Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Do you remember?” Gerard’s voice was still fresh in Frank’s ears.

“Of course I remember,” Frank retorted, almost too quickly, “Which part specifically?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?” Frank was taken aback, “Is that even possible?”

“Guess we’ll see how much of it we can agree on.” 

Frank smiled fondly, his world at a stand-still aside from the image of Gerard’s impish grin and striking hazel eyes. “How far back are we talking?” his brows pulled close together in wonder. 

“Let’s not get caught up on semantics, Iero.”

Frank delved into their memories at once. It was easy enough to agree on how they first met - Frank was My Chemical Romance’s biggest (and, arguably, only) fanboy at the time. Their record label had connected his band with Gerard’s and having proved himself in the studio, Frank nearly fainted at the invitation to join them as their guitarist. He accepted without any qualms over dropping out of college or breaking up Pencey Prep. 

“We grew so close that first tour,” Frank pictured himself and Gerard slowly invading each other’s stage space more with each passing night of screaming guitars.

“Even closer after the fact,” Gerard prompted him. 

“A blessing and a curse,” Frank smiled nostalgically. 

--

Five 20-something-year-old men staggered out of a tiny van they had used to skirt around America, but they were all grinning, laughing, and slapping each other on the backs. One would assume being crammed next to a fuckton of gear and four other guys for so long would have them tense and itching to be home but for Gerard, touring meant that he always had somewhere to sleep. They were all in high spirits, still reeling off of the energy and good fortune the recent tour had dropped in their laps. 

“That was a great run, guys,” Ray said approvingly, all smiles. 

“I can not wait to do it again!” Frank was possibly the giddiest of them all, a hyper 20 year old who was quite literally living his dream. He jumped and punched the air, slinging an arm around Gerard and shaking him. 

“Whoa, pal,” Gerard just laughed, returning the gesture by wrapping his left arm around Frank’s back and giving him a squeeze, “Settle down, there.”

Frank just beamed, exclaiming, “I can’t! I won’t! Celebration drinks at my place!” to a chorus of hollers and cheers.

--

“We got so drunk that night,” Frank reminisced with a chuckle.

“ So drunk,” Gerard agreed, amused. 

--

Frank pictured Ray and Matt absolutely smashed and attempting to play beer pong but inevitably getting distracted by their working theory of how lizard people would disguise themselves to successfully infiltrate the US government. Mikey got too drunk too fast and ended up puking before falling asleep on the couch upstairs while the others partied on in the nearly soundproof basement. Frank’s mom was some sort of saint for putting up with their antics. 

Frank was sitting with Gerard on the couch in the basement, Gerard’s legs resting over top of his while he absentmindedly played with Gerard’s charcoal hair. “So, you gonna stay here a while?” Frank asked, his eyes big and glassy from the liquor. 

The closer the tour had gotten to ending, the more anxious Gerard had become, the more he drank before each show to calm his nerves. Eventually Frank pulled him aside and demanded to know what the issue was, with Gerard consequently breaking down and shuddering for breath while enveloped in Frank’s arms. He went on to explain that he had been living on campus and had also dropped out of art school in order to tour. He hadn’t admitted to his parents that he had nothing set up for when he returned home, leaving himself no option but to couch hop once the tour was over. Frank resolved right then to support Gerard however he could, only bringing on more tears from the pale man that was clinging to him.

“I would be so grateful,” Gerard said earnestly, searching Frank’s eyes for confirmation that he hadn’t made empty promises of shelter during the tour, and that he was still sincere now. His hand subconsciously found Frank’s, intertwining their fingers and resting his temple against their knuckles. He looked down; his head was swimming and his cheeks were warm.

“Are you kidding? I’m the lucky one,” Frank grinned, surveying at Gerard and squeezing his hand. He moved the other to Gerard’s chin, coaxing his gaze upwards. 

Gerard blushed even more upon making eye contact, Frank’s genuity palpable. He broke the connection by blinking slowly and swallowing hard. His heart was in his throat. “Shut up, you have no idea,” He said vaguely, but he was haphazardly smiling, brows furrowed in confusion as to why Frank was being so good to him despite only knowing him for such a short period of time.

Frank considered trying to convince Gerard of his own perspective but, he thought, he had all the time in the world for that. Instead he just went for it, hoping he wasn’t reading the moment wrongfully, and closed the space between them to kiss Gerard firmly but earnestly. 

Gerard flinched slightly, unexpecting, but relaxed into him though his heart was bouncing wildly around his ribcage. He kissed Frank back, a free hand resting on his chest. Frank sighed contentedly and sucked gently at Gerard’s bottom lip, tasting vodka and beer on his breath but only kissing him deeper. Gerard gripped Frank’s shirt in anticipation, but eventually released it when they parted. 

Both were blushing, giddy and somehow unnoticed by Ray and Matt. Frank bit his lip and smirked at Gerard, braving the intoxicated proposal, “You can share my bed while you stay, you don’t have to sleep down here.”

Gerard’s cheeks burned hot at the suggestion, but he let his hand slide down Frank’s chest and hook over his belt teasingly. “I will strongly consider that,” he matched Frank’s tone, grinning. 

--

“But you slept in the basement,” Frank said pointedly, if not somewhat bitter, “The whole time, except for that night.” Even then, they’d just curled up together and passed out after a lazy, exhausted, drunken makeout session. 

“I was shy, and you were gorgeous,” Gerard admitted sheepishly, “I didn’t want to have to be drunk to be brave enough to crawl into your bed.” 

Frank bit his lip hard in consideration, refusing to let himself get choked up over the notion, “Me neither. All I ever wanted was you, G.” 

Gerard’s fingers were light as feathers on Frank’s cheek, as if they were a shadow instead of his clammy, bony digits. “And I, you,” His voice was so gentle, “But, also , remember the first time you blew me?” Gerard changed the subject easily, smirking.

Frank rolled his eyes, “You can’t be serious for even a second, huh?” he laughed, but his mind began to wander selfishly at the mention.

--

The second Bullets… tour brought more debauchery, and Frank was practically kissing Gerard’s feet each night for the crowd, grovelling on display for their entertainment. But, also, pining for an audience took minimal effort for the inexplicably smitten guitarist. 

Gerard had started drinking consistently before each show. Last tour it was because he was riddled with anxiety about his living situation, but it had quickly evolved into something that helped him face the crowd in general. He argued that it made him perform better, but eventually there was no one left to argue with, because within a couple weeks they were all pretty much always drunk. 

MCR was on a series of tour dates opening for The Used. There was no way of telling whether Bert’s consistent comments of “Dudes, that was so hot,” and, “That set was, like, 300% more homoerotic than last night’s,” was an influencer, but Gerard was feeling confident enough without Bert’s encouragement. 

A dozen or so shows into the tour, Gerard had really settled into his thrashing stage persona in accompaniment to his liquid luck, and he was feeling unstoppable. After a particularly good set, Gerard practically pulled Frank off of the stage to the closing applause, pushing him up against the nearest wall and kissing him hard and desperately without much forethought. Frank gasped and grunted in surprise, but kissed him back just as fervently, his hands gripping Gerard’s sweaty hair and the back of his shirt. Bert caught sight of them on his way to the stage and wolf-whistled in their direction, whooping. Frank dazedly broke the kiss, forgetting where he was, cheeks burning as he looked for the source of Bert’s shouts.

When he turned back to Gerard, the taller man was looking at him with intense eyes and his hands were greedily roaming Frank’s sides and hips. “Dressing room, now,” He said hungrily. Frank didn’t have to be told twice. 

They stumbled into the dressing room, alcohol making Gerard miles more confident than he was a couple months ago. “C’mere,” He slurred, pulling Frank close as they made it to the small loveseat poised in the modest room. 

Frank fell into him but immediately had his hands on Gerard’s face, reinstating the kiss. Gerard leaned into him, indulgent. He bravely licked his way past the enticing lip ring and into Frank’s mouth, eliciting a sigh from his counterpart. They kissed heavily for a while, their tongues mingling as guitars shrieked from what seemed like the other side of the dressing room wall. Frank’s hands eventually dropped from Gerard’s face, one of them going to his chest and the other to his upper thigh, testing the waters. Gerard grunted in assent and gripped at the back of Frank’s shirt. Frank’s hand made his way up Gerard’s thigh to palm at him through his pants. Gerard groaned and nipped at Frank’s lower lip, leaning into his touch.

He breathed through his nose heavily until Frank broke the connection, pressing warm kisses to Gerard’s sharp jawline. “Can I go down on you?” he murmured, his lips buzzing against the skin under Gerard’s ear and making him shudder.

“Fuck, do you have to ask? Yes,” Gerard practically whined. 

Frank grinned and nipped at Gerard’s neck before eagerly sliding off of the couch and situating himself on his knees in between his legs. He started working on Gerard’s belt, forcing it open. He unbuttoned his impossibly tight jeans and unzipped them, wasting no time forcing them about as far down as Gerard’s knees. “I’ve been waiting too long for this,” Frank admitted breathily as he resumed palming him through his boxers. 

Gerard bit his lip, his hand finding Frank’s hair. “You’re telling me,” he agreed, his head tilting back slightly as his mind swam with liquor and lust. 

Frank tugged Gerard’s boxers down around his thighs, spitting in his hand and stroking his length as he admired Gerard’s exposed throat. “Fucking gorgeous,” He murmured before taking him into his mouth and eagerly sinking as far as he could muster. 

Gerard inhaled sharply, his fist tightening in Frank’s hair at the sudden warmth. His eyes fluttered and it took everything in him to keep his hips from jerking. 

Frank started bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks around Gerard’s cock, one hand digging its nails into his thigh and the other teasing his balls. 

“Oh my fucking God, I won’t last,” Gerard warned, tugging at Frank’s hair and rocking his hips towards the comfort of his mouth. It had been longer than he’d care to admit to anyone.

Frank smirked around him and pulled back to lick up the length, swirling his tongue around the head, and sinking back down dutifully. He didn’t give a fuck, he’d suck Gerard off until his jaw locked if that’s what he wanted. He was so enthusiastic, visibly enjoying himself. 

Gerard’s breath shuddered at the sight of Frank’s slick lips, selfishly turned on by how Frank revered him. He was soon gripping Frank’s hair with both of his hands, forgetting where they were and moaning openly as he came undone. “Fuck, fuck,” he gasped, his hips jerking and dick twitching as he came without warning. 

Frank’s eyes widened somewhat but he just sunk down further, letting him fill his mouth before pulling back. Gerard was halfway through apologizing before he caught sight of Frank, hair pushed in all directions as he sat back on his heels, making a point to swallow. He licked his swollen lips, grinning.

“Oh my God, come here now,” Gerard demanded needily, reaching for and pulling Frank back up to the couch to kiss him without hesitation. 

--

“I was so greedy that night. I didn’t even get you off,” Gerard said, sounding ashamed.

“Honestly,” Frank started with a chuckle, “I didn’t care. I was obsessed with you.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered his younger, more energetic self with eyes only for Gerard and his nervous hands that he still had yet to grow into. 

Gerard rolled his eyes, biting his lip shyly, “Well, I was obviously more into you than I let on.”

“Uh huh,” Frank answered, clenching his jaw momentarily, “When you weren’t distracted, anyway.” 

--

“Have you boys ever tried designer drugs?” Bert asked this question far too casually before a show one night. They were just over the halfway mark on their tour together. A chorus of answers came all at once. 

“Not for me,” Ray said. 

“Tried it, hated it,” Matt deadpanned.

“Eh,” Mikey was noncommittal.

“I’m good with beer,” Frank deflected. 

“Always been too poor,” Gerard blushed a little when all eyes turned to him in questioning of the fact that he didn’t shoot Bert down right away. 

Bert smirked, pleased. “Well, you don’t need money to find it on tour. I got a real good link at this stop, you interested?” Matt and Ray stood up immediately, ditching Bert and the rest of their band without even attempting to be discreet. Bert laughed and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, killjoys!” he called after them. “ Anyway , you guys in or out?” He flaunted a tiny baggie filled with rough chunks of white powder, tied off in a knot. 

“Eh,” Mikey shrugged again, sitting back to watch the mayhem unfold. 

Frank bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes finding Gerard as he nervously sipped at his beer.

Gerard’s eyes were fixed on the bag with awe and curiosity. He hesitated, unsure.

“Come on, one bump won’t kill you,” Bert shook the bag in Gerard’s naive face, “I know you want to.”
“Fuck it.” Gerard finally agreed, “Let’s do it.”

“Now, that’s the spirit!” Bert hooted, carefully tearing open the baggie and dumping the contents onto an unused coaster. 

As Bert pulled out his wallet and selected a card already caked in residue along with a one dollar bill, Frank gently gripped Gerard’s wrist. “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he spoke timidly.

Gerard furrowed his brows, his gaze stretched between Frank and the stringy-haired man that was crushing cocaine beneath a dollar bill and then using the plastic card to cut the powder into finer pieces. “I know. I want to,” Gerard broke his wrist from Frank’s grasp and poised his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands as he watched Bert divide the powder into lines. 

Bert was smirking and humming to himself, ignoring Frank’s pleas. “Yeah, you do.” He encouraged as he rolled up the dollar bill. He plugged one nostril and leaned down, snorting not one, but two lines before whipping his head back up and whooping. “ Finally , cat’s out the bag. I can be myself ,” He rejoiced to no one in particular, passing the bill to Gerard.

Mikey scoffed and nudged Frank, muttering, “This guy’s obnoxious. I’m going to get another beer.” 

Frank nodded and watched Mikey go, yearning to follow and hating himself for being unable to pry away. He had to make sure Gerard wasn’t going to do anything too stupid. He shifted uncomfortably as Gerard hesitated one final time, watching the uncertainty drain from his eyes as he leaned down to ingest a line. 

When Gerard lifted his head, his eyes were wide, like he’d suddenly seen God - or maybe, like he thought he was God. He looked at Frank purposefully. “We could live forever if you’ve got the time,” he said it as if it was the only thing he’d ever been certain of in his entire life, and everything else was a sham. 

Frank furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but Bert just laughed maniacally. “It’s good shit, right?”

Gerard snapped out of his epiphany, grinning at Bert, “Shit, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” He laughed, positively giddy, and slung an arm around Bert to plant a big kiss on his cheek. 

--

“Okay, that wasn’t my finest moment, I’ll admit,” Gerard sighed. 

“No shit, you smoked nearly an entire pack of cigarettes before our set even started, G,” Frank couldn’t help the edge in his voice. 

Gerard clicked his tongue. “If I could take it all back…” he started.

“You’re preaching to the choir.” 

--

“For the last time, they are not boyfriends!” Frank exclaimed, his eyes immediately going wide in reaction to his own outburst. 

“Whoa, dude. It was a joke. Relax ,” Mikey raised both hands and made the universal motion to settle down. “Did I strike a nerve?”

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and paced back and forth in the middle of Mikey’s dressing room. They only had a handful of shows left, thank God, but the rumours amongst fans were starting to become unbearable. No matter how much he made a point to worship Gerard on stage, the fans continued to pop up around the internet asking if Bert and Gerard were dating. He couldn’t really blame them; it wasn’t their fault that Gerard and Bert had been inseparable since G’s first line. Bert had the drugs, Frank did not, and Gerard was a one track mind. He’d been performing at full throttle and even writing new songs into the wee hours of the morning, so he was obviously going to follow Bert around for more. And maybe kiss him for it. On stage. Every night. But it was just for the one song. Or, that’s what Frank told himself to ease the sharp pain in his chest. He let out a slow, calculated breath before finishing his beer. “Yeah, you could say that. I don’t wanna talk about it,” Frank deflected. Besides, how could he bear to tell Mikey that he was maybe-possibly falling in love with the guy’s brother? Not to mention the fact that all three of them were in a band together.

“Fair enough,” Mikey dismissed him, holding his hands up in defense. He raised an eyebrow in question at Frank, but didn’t push the subject any further. “Listen, I think you’re wired enough, dude. You do not need the shit Gerard is on right now. I didn’t wanna say this around G, or Bert, frankly,” Mikey rolled his eyes, “But I broke my arm last year and the doctor prescribed these to me,” he pulled out a bottle of pills and placed it on the coffee table Frank was pacing in front of. 

Frank stopped pacing and snorted in disbelief after getting a good look. “Perkies? Really?” 

Mikey shrugged. “Takes the edge off of everything, and it’s shockingly easy to have the script refilled. One before a show and it’s all smooth sailing.”

Frank looked at the bottle, doubtful and overwhelmed with hesitation, “...What does it feel like?” he kicked sheepishly at the blue, trampled rug on the floor. 

Mikey sat back in the overstuffed chair. “The best way to describe it? It’ll take you to a place where nothing hurts.” 

“And you drink while you’re on these?” Frank asked skeptically. 

“In moderation, of course. You can’t mix this shit like coke and booze,” Mikey cautioned him. 

Frank chewed his lip before sticking out a hand, “Give it.” 

--

“I didn’t know about that…” 

“Because I made a point not to tell you until now,” Frank sighed, sitting back in the grass that surrounded him. 

“My little brother, you, and percocets,” Gerard laughed uneasily, “What an unlikely trio. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It’s not like we were in a place to discuss it. The way you acted after tour ended,” Frank shook his head, “But I can’t blame you for Bert’s enablement.” 

--

The first withdrawal is one of the worst. Of course, without Bert, without tour, without a home, and without any money to buy hollywood-grade blow, Gerard was cut off cold turkey. His paradise only extended as far as Bert’s proximity. 

Frank was more or less “keeping” Gerard in his basement, where his mom couldn’t hear Gerard thrashing around and sobbing. It was still new to him, but Frank had made a deal with a demon of his own, and his plug was much more accessible. Mikey could toss a handful of percs his way any day of the week, and Frank was coddling Gerard with glazed eyes as Gerard spat profanities at him. 

“This is all… your fucking fault,” Gerard’s brows were furrowed and his face was pushed into Frank’s chest. His hands were clenched into fists and gripping Frank’s shirt so tightly that veins were protruding from his arms. “How could you let me do all that blow? I said ‘only one line,’ didn’t I? But you let me do a second one. No, actually, you shouldn’t have fucking let me do the first one at all. Do you even fucking care about me?” Gerard was half-ranting, half-sobbing and he shook uncontrollably, his stomach queasy. “I need coke. I need it, Frank.” 

Frank closed his eyes to center himself and, if not for Mikey’s Magic Pills, it would’ve proven difficult. He ignored the entire rant, ignored the fact that Gerard most certainly did not say ‘only one line,’ and instead focused on his pleas. “You don’t need it,” he insisted soothingly, “It’ll pass, you’ll never have to suffer like this again once you sober up.” 

Under any other circumstance, Gerard would’ve accepted Frank’s comfort in a heartbeat. Instead, he raised his head and pushed Frank away suddenly, standing up and stepping back from the dazed man. “Fuck you. If you won’t get me coke, I don’t need you,” Gerard hissed. He clenched his jaw and momentarily clamped his fist, eyes narrowed. After a few seconds, he unclenched his hand and moved to turn away, but doubled back and instead savagely spat on Frank. “Leave me the fuck alone,” and in that moment, Gerard really meant it. He waved his hands in frustration and turned to grab a bottle of chilled jagermeister from the minifridge. 

Frank’s eyebrows were knitted together in bafflement as to how his soothing words could have landed so poorly. He could honestly cry, but the percocet saved him the trouble. His eyes simply glazed over further as he disassociated, Gerard’s saliva dripping from his cheek and jaw. He smiled sadly as the taller man holed himself up in the basement’s guest room and laid into his pillow, punching and shrieking into it. Frank stared at the bedroom door, forlorn. “I love you, so much,” he whispered into the stale, empty air, haphazardly wiping Gerard’s spit from his cheek. 

--

“I wasn’t that bad. There’s no way that’s exactly how it happened. I don’t remember spitting on you,” Gerard’s eyes were wide with horror.

“That’s because you choose to forget, love,” Frank smiled with a great sadness attached, the corners of his mouth aged from experience, never grinning quite the same. 

“It’s hard to keep track of it all when you’ve been through it so many times,” Gerard sighed, quiet and ashamed. 

Frank dug a crushed pack of American Spirits out of his back pocket and shakily lit one. “So many times,” he agreed. 

--

One withdrawal theoretically should’ve been sufficient to keep Gerard clean for good; he was sober for long enough during the down time to resist, according to clinical terms, but blow was always on the back of his mind nowadays. It didn’t help that My Chem was about to reunite with Bert in the studio to record “You Know What They do to Guys Like Us in Prison…” It was a song he and Gerard had written on tour together in Bert’s dressing room after having snorted a full gram of snow between the two of them within a couple of hours. 

After the worst of Gerard’s withdrawals subsided, the boys had entered the studio to slowly start chipping away at their second album, and Bert was arriving to sing on the record any day now. Frank was beyond nervous, praying against all odds that Bert’s presence wouldn’t result in a relapse, but his hopes weren’t very high. 

The day Bert landed in Jersey was, once again, Gerard’s downfall. Bert bounded into the studio in high spirits, greeting everyone enthusiastically. “Who’s fucking ready for Bert Fuckin’ McCracken?” he was his own biggest fan. Gerard laughed, but the others barely resisted rolling their eyes at the blatant narcissism. Bert was seemingly unaffected by the coldness of the room and forged on, “I’m fuckin’ ready to sing on this record, it’s going to be insane. Just need some party favours first,” He smirked, pulling an entire eight ball out of his pocket like it was nothing. Three and a half grams, like a tiny, solid snowglobe in the palm of Bert’s hand.

Gerard’s eyes bulged; he’d never seen so much blow at one time before, and his mouth was practically watering at the gorgeous view. “I can always count on you, man,” he said euphorically, all of the edge in his voice from the past couple of months melting away at the reprise. He shot a pointed look at Frank who had obviously refused to pick up for him, and joined Bert without second thoughts. 

Frank clenched his jaw bitterly, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a pill that he swallowed dry when no one was looking. He considered Bert; he might be half decent if he were ever sober, but Frank had nothing but resentment for the man who kept Gerard high as a kite for the sake of his own entertainment. 

“Well, I’m gonna go get a beer before we start,” Ray announced unnecessarily, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort as he stood up. 

Bert and Gerard paid no attention to the rest of them, barely aware of their surroundings. Gerard watched with greedy, glassy eyes as Bert crushed a chunk of blow with his designated coke card between the dollar bill and a clean ashtray - whatever worked. He bit his lip in anticipation as Bert cut it up, and looked questioningly at the scruffy singer when he licked a finger and dipped it into the pile of powder before pointedly rubbing it over his gums. He sucked on his finger, smirking. “What, never heard of gumming?” Bert teased Gerard, “Baby, you’ve got so much to learn. Here, try,” he pushed the ashtray towards Gerard. Gerard raised an eyebrow but shrugged, following suit and copying Bert. It tasted clean, sterile almost. Like powdered toothpaste with far less mint. Gerard looked at him quizzically, waiting for something to happen, but Bert just laughed and handed Gerard the rolled up bill, “Give it a minute.” 

He accepted the bill and immediately leaned down to snort two lines, much like Bert had done the first time Gerard had ever tried the prestigious drug. When he lifted his head and passed the bill back, he touched his jaw in wonder and laughed. “Holy fuck, my mouth is numb as shit,” Gerard closed his eyes, grinning as he quickly climbed through the ranks of bliss. 

“Fuck yeah, it is. One way to tell if your blow is good,” Bert bragged, sniffling and wiping his nose before dragging his tongue over his teeth in satisfaction. “Hey, is this a smoker’s studio?” Bert easily changed the subject and looked around, truly registering his company for the first time since he’d arrived. Matt had disappeared, and Mikey was sitting beside Frank, focused on picking at his nails, his legs crossed tightly.

The engineer was sitting near the one-way glass, setting up the ProTools session on the computer. He shrugged, casual and oblivious by choice to Bert’s antics, “Knock yourself out.” 

“That is the shit I like to hear,” Bert said approvingly, and pulled out a pack of Camels, “Dude, you’ve got to try this, too.” Gerard watched as Bert selected a cigarette and licked around the butt of the filter before rolling it in the leftover pile of icing, placing it between his lips and lighting the cigarette. “I swear,” he said around the cig, “This will change your life.” 

Gerard’s eyes widened in wonder and he eagerly copied Bert, pulling out his Marlboro Reds. And God, was he right. It was impossible to truly describe the feeling, but the taste of the coke and tobacco combined quickly became one of Gerard’s favourite sensations. His lips grew pleasantly numb; he felt like he could eat cigarettes for breakfast and, more importantly, go practically forever without having to stop to actually eat. An actor’s diet.

Frank endured Gerard’s catching on to all of Bert’s little tips and tricks, grinding his teeth as he sat on edge, furious and tense. He had half a mind to kick Bert out of the studio, but he felt himself starting to roll, his thoughts sliding away from the rage and hurt. He melted back into the couch and watched Gerard with uneasy resolve, reluctant acceptance as the pill numbed his mind. What else could he do, really? It was useless - their bands’ managers had already booked another tour together to support their second album, that was the plan and it would remain as such if Gerard and Bert could help it.

Gerard stubbed out his cigarette and coaxed the bill from Bert, rolling it up again after cutting himself another two lines. “Gotta be ready for the studio,” he justified, and pinned his face to the table while Bert laughed unnecessarily loudly. Gerard was all smiles, troubles forgotten at this point. He raised his head and located Frank. “Frankie, let’s go outside before we start,” he suggested, holding out a hand to him. 

Frank blinked sluggishly and attempted to focus on Gerard. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed dazedly, standing up to take his hand. 

They exited the studio together, Gerard buzzing and Frank floating. Gerard leaned against the old brick, vine-covered wall outside of the studio and Frank sat at his feet, cross legged with his back also to the wall. They both lit cigarettes, quiet for a while as they puffed away.

It was Gerard who finally broke the silence as he lit his second smoke, “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Frank said, maybe a little too quickly. 

Gerard raised an eyebrow in disbelief and stared at the lightly tattooed man sitting at his own Doc Marten-clad feet.

“I’m not,” Frank insisted, making grabby hands at Gerard.

Gerard obliged and slid his back down the wall to sit beside Frank on the cracked asphalt, their shoulders touching. He looked at him expectantly, “Well?”

Frank laughed and lightly smacked Gerard’s shoulder, “Oh, shut up,” but his painted nails found his jaw and he was pulling Gerard into a deep kiss. 

Gerard lost himself for a while, hand on the side of his neck while Frank held his face with both of his own. The cigarette between the fingers of his other hand smoldered away as they made out, Frank’s tongue gliding over the back of Gerard’s upper teeth. The ash grew longer until there was nothing left to burn and Gerard abruptly pulled back from the kiss, yelping when the glowing cherry reached his knuckles and unexpectedly singed him.

Frank accidentally nipped Gerard’s lip as he pulled away, drawing a small trickle of blood from a split in his lower lip. “Shit, sorry, G,” he said with concern.

Gerard registered his dejected cigarette and let the butt fall to the asphalt before dabbing at his lip. “Oops,” he just laughed, leaning back against the brick wall and running a hand through his hair. 

He lit a third cigarette, causing Frank to raise an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be heading back in?” he asked skeptically. 

“Last one and I’m done,” Gerard promised. Frank indulged him as he absentmindedly ran his fingertips over Gerard’s free arm. 

But the moment was just too perfect, and Bert had to stick his head out of the studio door, his voice taunting, “Hey, dumbasses, are we starting this shit or not?” 

Frank begrudgingly followed Gerard back into the studio where Bert insisted they each needed one more bump to delve into the work ahead. Bert was unceremoniously loud in the studio and the engineer took great pleasure in muting the vocals as Bert sang countless takes. When neither of the frontmen were queued to sing, the two sat huddled on the studio’s couch, spitballing lyrical and musical ideas off of each other for the growing album. They were so caught up in the creative process that they hardly noticed the dwindling supply of blow accompanied by a second ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. 

They were writing intently while the rest of the band was recording tracks into the early hours of the morning and, as Gerard pulled out the last cigarette from his third pack of the day, the engineer cleared his throat and turned to them. “Listen, guys,” he finally said, “I know I said to knock yourselves out earlier, but I’m going to have to ask y’all to take that shit outside.” He was clearly down to his last ounce of patience, the entire lounge clouded with dozens of cigarettes’ worth of smoke. 

Gerard looked around as if he was just registering the fact that they had created a haze in the studio. “Oh, shit, sorry man. Totally. I gotta get more smokes anyway,” He said sheepishly, standing up and blinking. He put a hand to his temple, lightheaded. “Jesus,” he didn’t need to be told twice to leave, heading outside with Bert eagerly on his tail. 

“Man, these songs are going to be next level, you are so lucky to have me…” Bert chattered on, blowing smoke up his own ass as Gerard lit his last cig. 

He talked on and on and on as they meandered towards a 24 hour gas station until Gerard stopped suddenly and raised a hand to silence Bert, stating, “I’m gonna be sick.” With no food to settle his stomach, that last cigarette toppled his scales and he was doubling over in the street, puking up bile. His throat burned from the taste of his sick mixed with coke as well as a week’s worth of tobacco smoked in one night. 

He groaned in misery as Bert chortled and slapped his back empathetically. “Happens to the best of us. You’ll either get used to it, or become immune to it,” he said casually. 

--

“God, the engineer was pissed,” Frank couldn’t help but chuckle when he pictured himself discovering the blanket of smoke and out-of-sorts engineer in the lounge after finishing a few runs of guitar tracking with Ray. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever smoked more cigarettes than that in one night,” Gerard confessed, amused at his sheer idiocy from that particular memory. 

“It’s a record you’ll never beat,” Frank agreed. 

“Yeah, well, your record for stupid must be that time you let me convince you to get a tattoo of a cigarette,” Gerard teased him. 

“Oh, most definitely.” 

--

Frank and Gerard were standing together on a balcony adorned with hanging and potted plants. It led off of a party room filled with people present solely for the purpose of celebrating their band. They were overlooking Hollywood from a few stories up and could see thousands of twinkling lights vastly spread across the City of Angels in the rapidly fading sunset. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge had just dropped worldwide and the release party for it was massive. It seemed like the entirety of the pop-punk scene was there. The Used, obviously, because Bert had been a part of the album process and was therefore a guest of honour. Also, because there was no way Gerard was able to function at a party of this scale without a little pick-me-up. The Chicagoan band, Fall Out Boy, had shown up to congratulate them and while the lead singer seemed like a bit of a wallflower, akin to a sober Gerard, the bassist was loud and easily fit into the scene, schmoozing with the lot of them. By the end of the night, Frank discovered with a chuckle that Pete Wentz had somehow managed to punch his number into half of the band’s phones. Jimmy Eat World was present, and even Mark Hoppus showed face to celebrate with them. The boys had spent a couple hours paying their dues and thanking their guests before they absolutely required some fresh air, having made their way to the calm balcony in the peace of the warm LA twilight. 

“This is just, wow,” Gerard said in awe, “I can’t believe all of these people are here for us.”

“I know,” Frank grinned as he took a pull from his cigarette, “It’s insane, really.”

“I just feel like… I feel like we need to do something else to celebrate, just the two of us,” Gerard was smirking, like he already had a plan. 

Frank raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “Such as?”

Gerard pretended to ponder before answering. “Matching tattoos,” he said with resolve. 

Frank laughed involuntarily, “ You ? Getting a tattoo ? With a fear of needles that intense?” He could hardly believe Gerard was being serious, especially with the amount of liquor and drugs of choice that they had respectively consumed. His mind was reeling even at the concept.

“For you? One hundred percent,” Gerard promised, his eyes dead serious even behind the intoxication. 

Of course, Frank agreed on the spot, knowing he’d probably never be presented with another opportunity like this ever again. On top of their usual inebriation, they were both additionally elevated on all of the attention their newest album had brought them, never having imagined they’d get this far with their art. Gerard’s head was above the clouds, in orbit even, and they ditched the party in favour of celebrating on their own. Gerard stumbled down the sidewalk, piggybacking Frank as he pressed kisses to Gerard’s neck and their laughter echoing through the eerie LA streets. They stopped at the first parlour they could find that was still open at such a late hour, and Gerard eased Frank off of his back. 

“You’re sure about this?” Frank rubbed Gerard’s arm endearingly. 

“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Iero,” Gerard grinned, kissing him spontaneously. When he pulled away, he grabbed Frank’s hand and tugged him into the studio with a guffaw.

 Any good tattoo artist would refuse to tattoo anyone in the same state as Frank and Gerard, but then, any good ink salon wouldn’t be open at this hour. The artist took one look at them and shrugged, “What’ll it be, boys?”

Frank stopped, knitting his eyebrows together. He hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead; the idea of Gerard getting a tattoo had totally consumed his thoughts.

Gerard, however, answered easily, “Matching tattoos of a cigarette. You know, Simpsons style.” 

Frank snorted in incredulity, “ Seriously? No way,” he laughed.

Gerard rounded on Frank, smirking maniacally. “Yes way, come on. Do this for me. It’ll be so funny. Just a tiny Simpsons ciggie chilling on your leg? I mean, that’s the dream, isn’t it?”

Frank just laughed harder, “The dream? You’re deluded . But…” He sighed, baffled that he was agreeing, “Fine.” 

The gruff artist rolled his eyes, arms folded across his chest as he waited for them to make up their minds, “So, which one of you is going first, then?” he cut them off, impatient. 

Frank could still hardly wrap his head around the concept but, just under an hour later, the two of them were staggering out of the salon and shaking with laughter at the fact that they had really, seriously, just gotten tattoos of cigarettes together. They had opted for Gerard to go first so that he didn’t have to watch Frank have ink pounded into his ankle by dozens of angry needles and be expected to still have enough courage to follow through. Despite how wired Gerard was already, his eyes instantly widened into saucers when the buzz of the tattoo gun sparked up. He was having second thoughts about getting his first, and only, tattoo and Frank could tell. Frank grabbed his hand encouragingly and squeezed it; he could feel Gerard’s pulse rapidly thudding in his clammy palm. Somehow, Gerard persevered by holding onto Frank’s hand like a vice and staring, bug-eyed, at the ceiling for the duration of the tattooing.

Frank eagerly hopped up onto the tattooing bed after the artist wrapped up Gerard’s fresh ink, a much easier client to handle. He still opted to hold Gerard’s hand as the artist worked, but he closed his eyes contentedly and just let it happen. His head was rolling, with liquor or perkies he couldn’t tell at this point, and his heart was so slow, so calm. It was possibly the easiest tattoo he had ever received, and Gerard had to shake him awake by the time it was over. 

--

“Awake?” Frank stopped Gerard as they reminisced over the bonding moment. “Don’t you mean alive ? I’m pretty sure I was on death’s doorstep that night,” he said seriously. 

“Yeah, and so was I,” Gerard joked, “That shit was scary.” 

“No, like, I swear to god. I think I drank too much, and mixed with percs… I really think if you didn’t wake me up, that would’ve been it for me,” Frank laughed a little, taken aback by the realization. 

“Oh, shit,” Gerard said, accompanied by his own nervous laughter, “And all this time I thought you were showing off.” 

--

The two men smoked menthols outside of the tattoo parlour in celebration, admiring the half-decent inkwork and chuckling over the world’s newest and best inside joke. As they headed back towards the hotel, Gerard was shaking his head with amusement, “I can’t believe you fell asleep. I can’t believe I got a tattoo!” 

Frank smiled crookedly, holding Gerard’s hand and swinging their arms between them as they walked. “You actually got a tattoo,” Frank said, still processing the fact, “No way anyone’s going to believe this.”

“They’re gonna have to,” Gerard laughed. They piped down for a while, in good spirits and better company, and the silence was comfortable as they made their way back. After some time, Gerard shook himself out of his thoughts and abruptly stopped in his tracks. He turned to look at Frank, unceremoniously blurting out, “Shit, Frankie, I think I’m in love with you.” He rubbed his neck sheepishly, biting his lip and breaking contact with Frank’s doe eyes. 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat and he instinctively squeezed Gerard’s hand, at a temporary loss for words. He never thought he’d hear those words tumbling out of Gerard’s perfect lips. “I... “ Frank started dazedly, but he stopped to center himself and attempted to muster up the confidence that was currently buried under the pills. Fuck, he did not want to be numb right now. Gerard looked at him expectantly, fear of rejection slowly overcoming his face. Frank tried again, “Well, I am definitely in love with you,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Gerard let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in the form of a short laugh. “Of course that’s your response,” he said, his eyes watery. Gerard threw his arms around Frank, kissing him earnestly and Frank reciprocated, all but melting. “I love you,” Gerard said when they broke away, getting a feel for the words in his mouth. They felt rusty and awkward coming from him, but at the same time it felt round and right.

Frank could honestly cry if the function hadn’t been chemically blocked off. “I love you too,” he replied, so genuinely it made Gerard’s heart ache. 

 It was impossible telling how, but the two of them somehow managed to find their way back to the hotel after taking a couple of accidental detours. They had come to terms with the fact that they were most likely going to run into someone from the party and get roped into returning to the sea of faces. They entered the glistening, high-ceilinged lobby with resolve, making a beeline for the elevator to see if the odds were in their favour. As they rose through the floors, side-eyeing each other in anticipation, they tensed when the elevator slowed to let someone on, only sighing in relief when the patron paid no mind to them and exited on a floor that did not contain the party room. They were homefree, gliding past the party floor without a hitch, headed for Frank’s room. 

As they rose above the party floor, Gerard could hear the thudding of music and laughter of party-goers that apparently hadn’t even noticed their absence. He was thankful though, and couldn’t keep his hands off of Frank once they were in the clear. Gerard impulsively pushed him up against one of the mirrored elevator walls, wedging a knee between his legs and kissing him hard, his hands already greedily creeping under Frank’s dress shirt. Frank breathed in sharply through his nose, a small whine forming at the back of his throat as he kissed Gerard back. His shoulder blades were pressed back against the mirror and his hands found Gerard’s hips as Frank angled his own to their advantage. He rocked slightly against his thigh as Gerard’s hands skittered up his stomach. They kissed messily, their teeth knocking and tongues competing. Gerard sucked on Frank’s lower lip and grunted as they created friction, only breaking away when the elevator door slid open upon their destination. He gazed hungrily into Frank’s hazel eyes before smirking and grabbing his hand to pull him to the room. 

After kicking off their shoes in the entrance of the comfortable lodging, Frank sat on the queen sized bed, loosening his red tie and unbuttoning his charcoal dress shirt as Gerard excused himself to the washroom. He leaned over the edge of the bed and dug through his carry-on bag, making sure he had lube and condoms, just in case. He shoved them into the bedside table drawer before relaxing back into the pillows and admiring the artwork on the wall; he’d seen some really gorgeous pieces and had been so tempted to steal from hotels,  if it wouldn’t cause their manager a load of paperwork. Somehow, he refrained. Frank was relieved that his head was starting to clear up and he could feel his heart bouncing around his insides with anticipation. He was nervous and excited and, holy shit, Gerard loved him. He bit his lip and smiled to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and wrinkling his nose in joy. 

Meanwhile, Gerard pursed his smiling lips as he cut up the last of the coke Bert had given to him as an album release gift. He turned on the bathroom fan and bent down with a rolled up bill, snorting the remainder of the blow that the evening had allotted for him. When he came up, he stared at himself in the mirror with huge eyes, wiping his nose and making note of the irritated patch of skin under his right nostril. He ended up having to switch to the left because the one he favoured had become so inflamed. Still, he chalked it up as a problem for Future Gerard because, shit, who cared when Frank loved him. 

Gerard had to seriously refrain from jumping in the air and clicking his heels together as he exited the bathroom, feeling like he was worth a billion dollars. He turned the corner and the grin spread across his face so wide it seemed to take up at least half of his angular features. “Fuck, you are so hot,” He stated, wasting no time in crawling onto the bed over top of Frank. His fingers greedily pushed the loosened tie aside and slid up Frank’s olive chest, naturally spreading his shirt and exposing his skin. He leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses to his collarbones. 

Frank was already dissolving underneath Gerard, his arms linking behind his shoulders as his hands weaved into his hair. “I think you’re talking about yourself,” Frank replied with a shiver and a sigh. 

Gerard chuckled, drawing a moan from him as he bit down on Frank’s collar and sucked an angry hickey onto his pale skin. He smirked smugly and lifted his head to kiss the smaller man deeply for a moment before pulling back to help Frank out of his shirt. He ignored the loosened tie around his neck and Frank didn’t move to take it off either, preoccupied. Gerard started working down Frank’s throat, chest, stomach - he made sure to suck long, hot kisses onto Frank’s tattooed skin, his hands sliding down his ribcage and to his belt as Frank gripped at his hair and whined. Gerard unbuckled the belt and worked quickly to get him out of his inky black dress pants, palming at him through his boxers and hooking two fingers under the waistline as he licked at Frank’s treasure trail. 

Frank instinctively arched towards him, his head dazed, but not from pills. He watched as Gerard pulled down his boxers and grinned at the sight of his already too-hard cock. Gerard was clearly in control, king of the world who knew exactly what he wanted, and apparently what he wanted was Frank’s dick in his mouth because before he could even blink, Frank was hissing and letting his eyes roll back at the sensation. His erection twitched towards Gerard’s lips as he licked up the shaft and then took him into his mouth, energetically sucking and bobbing his head for a few minutes. 

Gerard didn’t linger for long though, tongue moving to tease at Frank’s balls before he raised his head, resting his cheek on Frank’s inner thigh. “Turn over for me, would ya?”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Frank said breathily. As Gerard loosened his own tie, threw it aside, and started unbuttoning his shirt, Frank rolled over and lifted his ass in the air. 

Gerard smirked and straddled the back of Frank’s knees, covetously grabbing handfuls of his ass before raising his arm back and spanking him hard. Frank moaned, pushing back. “You like that, sugar?” Gerard purred, and he was honestly surprised by himself; he wasn’t one to talk dirty in the bedroom, but the bag of sunshine he had received that night was like powdered confidence. 

“Fuck, yes,” Frank hissed, rocking his hips towards Gerard as he buried his face in the pillows. 

Gerard leered smugly, pleased with the now glowing red replica of his hand on the horizon of Frank’s ass. He brought his right hand up, spanking him again before fluidly raising it up to his left shoulder and bringing it back down, his knuckles connecting with his ass. 

Frank gasped and instinctively pressed into the plush mattress as his skin stung in the cool air. He whined and his thighs shook, held in place, his legs pinned together between Gerard’s while he reached around Frank to jerk him for a minute. 

Gerard bit his lip at the unruly noises Frank was making, smoothing his hand over his ass. He grazed the angry welts momentarily before repeating the motion a half dozen more times as Frank whimpered and squirmed, biting the pillow. “That’s such a good boy,” Gerard’s voice had dropped a whole octave and sounded like velvet. He shrugged off his shirt and released Frank’s legs, pressing a hand into the small of his back to coax him into spreading himself out. Frank obliged and Gerard ran both of his hands down the length of his back before lying on his stomach between Frank’s legs, spreading his ass apart at the cleft. Gerard grunted, pleased. He lowered his head and bit Frank’s cheek, licking over the teeth marks and letting his tongue wander towards his asshole, swirling around the rim. Frank moaned openly into the pillows, his face flushed pink. Gerard readjusted his hands, spreading him wider and pressing his tongue into Frank’s hole. He was aching so badly in his dress pants, so fucking turned on by the state he had Frank in. Gerard took his sweet time rimming him, savouring all of the ungodly noises coming from Frank’s mouth. When he finally surfaced, he stuck a hand out near Frank’s head. “Lube,” he instructed, spanking Frank’s asscheek again with a smug grin. 

Frank moaned, turned on by Gerard’s demanding demeanor. “Yes, boss,” he said breathlessly, so fucking glad he had prepared for this. He struggled slightly to relocate the lube and condoms in the side table, passing them back to Gerard when he had managed the task. 

Gerard took them, leaning down to spread Frank’s ass and lick around the rim again before squeezing some lube onto his digits and pressing his pointer finger against Frank’s hole. Frank hissed and tensed for a moment before relaxing and allowing Gerard to ease his finger inside. One knuckle and then two, and then he was twisting his digit as he eased it out and pushed back in. Frank whimpered in pleasure, eyes shut tight as Gerard started curling his slick finger once it was moving without resistance. He splayed a hand over Frank’s asscheek, keeping him spread wide and enjoying the view as he added a second. Soon Frank was groaning and rolling his hips back, involuntarily fucking himself on his fingers as Gerard reached for his prostate. Finally, Gerard eased out and ran his hands soothingly over Frank’s back for a moment while the smaller shuddered and relaxed into the sheets. Gerard got off of his stomach and kicked out of his pants and boxers fast as he could. He spit in his hand and momentarily pumped his own cock while he groped Frank’s ass with his free hand. He moved to tear open a condom packet, rolling down the rubber and lubing himself up. 

Finally, Gerard spread Frank’s ass and guided the head of his cock to his hole, very carefully easing it in. Both of them groaned as Frank took Gerard’s entire length. Gerard moved his hands to the small of Frank’s back, his thumbs pressing into his spine as he gripped his hips, beginning to slowly and deeply fuck him into the bed. 

Frank’s eyes fluttered as Gerard started to establish a rhythm. He pressed his ass up and gripped the comforter tightly in his fists. This was so much more than he had bargained for, and he was so aroused by all of the sensations Gerard was teasing him with. He turned his head to the side, cheek resting in the pillows as he took the length with grace, letting out little breathy moans. 

Gerard watched Frank with avaricious eyes, admiring his lover and digging his nails into his hips reflexively. He released Frank, only to lean forward and take hold of both of his hands with his own. Gerard detached his reluctant fingers from the sheets and restrained his arms so that Frank was pulled up onto his knees doggy-style. Guiding him, with one hand Gerard held Frank’s crossed wrists against the base of his own spine, giving Gerard more leverage to fuck him harder, faster. Frank leaned his head back, brows furrowed at the advancement, a loud moan escaping his pierced lips. 

Gerard smirked, reaching forward with his free hand and grabbing the tie still hanging around Frank’s neck. He adjusted it so that it acted as a collar and leash, exposing his pretty throat. Gerard’s grin spread in response to Frank choking out a strangled moan, his eyes rolling back as he eagerly rocked back to meet Gerard’s. Frank’s hair stuck to his forehead and sweat dripped down the arch of his eyebrow onto his cheek. 

Gerard continued to hold his wrists and tugged on the tie, fucking Frank erratically for some time. He was entirely sure he had never performed this well in the bedroom before, silently thanking the White Lady for his good fortune. Gerard breathed raggedly as he thrusted, feeling a tingle in his spine upon the sound of Frank crying out when he located his prostate. Gerard automatically let go of Frank’s wrists as well as the tie, letting him fall forward into the bed; Frank immediately grabbed hold of the pillows around him, knuckles turning white with his grip. He continued to moan steadily as Gerard seized Frank’s hips, hitting his prostate repeatedly.

Frank was hysterical at this point, on the brink of coming completely undone up until the point Gerard’s hips slowed and he started to ease out, eliciting a confused and dejected whine from Frank. “I-I was almost…” Frank complained shakily, his voice absolutely wrecked. 

Gerard chuckled and ran his hands over Frank’s ass before nudging him to roll over. “You really think I’d let you cum without being able to see that gorgeous face?” Gerard crooned.

Frank couldn’t help but smile, assenting and rolling onto his back. He flinched when his bruised ass rubbed against the soft sheets, but quickly forgot about his tenderness when Gerard situated himself between Frank’s legs, re-lubing himself. He gazed up at Gerard, running his hands up his ivory chest and sighing breathily as Gerard eased back in. Frank locked eyes with him once their hips were meeting halfway, mouth parted in concentration. Gerard took the opportunity without much thought, moving his hand to cradle Frank’s jaw and resting the tip of his thumb suggestively on his lower lip. Gerard’s eyes were somewhat insane boring into his own and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped at the erotic gesture. His tongue flicked out to invitingly lick at Gerard’s thumb first, but soon he was sucking on the digit as it glided along the inside of Frank’s bottom teeth. Gerard caressed his jaw with his fingertips, still maintaining the intense eye contact. He used his other hand for support against the bed frame while Frank’s made their way to Gerard’s back, clawing at his skin in response to his performance. 

Gerard coaxed his thumb out of Frank’s mouth in favour of leaning down to kiss him, fucking into him with fervour. They kissed for a few moments, open-mouthed and heavy. Gerard broke the connection to rest their foreheads together and murmur, “Fuck, I love you.”

Frank moaned, over the moon with pleasure. “I love you too, G,” he reciprocated, his eyes searching Gerard’s. It was Frank who closed the space between them, licking into Gerard’s mouth. Gerard kissed back earnestly and his hands moved to hold his hips for leverage, changing his angle to reach Frank’s prostate again. Frank’s hips jerked, his nails tore over Gerard’s back, and he moaned openly into his mouth upon impact. They sucked and nipped at each other’s lips, sweaty bodies intertwined. Frank’s cock was caught in the friction between them as Gerard thrusted dutifully until finally, Frank was unravelling underneath him. 

Frank broke the kiss, gasping for breath as he came hard. His dick twitched between their stomachs, hips jerking unpredictably, and he involuntarily clenched around Gerard’s length, waves of euphoria dozing him over. “ Fuck,” Frank whined, dragging out the word for multiple syllables. 

Just the sight was enough to send Gerard into a tailspin, let alone the sound of him; it absolutely floored him. Entranced and groaning, Gerard pushed his face into his throat and sucked at his Adam's apple. He came soon after Frank, quivering from pleasure as his hips spasmed a handful more. When they had both settled down enough to make sense of their movements, Gerard finally pulled out. He collapsed beside Frank, tugging off the condom and tying it before throwing it aside. 

Frank sighed blissfully. He naturally rolled onto his side to sling an arm across Gerard’s chest. Gerard wrapped his arm around Frank’s shoulders protectively as the smaller curled into his side and rested his cheek on Gerard’s chest. He tilted his chin up, smiling softly as Gerard accepted a long, gentle kiss. 

“I love you,” Frank whispered when their slow, lazy kiss devolved into nothingness. 

“I love you too,” Gerard whispered back, endearingly nuzzling his nose against Frank’s. 

Neither of them had problems sleeping that night, losing track of which limb was who’s as their bodies remained endlessly connected. 

--

Frank opened his eyes, surfacing from the deep and cherished memory. He absentmindedly ran the pads of his fingers over the aged cigarette tattoo above his ankle. “I must say, on second thought, I don’t regret this at all,” Frank smiled knowingly. 

“I guess I’ve got to agree,” Gerard chuckled, his fingertips hovering over Frank’s tattoo but not quite connecting with his skin, as if there was a sheet of glass between them. 

“Maybe the actual dumbest thing I’ve ever done was bleach my hair in the venue bathroom,” Frank snickered.

“No way, you were fucking stunning.” 

--

The first Three Cheers… tour had brought ten times as much publicity with it. My Chemical Romance was no longer an underground punk band, no, they were paving the path alongside the likes of blink-182 and starting to make a real name for themselves. Unfortunately, that meant that the shows were becoming more crowded, venues were being upsized, and the boys started having to actively avoid fans at times because there were just so many. The band’s collective self medicating had also worsened; it was really the only way they knew how to face the day and quiet the cumbersome anxiety.

Gerard was letting his hair grow out and had gotten into the habit of haphazardly smudging his eyelids with whatever red makeup he could find each night. He was damn lucky the style worked for him, because truth was he was usually just too intoxicated to steadily apply the look he had originally envisioned. Since they were touring with The Used yet again for the sake of performing the songs Bert had appeared on (And, good God, the rest of the boys were fiending for a change in company), Gerard had unexpectedly started a tradition of sorts with Bert. It began when the two made up the pre-show ritual that consisted of doing a shot, then snorting a line, repeat once or twice depending on whether they were feeling lucky that night. A couple nights into the pre-gaming, Gerard whipped his head up from the official snow tray they’d bought, grinning stupidly and letting his head loll back. “I’m very much alive,” he nodded in agreement to himself, “ Very much alive.” 

Bert’s head popped up after he snorted his own, laughing loudly. Then he went quiet, an idea dawning on him, “Dude, let me write that on your neck!” Bert broke into laughter again at the incredulous look Gerard was giving him, “No, actually ! That could be your thing! After our ritual, whatever word comes to mind first goes on your neck that night. Think of the fans, babe.” 

Gerard cringed slightly at the way Bert mocked his supporters. Sure, the sheer volume of them stressed him out a little, but he didn’t ever take them for granted. Bert did hold a valid point though; the press wanted something to talk about, and this was a perfect way to give it to them. Gerard nodded with resolve. “Okay, yeah, I’m in. Do me up,” he said with a grin. 

“All right!” Bert punched the air victoriously before grabbing the nearest sharpie and penning VERY MUCH ALIVE onto the left side of his neck. 

The crowd that night swelled in a way that was different, more united. Gerard wondered if it was the blow, the booze, or possibly just good old placebo, but when he absentmindedly touched his temporary ink, the sea of shrieks in response to his thoughtless action confirmed the theory on its own. He smiled to himself as he gnashed about on stage, wondering what everyone would think if only they knew about his secret, permanent ode to Frank that resided above his ankle.

*

Gerard was really enjoying the habit he and Bert had dreamed up. He was playing the media like a fiddle, making them trip over themselves as they tried to guess at what his messages meant. In addition, he was actively offending the mainstream with some of his more daring choices. They were a few days into Pride month now and Gerard had requested that they add “Faggot” by MSI to their nightly setlist for the remainder of the month as a loud reminder that they were both queer and/or allies, and also that queer people belonged in their scene. He’d been listening to the song nonstop, inspired, so it was only a matter of time before Bert was using a marker to ink FAGGOT onto Gerard’s neck. 

Gerard took one extra shot after Bert had finished with his penmanship, eliciting a, “Hey, that’s cheating!” from him. Gerard just laughed and stood up, waving him off. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, gotta get ready for the show. Tonight’s gonna be a good one, I can just feel it,” Gerard buzzed as he casually walked away from Bert to find the others. 

Bert furrowed his eyebrows and watched Gerard go, dejected and annoyed. He carelessly spun the lid off of the mickey of jager so that it landed on the floor a few feet away, downing the remainder of the bottle. 

Ray wolf whistled when Gerard caught up with the rest of them, leering. “Look at you, stud,” he slapped him on the back. “Happy Pride,” Ray grinned, his breath soaked in whiskey. 

“Shucks,” he chortled, “Happy Pride.” Gerard appreciated him so much. He reached up to plant a confident kiss on Ray’s cheek, bugging. 

Gerard performed with extra soul that night. He wasn’t sure what coaxed it from him, but the show he put on for the crowd must have been one of his best performances thus far. He jerked around the stage, spitting and contorting his body as he lost himself in the set, fuelled by queer activism and artificial serotonin. He blasted through “Faggot”, screaming the song with the crowd and flashing his neck to the press, pleased at how receptive the room was. 

By the time they launched into “It’s not a Fashion Statement…” Gerard was dripping with sweat, his eyes and cheeks smeared with thick red dollar store eyeshadow, dark hair sticking to his face. His charcoal dress shirt was glued to his drenched skin and he shrugged off his blazer as Frank and Ray worked the opening riffs. Gerard jumped on the spot as he screamed, “You get what everyone else gets!” He made his way over to Frank who was watching Gerard, unable to keep himself from smiling at the energy. Gerard grinned back, singing directly to him as he launched into the song, “Do you remember when we met?” 

Frank chewed on his lip ring as Gerard turned back to the crowd, “You told me this gets harder, well it did.” He watched as Gerard started loosening his black and white striped tie, a small grin playing on his lips as his fingers danced across the strings of his guitar. Of course, he remembered the first day they met. 

Leaving the tie done up but swinging it off of his neck, Gerard moved back to Frank. “Promise me that when I’m gone you’ll kill all my enemies,” Gerard threw the tie around Frank’s neck as he sang, letting it hang loosely, “The damage I’ve inflicted, temporary wounds,” Gerard ran his hand down Frank’s chest as the crowd swelled. His faded black t-shirt was rumpled and sweat-soaked under Gerard’s fingertips. It was as if he were issuing a form of apology. For what exactly, Frank wasn’t sure, but his heart was slamming against his chest as Gerard sang to him. “I’m coming back from the dead and I’ll take you home with me,” Gerard gripped the tie for a split second, eyes scorching Frank’s, before swinging back as the crowd screamed the final line of the verse along with him. 

Frank watched Gerard blow through the song, crouching down and holding the microphone like it was a lifeline as he and the crowd grew in intensity and unity alike. They were burning to the end and Frank had let his mind wander, curious about what Gerard meant by the lyrics directed at him, if anything. But he was snapped short of his thoughts when Gerard rounded back on him as the song was reaching dire levels, “And then I will be with you.”

Gerard abruptly grabbed the tie around Frank’s neck, but not hard enough to disturb his playing. “I will be there one last time now, when you go,” Gerard used the tie to guide Frank to the side, coaxing him away from the mic in favour of sharing his own. Frank obliged as the crowd shrieked, leaning in close to Gerard. He harmonized beautifully as Gerard sang, “Just know that I will remember you.” Their foreheads were resting against each other’s now, Gerard still gripping the tie and holding Frank captive inside of his personal bubble. 

Frank stared into Gerard’s wild eyes, his lips parted slightly in awe. “I lost my fear of falling,” Frank proclaimed to Gerard, leaning into him willingly, no question left about his motive now, “I will be with you.” 

“I will be with you,” Gerard finished the song with gusto, never breaking eye contact with Frank. It was as if they were the only two in the room. Gerard was barely thinking at all when he yanked on the loosened tie around Frank’s neck, an homage of sorts, and pulled him into a heavy, messy kiss. Gerard made sure the side of his neck that screamed FAGGOT was visible to all as he sucked on Frank’s lip. The microphone squealed with feedback between their chests, but the crowd roared louder. Frank could barely bring himself to raise his head when the kiss ended, his cheeks burning. 

The pair smiled stupidly at one another as they walked off stage. “Some fucking set that was,” Bert was getting ready to play next and scowled as they passed by. The guy that was once pressuring Gerard into making a move had done a 180 and now seemed almost… jealous? 

And, oh, the press had severely burned Bert on that one. His idea to gain Gerard some traction had worked a little too well, and then backfired in his face. “ TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Gerard Way Favours MCR Guitarist Over The Used Frontman”, “ GERARD AND BERT BREAK UP? The Truth Behind Frank Lero” (Bert snorted in slight satisfaction at the misspelling of the Italian name), and “ EMO FRONTMAN SHOCKS CROWD: Everything You Need to Know About StageGay” were just a few of the titles incessantly popping up in Bert’s face. The articles outlined the shocking “Faggot” reclaimation penned across his neck, but they mainly focused on the wave of hysteria Gerard had caused by publicly kissing Frank. Bert assumed this, anyway, because he absolutely refused to read any of the literature.  

*

“Ah ah,” Bert said tauntingly, dangling a small twisted baggie of blow underneath Gerard’s sore nose, “I think it’s time you worked for it.”

Gerard knocked Bert’s hand out of his face, instantly annoyed by his patronizing tone. “What the fuck are you on about?” Gerard snapped, folding his arms across his chest as his leg bounced anxiously. 

“I don’t like that fucking stunt you pulled,” Bert hissed, closing his hand around the pearl, “You want coke, you better beg for me on stage. Or earn it another way.” Bert lewdly palmed at himself. 

Gerard barked a laugh, his voice equally as nasty, “I don’t give a fuck. All you had to do was ask.” Gerard smirked easily, but internally he was panicking. Could Bert really do that? Just cut him from his supply? He was trying not to sweat, saying what he thought Bert wanted to hear. 

Bert blinked as if exiting a fog. He returned to his excitable self like Gerard had flipped a switch. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Cut her up,” he tossed the baggie at Gerard who fumbled to catch and untie it with shaky fingers. 

He managed and did as he was told, an expert at this point. By the time Bert had shots poured, Gerard had 8 lines laid out. They were up to four shots, four lines each per ritual. 

Gerard rolled up his bill as Bert rolled one of his own. “Gorgeous,” Bert admired the tray, in love. 

Gerard sighed in agreement, his face softened in relief. He watched as Bert lifted his first shot glass to Gerard and started alternating between vices. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” he chuckled, thinking out loud, “You’re like a fuckin’...” but Gerard pondered on that as he took shot after shot, alternating between nostrils for the lines, side by side with Bert. “Fairy,” Gerard surfaced from his final set, in synch with Bert and laughing, “A fuckin’ fairy.” 

Frank was passing by Bert’s dressing room, not realizing the door was ajar until Gerard’s voice floated out to meet his ears. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” he heard Gerard say, and he couldn’t help himself but to stop and see where he was going with it. Frank peered into the room, grimacing at the sight of Gerard and Bert bent over the table as the wet sound of snorting lines reached his ears. Then Gerard insulted Bert, but why was he laughing? Frank’s expression quickly changed from confusion to horror as he watched Gerard leaning shoulder to shoulder with Bert. Gerard turned his face and put a hand on his jaw, engaging a kiss that Bert eagerly returned. Frank’s cheeks flushed deeply and he wondered whether this was Gerard and Bert’s first kiss off stage. With the way Bert was grabbing fistfuls of Gerard’s hair, Frank attempted to convince himself that he seemed too desperate for it not to be. But the ball of anxiety grew bigger inside of Frank’s guts as Gerard bit his lip hard, pulling a delighted giggle from Bert. He tried to slow himself down, convince himself that it was only the jager or the coke acting, that there was no way in Hell that Gerard wanted Bert; he only ever wanted the snow. He wanted to chalk it up as one kiss equals one pearl, but couldn’t help himself from briskly walking away from the dressing room with tears in his eyes as he dryly swallowed a perc. So much for his effort to avoid pills before their sets, but he felt like he might die if the knot rising from his stomach to his chest suffocated him any further. God, he hated this ceremony more than any other stupid idea Gerard had ever had.  

“A fucking fairy, huh?” Bert laughed once Gerard had broken the kiss, unabashed. He wasted no time in writing FAIRY across Gerard’s neck, more pleased than anything that the word of the night was dedicated to him, “I’ll take what I can get.” 

Gerard ran a hand through his own unwashed hair, sitting back and wiping at his nose subconsciously. “A bit of a dramatic way to get to the point if you ask me,” Gerard said noncommittally, but Bert’s threat was fresh in his mind and didn’t need reiterating. 

Gerard did not disappoint; he worked for his keep that night. Frank was always surprised at how one little pill could make him feel like he was gliding through the hour that they played. His fingers relied on muscle memory, effortlessly producing song after song while his mind rested far above all of their bodies. When Bert joined the stage to play “You Know What They Do…”, Frank barely registered the scowls Bert sent his way. He somehow managed to tune out the edge of Bert’s voice. More importantly, he turned his sight off at the image of Gerard grovelling at his feet, the microphone wedged between Bert’s standing thighs as Gerard sang against the mic.

Bert glanced over at Frank’s blank expression, smug. As he harmonized with the kneeling man, Bert gripped the hair at the crown of Gerard’s head in his free fist as the crowd screamed wildly. He’d never let neither Gerard nor Frank live this down if he could help it. 

*

Frank was smarter than Bert; he kept his phone shut off completely, avoiding any and all articles playing on the Love Triangle trope. He wouldn’t be subject to the titles let alone the contents, even if that meant blocking out everyone from Pete Wentz, to his manager, to his mom for a few days. Of course, that also meant that Frank was heavily doped up on percocets, avoiding everyone in favour of taking up Mikey’s easygoing company. With their combined haze, they could tune out even the most unruly of comments from the likes of Bert. 

“Whoa, hold on, let me get this straight,” Mikey held up both hands in order to slow Frank down to a halt, “So… you’re in love with my brother. And he kissed Bert ? Like, by choice, off the clock?” 

Frank found it comforting that the thing that freaked Mikey out most was somehow not the fact that Frank was queer, and pining after Gerard at that. He drew a breath. “Yeah, and I don’t fucking know why,” Frank said, tortured endlessly by the image that was crystal clear in his mind’s eye. Frank couldn’t quite remember how they’d gotten there, but he was spilling his guts to him, at a loss. Mikey had asked something or other, triggering Frank to relay a somewhat detailed account of the “Fairy Incident”. He could feel the impact of the wedge Bert was devilishly driving between them and Gerard, and Mikey was the only one he was sure could truly empathize in the sense that Gerard was his blood.

Mikey pondered this new information for a couple of beats. “Is there anything else you’re missing?” He figured that it was all out there now, might as well make it official. 

Frank pursed his lips before deciding there was only one thing, “Yeah, actually,” he pulled up his pant leg to show Mikey the stupid Simpson’s styled cigarette tattoo. 

Mikey raised an uncomprehending eyebrow, “What about it?”

Frank was a little surprised Mikey didn’t know, but obliged him nonetheless, “It’s a matching tattoo. I got it with Gerard. Gerard has a tattoo.” Saying it felt so strange; Frank still couldn’t believe Gerard had willingly challenged one of his greatest fears like that.

Mikey’s mouth made a silent ‘O’ shape, absolutely baffled. “No way ,” he started, but then stopped to really consider the gesture, “Huh.” 

Frank looked at Mikey, puzzled at his change in demeanor, “What?”

“Nothing, just… To get a tattoo for you? He must really love you,” Mikey said, looking at Frank with genuity through his thick frames. 

Frank blushed, expecting literally anything other than the words Mikey had just uttered. He snorted in denial, “Bullshit. He was just super fucking high, obviously,” Frank pushed down his pant leg, flustered, “He acts like I don’t even exist now.” 

Mikey laughed, “Wasn’t he kissing you on stage, like, a week ago? Why don’t you text him and find out?” he suggested with a shrug, “Bet you any money.” 

Frank took out his phone, strongly considering Mikey’s advice. Then he scrunched up his nose and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “Nah. This is stupid, I shouldn’t. It’s exactly what Bert wants.”

“I’ll pop to that,” Mikey agreed bitterly, pulling out a bottle of pills and shaking a few into his palm. He offered to Frank who assented, and they each popped two, washing them down with beer. 

Less than an hour later, Frank and Mikey’s conversation had devolved into an incoherent comfort session as their stomachs digested the tablets. Frank was leaning against Mikey in a prolonged hug, his nose resting against his shoulder as he shakily repeated, “I love him,” over and over, forlorn. 

“I know, I know,” Mikey hushed him soothingly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes of daisies and stars over Frank’s back. He didn’t really mind. They were both pretty loopy and really just running the clock until the show at this point; everyone needed to decompress and he liked Frank.

“Hey, guys, a half hour til- whoa,” Ray chuckled upon letting himself into Frank’s dressing room, “Am I interrupting something?”

Mikey looked up dazedly as Frank’s languishing died out. “Oh, hey, dude. Frankie’s just having a rough go at it,” he said once his eyes slid into focus on Ray. 

Ray’s eyebrows pulled together in realization, peering at Frank. He walked over to sit on the arm of the couch beside Mikey. “You doing okay, pal?” 

“M’fine,” Frank insisted halfheartedly, his voice muffled against Mikey’s worn Anthrax t-shirt. 

Ray reached over and endearingly stroked Frank’s soft, dark hair. “Whatever it is, man, we’ve got you. Always,” Ray promised. He may be the half-informed, but his heart was solid gold. 

Frank finally showed a little bit of face, turning his head slightly to the side to meet Ray’s walnut eyes. He managed the tiniest of smiles for the gentle giant. “Thanks, Ray,” he said, albeit a bit pouty. 

Ray grinned, nipping Frank’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger’s knuckle, “Chin up, pumpkin. We’ve got this.” He let go of his chin and tapped the tip of Frank’s nose with his finger, “I’ll see you in twenty, okay?”

“Yes, alright,” Frank continued to brood, but at a lesser severity than before. 

Ray stood up, patting Mikey’s head too. “See you, buddy.” 

“Thanks, man,” Mikey waved after him, appreciative. When the door closed behind Ray, he gave Frank a reassuring squeeze. “You should text him if it means this much to you. Fuck Bert, do whatever you want,” he encouraged.

Frank sighed and remained still for a moment before pulling back and retrieving his phone from his pocket. “You’re right,” Frank concurred, “Of course you’re right.” The corners of his mouth gave Mikey a small twinkle of thanks before his attention shifted to his phone. “do u still love me?</3 xofrnk” Frank sent the text and shoved his phone back into his pocket, immediately and involuntarily squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath.

“ Breathe,” Mikey hugged him again without prompting. He’d never seen Frank so distraught, especially over something like love. 

Gerard was halfway through his nightly rails when his phone lit up right beside his ghostly face, containing Frank’s text. Bert was too engulfed in his tiny solo cups of liquid luck to notice, but Gerard easily read every word in a second. A tiny pang shot through his heart, but he momentarily closed his eyes and proceeded to finish the mission cut out in front of him. “One hundred percent,” Gerard proclaimed, aggressively inhaling as he sat back. He quickly forgot to reply to the actual text, but his answer was about to be plastered onto his neck by none other than Bert himself. 

“Right on,” Bert agreed, as if he were in the loop, “One hundred percent, man, one thousand fucking percent!” He laughed deliriously as he stood up to seek out a marker. 

Not having received an answer to his question, Frank was going in hurting, and he refused to look Gerard in the face when they all met up to take the stage. He didn’t care what stupid phrase he and Bert had come up with that evening, so he didn’t bother to check his neck. Instead, Frank channeled into the buoyancy of the percs and stared aimlessly into the crowd as the band opened their set.

Gerard was kind of wondering what the dirty looks from his own brother were, but he had a decent idea. Well, he would, if he weren’t completely oblivious to Mikey in his current state. He was more focused on making Frank receive the message. He had been so busy responding out loud, to the void, that he hadn’t texted Frank back and hadn’t realized this until absolutely bombing his attempts to capture Frank’s attention. Determined to make up for it, he launched into “To The End” at one hundred percent and worked his way up from there. 

Even just a few lines in, Gerard’s manner of performance demanded Frank’s attention. He couldn’t help but to focus his gaze on Gerard as the vocalist made his way towards him.

“This elevator only goes up to ten,” Gerard was standing in front of Frank, dragging his hand across the 100% scrawled bold on his neck in response to the text the guitarist had sent, “He’s not around, he’s always looking at men,” Gerard bit his lip and stared at Frank purposefully in hopes that he recognized the implication of it all before whipping back around to sing to the audience. 

Frank clenched his jaw for a few moments, but he couldn’t help smiling foolishly to himself. Naturally, he understood Gerard’s maddeningly cryptic messages. And he honestly wasn’t sure whether he was gonna knock Gerard senseless, or maybe fuck him senseless that night. He amusedly thought, leave it up to the press to speculate over that one . 

*

Frank let out a miniscule groan, his lips parted as he kissed Gerard heavily, his hand trying to coax it’s way up Frank’s t-shirt. They were stowed away in one of The Roxy’s coat closets (Boston was always good to them), but not because there was no dressing room available. Scrambling managers paired with the scandal of it all made the whole thing funny but, more importantly, kind of definitely super hot. Gerard had Frank pressed back into various coats, their faces grazed by silk and cotton, yellow and pink, striped and spotted. Frank was cushioned by the fabrics as he leaned back against the wall, his knee wedged between Gerard’s legs as the taller all but straddled his thigh. They created fiction, rocking their hips together as they lazily made out, Gerard’s tongue re-familiarizing itself with the back of Frank’s upper teeth. Frank had one hand in Gerard’s hair, holding a fistful back from the side of his sharply angled face, the other slung over his shoulder. His hand rested on Gerard’s back, clutching a mickey of JD’s, the lid long lost and forgotten. Gerard held Frank in a similar fashion, one hand resting on his belly under his shirt, the other around his neck with his forearm against the wall for support, a bottle of jager in his clutch. For 3pm on a show night, they weren’t doing too poorly for themselves. 

Frank pressed into Gerard, clenching his hand in his hair momentarily before loosening up and breaking the kiss. He leaned back and grinned at Gerard, his mouth tasting of whiskey and a medicinal, herbal vodka of sorts. “Why don’t we do this more often, anyway? We have all the time in the world,” Frank pondered aloud. 

Gerard chuckled, still casually rocking against Frank’s thigh. “And yet, we never take the time to sit around and just have a few drinks anymore,” they both cracked up. It was true; Gerard was alway mixing substances or favouring blow over alcohol, so much so that he hadn’t noticed Frank doing the same with his own vice. This felt light in comparison, happy-go-lucky. 

Frank sighed and leaned back, his face hardening slightly. He moved his hand from Gerard’s hair, letting it fall back into his face to thumb at his porcelain jaw. “No shit. Why do you hang out with Bert anyway, when you could be drinking in a dark closet with me?” Frank couldn’t help but smirk a bit. 

Gerard snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a swig from his mickey and leaning down to bite a series of open-mouthed kisses to Frank’s neck. “You know why,” he said somewhat miserably, clearly not in the mood to discuss the details when he had more pressing matters at hand. His fingers persisted, pads running over Frank’s chest greedily. 

Frank sighed, his eyes fluttering as he leaned into Gerard, hands roaming his back. “Mm, I suppose,” he responded noncommittally. “But also, fuck Bert, you should run away with me,” Frank’s crooked grin was apparent even in his voice. Wishful thinking, indeed. 

Gerard laughed against Frank’s neck, biting down and sucking a hickey at the nape, drawing a soft moan from the smaller. He pulled back to admire his work before looking at Frank with an impish smile. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice,” he agreed, amused, “Imagine us, eloping in Mexico, changing our names and dying our hair and being forgotten and looking at the blue ass ocean from the white ass beach with tiny fuckin’ rainbow umbrellas between our toes.” The imagery of Frank in a flashy blue and yellow button up and Gerard sunburnt like a lobster contentedly drinking piña coladas was just too much, sending them both into a wave of laughter. The two shook uncontrollably, losing balance and tumbling, tangled together on the coat closet floor with a handful of jackets and drinks miraculously unspilled. 

As the laughter died down to the occasional chuckle, Frank drank from his bottle and smiled to himself, “That’s the dream.”

Gerard just grinned and shook his head in mirth. He pressed forward to capture Frank in another lengthy kiss, burning the clock away in the dim, musty closet with his drunken, tattooed boy.

After a couple hours of being cooped up with Frank, Gerard was eventually summoned to his ritual with Bert. Gerard had tied Bert over with their immaculate performances together the past few nights, and they were getting on just fine. 

Bert finished his shots and lines first, pulling up with a question, “I was thinking, like, tacos for dinner. What do you think about tacos?”

Gerard was on a different plain though, his far-longer-than 7 minutes in heaven replaying through his head. “Run away with me,” Frank’s request was obviously nothing other than a ludicrous joke, but God, was it tempting. When Gerard finished his evening workout, he replied to the voice in his head with, “Anytime you want.” He’d run away with Frank a thousand times over if it came down to it. 

Bert raised an eyebrow at Gerard. “I mean, that’s a bit extra, but I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he chortled, grabbing a marker. “Tacos for dinner!” he whooped in excitement as he uncapped the sharpie. Bert complained slightly about the length of this phrase, but ultimately managed to make it work, outfitting Gerard’s neck in the words ANYTIME YOU WANT. He replaced the lid onto the marker and grabbed the bottle of jager, heading for the door. “I’m gonna go order food, fuck yeah for Taco Tuesday!” 

Gerard considered Bert as he left. “Tacos…?” he muttered to himself in dubiety. Clearly he’d missed out on a conversation between himself and Bert within the last five minutes. He tried not to dwell too much on his worsening memory.

As My Chemical Romance gathered backstage to open the set, Frank made sure to check Gerard’s neck, out of curiosity if anything. He was keeping everyone on their toes, not just the press. Sometimes his cryptic messages were an enigma even to Frank, but this wasn’t one of those moments. Gerard was playing the beck and call, and there was no way those three words were for anyone other than him; it was just too perfect. He couldn’t help but beam and giggle restrainedly, like a schoolboy over his first love. He playfully smacked Gerard’s arm in approval before settling beside him as they queued to take the stage. “Is that a promise?” Frank murmured, his cheeks warm with delight.

“It’s a threat,” Gerard confirmed in Frank’s ear, cheekily sliding his hand into Frank’s back pocket. And then they were being sent on stage, hip to hip, Gerard’s hand on his ass and, God, the crowd loved it. 

“ONE HAND IN MY POCKET: Emo Boys in Love?” , “ LOVE LETTERS IN SHARPIE: A Detailed Timeline of Gerard Way’s Messages to Guitarist?”, “IS THAT A HICKEY? Gerard Way x Frank Iero???” The press was relentlessly following the tour at this point, starved for a story about the words on his skin. Which, to be fair, they were actually kind of picking up what he was putting down, but he’d never lead on.

Still, the articles gave him a chuckle. “They’ll really latch onto anything, huh?” Gerard laughed as Matt rolled his eyes at the last story especially. Both Frank and Gerard had completely forgotten the hickey was even a thing to begin with. And, certainly Gerard hadn’t walked on stage with his hand in Frank’s pocket with the intention of attracting extra attention but, nonetheless, it had done the trick. 

*

Gerard and Frank were on the ups, sneaking away to confined spaces in order to take part in some debauchery whenever they could manage. Gerard was stringing Bert along just enough to keep the supply going, but he was favouring Frank as of late. The only problem was that they had run into a stint where it seemed that press coverage was eating up all of their free time; so demanding for personal and group interviews. 

Frank sat beside Gerard at yet another group conference in Vegas, bored out of his skull. He’d started his own personal game during the meetings, making it his mission to see how much he could push Gerard’s buttons in the span of each questioning. His hand was nonchalantly running over Gerard’s back, subtle and unseen by the interviewer. He ran his fingertips over Gerard’s spine, turning his face to hide his nose in Gerard’s sheet of hair, nuzzling his ear. He took care not to bump the thick, dark sunglasses off of Gerard’s head. “What would you do to me if I told you nothing was off limits?” Frank whispered against Gerard’s ear, so quiet that even at such a close proximity Gerard had to strain to hear him. They were wearing clip-on microphones, so Frank had taken it upon himself to master the art of whispering.

Gerard tensed, a tiny shudder rippling down his back underneath Frank’s finger pads. As Frank pulled back to smile and nod at the reporter while Ray carried the story, Gerard shot a glare towards Frank. He knew damn well Gerard couldn’t whisper, couldn’t answer that question. This game was so infuriating to Gerard, making him squirm and, worse, making him wait until they got a spare moment to act on any impulses. That often took days with how busy they’d been lately. 

Frank just smiled innocently, kneading Gerard’s back. He spent a while indulging the interviewer who was really trying to pull anything from the posterboys. He made an effort to answer some questions for the both of them so that their manager wouldn’t skin them alive… again. When the questions finally started being directed at Mikey, Frank buried his nose in Gerard’s hair again, smirking and dropping his voice to a sultry whisper, “What if I told you I got a buttplug in Dallas and I’m wearing it right now?”

Gerard tried to keep his facial expressions tame, but he couldn’t help the growing pinkness of his cheeks as Frank triggered the image of himself performing on stage with a plug in his ass, all for Gerard. He shifted uncomfortably as his skinny jeans grew unnaturally tight, covering his lap with his jacket; the room had gotten far too hot for layers at least two whispers ago. Once again, he aimed to attain the effect of sending tiny daggers at Frank in a miserable, tortured glare.

Frank waited for the interviewer to finally wrap up the questions, coaxing a couple of answers from a flustered Gerard. He stood up with the rest of the band after a round of thanks, filing out of the radio lounge to be carted off to the venue. He stared straight forward, smirking, as Gerard’s eyes burned into the side of his head. 

Gerard rode in the very back of the van, sitting next to Frank as the rest of the crew chattered amongst themselves in the front. He casually slid his hand over Frank’s thigh, groping towards the inner with longing. “Was that some kind of sick joke just to get me going?” Gerard muttered, squeezing his thigh.

Frank leaned back against the seat, spreading his legs slightly. “I guess you’ll just have to jump me and find out,” he teased, his voice low and thick. 

Gerard bit his lip, eyes raking over Frank with lust. “Is that a formal invitation?”

“More like a demand,” Frank smirked, taking a page from Gerard’s book.

Gerard hadn’t had time other than that short moment to flirt with Frank, their day had been so hectic, but he always found time for the nightly tradition.

Bert had been on edge for the last week, his mood growing increasingly darker with each passing day that Gerard was tied up with the press, or blowing him off to steal away with Frank. He’d been making snide remarks, but overall letting it boil up until he was fed up completely and chastising Gerard as he divided the rails. “This is getting fucking ridiculous. I’m still seeing articles about that goddamn hickey. Are they true? No, don’t even answer that, they probably fucking are. How fucking selfish can you be? Or maybe I should say careless. Useless,” Bert spat, his voice continually rising the longer he ranted. He grievously poured the shots in one long stream, moving the bottle between cups as the flow splashed onto the table every couple of shots. “I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me? The fucking disrespect, the audacity.” Bert began taking his shots before Gerard had even finished cutting the lines, furious. 

Gerard sat there, taking the assaults on his character with grace. He was getting good at tuning Bert out, at least when he wasn’t shouting at a decibel of ear bleeding rates. Gerard’s mind was honestly a million miles from that room, envisioning Frank in an alley, a venue bathroom, a plush hotel bed-- anywhere-- with his taut ass splayed out for the taking, a smooth plug sitting snug, begging to be teased. But as Bert’s voice rose, Gerard was forced to at least half-listen, the detailed fantasies dissolving from his mind’s eye. He clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance once he had the tray prepped. He started rolling a bill, turning to glower at Bert. “Can you shut the fuck up? I swear to God, Bert,” Gerard snapped, clenching his fists before leaning down to snort his lines. He snatched a couple of shots from Bert’s stockpile between hauls, then savagely pulled up, genuinely ready to fight. “Gonna get it,” he threatened, “Gonna fold your fucking clothes while you’re still in them if you don’t settle the fuck down.” A tiny ass hickey shouldn’t cause anyone to act so out of sorts, but then, Bert was Bert. Gerard was fed up too, though, prepared to stand his ground. But Frank’s innuendos still lurked at the back of his mind and more than anything; he decided the phrase of the night had a dual meaning. 

Bert came up from his last line, a little rattled by the threats. Gerard had stopped him in his tracks, and he couldn’t help but to smile masochistically. “Shit, I didn’t know you had it in you. That’s hot ,” Bert purred as he wrote GONNA GET IT on Gerard’s neck. 

Gerard clenched his jaw, annoyed at the pass, but mostly just glad that Bert had piped down. He loosened his fists. “Whatever you want to call it, just chill the fuck out. You’re giving me a headache,” Gerard scowled at the thought that Bert was probably getting off on being berated by him, so he opted to save the rest of his feral words for another time. 

Gerard managed to escape early from Bert’s currently unbearable company, sparing himself a solid half hour before their set started. He sought out Frank, grinning when he located him in the private artists’ bathroom. “Found you,” he trilled, wrapping his arms around him and going for a kiss.

“Whoa, there,” Frank chuckled, stumbling and causing Gerard to catch just the corner of his mouth. “Thought the plan was after the show,” he teased, propping Gerard upright and brushing his hair out of his face to gaze up at him. 

“Thought I’d get in fifteen minutes of bliss if the opportunity presented itself,” he beamed doltishly, sliding his hands down Frank’s back and grabbing his ass enthusiastically. 

Frank’s eyes widened but he laughed giddily, rather surprised. “ Gee,” he whined, pressing back into his hands, “Don’t be a tease.” 

“That’s real rich coming from you,” Gerard retorted, running his right hand over approximately where the plug would be and pressing a couple of fingers against it through his overworn jeans. He smirked in great satisfaction at the guttural whine he pulled from Frank, imagining how gorgeous he would look all laid out for him when he finally had him alone. Gerard dipped his head down to bite at Frank’s earlobe. “You’re fucking dirty , Iero. Oh,” he leered, squeezing his ass and pressing closer, “And to answer your question from earlier - If there were no limits, I’d tie you up in red rope and gag that pretty little mouth, and I’d fuck you with my fingers until I decide you’ve been good enough to deserve to be fucked for real.” Gerard sucked on Frank’s lobe as the smaller man shuddered, melting in Gerard’s grasp. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, eyelids flitting at the mental image. “You been thinking about the answer to that one all day?” He tried to save face, but Gerard suddenly had him so flustered. 

Gerard smirked, finally letting go of his ass and sliding his hands up Frank’s back, fingers splayed as he pulled back to peer at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased. But yes, Frank had hit the nail on the head, as usual. 

Frank tittered but didn’t give Gerard too hard a time over it, surveying his face in amusement. He raised his eyebrows at the sharpie on Gerard’s neck, sniggering smugly and running his fingers over the big words. “You’re definitely gonna get it tonight,” he agreed, leaning forward to kiss Gerard fervently. 

The streetlights reflected dimly on the Vegas palms that were peppering the main outer downtown streets in the desert twilight. It was pushing 2am when Gerard and Frank finally stumbled into an empty alleyway a couple streets over from the venue. They’d tried earlier, but fans kept stopping them for pictures and autographs. The two were well into their second bottles, and they laughed and hiccupped as they found an area that the street lamps didn’t reach, a recluse in the dark, bricked corner of the backstreet.

Frank couldn’t keep his hands off of Gerard, grabbing at his shirt and mouthing along his jaw as they shuffled into a comfortable position in their hideout. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he whined, aching for Gerard. 

Gerard turned his face to catch Frank’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply in response. His hands flew to Frank’s belt, trying not to fumble too much as he forced the buckle, button, and zipper open. Gerard wasted no time in pushing both Frank’s jeans and boxers down around his knees, spitting in his hand and pushing his thumb over the head of his cock as their tongues met with great need. Gerard had to compel himself to break the kiss as Frank moaned openly into his mouth. “Turn around and let me see that ass ,” he demanded with wild eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Frank said in delight, more or less swinging around as a result of his jeans restraining his knees. He leaned onto the wall and bent slightly at the waist to rest his forearms and palms against the red brick as he shamelessly displayed his pale ass for Gerard.

Gerard used the time Frank was taking to situate himself to undo his own belt, dropping his pants to his ankles and standing behind Frank in his boxers. He purred low in his throat, squeezing his hips. Gerard could’ve fainted when he spread Frank’s ass, so turned on. Leave it to him to choose a buttplug with an onyx stone fitted at the base of it. “Gorgeous,” Gerard breathed, sliding a thumb down his cleft and pushing against the plug. 

Frank groaned, pressing his ass back needily. “Fuck, hurry up,” he pleaded. 

Gerard smirked. “Sorry, just admiring the view,” he wasn’t really sorry. He hooked two fingers around the neck of the plug and slowly eased it out, eliciting a long moan from Frank. He haphazardly dropped it, vaguely hoping it had no sentimental value. “God, you are so fucking hot,” Gerard couldn’t help himself commenting, infatuated with Frank. “Do you have condoms?”

Frank breathed in sharply at the realization, “No.” Both of their wallets were in a locker at the venue. 

“Lube?”

A curse, “No. Fuck.” 

Gerard couldn’t help but laugh. “We’re piss drunk in an alley, you had a plug and I have spit. Next question: D’you care?”

Frank bit his lip hard, absorbing Gerard’s words. Honestly? He wanted this to happen more than he’d ever wanted anything else before. “No,” Frank assented, “Please, please, just hurry up and fuck me.” 

Gerard grunted, only needing to be told once. He spread Frank’s ass again, spitting into his hole and then again into his hand as he pushed down his own boxers. He pumped his hand quickly around his member before guiding it to Frank’s rim. He hissed as he eased his cock inside, taking extra care and stopping to spit often since they were without lube. 

Frank groaned, using all of his strength to stop his knees from buckling at the sensation. He persisted, pressing his cheek against the rough brick and squeezing his eyes shut.

“ Shit ,” Gerard swore, establishing a rhythm as he dug his nails into Frank’s hips. Frank didn’t resist, gasping loudly and making it almost too easy for Gerard to quicken his pace, hard and dirty. Gerard released Frank’s hips, his right hand covering the back of Frank’s hand that was desperately gripping at the wall, their fingers involuntarily intertwining together. His left hand rested in the small of Frank’s back, clutching the tail of his grey t-shirt for leverage, the heel of Gerard’s palm digging into his tailbone as he thrusted wildly. 

Frank cried out as Gerard used the gravity between them to fuck him deeper, hitting his prostate every few thrusts. He was sweating earnestly, biting down on his lip ring so hard that he was sure he was going to leave a dent in the jewelry. 

Gerard breathed vigorously, but worked harder. His left hand slid from the small of Frank’s back to his belly, wrapping around his erection and pumping eagerly, in time with his hips. Gerard pressed himself against Frank’s back, his dress shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, hips bucking erratically as he mouthed wet kisses to the back of Frank’s neck. 

Frank sucked his lips together, biting down on them and whimpering, eyebrows knitted together as he unfurled at Gerard’s will. His thighs shook in an effort to hold himself up and his hips jerked as he came in Gerard’s fist without warning, subconsciously rocking his ass back.

Gerard’s eyes rolled back slightly as Frank clenched around him, his hands flying back to his hips as he fucked into him harder yet. Gerard groaned deeply against the back of Frank’s neck, twitching inside of him as his cum filled Frank’s asshole and his hips jumped in overstimulation. 

Frank gasped and moaned as the warmth spread, but he didn’t protest. His knees started to shake aggressively, sincerely threatening to give way at any second. He sighed in relief and leaned back against Gerard as the taller man securely wrapped his arms around Frank’s chest to keep him standing, and they both grunted as Gerard eased out. Frank let the cum drip onto the asphalt for a few moments as Gerard used a hand to spread Frank’s ass, watching with a possessive look about him. Frank craned his neck back for a long, tender kiss. 

The two of them redressed and took several moments to recoup, dazed from the flurry of sexual tension they’d relieved. Frank reached up and swiped a thumb over the blurred, smudged message on Gerard’s neck that now read as gibberish, entertained. He searched Gerard’s face, admiring his shiny features and mussed hair. “God, I fucking love you,” Frank said with a grin, still a little breathless.  

Gerard leaned down to kiss, pecking him a handful of times on his swollen, bitten lips. “I fucking love you, too,” he reciprocated endearingly, all of the heat from the moment evicted and replaced with a swelling feeling of endless affection for Frank. “We’d better head back before they leave without us,” Gerard snickered to himself after basking in a few beats of contentment. 

Frank laughed lightly as they slowly sauntered back towards the venue, Gerard supporting him as he took each step gingerly. “Our manager’s probably having a fit searching the venue for us right now,” he joked, his arm slung around Gerard’s neck as the orange streetlights exposed them to the night. 

“Let him squirm,” Gerard guffawed, “Worth it.” 

*

“Cunt,” was the first word out of Gerard’s mouth when his head hit the stars and then bounced back into his skull, “Is it just me, or is this coke getting better?”

Bert just laughed maniacally, penning a big, bold, fat CUNT across Gerard’s neck. 

The headlines the next few days were remarkable, really. The likes of “ AUTHORITIES WARN PARENTS: Emo Band Brainwashing Teenagers With Derogatory Language,” and “ GERARD WAY STRIKES AGAIN: Controversial Language Sparks League of Angry Mothers”. Gerard wore a shit-eating grin, arms folded over his chest in triumph as he sat across from a very, very tired manager who was pinching the bridge of his nose and holding one of the many crumpled, abused articles in his clenched fist. 

*

“God, I missed LA,” it was no secret that Gerard had a special place in his heart for the metropolis, and nothing could bring his mood down in this atmosphere.

“ And we have tomorrow off. You know what that means,” Bert grinned, also in high spirits.

“Party tonight,” Gerard answered, beaming.

“Party tonight!” Bert whooped, his grin widening, “And I’ve got plenty of favours.” 

That was at 10am. They were past soundcheck, well into the evening and for the pair, pre-gaming had started hours ago. Gerard was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Bert again, his jaw clenched as he unknowingly grinded his teeth, the bones creaking in protest. His hands shook excessively as he fucked with the impossibly tiny knot that sealed their second gram of the day; the powder was shoved into the corner of a sandwich bag, tied off and cut just above the knot. “Don’t they know cokeheads don’t have the hand coordination for this shit?” Gerard scowled, beyond frustrated. He was chasing a high that only LA could provide him.

Bert laughed, watching Gerard with amusement. “Give it here,” he instructed, holding out his hand, “You pour the shots. It’s almost show time.”

“Shit, really?” Gerard handed over the absurdly small baggie of pearl. Bert worked at the thumbnail sized pouch while Gerard checked the time, shocked at how many hours he’d lost track of. He poured an abundance of shots for the two of them, jager sloshing onto the table every so often due to his unsteady hand.  

Bert had an easier time opening the bag and poured the full contents onto the well-loved tray, crushing and cutting, his movements mechanical. He sat back with satisfaction to look at his handiwork after a few focused minutes.

“Jesus,” Gerard said, arms folded across his chest as his knee bounced erratically. “You trying to fuckin’ kill me?” he gazed at the rows upon rows of rails, the entire gram divided and prepared.

Bert laughed. “Don’t be stupid. Now it’s ready so we don’t have to do it later,” he smirked. 

Gerard raised an eyebrow before breaking into a grin, “Absolute genius.” He rolled his bill, raising a shot to cheers with Bert and tipping it back before snorting his designer dinner. Gerard had to rely on his left nostril because the early afternoon spent abusing his other side had made it so inflamed that the drug was just sitting, coating the base of his right nostril, ineffective and wasted. He actively chose to ignore the fact, willing his left side not to give in on him. With the ritual completed, Gerard turned to Bert, wide-eyed and manic. “ Free,” he announced. “We’re free. We’re invincible ,” Gerard laughed, leaning back contentedly in his chair so that Bert could ink FREE over his neck. LA made him feel like he could never die. 

Gerard performed the set that night high as a kite, but he would argue that it was one of their best shows. Some people, namely Matt, would not agree, but that was beside the point. Afterwards, he was right back to the tray for a re-up before nursing a mickey to himself as he stood side stage to watch The Used play. By the time Bert bounded off set, Gerard was half a bottle down and standing on a slant. “Good fucking show,” he praised, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they returned to the dressing room. 

Bert laughed, walking beside Gerard, “Started without me, huh?” but he was in too good a mood to pick an actual fight over it. 

“I am too fucking drunk,” Gerard announced, his mickey inexplicably empty and his head spinning. 

Bert pushed the dwindling coke tray towards Gerard, laughing at him. “Level out,” he suggested.

Gerard took his advice, rolling and rerolling a five dollar bill at least four times before his unwilling hands cooperated. He leaned down to snort one, two, three lines, stopping when his head was magically cleared and his drunkenness was dulled to a buzz. His thoughts were acute again; Snow White had reeled him all the way back into his shoes and reset him on course for the par. “This shit is magic, I swear ,” Gerard said in awe to Bert’s ringing laughter.

The LA venue had quickly turned into a small joint for a secret afterparty, big names popping in downstairs to pay regards to the lineup. Bert and Gerard, though, had remained in their own little world and had only been paid a visit by those interested in their party favours. At this point, pretty much everyone knew what they were about and also that if the two didn’t want to be found, people shouldn’t waste their efforts looking for them. 

Time started to slide forwards and back, melting away as Bert and Gerard drank themselves stupid and cracked open the third part of the eight ball to keeping grounding themselves. Rinse and repeat. Gerard was losing touch with his surroundings more rapidly with each shot he took, but he was actually enjoying Bert’s company and was in no panic to stop the growing lurching feeling. 

Gerard started to phase in and out of reality, only vaguely aware of the additional lines and drinks he was consuming. His mind was so heavily intoxicated that he was blacking out, partying on with Bert but frequently forgetting where he was and what he was doing. He had never reached this far into oblivion, and he was having the time of his life. 

Frank wasn’t doing too poorly for himself either in terms of picking up Gerard’s slack. He’d gone looking for the lead earlier, politely excusing himself from Billie Joe Armstrong’s company. The whole venue was empty of fans and full of celebrities, a sight to behold. The place had all walks from the industry milling about all areas of the venue; nothing was restricted. But of course, Frank had found Gerard and Bert holed up in Bert’s dressing room, empty mickeys and mini solo cups littering the table. He watched with a constricted feeling in his throat as Gerard ruthlessly indulged, oblivious to anything other than his vices. Frank had turned on his heel and swore to himself that he wouldn’t go looking for Gerard for the remainder of the night unless the taller came looking for him first. He’d managed to push Gerard to the back of his mind with help from a couple of perkies. He was well under the influence, enjoying the company of a small group, half-following a story Pete Wentz was telling. 

“And he drank all of it!” Pete said in regards to… garlic butter, Frank thought? He couldn’t be sure, because it just didn’t make sense for Patrick Stump to be drinking garlic butter, but it got a rise of laughter from those surrounding him. 

Frank chuckled along unclearly, hovering for a while before eventually excusing himself from this conversation, too. “God damn, gotta piss,” Frank joked goodnaturedly, “Broke the seal too early.” The surrounding fellowship assented and slapped his back in fondness as he weaved his way out of the thick of the party. He was pretty sure he’d seen the general venue bathrooms near this lounge, and that would do. 

Frank absentmindedly ran his hand along the wall as he traipsed towards the washroom, pushing open the door and stopping upon hearing the unmistakable sound of head being given. He smirked amusedly, peering under the only stall in the men’s washroom to confirm his suspicions. “Who’s getting lucky?” he teased, putting a hand on the top of the stall door. It was unlocked. Frank was just intoxicated enough to consider it funny to expose the pair, and he wasn’t really thinking all that smartly when he swung open the door, laughing at the prank. 

His face went pale, instant regret washing over him. All he could make of the kneeling subject was the unmistakable sheen of long, greasy, stringy hair as his head bobbed eagerly. And the receiver was none other than Gerard, his pants barely down around his thighs. He sat slumped on the toilet seat, eyes rolling as strangled moans escaped his lips.

Gerard’s right hand tugged unceremoniously at Bert’s hair while his left dangled limply at his side. His mind was on autopilot, body reacting how his brain deduced it should. Gerard tilted his chin back in pleasure and as his eyelids hazily slid open, he made direct eye contact with Frank. Seeing the tattooed guitarist standing outside of the stall jostled Gerard with the realization that the person on their knees was, in fact, not Frank, and that this was all wrong. 

He rapidly tried to remember just how much liquor he’d consumed. Two mickeys? Three? And the blow, God, he couldn’t keep track of it if he tried. He attempted to recall what he was doing before he was in the bathroom or, better yet, how the fuck he had ended up there in the first place, but he was drawing a blank. He couldn’t even dream up the kind of conversation he’d had with Bert to get here, quickly realizing that he had fully blacked out and was only just tuning back in at the sight of Frank. He’d lost God only knew how many hours, and this probably looked really bad. He should be grovelling to Frank, explaining himself, but...  which was worse, losing control of himself so badly that he’d been acting involuntarily, or seemingly purposely letting Bert go down on him? 

All of this jolted Gerard in a split second as Frank’s betrayed eyes pierced his hazel ones, silently demanding an explanation. He opted to take the side of denial, refusing to mentally unpack the connotations behind Bert coaxing him into this situation. “A mouth’s a mouth,” Gerard spat hoarsely, causing Bert to jump a little. He had no idea why he’d felt compelled to lie, but Frank gave him zero seconds to eat his words.

A deeply hurt look spread entirely across his face. “ Fuck you, G,” he gasped as a sharp stab of panic pierced his heart. “Fuck both of you. You’re the worst thing to have happened to us, McCracken,” Frank’s voice caught and he turned abruptly to leave, allowing neither of them time to make excuses.

As Bert lifted his head to smugly watch Frank go, Gerard used a booted foot to shove him back by his shoulder, sending him off his knees and onto his ass. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gerard started, anxiety rising in his voice. 

“What are you talking about?” Bert scowled, picking himself up, “You were loving me a second ago.”

Gerard shook his head, disgusted, “That’s… no, that’s impossible. How did we get here, Bert?” Gerard was exasperated, his voice dripping in accusation.

“You must be kidding me,” Bert’s laugh was beyond mean. “If you can’t answer that, you’re fucked. You wanted me,” he defended himself, unanswering of the question. Bert stood up, staggering slightly as he glared down at Gerard, “Look at you. Fucking pathetic.” He turned to leave but stopped short, spinning back around to throw another gram of blow at an emotionally wounded Gerard’s feet. “Considering the coke whore you’re acting like, you’ll probably need this. Good fucking luck getting it open with those shakes ,” Bert hissed, staring pointedly at Gerard’s sleepless, quaking hands. With that, Bert left him to unsteadily clean and berate himself, wondering the severity of what exactly he had just done (or not done), wide-eyed as his mind raced unforgivingly.

Frank stumbled through the venue halls, vision blurry as he knocked past undistinguished bodies, uncaring. “A mouth’s a mouth,” was screaming in his ears, unmatched by any other sound in his vicinity. He couldn’t believe he had been telling himself it was “just a kiss”. He should’ve known. But then, he and Gerard had never uttered the words “boyfriends”, they had never had any discussion of exclusivity. Was he in the wrong? No, despite how irrational he may be acting, he tried to convince himself that his reaction to the betrayal was valid. No amount of percocets would drown the feeling of his heart being ripped to bits. After everything they’d had together, he felt as if Gerard personally holding a knife to his throat and slowly draining his life would be a less cruel fate in contrast to the trivial comparison of Bert’s mouth to his own. 

Frank aggressively wiped his face of tears, his mind destructive as he carelessly burst into another dressing room. All he knew was that he needed clippers and some bleach, and his best bet was The Used’s guitarist. Quinn had superficial hair dyed as close to platinum blonde as a box could supply. Frank dug through his contents, heart racing as he located Quinn’s shaving kit. He genuinely could not help but laugh through his tears when he actually located a box of dye; these guys were so predictable. Frank grabbed the bleach and clippers from the shaving kit, rubbing his face on his shoulder to catch stray tears as he hightailed it out of the disturbed dressing room. 

Frank made sure to avoid the men’s washroom, assuming Gerard was still enjoying himself. He found his feet taking him to the ladies’ instead. He plugged the clippers into an outlet above the sink and stared at himself in the mirror as he buzzed down the sides of his head, leaving but a quarter inch of fuzz. Frank’s tears were gone, replaced with raw treachery and anger. He clenched his jaw so hard he could envision it snapping off of his skull. He haphazardly finished shaving the sides of his head, achieving a soft mohawk, the remainder of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He glared at his reflection, his fists subconsciously clenched, wrists burning as his knuckles faded to white. Without thought, Frank cried out, pulling a fist back and smashing it into the mirror. The glass cracked rapidly, ricocheting outwards from Frank’s freshly bloodied knuckles and creating a spider web’s effect. The bottom right corner of the pane dangled, holding on for a moment longer before dropping to the ground and shattering at his feet. He pulled back from the blood-spattered mirror, picking a few shards of glass from his aching hand as a couple of stray, angry tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. 

Frank stared at himself in the distorted, jagged mess of mirror. He rubbed the side of his temple for several moments and eventually willed himself to press on. He ripped open the box of bleach, very lightly skimming the instructions before mixing the contents and pulling on the thin plastic gloves that the box provided. He wasted no time slathering the freshly buzzed hair with the bleach, scarily numb and void of emotion at this point. He vaguely wondered if this was what a mental breakdown felt like. Still Frank stood there in the women’s washroom, working the bleach into his hair, eyes practically unblinking. 

He was nearly done applying the dye to his hair when an intruder entered the bathroom, proving to be equally as surprised as Frank was. “Whoa. There’s a lot to unpack here,” the woman chuckled, if not slightly nervous. Then a look of comprehension dawned on her face, “...Frank?” she said, unsure solely because of the bleached, somewhat bloody state that he was in. “I’m Jamia. We met briefly at the album release, I think? I was with the stylists.”

“Oh, yeah,” Frank said vaguely, wondering if she was about to whip around and tell security that one of the hosts was having a breakdown in the women’s washroom. 

Jamia took another cautious step towards Frank, who looked like a deer in headlights, “Are you okay? Can… can I at least help you? Looks like you missed a spot,” she gingerly pointed with a black fingernail to a dark patch of hair that Frank couldn’t see. 

Frank’s face softened a little and he shuffled his feet, deciding, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” His responses were coming from a shell, destroyed by heartbreak. It wasn’t at all the energetic, excitable demeanor Jamia recalled. 

She closed the space between them, gently guiding him to stand in front of the second (and last) unbroken mirror. “For starters, it might help if we use a functional mirror,” she teased, smiling warmly and squeezing Frank’s shoulders comfortingly, “Now, give me the bleach and clippers so I can fix this up.” 

*

“ BLONDE BOY: Frank Iero’s Breakdown”, “FROM PUNK TO EMO: MCR Guitarist Changes Pace”, “INVERTED SKUNK: We Can’t Tell if We Love or Hate It”. Mikey sighed at the incessant headlines, wishing he could shield Frank and keep him in the dark. Of course, the press will latch onto anything, but when a dude is at an underground party and emerges from a women’s washroom with a completely different hairstyle - well, word gets around quickly in Hollywood. “They’ll forget about it in a week. Besides, the fans have been going nuts over you. It looks good, dude,” Mikey consoled a gloomy Frank, squeezing his shoulder. 

Frank sighed harshly and rubbed the heel of his hand against the blonde fuzz; he’d been subconsciously doing that a lot lately. “That’s the least of my worries,” he mumbled, refusing to meet Mikey’s eyes.

Mikey was quiet for a few moments, weighing his options. Ultimately, he dared to ask, “Was it Gee?” 

Frank tensed slightly at the mention of the name, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching his nose at the unpleasant images replaying in his brain. “Of course it was,” Frank confirmed, “What else could it be?” he leaned into Mikey who wrapped his arms around him without hesitation. 

Mikey sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek and rubbing Frank’s upper arm. Gerard was making him embarrassed, worried, annoyed, disheartened, the list went on. He felt for Frank. “D’you wanna talk about it over some scripts?” he smiled sadly, empathetically pressing a little orange bottle of pills into Frank’s hand. 

Frank reluctantly concurred, swallowing a pill and shifting to lay his head in Mikey’s lap. He let his legs dangle over the couch’s arm while they lounged around the dressing room, waiting for the effects to kick in. Frank honestly wasn’t sure what city they were in anymore; with Bert around, every venue was starting to feel the same no matter where they went. He closed his eyes and let Mikey run his fingers through his hair, soothed. Mikey occasionally traced Frank’s browbone to his temple and proceeded to massage his fingertips against Frank’s buzzcut, patient and gentle. 

Eventually, the strain and anxiety worked its way out of Frank’s face and he managed to start piecing thoughts together as he tried to make sense of it all. “He said, ‘ a mouth’s a mouth’,” Frank finally whispered, eyes still closed because he couldn’t bear to look at Mikey. He found himself launching into a retelling of his perspective, how he was pretty sure Gerard had been playing him like the fool he was, making Frank believe he’d been anything more than a warm body, a plaything. Just like Bert. 

Frank lost track of himself a few times as tears started leaking from his eyes. Mikey listened with disgust, eyebrows knitted as he tenderly wiped away each tear that slid down the sides of his face. Frank stopped frequently to take shuddering breaths and Mikey attempted to continue to wipe away the tears but they were flowing earnestly now. He resolved to thumb at the sides of Frank’s face every few seconds instead, securely cradling his jaws in his hands. Mikey rested his right elbow on his own thigh, his left lightly on Frank’s chest. Frank gripped Mikey’s forearm as if grounding himself, glad for the encasement. Being held like this was the only thing other than the percocet that was keeping him from spiralling into a full blown panic attack, possibly the only thing keeping the very air in his lungs and heart in his chest.

Frank let out a few strangled sobs as he neared the end of his depiction of the night, pressing his cheek into Mikey’s palm for solace. He gave them both a chuckle as he detailed how he stole Quinn’s dye and, yes, had his little breakdown in the ladies’ washroom. When the words stopped spilling after a mention of Jamia, Frank’s eyes fluttered open, vision blurry. “So… yeah,” he trailed off, drained from recounting the painfully fresh memories. 

Mikey drew a deep breath, finding it easier to offer physical comfort rather than verbal. That was where Ray came in with his elegant way of involuntarily forcing a smile onto anyone’s face. Instead, he just said what came to mind first, “Frankie, I’m so, so sorry that my brother can be such a fucking prick sometimes.” 

Frank laughed a little, reaching up to squeeze Mikey’s shoulder. He honestly felt a weight lifted off of his chest; he hadn’t spoken of the party in detail until this moment. “Thanks, Mikey,” Frank said softly, appreciative. 

*

A week had passed and the air between Gerard and the rest of the band was still frigid. Despite the degree of knowledge of Frank’s episode, they’d all taken the defensive, speaking to Gerard as little as possible. Frank was heartbroken, unable to even make eye contact. Ray was annoyed and playing the tough love trope, and Matt was just straight up pissed off. Mikey was feeling a little bit of everything; he was sick of the elephant in the room, Gerard’s blatant disregard for them, and the tense, wordless moments between interviews and shows. More importantly, even more rumours were starting to float around, alleging trouble in paradise both within the band, and in attempt to link Frank’s breakdown to Gerard. 

It was inevitable, and eventually it was Mikey’s turn to corner Gerard backstage, unable to silently let him self-destruct. If the manager couldn’t get through to him, maybe Mikey could. “We need to talk,” he said, catching even himself off guard with how demanding his voice sounded. 

Gerard’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “What about?” he replied, laying the innocence on thick. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Where have you been, Gee?” Mikey wasn’t expecting to head off course so quickly, but there he was, smacking Gerard upside the head and frankly, not regretting it. 

“Ow!” Gerard scowled, rubbing his temple and ear. He adjusted his attitude, trying out a different perspective, “Okay… well, clearly I’ve not been with the band. It’s fucking freezing in here. What gives?” If Gerard slowed down enough to admit it, he couldn’t deny the rejection he was feeling. 

“ Seriously?” Mikey pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses sliding down. He drew a levelled breath, trying to remind himself that Gerard wasn’t seeing clearly these days. “When’s the last time we had a proper conversation? Before tour? Before the tour before this one? I’m your fucking brother, man,” Mikey couldn’t mask the genuine hurt in his voice.

Gerard’s cocky manner faltered at the honesty Mikey was serving him. “I…” he trailed off, gnawing on his lip. Suddenly riddled with guilt, he couldn’t bring himself to continue deflecting. “I’m sorry, man. I… I got lost on the way,” Gerard frowned, staring at his feet, “So fucking lost.” He didn’t need to explain further, they both knew. 

Mikey’s face softened a bit and he unclenched his jaw, “Fuck, dude, we miss you. I miss you. And do you even know what you’re doing to Frank?” 

Gerard looked away at the mention of Frank, hating himself. “Yeah. I know,” he deadpanned. A couple of tears made their way down his white, thinning face. He didn’t know what else to say. He had no idea how to fix things with Frank.

Mikey pursed his lips, hurting for Gerard. He abruptly hugged him, his arms more or less crushed to his side underneath Mikey’s. “I’m sorry it went down like this,” he mumbled against Gerard’s shoulder, empathetic. 

Gerard’s eyes widened in surprise and he lifted his arms as much as he could to pat Mikey’s back, kind of just letting it happen and relaxing into the hug. He closed his eyes, a few more unsolicited tears slipping. “Me too,” he agreed. Gerard wanted so badly to patch things up, but he had no idea where to start or what to say to any of them. He felt estranged and dejected, at a loss, but he was also semi-thankful. If anything, his brother had planted a seed worth considering, and it crossed Gerard’s mind for just a split second to hit the breaks and ditch the chemical lifestyle. 

Gerard was trying, but not very hard. When he and his brother parted ways, Gerard spent a long time in his dressing room thinking about what Mikey had said. He considered a life of sobriety, trying to picture what that would look like. He tried to come up with what he would say to Frank; certainly it had to be something better than the weak ass material he supplied Mikey. He sat around waiting for show time, biting his nails, chainsmoking, and picking at his arms as he tried to convince himself he didn’t need substance to play the set. But like clockwork, when the allotted time rolled around, Gerard’s craving was insatiable. He couldn’t bear it any longer. His arms were peppered in pin sized droplets of blood from his ceaseless picking. He couldn’t be distracted from the burning need for a bump.
There was only one problem; he and Bert weren’t speaking either. He’d spanned out the gram Bert had thrown at him for as long as he could, trying to be conservative with his use, but it was gone within a few days. He’d broken into Bert’s dressing room once already, rooting around for another and finding it without too much of an effort. Bert hadn’t said anything about it, but now that powder was gone too. Gerard wondered how many times he could get away with stealing before he got himself into trouble. Still, his appetite was stronger than his will to call it quits, and his feet quickly carried him to Bert’s quarters. 

Gerard cracked the door, peering in. He was relieved to find it empty and let himself in, expecting to have to look even harder for the blow this time around. But to his surprise, Gerard found a neat little baggie sitting on the table, as if inviting him. It was like Bert knew he would come back for more, was expecting him, and had no qualms continuing to supply. Gerard didn’t dwell on it for too long, avoiding getting into the nitty gritty of Bert’s intentions. Instead he counted it as a blessing, swiping the pearl from the table and heading back to his own dressing room to indulge in the tradition on his lonesome. 

Gerard went through the motions, rationing himself less than he would’ve liked, but enough to get him through the set. When he finished the task, he pulled his head up, staring at himself in the mirror over the vanity he sat at. He felt instant regret and guilt, resenting himself for continuing to let down Mikey, Frank, everyone. “Miss you,” he whispered to the dead air, feeling so fucking alone. Tour might as well be a jail cell at this point. 

He located a sharpie and focused with great effort as he attempted to write MISS YOU across his own neck. His lines were shaky but he got the job done, sitting back to look at his handiwork. It would do just fine. 

Gerard stood back stage, tapping his foot repeatedly as he waited for the rest of the boys to queue up for the show. They’d been making a habit of showing up last minute as a group, giving Gerard cold stares but no words. He was anxious that they’d be able to tell he was high after Mikey had literally just given him shit for it. He was a liar and a fake full of wishy washy promises. Gerard huffed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forbidding the thoughts as the rest of the band showed face. He gave a half-hearted smile but was met with minimal enthusiasm. 

Mikey caught sight of Gerard’s neck and frowned, stepping forward to get a closer look. “ Dude ,” he said, unimpressed and exasperated. 

Gerard frowned, confused, “What?” Was it really that obvious?

Mikey rolled his eyes, annoyed. Yeah, he could tell Gerard was high, “The S’ are fucking backwards.” 

Gerard’s eyes widened in realization and horror. The god damn mirror. Every letter in MISS YOU was perfectly symmetrical… except for the S’. So his neck read off MI ƧƧ YOU, and he had absolutely no time to fix it. “I-” Gerard started, but Mikey turned away from him without another word, appalled. He bit his tongue, his heart full of dread and self-loathing. 

Gerard didn’t have much time to think of anything more because they were being ushered on stage. He obliged, playing his part and trying to center himself around putting on a good show for the fans instead of dwelling on the plethora of demons that were presently assaulting his mental health. He had stopped attempting to interact with the rest of the band a few shows ago because they wouldn’t entertain his antics, resolved in their own instruments. He had started to save himself the embarrassment by associating with the fans more than usual, as much as possible, really. 

“Where the searchlights find us drinking on the mausoleum floor,” that night as he launched into Cemetery Drive, Gerard turned towards Frank, uncaring of whether he was given the time of day, “And you found me on the bathroom floor,” Gerard intentionally changed the lyrics as he sang to Frank.

Frank’s cheeks burned, but he refused to meet Gerard’s broken eyes, staring down at the strings as his fingers worked along the neck of his guitar. Frank had started going all out, his eyes painted red with giant black X’s across his lids. If the press wanted to call him emo, he’d make it his entire personality. 

“I miss you, I miss you so far,” Gerard sang, sweating, tears possibly mixing with the sweat as Frank ignored him. He felt so raw pining after the guitarist, “And the collision of your kiss that made it so hard…” Gerard turned back to the crowd, singing the beginning of the next verse earnestly with them before returning to Frank. “So I won’t stop dying… can’t stop lying, if you want I’ll keep on crying,” he dropped to his knees and Frank caught a proper glimpse of him, tears involuntarily sliding down Gerard’s cheeks from the effort to form a connection with him, “Did we get what we deserved? Is this what you always want me for?” 

Frank bit his lip ring, unable to help himself from gazing at Gerard in this state. His heart ached so badly as he desired for things to return to the way they once were. He missed Gerard and was sorry, too, but he wasn’t sure if that would ever be enough. How could they even fix something like this, let alone by doing it publicly, on stage, within a song?

Gerard dragged his hand across his neck, exposing the semi-backwards ink to Frank, just thankful that he hadn’t turned away. “Well, I miss you…” he was practically shouting, grovelling at Frank’s feet, trying so hard to apologize somehow . He could only hope he got the message across, because he was finding it alarmingly impossible to read Frank’s face. He’d never felt more divided from his best friend. 

When their encore ended, Gerard walked off the set, heart beating wildly. He passed by Bert who shot a knowing smirk in his direction. Gerard averted his eyes, feeling culpable and predictable. To his dismay, Frank beelined away from him once they were off stage. He didn’t take the time to seek Gerard out or even so much as comment on his personalized performance of Cemetery Drive: good, bad, or indifferent. Instead, the tattooed boy evaded his company, noiselessly crushing his spirits and leaving him feeling abandoned. Naturally, there was only one way Gerard knew how to cope with Frank’s dismissal. 

*

Frank was walking with Ray through a park in Seattle. Between the interviews, the shows, the repetitive dressing rooms, and the bad blood, they both needed a breather from it all. Ray held a used and reused plastic water bottle in his hand, the label ripped and crinkled from often refilling it with a sterile-smelling clear liquid. He wasn’t one to flaunt his vices, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his faults. He took a swig from the crumpled bottle, unwincing, as he walked beside his short companion; Frank was none the wiser. Frank filled Ray in on the broader details of his heartache as they walked underneath the canopy of enormous hundred-year-old trees, their full, lush boughs acting like natural umbrellas that barely resided above their heads. Frank was pleasantly surprised and relieved that when he officially came out to Ray in the same fashion as he had come out to Mikey, the towering man wasn’t phased. Ray even acted almost expectantly to hear Frank finally utter about his hopeless attachment to Gerard. He was somehow always a step ahead, in the know, an inexplicably wise and old soul. 

Ray listened thoughtfully as Frank glossed over the big picture, catching him up and filling him in on the missing pieces. Dirt and gravel crunched under their feet as the sun shone through the thick green leaves of the covered path, starting to set in a pink glow over the calm horizon. Frank tapered off from his rant about Gerard’s most recent betrayal, but Ray was considering it from another perspective. He knew Gerard too, after all. “Have you tried talking to G at all, nugget?” he inquired as gently as he could, not wanting it to land as an accusation. 

Frank pursed his lips, peering up at Ray’s knowing face. Damn him. “Why you gotta call me out like that?” Frank half-smiled, nudging into Ray and kicking rocks as they meandered towards the sunset. 

Ray smiled back, wrapping an arm around Frank’s shoulders in slight amusement. “That’s what I thought. Have you considered that it may not be exactly what it looked like?” he pondered, playing the devil’s advocate. 

Frank looked at Ray in confusion, “What else could it possibly be? You know what he said, and I definitely wasn’t imagining what I saw .” 

“And you know Gerard ,” Ray countered, his eyes wandering back to the broken rays of sunset, “Something just doesn’t feel right, Frankie. I really think you should talk to him. Just… ask,” he advised, “Because, honestly? I don’t think he meant it. Not after seeing him the other night.” Ray’s curls bounced freely as they paced, softening his aura. 

Frank frowned, unbelieving, “Are you talking about when we played Cemetery Drive? What, you don’t think that was an act?”

Ray stopped abruptly, pulling Frank up short with him as he turned to look at the doubtful man. “A fool could barely be paying attention and still be able to tell that Gerard is killing himself over this, over you. And I know you’re no fool,” Ray said, wholeheartedly believing his own words. “ Just ask ,” he urged again, almost chiding him, his hands moving to squeeze Frank’s shoulders in emphasis. 

Frank’s cheeks flushed faintly and he looked up into Ray’s mahogany eyes, feeling squeamish in the presence of his unfaltering confidence. “Okay…” Frank said softly, reluctantly. He huffed, “ Okay, okay,” a bit more emphatically upon Ray’s disapproving look. “I’ll talk to him,” Frank promised. 

“Atta boy,” Ray swelled, enveloping Frank in a giant bear hug, lifting him off of his toes and easily ignoring any stares. Frank couldn’t help but laugh. Ray would just be glad if he and Gerard finally cleared the air so that the band could comfortably hang out again. He didn’t let it get to him very much, but Ray sometimes felt like an afterthought too. He missed the simpler days that involved nothing but an ounce of weed and a group of friends surrounding a gaming table littered with DnD character sheets. 

Frank and Ray managed to catch a last glimpse of the Seattle sunset before hitching it back to the venue. Frank thanked his friend for the brief reprise from the mundane, and parted to find Gerard as he promised Ray he would. He paced mindlessly around the venue for a while, anxiously putting off the task. When he couldn’t procrastinate any longer, Frank headed for Gerard’s dressing room, hoping he wouldn’t find him in the middle of anything. He let out a breath of slight relief when he peered in and saw Gerard just sitting around killing time, but he felt a pang of guilt too. He seemed so antsy and lonely . 

Frank knocked on the door frame and pushed the door open slightly, causing Gerard’s head to shoot up, eyes wild and startled. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, let alone Frank, but immediately stood up, trying to remember a shred of his manners. “Frank,” he breathed, unsure of his intentions but glad to see him regardless, “Come in,” he invited.

Frank smiled lopsidedly at Gerard’s insecure demeanor, letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. God, he wanted so badly to close the space between them and kiss Gerard, to hug him, breathe him in. It had been weeks since they’d had a moment of shared joy. Instead, Frank cautiously stepped forward, getting a good look at him for the first time in what felt like forever. As Gerard watched him nervously, waiting for him to say something, Frank drank in his sickly features. He was shocked to find Gerard had grown so gaunt in such a short time, his face thin and white as snow, eyes sunken and sleepless. He wondered if the red makeup was making his eyes look extra strained around the edges, or if it was everything else that was happening. Gerard held his breath as Frank searched his face, both of their hearts beating rapidly over all of the possible things Frank could open with. The entire situation was in his control. But something about the way Gerard’s face looked akin to a stray dog, kicked and beaten, told Frank that Ray was right. Something much worse had happened, something was wrong. 

Frank took another few steps toward Gerard, gingerly taking both of his hands into his own, thumbing at his knuckles. Gerard’s hands were ice cold and vibrating. “Did you really mean it?” Frank whispered. Of all the things he could’ve said first, and he chose a selfish focal point, albeit one that had been haunting him. But he didn’t even ask if Gerard was okay? Stupid. 

Gerard furrowed his brows and cocked his head somewhat to the side, trying to catch up to where Frank’s mind was at. “Mean what?” he asked, unsure of the context. Was he asking about Cemetery Drive?

Frank squeezed his eyes shut for a second, feeling heat in his cheeks, embarrassed. “Mouth’s a mouth,” Frank whispered, his voice reluctant and barely audible. 

Gerard’s eyebrows shot up in realization and he immediately squeezed Frank’s hands. “Frankie… no, God, I’m so sorry ,” he choked.

Frank averted his eyes, looking at the floor and considering breaking their grasp. “You seemed like you meant it,” he said, voice gravelly with pain. 

Gerard clutched Frank’s hands intensely, just wanting to pull him forward into an embrace. “I think… I think I blacked out,” Gerard finally admitted, both to himself and Frank, frowning deeply. “I’ve never been that far gone before, Frank… I… I lost a shit ton of time,” Gerard was breathing a bit raggedly, everything about his body language begging for Frank to believe him. He didn’t want this to sound like a piss poor excuse, but he was paranoid that it did. 

Frank frowned too, meeting Gerard’s desperate eyes, yielding to him, “So… what do you remember?” he asked, rather afraid of the answer. 

Gerard chewed on the inside of his cheek, dreading having to think about it, let alone answer the question aloud. He owed Frank that much, though, and shakily started trying to navigate his memory. “The last thing I remember before you found me, I was in the dressing room. I swear , we were there all night. But then we weren’t, and literally next thing I was seeing you. I was gone until you walked in on us and… and I panicked when I said that,” Gerard frowned. “I… I don’t know how I got there. I don’t remember even flirting with Bert. I…” Gerard trailed off, horror dawning on his face. “When you left, I kicked Bert off, and he wouldn’t tell me how we got there… He just said that I wanted him,” Gerard’s face was somehow whiter than before. 

Frank frowned deeply, realizing what Gerard was trying to say, “You mean…?”

“Only Bert knows what actually happened,” Gerard breathed, looking at Frank with genuine panic. “Frankie, what did I do ?” Gerard’s voice caught in his throat, trying so hard to remember but, still, coming up with nothing. 

Frank’s face hardened at Gerard’s explanation. Everything was sliding into place, making sense. Of course he’d been wrong, jumped the gun. It was so much worse than his initial assumption, and it was Frank that had proven to be the selfish prick. He hated himself for shutting out Gerard without explanation, feeling reproachable. “You didn’t do anything wrong. G, I’m so fucking sorry,” Frank said, immediately releasing Gerard’s hands and pulling him into a tight hug instead, “This is all on Bert. Fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner. I’m so sorry,” Frank whispered into Gerard’s hair, the connotations hitting him like a brick, too.

Gerard instantly started crying, assaulted with relief, fear, confusion. Now that he was uncovering the implications of what had happened at the party, he felt dirty and... unfaithful. “No, I’m sorry Frankie, I fucked up so bad. I drank too much, it’s my own fault. It wouldn’t have ever happened if I didn’t black out. It’s my fault, my fault, I’m so fucking sorry, it’s my fault,” Gerard clung to Frank, his breath shuddering with anxiety as he worked himself up, scared of himself and even more-so of Bert. 

Frank couldn’t stop the lump in his throat, his own tears spilling over at the sound of Gerard’s wretched repenting. He hugged him harder before pulling back, taking Gerard’s blotched face in his hands. Frank looked at him earnestly, shaking his head vigorously, “Holy shit, don’t apologize, I had no idea… I thought... It’s not your fault, Gee. Bert, he… he took advantage of you. We’ll cut Guys Like Us… from the setlist. Fuck him. Don’t cry, Gee, we’ll fix this,” he said helplessly, tears hypocritically streaming down his own cheeks. 

Gerard shook his head too, pressing his cheek into Frank’s palm. God, he’d missed his touch. “I’ll get sober,” Gerard said pleadingly, “I’ll never do blow or drink again. I’m so sorry, Frankie, I swear I’ll get clean and this will never happen again.” 

Frank smiled sorrowfully at the empty promise, knowing better. “Even if you don’t,” Frank evaded the proclamation, “I’ll still love you, forever,” he said softly.

Gerard’s face wavered slightly at Frank’s disbelief, but he focused on the pledge, whispering, “And ever?”

“And ever,” Frank promised, “Until the day we’re both in the ground.”

Gerard’s tears were slowing, heart no longer threatening to burst from his chest. “But… I’m the only one that makes you cry,” he said uncertainly, afraid that Frank was speaking out of sympathy and not genuity. 

“Yeah… you’re a heart attack in black hair dye,” Frank agreed sadly, but he pressed forward and kissed Gerard firmly, their lips both damp from tears. 

Gerard’s breath caught at the abruptness and he kissed back needily, his hands knotting in the back of Frank’s shirt. 

When Frank pulled away, he smiled softly at Gerard, thumbing away the stray tears on his cheeks, “What’s love without a little pain, anyway?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard agreed weakly, smiling half-heartedly and gently rubbing at Frank’s fuzz. “The blonde looks really good, by the way,” he complimented, eliciting a surprised laugh from Frank. 

Frank and Gerard walked, hand in hand, to queue for the set. Mikey and Ray were both more than relieved that they’d finally cleared the air, and had helped the boys go through the logistics of removing Guys Like Us… from the setlist. In theory, they’d just nix it, but because it was part of the tour deal, they’d had to jump through hoops in the short time they had allotted before the set. Eventually their manager caved and somehow made things work once Frank started threatening to bite someone.

After that issue was squared off, Frank followed Gerard back to his dressing room, trying to make up for lost time by not leaving his side. Gerard eventually broke down, making excuses (“Been getting the shakes real bad”) to indulge in a toned-down version of the ritual. Gerard painfully rationed himself only two lines and three shots. 

Frank knew it was coming, and he had chosen to stick around, so he turned away to allow some privacy, accepting Gerard’s explanation without flack. Frank smiled a little as Gerard pulled up with, “And ever.” He thumbed at his jaw with mixed feelings before inking AND EVER across his neck for him. 

They painted their faces together, Gerard borrowing Frank’s black makeup to darken the entire strip across his temples, eyes, and the bridge of his nose while Frank smeared red around his eyes and drew charcoal X’s across his lids. 

As they stood, waiting for their cue to play, Bert stormed towards them with fury in his face, having caught wind of the altered setlist. “How fucking dare you?” He spat, beyond pissed off, “ My band is the only reason you’re famous, and how the fuck do you think the press is going to react to this?” He was practically yelling. 

Gerard’s eyes widened and he flinched in distress, Bert’s voice mirroring his tone from the night in question. 

Frank gripped Gerard’s hand tightly in solidarity, unmoving. “Fuck you, Bert. You had it coming,” Frank stood their ground. 

“I’ll fucking sue for broken contract. I’ll have you kicked off tour, you unstable fucking brat, ” Bert threatened, his voice poison. 

“ Fuck you ,” Frank snarled, “No one likes a rapist,” he was a little shocked by himself, but he figured that if it weren’t for him walking in when he did, Bert would be as good as one, “Touch G ever again and I’ll make sure you have just enough life left in you to regret it.” 

“Rapist? Please ,” Bert barked a mean laugh as his eyes wandered to Gerard. “ Really , that’s what you’re telling everyone? So you’re a slut and a liar,” he accused a shaken, unstable Gerard, “No one will believe you anyway. You’re just another fucking addict.”   

Frank glared daggers, fed up. He let go of Gerard and started forward, swinging his arm back and clipping Bert in the jaw as hard as he could with his closed fist. “Shut the fuck up, Bert, G didn’t say shit . You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Frank defended, his voice surpassing Bert’s in lethality. 

Bert gasped and held his jaw, spitting blood onto the grimy backstage floor. His face was rigid as he looked at Frank, fuming. Bert turned away, growling, “My manager will fucking hear about this.” 

“Bite me,” Frank hissed back, shaking out his throbbing hand and rounding on Gerard. “Ignore him,” he huffed, his voice suddenly quiet and gentle, “Are you okay?” He put a hand over the AND EVER on Gerard’s neck, worried he’d said too much and hurt Gerard in the process. 

Gerard smiled asymmetrically at Frank, mostly just grateful for his unwavering defence. “God... I love you,” he uttered, refusing to acknowledge any gawking bystanders. 

Frank grinned warmly, catching Gerard in a short, sweet kiss. “I love you, Gee. Just play your heart out tonight, remember what this is all supposed to be about.”

--

Frank let out a long breath, having dwelled a bit too heavily on the memories from that tour. It felt so far away now, yet still so fresh. He’d been sitting in the grass for hours, the autumn sun beating over his head and making his few stray grey hairs glisten in the daylight. “God, that had to have been the messiest tour we’ve ever done. Things were just so… fucked up by the end of it,” Frank said as he thought back on it, shaking his head, “Shaving my head was really just the tip of the iceberg, wasn’t it?” 

Gerard nodded in agreement, “That’s for sure. But Bert’s manager took our side, remember? Couldn’t do anything about the setlist because of the party.” 

“I’m not really sure if that’s a good thing,” Frank smiled guiltily. It was a bit painful to think of Gerard’s assault and how loudly Frank’s younger self had handled it, without any actual permission from Gerard.

“We had enough to worry about without adding a legal battle with The Used to it all. You probably saved us in the long run. Are you really still beating yourself up about all of that?” Gerard frowned as he tried to read Frank’s shift in mood. 

Frank averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s probably my fault they treated us like shit until the end of the tour after that. Matt was pissed .” 

“Fuck him, anyway,” Gerard joked, “He was a different breed, giving up on the band like that.” 

--

My Chemical Romance sat around a decent little studio lounge in Belleville, Jersey, wracking their brains for new song ideas. The record label had given them at least another year of touring before they had to produce anything of value, but they were always wanting to get ahead of the curve and pump out new content if they had the means. 

Ray and Frank were sitting on a dusty orange couch with their heads together, plucking out a rough riff to something along the lines of Mama, but the creative match just wouldn’t spark and their idea puttered out after about an hour. 

Mikey was sitting on a worn leather stool in the glassed-in recording room, fingering the lines to The Black Parade’s title track, a solid demo they actually almost had ready. There was just one problem: Matt. He kept scrunching his nose up at a specific riff Mikey was playing, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in obvious disapproval. Mikey could see Matt sitting behind the drum set from his peripherals, his face aggressively Holier Than Thou. Eventually Mikey had to drop the riff to address it. “Do you have a fucking problem?” he snapped, annoyed.

Matt raised his hands in mock defense, shrugging, “I mean, I already stated that the one riff is junk but no one would hear of it. So, carry on. Might be nice if we could just get the demo over with. Maybe if Gerard would stop disappearing to chain smoke,” he ranted bitterly. 

Mikey grinded his teeth, irritated. He glared at Matt, standing up and setting his bass on an empty guitar stand. “I’ll go find him,” he said through gritted teeth, “Maybe stop being such a hypocrite and make yourself useful by getting ready to start tracking.”

Matt scoffed incredulously, “By doing what? I’ve been ready.” 

“I don’t know, tune the fucking drums,” Mikey said as he opened the thick, dual door that soundproofed this room from the engineer’s lounge. He shut the door again, closing Matt off from the rest of them. “Where the hell’s Gerard?” Mikey asked, patience thin. 

Frank and Ray looked up from their musical doodling. Ray raised an eyebrow at the disheveled air about him, “What’s up with you?”

Frank looked over at Gerard’s spot, papers packed with scribbled lyrics and ashtray full to the brim, but his plush chair empty. “Dunno,” Frank answered, turning back to Mikey. 

Mikey groaned and dragged his hands over his face, walking past the both of them without answering Ray. He let himself out of the lounge and walked past the mastering suite, past the kitchenette that the audio engineer was smoking weed in. Mikey paused to pop a much needed percocet and opened the door to the still, Jersey evening, entering the alley that the studio led off to. He sighed when he caught sight of Gerard doing rails on the hood of Ray’s car. “ Dude ,” Mikey complained when he’d finished, predictably watching Gerard jump in reaction to his voice, “ Really ?”

Gerard turned around, smiling sheepishly, “The engineer started complaining about the frequency of my bathroom breaks.” 

“So you decided out here would suffice,” Mikey deadpanned, sighing. He shook his head to put himself back on track, “Can we just get in the studio? At least get the Black Parade demo tracked? Then we can be done for the night. Matt is driving me up the fucking wall.”

Gerard frowned, “Yeah, what’s up his ass lately, anyway?” he pondered, snapping back to the task at hand upon catching Mikey’s impatient stare, “Oh, yeah, right. Let’s go,” Gerard assented, following Mikey back into the studio to collect the now-stoned engineer, as if things couldn’t get any more chaotic. 

The band had started out with whole takes, the five of them playing through the full five minutes. They worked the most stripped down version of the song, using only their core instruments for the demo. Gerard, however, insisted on taking more bathroom breaks between every other run, and it was wearing on everyone’s nerves due to how much it slowed the process. Eventually the engineer put the boys on shifts, collecting content from one or two at a time while the others sat on the couch behind the mixer, trying to kill time. 

The engineer quickly realized that if Gerard was in the studio with Frank, he could be kept on topic for some time longer, so he attempted to pair them up as much as possible. He had to keep Matt in the booth pretty much the entire session solely due to how uncooperative and stubborn he was, always taking away from each attempt. It was Matt who abruptly stopped playing the most, cringing at a string of notes Frank would play or Gerard would sing. The dynamic was shifting; as Frank kept reigns on Gerard, the general annoyance was directed towards Matt, in line with Mikey’s exasperation. They were all starting to grasp what a pain Matt was being over this demo, his musical preferences clashing immaturely with the others’. 

It was Gerard who broke the militant atmosphere, rounding on Matt when he had once again stopped his performance in the middle of the song. “God dammit Matt, even if you fucking hate it, or miss a beat, just keep fucking playing, man. That’s, like, literally the first rule of recording,” Gerard glared, letting Frank instinctively grip his wrist for security. 

Matt rolled his eyes, “That’s rich, coming from you. I thought the first rule of recording was to get through more than three takes without snorting your paycheck away.” Matt’s blatant insult caused Frank to gasp. Ray and Mikey stood up abruptly, starting towards the dividing glass. The engineer hit the mute button on their microphone channels, considering it none of his business (plus, he didn’t need a 4 on 1 mutiny on his hands).

Gerard clenched his fist and glared at Matt, “Is that what this is about? Because I’m not the one that’s being an absolute bitch and refusing to do my job entirely,” he snarled.

Matt stood up, fed up. He threw his drumsticks on the ground, kicking the drumming stool aside and causing a cymbal stand to crash to the floor. The engineer went white, shouting something about the cost, but Matt ignored him. “You know, Gerard, Bert was right. You’re just another fucking addict. You all are,” Matt accused vaguely, yanking open the insulated door, “All sitting around blowing smoke up your asses and enabling each other.” He turned around to glare at Gerard one last time. “Well, fuck you Gerard. Fuck this band. I quit, and I want to make it well known that I have no sympathy for cokeheads,” with that, Matt was storming out of the studio to varying shouts of protest and bloody murder. 

“Don’t you ever fucking show your face around here again!” Mikey hollered after Matt, having half a mind to go after him if not for Ray’s hand on his upper arm. 

“We’ll cover that if it’s broken,” Ray attempted to reassure the engineer as he rushed into the tracking room to adjust the drum kit, grumbling.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked Gerard, leading him into the lounge to commune with the other remaining half of the band. 

“Who, me? I’m fine,” Gerard shook off Matt’s words with alarmingly little effort, “Our real problem is that we’re in the middle of a session with no drummer, and no usable drum tracks. Any ideas?” he looked around at Mikey and Ray, who shook their heads in dismay.

Frank raised an eyebrow, surprising even himself, “Yeah, actually. I need a fucking cig, but let me get on the line.”

Frank stood outside of the studio, glad to have a moment of quiet as the phone line rang, begging to be picked up. The moment was over quickly, though, because Pete Wentz’s voice could be heard on the other end from a mile away even without Frank’s phone on speaker. “ Iero !” he greeted excitedly, “Are your ears ringing? I was literally just talking about you,” Pete laughed and Frank couldn’t help but smile as he pictured Pete’s thousand watt grin gleaming from Chicago.

“Hey, Pete,” Frank replied, “They’re ringing, but probably from the fucking headache I’m dealing with right now. Any chance you’re up for a favour?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and taking a long drag from his cigarette. 

“Anything for my friends in Jersey,” Pete purred fondly, “What can I do ya for?”

Frank smiled, relieved that Pete was so enthusiastic. “Alright, well… Our drummer literally just up and quit on us, total bullshit. But we’re in the middle of a studio session and we’ve got nothing usable. Andy is the best guy we know, is there any way we could get him down here for some tracking?” Frank asked quickly, afraid that if he didn’t get it all out, he wouldn’t have the confidence to finish the thought. “Fuck, it sounds ridiculous saying it out loud,” Frank roughly apologized. 

To his surprise, Frank’s question was met with more laughter. “Man, the stars must have aligned specifically for us on this one,” Pete said amusedly. 

“What?” Frank asked, confused. 

“Listen, I have a better deal for you,” Pete started, exhilaration in his voice, “I’m actually in a bar right now with my friend, Bob. He’s a drummer, and he’s free for the foreseeable future. I can have him delivered to you by tomorrow- yeah, dude, the band I was telling you- yeah , dude, tonight- no, Man, it’ll be fine- Frank? Yeah, I can have him to you by tomorrow morning.” 

Frank’s eyebrows shot up, shocked at how well this ask was working out for him. “Holy shit, Pete, seriously? You’re a fucking lifesaver,” he said gratefully, chuckling at the one-sided exchange he’d just witnessed.

“You can kiss the ring later,” Pete smirked into the receiver, “I have a flight to arrange, my friend. Later!” 

Just like that, the line was dead and Frank was putting his phone back into his pocket as he took a last burning pull from his cigarette, laughing a little to himself. He couldn’t believe their luck. Stubbing out his smoke, Frank returned inside to tell the boys to go home and get some rest; they had to be at the airport in the morning to pick up their new drummer. 

*

Bob bounded into the studio with a spirit about him that the boys hadn’t experienced since before they met Bert. They automatically connected, having no issue in terms of conversation on the way back from the airport. Sure, the guy had some weird jokes about Jersey ( Come for the casinos, stay ‘cause your car is gone, am I right? ), but Pete seemed to know what they needed and had sent the perfect drummer for their evolving musical vision. 

Once Bob was actually tracking drums in the studio, they definitely couldn’t complain, blown away by the night and day difference between his skill in comparison to their bitter ex-drummer’s. With the help of his beloved coffee, Gerard even managed to lay off the rails long enough to listen to Bob in awe and get through the remaining vocal takes they needed. Within three hours, the demo was recorded and the boys were being released from the confines of the studio. 

“Holy shit, Bob, that was seriously incredible,” Ray commended him as they loaded into his vehicle, headed for celebratory breakfast.

“What can I say?” Bob smiled modestly, “Pete told me not to let y’all down.” 

“Well, you did not disappoint,” Mikey piped up from the back seat, in much better spirits than he was a mere twelve hours ago. 

“We’ve got big things in our future, boys, I can just sense it,” Gerard declared, the five of them riding on a collective high all the way to Denny’s. 

--

“Bob has always been such a weirdo,” Frank reminisced, picturing the way the drummer had unashamedly scarfed down his first breakfast with the band. 

“No denying that,” Gerard agreed with a chuckle. “In retrospect, I wish Matt had quit sooner. Bob did wonders for our sound,” he speculated. 

Frank nodded, “The tour after that demo, we sounded incredible.”

“Damn right,” Gerard grinned. “What tour was that, anyway?” he wondered, drawing a blank, “Jimmy Eat World?”

“No, way. That was the one after,” Frank pursed his lips, trying to remember too. “Damn, no idea. They all start to blend together, huh?”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget the sex, though,” Gerard smirked as Frank’s cheeks flushed faintly. 

“Mm,” Frank side-eyed Gerard, smiley and youthful in his recollection. 

--

The boys were living large by the spring of 2005, having finally made enough sales on their first two albums to splurge on an actual tour bus, complete with a driver. “No more overnighters in the van,” Ray sighed contentedly, “Sleep whenever we want in real beds, no more driving shifts? I still can’t believe it. This is the dream,” he smiled euphorically. It was the little things, and also the fact that it was usually Ray that did most of the driving.

Mikey, Bob and Gerard laughed at the blissful look on Ray’s face, amazed that he was still so taken with the band’s purchase. “I mean, you said it all,” Mikey agreed, grinning. He motioned to the back of the bus where the bunks were, “Frank’s probably dreaming about sleeping on the bus,” he joked, cracking them up again.

It was nearing 2am and they were two cases of beer down, mixed with the other common vices that the men kept. Frank had retired early, itching to enjoy his bunk and get a decent rest, but it was a regular occurrence for them to be up so late due to both tour in general as well as the habit of driving through the night. 

They were all wired with no intentions of stopping anytime soon, so it came as a bit of a surprise to the others when Gerard stood up and announced, “You know, I think I’m gonna go revisit that sweet, sweet bed,” because he was almost always the last one standing. He raised two fingers to his forehead to salute the three remaining soldiers, “Night, boys.”

Mikey, Ray and Bob raised their beer bottle, hand, or cigarette, whichever came naturally, in reciprocation. 

Gerard waded towards the back of the bus, still shocked that for a vehicle, it seemed to stretch endlessly. He slid open the door that divided the bunks from the bathroom, kitchenette, and spacious common area, closing it again behind him. The hallway in the back of the bus was much more narrow to account for the six double beds, three installed on each side with a tied-off sliding ladder attached to either wall for the sake of accessing the top and middle bunks. 

Gerard and Mikey’s bunks were across from each other on the bottom, Ray and Frank’s parallel in the middle, and Bob slept above Ray on the top left side. Gerard unhooked the safety on the ladder, sliding it to the middle of the tracks and climbing up to the only bunk with a body in it. He nearly lost his balance, wobbling on the ladder for a moment before regaining his center of gravity. Somehow, he managed to climb into the middle bunk and just barely reattached the safety hook to the ladder. 

Gerard rolled onto his side once he was situated, grinning stupidly at Frank. He looked so peaceful when he slept, his face smooth and unbothered, eyelashes grazing his cheeks. Frank’s blonde buzz had been dyed red in preparation for this tour, and dark roots peeked out from underneath, begging to be touched up. Gerard briefly wondered what Frank was dreaming of, admiring his pretty complexion, but didn’t dwell on it long. He was a long shot from sober and only truly had one thing on the mind. 

Gerard lifted a hand and gently brushed his knuckles over Frank’s cheek, trying to stir him. “Frankie,” his voice was unsteady from intoxication, “Are you really asleep?” Gerard whispered, albeit loudly; it had been well established that Gerard had never mastered that feat. 

Frank’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily before his hazel eyes fluttered open. He licked his dry lips and swallowed, confused. “Wha…? Where are we?” Frank mumbled, still not used to the tour bus even after a week. 

Gerard grinned adoringly, smoothing his thumb over Frank’s cheekbone. “On th’bus, headed to New York. I think,” he slurred slightly.

“What’s going on?” Frank blinked at Gerard, trying to focus on his face. He’d been sleeping so peacefully, and now he was groggy. 

“Just thought… the boys are still up,” Gerard implied the rest with his body language, crawling over top of Frank and kissing openly along his neck now that he was lucid.

Frank made a noise of understanding, his hands roaming Gerard’s back as he eased awake to the warm mouth on his skin. “No complaints here,” Frank murmured, smiling dazedly as Gerard lifted his head to kiss him deeply. Frank made another small noise, kissing back and parting his lips as his hands reflexively gripped at Gerard’s shirt. 

Gerard smirked against him, licking into Frank’s mouth and attempting to push the blanket between them aside in favour of sliding his hand over Frank’s bare chest, his skin toasty from the short kip. “You naked under there?” Gerard broke the kiss to tease him, mouthing at his jaw. His hand didn’t wait for Frank’s response, dipping below the blanket that still resided across his hips and palming at Frank through his boxers.

“Couldn’t make it that easy for you,” Frank teased back, but his smile quickly faded into a soft moan, hips angling to Gerard’s touch. Frank’s hands slid from his back to his hair, eyes fluttering shut as Gerard sucked kisses along his collar. He let him have his way for a while, the two of them melting away into lazy moans and heavy breathing, clumsy hands, both drunk and sleepy. Gerard licked around Frank’s tattoos, palming at him until Frank tugged at Gerard’s shirt, coaxing him out of it before greedily going for his belt too. “Too many clothes,” Frank mumbled as the larger wriggled out of his pants. 

They both stopped to laugh when Gerard bumped his head on the ceiling of the bunk, but petered out when Frank had him successfully down to his underwear. “Been thinking about this all night,” Gerard murmured, supporting himself with one hand and hooking the fingers of his free hand in the waist of Frank’s boxers. He leaned down to kiss Frank again, nipping and momentarily sucking on his lip ring as he subconsciously grinded against Frank’s thigh. 

Frank sighed contentedly into Gerard’s mouth, only breaking the kiss to make a request, “Let me blow you first. Turn over,” Frank more or less demanded it, sliding his hands up Gerard’s naked chest. 

Gerard smirked and assented; who was he to protest? He rolled onto his back and let Frank tug off his boxers, tilting his head back and biting his lip as Frank left a trail of love bites along his inner thigh. He groaned as Frank licked up the length of his dick, swirling his tongue around the head. The sensation faded quickly though, as Frank pulled back, and Gerard grunted in displeasure and confusion. “What gives?” he whined.

“Am I not doing it for you, or…?” Frank said with a raised eyebrow. 

Gerard frowned, looking down to see Frank pumping a lazy hand around Gerard’s entirely flacid dick. He groaned a little out of embarrassment, knocking Frank’s hand out of the way. “No, it’s not that. Just… give me a second,” he said, cheeks flushing as he attempted to masturbate himself, but to no avail. “ Fuck ,” Gerard cursed, “Fucking coke dick. Or whiskey cock, take your pick.” Gerard let go of himself and let his head fall back against the pillows in dismay. “M’sorry, Frank,” he mumbled in defeat. He’d rarely ever been unable to get it up, and he was flustered with shame. 

Frank chuckled a little, making Gerard feel faintly emasculated until he spoke. “You really think you’re allowed to get me all hot and bothered and then give up so easily? Nah,” Frank said suggestively, his voice low in his throat as he crawled up Gerard’s torso to temporarily meet his lips. “You’re mine tonight,” Frank purred, nipping his chin.

Gerard looked at Frank and actually giggled a little, pursing his lips to stop himself. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Are you serious?” 

Frank didn’t yield to Gerard, instead moving a tattooed hand to curl around his throat, digging his nails slightly into the sides of his neck and grazing his teeth along the skin of his jaw. “Did I stutter?” Frank asked darkly, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “Tell me what the fuck I just said,” he whispered hotly against Gerard’s ear before moving to suck on his earlobe.

Gerard shuddered slightly from underneath, letting out a surprised, breathy noise as his fingertips pressed heat against Frank’s chest in anticipation. “ I’m yours tonight ,” Gerard’s voice came out like a mewl, strangled into submission and aroused by Frank’s initiative.  

“That’s right ,” Frank confirmed with a dirty grin, easing up on Gerard’s throat. He moved to carefully brush his lips against Gerard’s but pulled back to chide him and squeeze his throat whenever he tried to close the minimal space between them without approval. Gerard quickly learned to lay still, sweating bullets as he gazed up at Frank, turned on. He breathed shallowly, letting Frank graze his lips, unmoving, until he was finally indulged in a lengthy, messy kiss. When Frank pulled up for air, he released Gerard’s throat, purring, “That’s a good boy.” 

Gerard’s eyes fluttered, his heart skipping at Frank’s words. He’d had no idea Frank could push his buttons like this. He didn’t dare speak, quickly trained. Gerard observed as Frank rooted around the cubby in the wall near the head of the bunk, successfully locating the lube. Condoms were a thing of the past for them at this point. He bit his lip as he watched Frank lube his fingers up, suddenly nervous. 

Frank prepared but paused when he set the lube aside, resting a hand on Gerard’s knee. “Is this okay?” Frank asked gently, rubbing his thigh encouragingly. 

Gerard breathed out slowly, sucking his lips in and biting down on them both, but ultimately nodding. “I trust you,” he consented. 

“Good,” Frank murmured, leaning down to kiss his stomach before lying on his belly between Gerard’s legs, feet kicked up in the air. Frank pressed a few more kisses to Gerard’s thigh before sliding his pointer finger along his cleft and pressing it against Gerard’s hole. Gerard tensed, his breath audibly catching. “Just relax,” Frank cooed, resting his cheek against Gerard’s thigh and going as slowly as deemed necessary. 

Gerard breathed shakily, closing his eyes and trying to take Frank’s advice. He managed to do as he was told, an involuntary moan escaping his lips as he relaxed around Frank’s finger and felt him successfully ease in up to his first knuckle. Gerard’s eyes rolled slightly at the sensation, his lips parted as his breathing grew more ragged. He didn’t realize until he was doing it, pushing his hips subconsciously towards Frank and steadily taking more of his digit once the process had started. 

“That’s such a good boy,” Frank complimented, starting to move his finger with Gerard’s hips. He curled it slightly and grinned at the resulting whine. 

“Fuck,” Gerard breathed, “More, please.”

Frank didn’t have to be told twice, easing back his first finger to situate a second lubed up digit beside the former. He pressed them both against Gerard’s hole, waiting for him to relax his muscles before sliding back in, slowly stretching him wider. Frank revelled in the noises Gerard was making, pleased with himself. 

Gerard groaned, rolling his hips and blindly reaching for Frank, one hand gripping his hair and the other digging into his shoulder. He was no longer reluctant, even inviting the unsuspected reversal, finding it easy to accept in his intoxication. Frank fingered Gerard slowly for a while, curling to reach for his prostate now and then until he had established a proper rhythm. It wasn’t until Frank was biting and sucking hickies onto his thigh that Gerard couldn’t stand it any longer, begging, “Please, please , just fuck me already.” His nails drove desperately into Frank’s shoulder, shaky and needy. 

Frank grinned at the request, sucking a final bruise onto his flesh as he eased out his fingers. “I thought you’d never ask,” Frank teased, moving to kick off his boxers and sit back on his haunches. He squeezed more lube into his hand, pumping his fist around his erection just enough to slick himself up. Frank nudged Gerard’s thigh and hummed in appreciation when he obliged by spreading and raising his legs so that Frank could situate himself between them. Frank gripped the back of Gerard’s thigh, spreading his ass with his thumb and forefinger’s knuckle. He used his other hand to guide his cock to Gerard’s readied hole. 

Gerard bit his lip in drunken anticipation. His eyes widened and he gasped at the sensation as Frank initially entered him, moaning. His hands flew to Frank’s back, chin raising as his head lifted from the pillow. 

Frank watched Gerard with possessive greed, moving his hand to the back of his other thigh. He gradually pressed the rest of the way in, breath shuddering. He paused once Gerard had accepted his full length, hands on his thighs, Gerard’s knees close to his chest and feet in the air. “This okay?” Frank murmured, leaning over Gerard, their faces centimeters apart in the cramped bunk. 

“ Please,” was all Gerard could get out, choked and insistent. He had reached a whole other plateau of highs. His dick may not be in working order at the moment, but his senses were in orbit. He could feel every movement, every one of Frank’s fingertips, and each droplet of sweat that dripped from his forehead onto Gerard’s cheeks and neck. 

Frank slid back before thrusting in again, grunting and flexing his shoulders as Gerard clawed at his back. He quickly lost track of time, dipping his face to kiss Gerard intensely. He used Gerard’s thighs to his advantage in the position and space allotted. 

Gerard moaned into Frank’s mouth, breathing raggedly through his inflamed nose. He was absolutely taken by him, at his disposal. He arched toward Frank, hissing when his slight curve grazed his prostate. Gerard broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Frank’s neck, dragging his nails over his back. 

Frank fucked Gerard relentlessly, grunting and huffing as they rolled their hips together, clinging to each other. Gerard’s head dropped back to the pillows as Frank let go of one of his thighs, weaving his hand through their tangled bodies to once again wrap around Gerard’s throat. This time, he decided to utilize Gerard’s favourite trick, pressing his thumb against his lower lip and watching him hungrily.

Gerard whined, unable to even form a dig at Frank’s advance. Instead, he parted his lips and sucked Frank’s thumb into his mouth obediently. He made circles with his tongue against the pad, eager to please. Gerard hooked his fingers around Frank’s shoulders, moaning around his digit and angling his hips up. He gasped, reflexively arching his back when Frank hit his prostate. “ There,” he breathed as Frank withdrew his thumb to wrap back around his neck.

He squeezed Gerard’s throat and fucked purposefully, hitting his prostate each time now. Frank’s face was directly over his, their lips grazing, but Gerard made no move to kiss him as Frank choked him. They were starting to unravel. Gerard’s lips were still parted, so inviting and swollen from being bitten. In the heat of the moment, Frank parted his own, spitting into his mouth.

Gerard’s eyes widened slightly but he moaned and swallowed without protest, his stomach flipping with arousal at the gesture. His cheeks were burning as Frank dug his nails into his skin and pressed him into the mattress of the tiny bunk by his throat. 

Frank groaned at the sight of Gerard, feral with lust. “ Fuck , I love you,” he murmured, breathing hard and grunting involuntarily with each thrust. 

Gerard whined shakily, staring into Frank’s endless, intense eyes. “I love you ,” he whispered restrainedly, gripping onto him tightly. He was coming apart, everything just too intense, too fucking good. Gerard closed his eyes and was finally rewarded with a deep kiss from Frank, letting him lick past his saliva-slick lips. His body reflexively started to tense and he groaned openly into Frank’s mouth, hips jerking with pleasure; he was starting to see white spots. 

Frank hissed at the tightness, releasing Gerard’s throat at last to return his hand to his other thigh. He continued to kiss him deeply, using his legs for a last ounce of leverage. He fucked his hips hard a handful more while Gerard clenched around him, desperately sucking and biting at Frank’s lips. Frank groaned and shuddered as he came, his hips momentarily stilling as his dick twitched, filling him. Frank broke the kiss and pushed his face into Gerard’s throat, releasing his thighs and moving his hands to his hips instead. Gerard whimpered and relaxed into the sheets, legs resting over Frank’s hips as he basked. 

Gerard slid his fingertips over the now-raised marks on Frank’s back, breathing shakily and pressing his nose into Frank’s hair. He lazily rolled his hips, sighing in nirvana.

Frank lifted his head once he had slowed to a stop, smiling warmly and kissing Gerard briefly before sitting back slightly to ease out. They both groaned as Frank removed his length and cum immediately dripped from Gerard’s ass. Frank collapsed next to him, sliding a hand over his chest and peering over at him wordlessly. 

Gerard bit his lip, pressing into Frank’s touch. He rolled onto his side in a wordless request to be held. Frank obliged him by wrapping both arms around Gerard’s back, intertwining their legs despite the cum leaking down Gerard’s milky thigh. Gerard smiled weakly, nuzzling Frank’s cheek before kissing him slowly, lazily, for quite some time. Their hands roamed aimlessly, not ready to let go of each other. When the kiss finally ended, Gerard grinned a little. “We should… we should switch things up more often,” He said, a little breathlessly. 

Frank snorted and kissed Gerard’s chin lovingly, “What I’ve been trying to say. And all it took to convince you was whiskey dick,” he teased. 

Gerard bit his lip sheepishly, amused. “Won’t ever hear me complaining again,” he promised, snuggling down into Frank. “Can I stay?” he asked shyly.

Frank pulled the blanket over them, preserving their warmth. “Long as you like,” Frank said endearingly, repeating, “I love you, G.” He ran his fingers gently through Gerard’s hair, wondering just how soundproof the dividing wall between the bunks and the common area was. 

Gerard smiled, blissful. “I love you, Frankie,” he whispered, hands sliding over Frank’s arms and back.

“You guys are fucking dicks!” Ray’s voice called out from the front of the bus. Gerard and Frank looked at each other abashedly, laughing it off. 

--

“Okay, wait. There’s no way that wasn’t the tour with MSI. That’s when we got the bus, right?” Frank pointed out, the timeline starting to come back to him. 

“Oh, shit, I think you’re right,” Gerard agreed, thinking back on it. “Checks out. I did a lot of blow on that tour,” he observed. 

Frank rolled his eyes, “Oh, I remember. Jimmy was way worse than Bert on that front,” he reflected somewhat bitterly, “Actually, he was awful on all accounts.”

Gerard smiled meekly, shrugging a little, “Yeah, the guy never let up. How’s he even doing these days, do you know?”

“Somehow still alive, anyway,” Frank answered, his attention wandering to the You’ll Rebel To Anything tour. 

--

The first thing Frank remembered about meeting Mindless Self Indulgence was spiked, pink hair bounding towards their band accompanied by insane eyes. “God, this is such a pleasure! I’m Jimmy Urine, and welcome to the shit show,” Jimmy went down the line, aggressively shaking all of their hands with both of his. 

A dark-haired, tattooed woman pulled up behind Jimmy, rolling her eyes. “That’s what he likes to call tour. Lyn-z,” she introduced herself with a mere wave, naming off the rest of the band as they nodded their heads with much less of a welcome-wagon style to it. 

Gerard waited for his arm to be violently shaken by Jimmy, and it was, but the wild man also paused to grin at him knowingly. As soon as their eyes met, an unspoken understanding formed between them. Jimmy had slipped something into the palm of Gerard’s hand as he shook it. “Just a little welcome gift,” he smirked before turning to address the rest of MCR, “Y’all are getting your tour bus before we head out, right?” The band generally agreed. “Well, shit, let’s go check it out!” Jimmy seemed almost more excited for the bus than the actual owners. 

The two bands meandered in the direction of the shiny new bus parked outside of the dealership and Gerard hung back as Ray accepted the keys from the retailer. He’d just shoved Jimmy’s token into his pocket, assuming it was something inappropriate. He took it out to inspect as Ray let everyone onto the bus, his cheeks pinkening when he realized what it was Jimmy had given him; a snuff jar. A tiny glass vial that could hold a couple grams of snow with an even smaller spoon attached by a miniature chain to the screw-on lid. So, obviously Jimmy had known about his vice before they had even met. He stuffed the empty container back into his pocket; maybe he should be concerned about the spreading word of his addiction. Instead, he relaxed a little as his more pressing worries about finding a plug on this tour dissolved.

Gerard jumped and squeaked when a hand came down on his shoulder, looking over to see the only other person who had hung behind. “Jimmy,” he said, half-grinning in relief.

Jimmy leered, spinning Gerard to face him with some pressure on his shoulder. “You like the welcome gift? I was thinking we could break it in together on your shiny new bus,” he suggested, clearly itching for a re-up.

“Neat little thing, yeah. Thanks,” Gerard said, shrugging, “Fuck it, let’s check it out.” 

“So is this a smoking bus?” Jimmy asked loudly as Gerard scouted around for a place of privacy to crack a pearl. 

“It is now,” Frank said, lighting a cigarette as he poked through the kitchenette in awe, “Wow, this is, like, fully furnished.”

Jimmy barked a laugh, casually watching the boys snoop around their new digs, “How’s it feel?”

Mikey had just returned from the bunks, piping in, “It’s fucking sweet . The bunks have outlets .” 

Lyn-z rolled her eyes slightly, “Yeah, cool flat and all, but we’re gonna go get ready for the trip. Don’t hold us up, Jimmy. Later,” she gave the frontman a stern look before following the rest of MSI off of the bus. 

Gerard popped back into the lounge, gripping Jimmy’s shoulder and catching him off guard in a similar fashion, “Come check out the bathroom, it has a fuckin’ shower.” 

Frank looked up from a silverware drawer at the mention, frowning slightly. How had he already found blow? They hadn’t even left Jersey yet. Unless… Jimmy had brought it to him from New York. His frown deepened with concern as Jimmy followed Gerard enthusiastically into the bathroom, too thrilled over something as mundane as a shower. 

Jimmy shut the bathroom door behind them, glancing around the room. “Well, it’s not as big as you made it out to be,” he joked as he rifled around his pockets for a familiar little baggie, “Gimme the jar.”

“It’s not bad either,” Gerard shrugged as he produced the glass. He shuffled to switch positions with Jimmy so that the pink-haired man could utilize the single-person vanity. Gerard watched as he expertly untied the baggie with a ridiculously long pinky fingernail; the rest of his nails were bitten to a stub. Jimmy squeezed the loosened bag until the rough chunks of white broke down. Then, he carefully poured the powder through the tiny entrance of the vial, using an edge of the bag as a funnel. “Jesus,” Gerard said in amazement; Jimmy had transferred the blow within a couple of minutes, “How long have you been doing this?”

Jimmy tittered, using the miniature spoon to scoop out a bump, plugging one nostril and snorting the mound of powder right off of the spoon. “God, I don’t know, man. Kinda lost track. Can’t wait to tour with you, though,” Jimmy screwed the lid on and passed the vial back to Gerard to do as he pleased. “I’ll see ya later, gotta dip before Lyn-z comes back with a baseball bat or some shit. Enjoy,” Jimmy winked, leaving Gerard to his devices and animatedly saying goodbye as he weaved his way off of the bus. 

*

The boys were just over a week into the tour and had been living it up to the enablement of MSI. The headliner had only one rule, and that was Never Stop Partying . Even with a personal driver, it was uncommon for the men to retire to their bunks until around 2am, at which point Ray would announce, “Well, you know what they say, nothing good happens past 2am,” and predictably lead the parade to bed. 

It would always be Gerard, muttering, “Who’s ‘ they’ anyway?” and spending the remainder of each night staring down that little glass snow globe until it was empty. 

Now and then, someone would retire early to much dissent from the others, just as Frank had done days earlier. This was when Gerard had crawled into his bed coked-out, Frank remembered so well. Thankfully the snide remarks from the rest of the men had subsided, but Frank and Gerard were still side-eyeing each other and heating up on stage, driven by the comfort of Frank’s cramped bunk. 

The residue high from that night was still lingering with them, keeping them generally happier than usual. Whatever it was, Jimmy could tell, and he utilized the mood to his advantage, sidling up and slinging his arms around Gerard and Frank’s shoulders as they were watching the opening band backstage. “My boys,” he greeted, “I was thinking: Me, traveling overnight on your bus. I did notice a spare bunk, could be fun. What say you?” He talked slyly, his suggestions almost sounding rhetorical, like it was already a done deal. 

Gerard grinned at the idea, already envisioning an incredibly sleepless night, “I’m in.” 

Frank pursed his lips momentarily, but he ultimately agreed after weighing his options. Jimmy or no Jimmy, Gerard would find his way to Snow White. Nothing Frank had said over the past year had changed his mind, so refusing this would only ruin the upwards swing they were on. Maybe it was selfish, but Frank considered that best case scenario would result in him being woken up at some ungodly hour for sloppy sex, muffling each other’s moans with their hands. Frank felt slightly guilty as his mouth formed words of approval, but there wasn’t much else he could do on the road when Gerard’s biggest enabler was, once again, cream of the crop.

“Fucking sweet . I’ll see you fuckers tonight, then,” Jimmy whooped, slapping them both on the backs and bounding off to find his bandmates. “Hey, Steve !” He could be heard shouting, his stiff, hairsprayed spikes wobbling as they disappeared down a hallway.

Frank side-eyed Gerard, distrusting of Jimmy, “You sure about this?” 

“It’s one night. How bad could it be?” Gerard laughed, swinging an arm around Frank’s shoulders and lacing his fingers in his hair. He pulled Frank towards him and kissed the side of his head, giddy at the prospect of the evening. 

*

One by one, the amount of bodies socializing in the tour bus lounge declined. Ray repeated his mantra, as he always did, and Bob eagerly trailed behind. Around 2:30, Mikey threw in the towel and wished them goodnight. Frank hung on as long as his sore eyes would let him but finally, around 3am, he had to call it quits. 

Gerard had an arm around him as he chain smoked and exchanged tall tales with Jimmy, absentmindedly rubbing circles into Frank’s upper arm. It wasn’t until Jimmy’s eyes drifted repeatedly to Frank that Gerard glanced over to realize he had dozed off. He chuckled, looking at Frank’s softened face adoringly before gently shaking him. “Go to bed, silly,” Gerard nuzzled him awake, oblivious to Jimmy’s curious stare. 

“Hmm?” Frank blinked back awake, his head popping up as he dazedly looked around the lounge. “Shit, sorry,” Frank apologized as he drew a deep breath through his nose and haphazardly stretched. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he agreed, turning his face to smile sleepily at Gerard. 

Gerard chuckled, returning an endearing smile. “You’re so fucking cute ,” he commented, instinctively cradling Frank’s jaw with his free hand and kissing him earnestly. 

Frank made a soft little noise and reciprocated, loosely hugging Gerard as they kissed goodnight. When he pulled back, Frank gave Gerard a squeeze before standing up. “Love you,” he said softly. 

“I love you too,” Gerard replied, smiling after Frank a little obsessively. 

“Goodnight, Jimmy,” Frank said pointedly, the temperature of his demeanor dropping multiple degrees as his eyes landed on the guest. 

“Night, Frank,” Jimmy replied to his back, for the guitarist hadn’t even waited for a response before heading for the bunks. Message received, loud and clear. Jimmy chuckled and turned to Gerard as the dividing door slid closed, “Feisty little thing, isn’t he?”

“You’re telling me,” Gerard said, staring smittenly at the door, “Never met anyone else quite like him.” 

The departure of Frank left Jimmy and Gerard alone to do as they pleased. It meant that bathroom trips were no longer necessary, because no one was left to judge. Instead of his quick bumps, Jimmy started scooping generous amounts out of the snuff jar onto a square of cardboard, cutting up lines for the two of them as they sat in the faux-leather booth at the lounge table. They told jokes and lies, losing track of time and blow. 

Gerard watched as Jimmy tipped the vial upside down, knocking the remainder out and shoving the cardboard his way as he replaced the contents with even more. If Bert was ever an endless supply of coke, Jimmy seemed like the mother of all endless supplies. He was determined to keep up, and obliged in preparing the next batch of rails for them both. “This is fucking wild,” Gerard speculated in wonder. 

“Which part?” Jimmy asked amusedly. 

He thought on it for a moment, not actually entirely sure. “The bus, the blow, the sex, you pick one,” Gerard laughed along with Jimmy, answering with the first things that came to mind. 

Jimmy let Gerard go on an aimless rant, entertained by his lack of filter. He set the full vial aside and rolled up a bill in preparation for the next batch. “Perfect,” he said in admiration, as Gerard stopped talking to snort a line and slide the cardboard back. 

They passed the makeshift tray back and forth between rapid words as the rails consistently dwindled. The conversation carried itself as they recklessly barrelled past 4am. Gerard found himself laughing, about what he couldn’t remember, as he slid the tray back towards Jimmy once more to finish it off. But he’d forgotten about the glass, sitting so precariously on the edge of the table for easy access. 

It happened in a split second, but felt like an eternity. Jimmy and Gerard both watched the square knock the vial, sending it over the edge. Jimmy desperately fumbled in attempt to catch it, but to no avail. The speed of their world resumed as the tinkling sound of the snuff jar smashing shook both of them to their cores. The jar shattered on the hardwood floor by the table, sending a puff of dust and particles of glass outwards. Most of it landed in a neat pile on the wood, but at least a quarter of its contents caught in the rug underneath the table, getting lost in the fibres. 

“ Fuck!” Jimmy’s voice could’ve shaken the whole bus.

 Gerard cringed at the volume, sure that the entire band was awoken by the outburst. He paused, thankful to hear Ray’s snores cutting through the ringing silence. “I’m so fucking sorry, that was the best gift-” Gerard started rambling, but was cut off by Jimmy almost immediately. 

“Fuck the jar, man, you can get one in any head shop. That was the last fucking gram of the night,” Jimmy hissed, seething, “That’s all we fucking had left.” 

Gerard’s face went white in realization. “ No ,” he breathed, disbelieving. It couldn’t be. He’d truly assumed Jimmy had bottomless pockets. “ Fuck , I’m sorry.” 

Jimmy was suddenly on the floor on his knees, careful not to disturb the pile of dust. “Just. Fucking help me,” he said, irritated, but with an aura about him that it wasn’t his first time doing something like this. 

Frank had just barely fallen asleep when Jimmy’s voice filled his ears, jolting him back to consciousness. Ray and Bob slept on, but the heavy breathing stopped emitting from Mikey’s bunk, too. Frank listened to the frantic, muffled voices coming from the other side of the divider before resolving to swing his legs over the bunk and lower himself to the floor without the ladder, something he’d been practicing during daylight hours. He shuffled past Mikey’s listening ears on the bottom bunk, stopping just before the divider. He cracked it open just a smidge, peering into the lounge. 

Regret immediately shot through Frank’s spine as he watched Gerard kneel beside Jimmy with a distressed look on his face. Jimmy was already using two pieces of paper to sweep and scoop the bulk of the loose, glass infested coke onto the cardboard tray while Gerard picked up chunks of glass. His hair fell in his face as he scoured through the rug, combing for shards amongst the mess. 

Jimmy had saved as much as he could, and brushed the remainder into the crevices of the hardwood before looking at Gerard purposefully. “There’s only one way we can make the most out of this,” he said, already rolling a bill. 

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a moment, but his eyes quickly widened in understanding as Jimmy leaned down to snort the remaining white that could not be saved straight from the floor. If Jimmy was doing it, he supposed he had no qualms following suit.

Frank watched with absolute horror, entranced, until he noticed Mikey hovering slightly behind him. He jumped a little, but Mikey just smiled sadly and put a hand on Frank’s shoulder, having seen enough. “Let’s go back to bed,” he suggested quietly. 

“Good idea,” Frank said shakily, glad to be prompted. If Mikey hadn’t woken up too, who knew how long Frank would be frozen to the spot, watching Gerard play God. He climbed the ladder to crawl back into his bunk, bothered and worried. He stared blankly at the pitch black ceiling of his space, finding himself unable to sleep until he knew Gerard was safe and resting in the bunk beneath him.

Gerard knelt beside Jimmy, feeling a bit embarrassed, but upon seeing how shameless the man was, he quickly shedded his doubt. He followed suit, rolling his bill and leaning down to snort whatever he could from the fibres of the rug. He started to nitpick over what could be saved, pained by letting so much go to waste. 

So this was what true desperation felt like. The two of them remained there for a few minutes, faces pinned to the floor, sunken to the rank of carpet sniffers trying to salvage a dwindling high. When they could save no more, they returned upright to the table to assess the rest of the damage. Gerard sat quiet and still, trying to read the mood. 

He watched as Jimmy picked through the coke, incessantly removing countless shards of glass. Even when he had picked over the powder twice, it still glistened under the lounge light in an uneasy and unfamiliar way. Jimmy sat back, shrugging, “That’s as good as it’s gonna get. You don’t have to, but I’m gonna.” He spread the white over the tray, cutting it up into the last dangerous rations of the night. 

Gerard bit his lip, quiet for a while longer. “Doesn’t bother me,” he lied, not sure why he was still trying to keep up with Jimmy at this point. “Seriously, I’m so fucking sorry…” Gerard trailed off, chewing his cheek. 

“It is what it is,” Jimmy said through gritted teeth, “I’m over it.” He leaned down and inhaled a line, hissing on the way up and aggressively wiping at his nose as he passed the square back to Gerard, “God damn.” 

Gerard looked at the remaining snow, a little worried, but he’d already committed. He plugged his right nostril and snorted a tainted line, gasping and dropping the bill almost immediately. Gerard sat back and gripped the back of his neck with both hands as his head burned. The glass particles felt like they were ripping up his lungs and he could feel the sensation peppered throughout his back. His neck throbbed as little pops of pain bursted behind his eyes. And then it subsided, out of nowhere. He relaxed a little into the booth, breathing out. 

Jimmy chortled, looking at Gerard as if he were a joke. “ That bad, really?” he chided, pulling the board back.

Gerard shrugged a little, quaky but trying to brush it off. “Didn’t know what to expect,” he excused uneasily. 

Against his better judgement, he kept partaking in the remainder of the poison white until it was gone. By the time the last of it vanished up Jimmy’s nostril, Gerard’s head was screaming. He wiped at his nose, expecting the common post-nasal drip he was met with after a night of rails. To his surprise, his hand pulled back bloody, the crimson smeared across his face. “Shit,” he muttered as he followed Jimmy to the bunks. He wanted to stop in the bathroom, but his head was so fuzzy that he wasn’t sure he’d make it back to his bed without guidance. 

Jimmy grunted goodnight to Gerard, bitterly and noisily hauling himself into his bunk. What a shit way to end the night, with a bad high. 

Gerard managed to crawl into his own sheets with similar sentiments, regret coursing through his veins as his head burned. He wiped at his nose, unsure as to whether he was smearing snot or blood around. He was afraid to confront a mirror in the morning, as if it weren’t already dangerously close to 6am. He pulled the privacy curtain shut, shielding himself from any prying eyes, closing his own in a miserable and vain attempt to sleep it off. 

It was no use; Gerard lay awake for what felt like hours, tossing and turning sleeplessly as his mind assaulted him with paranoia. Was he going to die? How much glass had he actually ingested? Was his nose still bleeding? Was he going to choke on his blood in his sleep, or maybe on vomit? His mind raced until he heard Ray waking up and getting out of his bunk to start the day, stretching and yawning, lazy and hungover. Holy fuck, what time was it? How long had he been awake? He rolled onto his other side yet again, squeezing his bloodshot eyes shut and trying so hard to catch at least a couple hours of rest. He breathed shakily and tensed as the dark curtain was suddenly pulled back; did Ray know? Then he felt someone crawling into his bunk. 

“It’s just me,” Frank soothed, unable to bear the sound of Gerard thrashing around any longer. “You okay?” he whispered into his neck, assuming the role of big spoon and pressing himself against Gerard’s back. Frank wrapped his arms protectively around him, burrowing against him. 

“Been better,” Gerard whispered, teeth chattering as he became hyper-aware of just how badly he was shaking. He was freezing cold from lack of sleep, his nose was unbearably clogged, and his eyes felt so dry. Gerard gripped Frank’s forearms with both hands, glad for the unsolicited comfort in the midst of his blazing headache. 

“I’m here now,” Frank cooed, holding Gerard tight and kissing the side of his face mindlessly. “Just focus on me, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised soothingly, “I got you. I love you, and I got you, forever. You’re everything to me, Gee, always will be.” 

Gerard listened to Frank continuously feeding sweet nothings into his ear, greatly comforted by the words. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and eventually his sore vision and racing thoughts loped into nothingness, sleep overcoming him. 

--

“I didn’t know you’d seen any of that,” Gerard said, taken aback by Frank’s additions to the story. 

“Yeah, didn’t see much, but… that’s how I always figured the rest of that night went,” Frank pondered, his eyebrows knitted with trouble, “I started heavily using again after that, so I don’t really remember the rest of the shows, or maybe I like to forget? When I think of the MSI tour, it’s mostly just those few moments.”

“Jesus H,” Gerard said, sorrowful, feeling like a broken record, “Frankie, I had no idea. God… I’m sorry.”

Frank shook his head, smiling sadly. “It’s all in the past, isn’t it, G?” he said, his voice wavering. “Like you said, the sex was unforgettable, at least,” Frank managed a smile, gazing at Gerard longingly. 

“It was… ” Gerard allowed, “But the aftermath…” he said regretfully, guilt ridden. 

“You were never quite the same after Jimmy Urine,” Frank whispered, bowing his head in confirmation.