and ten hours of sleep," the guitarist commented, oblivious to the war happening before his eyes.
Frank nodded to Ray, but his eyes went back to being fixed on Gerard's dark lenses. Taking advantage of the van leaning into a curve again and Brian being distracted checking papers with Schechter in the front seat, Frank leaned forward, reducing the distance between him and Gerard.
"Are you sure you don't want me to help you take off the rest of the 'paint' when we get to the hotel?" Frank whispered, low enough for the engine noise to camouflage his words for the others, but with enough clarity for Gerard to feel the challenge. "I promise to be very... professional".
Frank realized his whisper had hit the mark when he noticed Gerard's jaw tighten a bit more. He loved this game; he loved knowing that, under that jacket and those dark lenses, Gerard could still feel the echo of what they had done in the dressing room.
Gerard didn't respond. He simply settled further into his seat at the back of the van, closing his eyes behind the dark lenses, ending the interaction. The rest of the trip passed between the murmur of Mikey and Ray planning the dinner logistics and the deathly silence emanating from the last row.
When the van finally stopped in front of the hotel's back entrance, Brian Schechter turned from the passenger seat, giving a sharp clap to wake them all up.
"Alright guys, get out fast. There are a couple of fans in the lobby, but security is going to take us through the service elevator. Tomorrow we leave at ten, not a minute later," Brian declared, getting out first to coordinate with the bellman.
Frank stood up, stretching his back, and waited for Mikey and Ray to get out first. He stayed behind, subtly blocking Gerard's exit as he came from the back. When Gerard was an inch from him, Frank didn't move.
"Room 412," Frank blurted out in a nearly inaudible whisper while pretending to look for something in his backpack, blocking his way. "In case you realize you have something else to 'clean.' Or in case the professionalism starts to give you a headache".
He stepped aside with a cynical smile, leaving the path clear for Gerard to step down from the van into the cold night air.
And there it was again. That damn tone and the stupid little smile that drove him crazy. It irritated and ignited Gerard at the same time. He said nothing, simply adjusted his glasses and moved along with the others, hands gripping his backpack straps tightly.
The journey was relatively short; in the elevator, Brian handed out the key cards for each room and reviewed the itinerary for the next day, but Gerard heard it as background noise. Frank was in front of him, squeezed in with the rest. Mikey was to one side, between Ray and Bob. Brian, pinned to the doors, gave instructions as if he were facing a group of children (his stupid children) and informed them of details about luggage and such.
Unable to help himself, Gerard moved half a step forward, pressing his chest to the shorter man's back, and leaned in to rest his head on his shoulder, chin resting there. He exhaled slowly on purpose, the warm air lightly hitting the other's ear. He kept all his attention, apparently, on Brian.
The movement was so subtle that, to anyone else, Gerard was simply leaning out of pure post-show exhaustion. But for Frank, that half step was like a high-voltage shock. He felt the weight of Gerard's chin on his shoulder and the heat of his breath brushing his earlobe. Frank froze, eyes fixed on the elevator buttons marking the floors, but his breathing stopped completely. Gerard was there, claiming his space again, but doing it under Brian's nose while he kept talking about luggage pickup times.
"...and remember the keys are magnetic, don't put them near your phones or they'll deprogram..." Brian's voice continued in the background, monotonous and oblivious to the tension vibrating in the air between the two men.
Frank felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was a dangerous game; Gerard was using his "tired" mask to touch him in front of everyone, giving him a taste of his own medicine. Frank clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the urge to turn his head and kiss him right there, but he knew that was exactly what he couldn't do.
The elevator beeped and the doors opened on the fourth floor.
"This is where you guys get off," Brian indicated, pointing to Frank and Mikey. "Gerard, you're on the fifth".
Frank took a step out of the elevator, breaking contact with Gerard's chest. He felt suddenly cold without that heat on his back. He turned just before the doors closed, finding Gerard's gaze behind the dark lenses. No words were spoken, but the challenge still burned in the air.
He walked to his room with a Mikey who wouldn't stop complaining about wanting a burger, but Frank barely heard him. He entered 412, threw his backpack on a chair, and stood in the middle of the room, heart hammering.
"Son of a bitch..." he whispered with a nervous smile. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. He knew Gerard was capable of going to sleep just to spite him, but that sigh in the elevator hadn't been professional. It hadn't been part of the itinerary.
In the end, exhaustion won for most, and the only ones to get together for dinner were Mikey and Ray, the others messaging that they were going to eat in their rooms. For his part, Gerard ordered whatever—soup, fries, and a Coke. He smoked a couple of cigarettes while preparing the coffee maker on the room's table and took a quick bath while waiting for dinner. He entered the bedroom, took off his dirty, sweat-soaked clothes, made a ball of fabric, and threw it into a corner.
God dammit. He liked it, yes, but he couldn't just say it out loud and pretend everything wouldn't go to shit for all of them. That was why he enjoyed so much being able to have him for himself on those damn stages or in the middle of a dressing room, post-show. Because in front of the audience, their interactions passed as a simple act, a toy to get numbers and fans screaming for them. And in private, nothing mattered once his hands were on him. There was no danger.
He exhaled another cloud of smoke and put out the cigarette by letting it sink into the half-finished soda can, and before he could regret it, he got up from his bed, grabbed the phone and his room key, put on his sneakers, and left the room heading for the elevator to go to room 412.
Frank was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a mix of anxiety and spite. He had taken off his shirt and shoes but still had his pants on, unable to fully relax. He had the TV on without volume, the screen's light bathing the room in a cold blue that contrasted with the heat he still felt under his skin. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the pressure of Gerard's knee between his legs and the echo of that sigh in the elevator.
He was convinced Gerard would stay upstairs, gloating in his control, enjoying having left Frank with the word in his mouth and wounded pride.
"He's not coming," he told himself in a whisper, punching a pillow. "He's too goddamn proud".
Just when he was about to give up and get under the covers to try to sleep, he heard a soft sound. It wasn't a loud knock, but a metallic rustle: the sound of someone testing the knob before remembering they needed to knock. Frank sat up abruptly, his heart giving a leap that almost hurt. He stayed still for a second, waiting. Two sharp knocks. Brief.
Frank jumped off the bed, covering the few meters that separated him from the door with an urgency he couldn't hide. He yanked it open, the reproach ready on the tip of his tongue, but the words died in his throat when he saw Gerard there.
His hair was damp, his eyes a bit red from smoke or exhaustion, and that old t-shirt made him look much more vulnerable than Frank was willing to admit. There were no sunglasses, no cameras, no Brian Schechter monitoring the schedules. It was just Gerard, smelling of coffee and tobacco, in the silent hotel hallway.
Frank leaned against the doorframe, trying to regain his mask of self-sufficiency, though he was still half-panting.
"Well..." he managed to say, his voice slurred and loaded with sarcasm. "Seems like the service of—Are you lost, Way? Or did you realize you missed something to tell me in the elevator?". He added, looking down at Gerard's lips, challenging him to take the first step.
This time Gerard wasn't wearing sunglasses. He stood there in the doorway, breathing a bit faster than usual, arms at his sides, tense, staring fixedly at him. His jaw was tight. "Yeah, I missed a few things"—his voice was a bit raspy; he didn't know if it was from desire or all the cigarettes he smoked. Maybe both.
Frank gave a nasal laugh, short and without a trace of joy, while his eyes scanned Gerard's face. Seeing him like that, without the shield of the lenses and with his voice broken by tobacco, was what Frank needed to feel alive again after the humiliation of the dressing room.
"Oh, yeah?" Frank took a step back, but not to move away, rather to invite him in with a lazy tilt of the head. "Because down there you seemed very clear that everything had ended with the show".
As soon as Gerard crossed the threshold, Frank pushed the door shut and, this time, he was the one who set the lock with a loud click that seemed to echo in the room's silence. He turned to face him, leaning his back against the wood, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
"Tell me, Gerard... What are you missing?" he asked, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. "Are you missing having your ego stroked? Or are you missing someone looking at you as if you were a god so you can feel professional again tomorrow morning?".
Frank arched an eyebrow, enjoying Gerard's vulnerability under that zombie t-shirt. He knew he was playing with fire, but after how they had treated him in the van, he wasn't going to make it easy.
"Because if you come here looking for the Frank who stays quiet when you decide..." Frank took a step closer, invading Gerard's personal space until he could smell the coffee on his breath, "that one stayed in the camper. The one here is still very, very pissed off".
And that provocation was all Gerard needed to send the little self-control he had left to hell. His hand went to the other's neck and finished pinning him against the door again, his other hand pressing on the ink-filled chest.
"Don't give me that shit"—his voice was low, pure desire—the hand on his throat squeezed enough for him to feel the pressure, but without hurting him. His face was centimeters from the other's, leaning over him. "Very angry? Really? Because you opened the fucking door for me as if you'd been waiting for me to arrive"—he didn't let him answer; his leg divided the other's, the knee pressing firmer than the last time.
"Son of a—" Frank tried to articulate an insult, but it turned into a muffled groan as Gerard's knee wedged between his thighs with a firmness that admitted no argument. His hands rose instinctively, but not to push him away, rather to cling to Gerard's wrists, fingers digging into his skin. He threw his head back against the wood of the door, exposing his neck right where Gerard had marked him before, challenging him to finish the job.
"I hate you... you know perfectly well I was waiting for you," Frank admitted in a broken whisper, surrendering to the evidence. His eyes, now dark and clouded, sought Gerard's. "I hate that you can do this to me. I hate that you treat me like a stranger in front of the others and then come here to claim me as if I were yours".
Frank released one of Gerard's wrists to bring his hand up and tangle his fingers in the singer's damp hair, pulling him down, shortening the scant space left between their mouths.
"Yes, I need you. And you're just as fucked up as I am, Way," he gasped against his lips. "Because you could have stayed upstairs, but here you are. At my door. Are you going to keep talking or are you going to show me how much you needed me while you were coming alone in your room?".
His leg wedged with more force between the other's, his hand closing a bit more on the neck.
"I feel generous," he whispered, and bit the earlobe hard. Without taking his lips off his ear, he added: "and since you seem to be so needy, I'm going to do you a favor"—the free hand lowered too slowly down the bare torso, stopping at the edges of the pants where the boxer fabric peeked out—"and I don't treat you like a goddamn stranger, don't start with that shit. Of course you're mine, in front of the fucking public and in private"—his mouth descended and stopped right over the scorpion tattoo, biting there with force.
The hand bordering the boxers forced its way through, entering beyond the fabric into the hot skin.
The groan Frank let out was sharp and uncontrolled, getting lost against Gerard's shoulder. The bite on the neck, right over the scorpion, was the definitive spark; he felt as if an electric shock ran down his spine until it exploded between his legs.
"Mgh... damn you..." Frank gasped, arching his back against the door, letting the pressure of Gerard's hand on his neck keep him anchored to reality while the elder's other hand went down to the abyss.
When Gerard's fingers entered under the fabric of his underwear, Frank closed his eyes tight, gritting his teeth not to let out a scream that would wake half the hallway. The contrast between Gerard's cool skin and the scorching heat he felt in his own body was driving him crazy.
"Say it..." Frank whispered, seeking skin-to-skin contact, desperate to feel that the man on top of him wasn't just a projected image, but the same guy who had just come up from the fifth floor only because he couldn't get him out of his head.
"Don't do me a favor..." he gasped, pushing his pelvis against Gerard's hand, seeking more pressure, more rhythm. "—Give me what you came for... because I know you won't leave this place until you've marked me again." His mouth bit and sucked the skin of his neck, and his other hand moved again, only to unbuckle his pants with a sharp, desperate tug. He reached in to free Frank's cock and pulled away for a second to lick his own hand before starting to stimulate him, pumping from base to tip. His mouth abandoned the neck and bit Frank's lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
"—Is this what you want?" he asked as he let go, but his lips brushed against Frank’s. "—For me to tell you that you're mine? That it gets on my fucking nerves to wait to have you like this, panting and impatient?" The metallic taste of his own blood mingled with Gerard's tobacco breath, and Frank swore he had never tasted anything so goddamn perfect. The pain in his lip was the anchor he needed not to faint under the frantic rhythm that Gerard's hand—now wet and expert—was imposing on him. "—Yes..." Frank gasped, eyes bloodshot with desire and his head hitting the door rhythmically with every stroke. "—Say it... tell me everything, damn it—." Frank let go of Gerard's shirt to dig his nails into the elder's shoulders, seeking stability. He felt his legs turn to water under the pressure of Gerard's knee, while the world shrank to that inch of space between them and the sound of their crashing breaths. "—I don't give a shit about the show..." Frank managed to articulate between groans, throwing his head back. "—It gets on your nerves because you know I'm the only one... the only one who knows that under all that professional shit... you're a fucking animal—."
Frank pushed his hips forward desperately, seeking the depth of Gerard's hand, feeling the climax start to bubble dangerously close to the surface. His eyes sought Gerard's, defiant despite being completely at his mercy. "—Look at me, Gerard... look at me while you do it," he pleaded in a raspy whisper. "—Don't close your eyes... I want you to know that tomorrow, when you ignore me at breakfast... I'm going to be thinking about how you're squeezing me right now—." Gerard accelerated his grip on the other's cock, provoked not only by Frank's hips but because his moans were the most beautiful thing he could hear. He held his gaze and smiled as he saw him throw his head back and part his lips. When he felt him shudder and his face betrayed that he was on the verge of ecstasy, he stopped dead.
His hand let go of the cock and pushed him toward the bed. One hand stayed at chest level and the other on his back to prevent him from tripping as he moved forward. He pushed him when he was close enough and yanked the pants and boxers down, leaving him completely naked, before shedding his own shirt and climbing on top of him. He didn't touch his cock again, but rubbed his crotch against his. He kissed him hard, shoving his tongue down his throat, and after a moment, abandoned his mouth to insert his index and middle fingers, waiting for him to fill them with saliva. The sudden shift from the door to the bed left Frank disoriented, his brain clouded by the frustration of being millimeters away from an orgasm. He fell onto the mattress with a heavy gasp, feeling the cold air on his naked skin for only a second before Gerard's weight reclaimed him again.
When Gerard got rid of his shirt and Frank could feel the heat of his chest against his own, he let out a low growl, a mix of relief and pure desire. Seeing Gerard moving with that determination, controlling every second of the encounter, drove him crazy. He felt Gerard's tongue invading his mouth with a possessiveness that made him arch his back, seeking more contact, more friction. But when Gerard pulled away and put his fingers in his mouth, Frank didn't hesitate for a second. His eyes, dark and brilliant, locked onto Gerard's with a devouring intensity. Frank closed his lips around those fingers, sucking them hard, moving his tongue with desperate lewdness to lubricate them well, aware of what was coming next. The taste of Gerard's skin and the trace of tobacco were the fuel he needed to finish burning.
"—Mmh..." Frank let out a wet moan against Gerard's fingers, without looking away, silently challenging him to end the game. With one hand, Frank reached down to Gerard's waist, digging his nails into his sides to incite him to press closer, to make that friction between their crotches more real, harder. He was completely open for him, trembling, with hitched breath and his heart beating wildly against his ribs. "—Do it already..." he managed to whisper when he freed the fingers from his mouth, his lip still stained with his own blood and Gerard's saliva. "—Don't make me wait any longer, damn it. I know you're as desperate to get inside as I am to have you—."
"—Shut up," he growled, and licked his bottom lip before biting again. "—Are you that desperate? Do you want to have me inside that much? Say it, Frankie," he ordered, his index finger descending to trace small circles at the younger man's entrance. "—Ask for it. I want you to ask for it—."
Frank let out a shaky gasp, his head sinking into the pillow as he felt Gerard's finger tracing those slow, torturous circles right where the absence of his weight hurt the most. The word "Frankie" hit him again, breaking the last shred of resistance left in his lungs.
"—Yes..." he let out in a broken whisper, arching his back to seek that contact. "—I'm desperate. I'm going crazy, Gerard—."
Frank brought his hands up to Gerard's face, cradling his jaw with a force that was almost a plea, forcing him not to look away. He wanted Gerard to see the total surrender in his eyes, the chaos that only he could provoke.
"—I want you inside... please..." he panted, words stumbling through his swollen lips. "—Forget the goddamn pride, forget the control. Just... fill me, Gerard. Break me if you want, but do it now. I'm asking you—." Frank spread his legs a little wider, giving himself over completely, his body vibrating on a high, sustained note of pure need. He knew that by asking for it like this, he was handing Gerard the ultimate weapon, but in that moment, with Gerard's heat burning his skin, he cared about nothing else but being reclaimed.
"—A little more," he murmured against his mouth, letting a bit of saliva run from his mouth onto the other’s lips. "—Can you do that for me? Can you hold on just a bit longer?" he purred, sliding his index finger in slow, steady. "—Can you, love?" he asked again, curving his finger inside Frank. That damn "love" hit Frank harder than any shove against the wall. It wasn't an order; it wasn't an insult; it was that shred of twisted tenderness that Gerard only let out when he already had him completely broken. Frank let out a stifled sob, closing his eyes tight as Gerard's finger made its way in, stretching him, claiming that internal space with a slowness that was pure torture.
"—N-no... I can't..." Frank lied in a gasp, though his hips rose instinctively to receive more of that invasion. "—Damn it, Gee... you're going to kill me—." He felt the trail of Gerard's saliva on his lips and licked it desperately, searching for any trace of him. The curved movement of the finger inside him made him let out a long, sharp moan that ended in a clipped whisper near Gerard's ear.
"—You have me... you have me in the palm of your hand..." he confessed, nails digging into Gerard's back now, leaving red marks on the pale skin. "—Do what you want... but don't stop. Keep... keep going like that—." Frank was at the limit, his body trembling uncontrollably under Gerard's weight. The word "love" kept reverberating in his skull, mixing with the growing pressure inside him. He was so open, so vulnerable, that he felt if Gerard pushed a little more, he would end up falling apart right there on the white hotel sheets.
"—Liar," he murmured against his cheek, adding his middle finger with a shove. "—Even you don't believe that." He moved his fingers in a scissor motion before starting to curve them together. He still had his pants on, but rubbed his pelvis faster against Frank's naked cock. "—But you're going to hold on, right?" He let a bit more saliva fall into his mouth, his fingers hitting deep. "—Because you love it, because you're going to wait to have me inside to come." He curved his wrist. "—Wait until I give you permission, love. Hold on—."
Frank let out a muffled scream that turned into a gurgle when Gerard's saliva invaded his mouth again. The scissor movement inside him was so accurate, so devastatingly precise, that he felt an electric cramp shoot up his legs until it clouded his vision. "—Ah!... S-shit..." he gasped, his face red and sweat sticking strands of hair to his forehead.
Gerard's order was like a lash. Frank felt like his body was about to explode; the friction of Gerard's pants against his erect member was a delicious torture pushing him to the edge of the abyss every second. His hips moved on their own, spasmodic, desperately seeking the friction Gerard was rationing with masterful cruelty.
"—I'm... I'm trying..." he managed to say, his voice so broken it was barely a thread of sound. "—But you have me... you have me burning—."
Frank clung to the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes sought Gerard's, pleading and adoring him at the same time. That mix of power and absolute surrender was what kept them together in that vicious circle. Feeling Gerard's fingers hitting his prostate with every curve of the wrist was driving him crazy, but the thought of disobeying—of coming without the permission of that "love" Gerard spat at him—terrified him as much as it excited him.
"—Don't... don't leave me... like this," he pleaded, pelvis trembling under Gerard's weight. "—Come in already... make me all yours... please... I can't... I can't hold on anymore—."
Frank sank his teeth into his own wounded lip, using the pain to hold back the orgasm that threatened to overflow, while his fixed gaze on Gerard told him he was just one move away from losing his mind completely. Gerard also groaned when he felt him arch, and his pelvis crashed into Frank’s. "—Fine... I'll give you what you need." He kissed his cheek with a softness that contrasted with his movements before withdrawing both fingers abruptly. He got off him for a minute to get rid of his own pants and underwear. He pulled the other's legs and tucked the ball of fabric under his lower back, lifting his rear a bit. He crawled back on top of him, one leg open on each side. He brought a hand to Frank's mouth, slightly curved.
"—Spit," he ordered, struggling to contain himself.
Frank obeyed instantly. His eyes, clouded and fixed on Gerard's figure looming over him like a devouring shadow, didn't look away from the singer's for a second. He spat onto the palm of Gerard's hand, letting the saliva lubricate his lover's skin, his breath turned into an erratic, desperate whistle. The change in position—feeling the fabric of Gerard's clothes under his hips elevating and exposing him completely—made him feel dangerously vulnerable and, at the same time, readier than ever. Frank felt like a guitar string tightened to the max, about to snap at the first touch.
"—Goddamn it, Gee..." he panted, hands trembling as they sought Gerard's thighs to guide him, to urge him to end this agony once and for all. Seeing Gerard crawl over him, seeing him without clothes, pale skin shining under the bluish light of the TV, was an image Frank knew would haunt him until the next concert. The aggressiveness of the dressing room had transformed into something much denser, heavier.
"—Now... please," Frank pleaded in a raspy whisper, opening his legs as wide as the space between Gerard's arms allowed.
He felt the tip of Gerard brushing his entrance, still wet and throbbing from the previous fingers. The initial contact made him let out a long moan that ended in a gasp against Gerard's neck. Frank dug his heels into the mattress, lifting his pelvis, desperately seeking to be invaded, to be silenced, to be possessed by the man who had just called him "love" while dictating orders. Gerard smeared the small trail of saliva over his own penis, aligned himself against the younger man's entrance, and used one hand to spread his cheeks a little. His eyes rose to meet Frank's.
"—You know I love you, right?" he murmured, deep and raspy, and sank into him in one single thrust. Gerard growled with pure satisfaction as he made his way inside, filling him to the core. He stayed like that for a moment, his head resting on the other's chest, before looking up. He breathed with difficulty, lips parted and eyes clouded with pure desire. One hand dug into Frank's hip, and the other sought to interlace with the other's right hand before withdrawing halfway and pushing again.
"—Hold me," he asked. Half-order, half-groan, as he pushed deep again.
Frank's world stopped and exploded at the same time. Gerard's confession was the last piece missing to tear down his walls, just a second before the physical impact of Gerard sinking into him knocked all the air out of his lungs. "—Ah!... Gee!—" Frank screamed, the name tearing in his throat as he arched violently against the mattress.
That fullness was overwhelming. Frank felt every millimeter of the invasion, a hot, solid pressure reclaiming him from within, burning away any trace of the anger he had felt before. When Gerard stood still for a moment, Frank let out a dry sob, eyes misty as he sought the singer's. As soon as he heard the order, Frank didn't wait. He wrapped his legs around Gerard's waist with desperate strength, anchoring him, while his arms went around the elder's neck, pulling him down. His fingers dug into Gerard's back, wanting to merge with his skin.
"—I... I've got you," Frank whispered against his ear, panting, as he felt Gerard start to move, pulling back only to reclaim him with more force. "—Don't let go... motherfucker, don't ever let go—."
Every thrust from Gerard was an answer to his pleas. Frank buried his face in the crook of Gerard's neck, biting his shoulder to stifle the moans he could no longer control. The rhythm was raw, direct, stripped of any pretense of "professionalism." They were no longer the singer and guitarist of a band; they were just two bodies colliding in a hotel room, desperately trying to fill the void that the stage and spotlights left them every night. "—More..." Frank pleaded, moving his hips to Gerard's rhythm, interlacing his fingers with his with a force that made his knuckles ache. "—Deeper... break me, Gerard... make me forget who I am—." Frank's voice melting against him, begging to be hit harder, drove him crazy. "—Yes," he half-sobbed against his skin. "—Fuck, of course, Frankie. Gladly." The hand on the other's hip squeezed harder, fingers digging into his flesh. His mouth moved to find Frank's, kissing desperately, his hips moving in rhythm as he shoved his tongue in again, moaning into his mouth, letting his saliva fall between them. The kiss was a clash of teeth and need, a struggle for air that Frank lost gladly. He felt Gerard's full weight on him, the dampness of their shared saliva, and the violent rhythm of his hips that no longer asked for permission but dictated a sentence.
Frank felt small under him, but at the same time immense, as if every thrust from Gerard was expanding his chest to the point of bursting. Frank's nails traced Gerard's spine, leaving burning furrows, while his legs tightened more around the elder's waist, wanting to eliminate every millimeter of space destiny tried to put between them. "—Mmmgh..." Frank's groan died in Gerard's mouth, a dull vibration that ran through both their bodies.
He felt he was about to faint. The internal pressure, the heat of Gerard's skin against his, and the way the singer clung to his hip as if it were the only solid thing in a crumbling world, pushed him to the absolute limit. "—Don't... don't stop..." Frank begged in a broken whisper when Gerard pulled away an inch to breathe. "—Give me... give me everything you've got, Gee—."
Frank released one of his hands from Gerard's back to bring it down, guided by blind instinct, and wrapped it around his own member, which was being pressed and stimulated by the rhythmic sway of their bodies. His eyes opened, clouded by tears and pleasure, seeking Gerard's in the dim light of Room 412. He wanted to see the exact moment Gerard also lost his mind, the moment the "leader" became nothing more than a man loving another in the silence of the dawn. "—Look at me..." Frank panted, his voice barely audible between spasms. "—Look at me while we go to hell—."
And now it is Gerard who obeys. He keeps thrusting hard, hitting deep every time he moves to almost pull out and enter again. He breathes through his mouth, his chest rising and falling, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his face, moving to the rhythm of his pushes. "—So beautiful..." he pants, his eyes roaming over his sweaty skin, the tattoos, his face. "—And mine." He pushes again, hard. "—Only mine...—"
That last declaration, said with such raw possession it seemed to etch itself into his bones, was the final blow for Frank. His eyes rolled back for a second, his whole body tensed like a bow, and a raspy scream, stripped of all shame, escaped his throat.
"—Gee!—" he cried out, Gerard's name becoming a prayer. Frank couldn't hold on any longer. Under Gerard's fixed gaze, before those thrusts that claimed him as private property, he came violently between their bodies. The heat of the climax surged through his belly while his fingers dug desperately into Gerard's shoulders, seeking an anchor in the middle of the storm. Gerard's rhythm didn't falter; on the contrary, feeling Frank's internal spasms tightening around him, his own resistance crumbled. Gerard let out a guttural growl, burying his face in the curve of Frank's neck, and emptied himself inside him with a force that made them both tremble on the messy mattress.
The silence that followed was dense, broken only by their erratic breaths clashing in the charged air of the room. Gerard let all his weight fall onto Frank, without pulling away, as if he wanted to seal that union forever. Frank, his chest rising and falling frantically and eyes misty, wrapped his arms and legs around him, refusing to let go.
"—Mine..." Frank whispered against Gerard's damp hair, his voice barely audible. "—You're mine too. Tomorrow you can put on the glasses and say whatever you want, Way... but I know what's underneath—."
They stayed like that, interlaced, as the blue glow of the TV continued to bathe them, ignoring for a moment that in a few hours the world would reclaim them and Brian would knock on the door again to continue the tour. Gerard let go of his hip and his hand moved to support the back of the younger man's neck, slowly sinking his fingers in gentle caresses. The other hand remained interlaced with his. He didn't speak for a few minutes, taking a moment for his breathing to return to a normal rhythm. He pushed his hips one last time against him before slowly pulling out, leaving a hot, sticky trail between them. He kept holding his hand before falling beside him, breathing through his mouth, eyes red on the ceiling. "—Are you okay?" he asked in a whisper.
Frank felt as if a truck had run over him, but in the best way imaginable. The cold air of the room hitting his sweaty skin made him let out a small shiver when Gerard withdrew, but the heat of the hand still interlaced with his was enough to keep him anchored to the bed. He turned his head slowly on the pillow, looking at Gerard's profile under the bluish light. Seeing him like this, so human, so stripped of his band-leader armor, was a silent victory Frank savored more than the sex itself.
"—Better than okay..." Frank whispered, his voice even more broken than usual. He squeezed Gerard's hand, feeling the elder's heartbeat in his palm. "—I think my legs have ceased to exist, but other than that, I'm incredible." He stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the caress on his neck. Frank knew this was the dangerous moment, the moment Gerard usually got up, put on his clothes, and went back to being the guy in the sunglasses.
"—Are you going to leave?" Frank asked, trying not to let his voice sound like a plea, though the way he moved closer to Gerard's side gave him away. "—You know Mikey is going to kick me awake in a few hours for breakfast. You could... you could save him the trip and let him wake us both up." Frank knew it was a risk. If Brian found them like this, there would be an awkward talk about "professionalism" and "distractions." But after hearing Gerard tell him he loved him, Frank was willing to risk any sermon.
Gerard's answer doesn't come with words. He stands up slowly, with a bit of effort. He lets go of the other's hand and recovers his boxers and pants. He puts them on without saying anything, with short movements, before doing the same with the zombie shirt. He finds Frank's pants and underwear. He leaves them on the edge of the bed and stares at him for a few seconds that feel like hours. He sighs, resigned.
"—Ah, to hell with it. Let them all go to hell," he growls, climbing back into bed. He crawls to be next to him and pulls on his arms to bring him closer. "—I can't leave when I see you looking so cute like that, trembling and begging me with your eyes—." Frank felt a lump in his throat when he saw Gerard getting dressed. For a second, the cold of the room felt real, a premonition of the silence that usually follows these encounters. But when Gerard let out that growl of defeat and sank the mattress with his weight again, Frank let out a sigh of relief he didn't even know he was holding. He let himself be pulled by Gerard's arms, settling against his chest with a naturalness that hurt. He felt the fabric of the zombie shirt against his cheek and the smell of tobacco and sweat that was now his favorite scent in the world. Frank wrapped an arm around Gerard's waist, clinging to him as if he feared that if he let go, everything would vanish like a tour dream.
"—I knew you couldn't resist my charms, Way," Frank murmured with a tired little smile, finally closing his eyes. "—Even if tomorrow Brian starts screaming like a madman because you're not on your floor." He snuggled closer, feeling the heat of Gerard's body enveloping him. The tension of the stage, the chaos of the van, and the power struggle of an hour ago had dissolved into something much softer and more dangerous: peace. "—Goodnight, Gee..." he whispered, his voice already slurred by sleep. "—Don't you dare leave before I wake up. I mean it—."
"—Oh, yeah. Too charming for this world," he huffs. "—But don't fall asleep yet, idiot." He gives him a few taps on the back. "—Dress first or next time they'll house us in separate hotels—." Frank let out a raspy laugh that ended in a yawn. He was right; if Brian walked in and found them like this, there wouldn't just be a sermon, they’d likely start assigning them different places to "maintain group harmony."
"—You're a spoilsport, Way," he grumbled, though he sat up heavily, feeling every muscle in his body protest the effort. He reached for the clothes Gerard had left on the edge of the bed and put on his boxers and pants with clumsy movements, still a bit dazed by the adrenaline crash. He threw himself back down beside Gerard, this time with the barrier of clothes between them, but immediately seeking his heat again. He sank into the crook of his arm, resting his cheek on his shoulder. "—There. Safe from Schechter," he murmured with half-closed eyes. "—Now don't talk to me, don't ask me to be professional, and above all, don't stop doing that thing you were doing with your fingers on my neck—." He fell silent, listening to Gerard's breathing, which was beginning to synchronize with his own. In the darkness, Frank allowed himself to smile. Tomorrow they would go back to being the perfect vampire and his rowdy guitarist, they would ignore each other in the hallway or throw jabs at each other in front of Mikey, but the secret of what had just happened in 412 would sleep with them.
"—Hey, Gee..." he said in a whisper, almost at the threshold of sleep. "—Thanks for coming down.—"
"—Go to sleep, Iero," he orders, pulling him closer. He struggles to pull the blankets—now messy over the damp mattress—and cover them both. He holds him tight and leaves a long kiss on his cheek before continuing to massage the back of his neck and surrounding him with his other arm, not letting him pull away. And for now, he doesn't want to think about anything, about what the fuck they're supposed to be doing or what's happening between them. He settles in and matches his breathing to the younger man's, while sleep finally claims them there, under the bluish light of the TV and the chill of the air conditioning in Room 412.
So, at least for that night, it was enough for them. The silence of the room became absolute, interrupted only by the constant hum of the air conditioning. Frank let himself go completely, feeling the weight of Gerard's arm and the warmth of the blankets that now enveloped them. The massage on his neck was the final rhythm of a song that had started with screams in the dressing room and ended with a strange and necessary peace. With his cheek pressed to Gerard's chest, Frank could hear how the elder's heart was slowing down until it reached a steady, heavy beat. It was a real sound. In that moment, the next day's setlist didn't matter, nor the makeup, nor the cameras, nor the fact that their relationship was a beautiful, self-destructive disaster.
Frank closed his eyes, exhaling a final sigh of satisfaction. Tomorrow the world would be complicated again, but for those few hours remaining before dawn, Room 412 was the only place in the universe where they didn't have to pretend anything.