Archive of Our Own

It's Frank who calls first. Almost as soon as they land in Munich. It's just, they hate flying, even when it’s a relatively short flight like this one, and everyone is grumpy and tired and all Frank wants is to be back in Edinburgh pressed between Grant and Gerard. They're sitting in the airport waiting for everyone to deplane and get all their shit together and Frank is scrolling through his contacts and hitting send before he even really thinks about it.

"Hello?" Frank's voice catches in his throat at the sound of Grant's voice in his ear. "Frank?"

"Yeah, hi, sorry," Frank says in a rush. "I hate flying. We all do, really. I just." Frank sighs in frustration.

"Did you call to tell me you arrived safely?"  Grant sounds sleepy still, and Frank pictures him: lounging, maybe, on the couch in his house back in Scotland, stretching sated muscles.  Frank's not feeling sated anymore, just tired.  Gerard's lips are still a little pink and swollen, and Frank keeps staring, just to remind himself he's not imagining things.

"No?"  He knows he sounds like an idiot, he just doesn't know what the fuck he's even trying to say.

"Frank."  Grant's voice is warm.  "Drink the coffee Gerard's bringing you, and then try to relax in the car."

Frank looks around stupidly, like he's going to see Grant somewhere in the airport.  Gerard actually did go to get them coffee.  It's like Grant's psychic sometimes, or maybe he just knows them.  Knows Gerard, anyway.  "I wish we were still there," he says.

"Me too," Grant answers.  "It makes it easier to kiss you when you need it."

"Do I need it?" Frank asks.  Gerard chooses this moment to walk up, giving Frank a curious eyebrow when he sees he's on the phone.

"Right now?  I imagine it wouldn't hurt," Grant says.

"Well.  Then I guess I'll just pretend that can happen."  It comes out a little too snarky, but he's still a little breathless at the thought.

Gerard hands him a steaming paper cup and says drily, "You talking to your other boyfriend?"  Frank freezes.  When he doesn't answer, Gerard rolls his eyes and plucks the phone out of Frank’s hand.  He looks a little surprised when he sees whose name is on the display, then he puts the receiver to his ear and says, "Hey, Grant, how are you?  No, I stole the phone.  The flight?  Yeah, I'm not a fan either."  He listens for a minute, then his eyes return to Frank's.  "Did he? I will," he says softly into the phone.  "Yeah.  Me too.  Bye."

He hands the phone back to Frank.  "Hello?" Frank says.

"I'm gonna let you get going," Grant says, and sure enough, there's their tour manager coming back down the corridor with a uniformed driver. "But, Frank?  Call me again."

"I will," he answers, then says goodbye and hangs up the phone.

"I'm supposed to kiss you," Gerard tells him.  "Was gonna do it anyway," he adds, a little petulantly.  He looks like he wants a better explanation, but Frank's got nothing.

"Well, I was gonna do it anyway, too," Frank returns grumpily.  They frown at each other for about five seconds before they're both cracking embarrassed little smiles.

"Drink your coffee," Gerard says, unknowingly echoing Grant.  "Places to be, music to play."  The music's the easy part.

The coffee helps Frank feel a little more human, but unfortunately Gerard doesn’t stop feeling kind of terrible even after his coffee kicks in and the plane ride wears off.

“Frank, I’m not sick. I’m just tired,” Gerard insists.

“Uh huh.” Frank only just refrains from reaching out and feeling Gerard’s forehead. Gerard coming down with something isn’t surprising, really. It’s been a long time since their bodies had to deal with all the travel and people and excitement all at once. Frank’s surprised he isn’t sick yet himself. It’s only a matter of time. “It’s because you didn’t wear a very warm hat in Scotland. That totally would have saved you.”

Gerard huffs. “I’m fucking fine.”

“Yeah, okay. But how about you nap for a couple of hours? I’ll come get you for soundcheck."

“I am only agreeing to this because I’m tired,” Gerard says as he sinks onto the mattress in their hotel room and toes off his shoes.

"Sure! Do you want anything? Tacky Munich souvenirs?" Frank offers. Gerard glares. Frank leans down and kisses the top of his head. "Seriously, call me if you need anything."

"I will. Are you sure you don't need to sleep too?" Gerard asks. Really, Frank could use some sleep, but he knows that at this point if he tried, he'd just lie awake thinking too much. Right now, he needs some sort of distraction. And if that means walking around Munich with everyone else for an hour or two, he'll do it.

"Nah, for once in my life, I think I'm not getting sick. I'm sure that'll change soon enough. I wanna revel in my health for as long as possible," Frank answers and kisses Gerard one last time before pulling on his coat and stupid hat and heading out the door. He finds Mikey, Alicia, and Pedicone milling around the lobby.

"Where's Gee?" Mikey asks.

"Sleeping. I think he's coming down with something. He claims he's just tired." Frank shrugs and Mikey rolls his eyes.

The walk serves its purpose. Hanging out with awesome, hilarious people is always good. Especially when they're family. Frank picks up a few things, but the day's triumph comes from one of the last shops they have time for when he finds the perfect thing for Gerard.

When they get back to the hotel, Gerard is already awake, sitting on the bed with his laptop.

"Did you sleep?" Frank asks.

"Yeah, woke up a few minutes ago," Gerard answers.

"How are you feeling?"

"Still tired. And my throat might be a tiny bit sore. Maybe." Gerard sighs and then spots the bags in Frank's hands. "What'd you get?"

"Nothing too special. Except for this," Frank hands the bag to Gerard and he peers inside. He rolls his eyes, but there is definitely a smile on his face.

"Now you won't catch another cold because you were hatless in Scotland," Frank says. Gerard pulls the hat out of the bag and puts it on. It's really fucking adorable. Frank reaches out and tugs on an ear flap. "And now we match. And actually, we should probably go. I think we're supposed to do an interview before everything gets going."

"Yeah, MTV Germany or something," Gerard says and snaps the laptop shut. They grab their gear for the show and head downstairs and outside into the cold where everyone is waiting. Frank stops Gerard just outside the door and taps a couple of times on his phone, puts his head close to Gerard's, and extends his arm as far as it will go, pointing the camera lens at them to take a picture.

"Smile!" He says and stabs blindly at the button. He pulls his hand back and they look at the picture. It's ridiculous. But that just means it's perfect. He starts up a new text, chooses Grant as the recipient, and taps in we miss you! before hitting send.

The show goes well, but by the time everything is wrapped up and they've signed stuff for as many of the kids as they can, Frank can see that Gerard is pretty much dead on his feet and Frank's pretty damn exhausted as well. Edinburgh seems like a lifetime ago. In more ways than one. But he's way too fucking tired to think about that right now. They hardly even bother to change before falling into bed. The next thing he knows, Gerard's phone alarm is going off again. They stumble out of bed and pretty much straight onto the bus idling outside.

The fact that Gerard doesn't even look at the coffee maker in the kitchenette and goes straight back to the bunk area tells Frank everything he needs to know about how Gerard is feeling. Frank briefly considers joining him, but now that he's awake, he's awake, so he plops down on the sofa in the lounge and pulls his book from his messenger bag.

He's just about to the climax and he loses himself in the narrative. It's a good book, keeps him engaged until the end. And then it's over. And after he's done thinking about it--well, as much as his brain can at the moment--he's bored. He thinks about bugging Gerard like he would normally do, but Gerard needs the rest so he's not dead when they hit France. And everyone else seems to either be sleeping or doing some fucking quiet activity and he's just really fucking bored. Again, he's scrolling through his contacts before he even really thinks about it and calling Scotland.

"Hello?" Grant says.

"Hi," Frank says, "So, I'm calling."

"I can hear that. How was the show?"

"Good. Gerard's coming down with something, but he powered through like a champ and the kids loved it."

"I'm glad it went well. How's Gerard?"

"Sleeping, right now. We're in bumfuck Germany. I think. Unless we passed into bumfuck France while I was reading," Frank says with a tired chuckle

"What book?" Grant asks.

"Never Let Me Go," Frank answers, "I wanted to finish it before I saw the movie. And I did finish, about ten minutes ago."

"What did you think?"

"I... You know, I'm not sure yet." Frank feels kind of dumb for not knowing.

"I understand. It's a powerful story. It could have been an interesting comic, perhaps. Though it’s somewhat short on action.”

At that moment, the tune playing behind Grant's voice suddenly crystallizes. It's S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.

"That's our song," Frank says dumbly.

"Yes, it may be my favorite on the album. Aside from DESTROYA, that is," Grant says. Frank can almost see the smile on his face.

"I..." Frank can't think of anything to say. "You're listening to our song."

"Yes, Frank. You see, it's rather a good song. Very creepy, and yet sweet. And I find that it makes me miss you a little less."

"Well why don't I have some of your comics then?" Frank asks petulantly.

"I can email you some digital copies, if you want," Grant offers. Frank feels silly and very young for wanting them, but Grant admitted to listening to their album, didn't pause it before answering the phone, so he figures, what does he have to lose?

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be awesome." Frank smiles when he hears the sounds of a mouse clicking and some typing come through the line and pulls his laptop out of his bag. "Speaking of sending things, has Gerard sent you Mad Gear yet?"

"No. The last we spoke of it, I think you were mixing it and it wouldn't be done for a few more days," Grant replies.

"I'll send it, then. It was so much fun. I'm sure Gerard talked about it, but like, writing songs like you're a band in a time when androids exist is just fucking fun. I wanna do a whole fuckin' record and tour. And Leathermouth can open."

"That's your other band, yes?"

"Yeah. It's... “ Frank pulls his knees up to his chest and props his arm on his knee and considers how to explain.  "It's how I exorcise the demons. It's all the worst parts of me. I'm not proud of it, but I feel like it's important, necessary. I'm not a great frontman like Gee, but I feel like we have something to say, at least. So we go for it."

"That's what writing The Filth was for me. I didn't realize how much I'd been holding in until I would finish a script and feel so much freer," Grant says.

"Yeah, exactly. We did a tour a couple of years ago, and by the end, I wasn't angry anymore. It builds up and I'm not good at handling it, and Leathermouth is how I get it out." Frank picks at the frayed knee of his jeans. "Anyway. I've been doing a lot of talking. What's going on there? Are you staying warm?"

Grant chuckles. "Yes, quite warm. The warmest room in the house is my office, so the cats and I are in here working."

"Did I interrupt?" Frank asks, suddenly chagrined.

"Not at all. I had been listening to your album and watching the sea. As a method for trying not to miss you, speaking with you is much more effective."

There he goes, again, saying he misses … who, exactly?  “I don’t know why you miss a bunch of dirty band dudes, anyway,” Frank teases, a little uncomfortably.  Sure, Frank had said it first in that text - and he’d meant it - but Grant couldn’t possibly ….

“Frank.”  Grant’s not having it, apparently.  “Don’t do that.”  He doesn’t specify, and Frank bites his lip and does not let any of the sentences tumbling around in his brain get out.  “Tell me what you’ve got planned for Paris,” Grant continues.

“It’s a weird schedule.  Just a bunch of public appearances, interviews, that sort of thing, and then we go to Amsterdam.  I really hope Gerard is up for them, because it means a hell of a lot less talking for the rest of us.  We’re not - I don’t -  See?  I’m useless for interviews when I’m this tired.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Frank,” Grant says.

Frank makes a face at the phone, like Grant can see him.  “Maybe.  It’s just … it’s easier with him.”  Massive understatement.

“I imagine it is.”  Grant’s voice has gone a little soft.  Frank breathes in through his nose, lets it out slowly.  He doesn’t know what Grant’s implying, wouldn’t know how to explain how he and Gerard work if Grant asked.  It’s been such a long time since it’s even mattered.  They’ve always just been what they are, and why it’s different now ….

It’s different now.

“Frank,” Grant’s continuing, “if you’re so tired, I feel awful for keeping you on the phone.”

“I called you,” Frank points out.

“And I’m glad,” Grant says.  “I suppose it’s my turn next.”  Frank gets a tiny thrill at that - that Grant apparently wants to talk to him enough to initiate it - but it’s confusing.  He can only turn it over in his head a few times before he yawns.  Now that he’s finished his book, he’s suddenly beyond exhausted.  Grant chuckles.  “See?  Tired.  Sleep for a while.”

“Bossy,” Frank mumbles over another yawn.

“Frank.”  Grant sounds amused.  “You haven’t experienced bossy yet.”

“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind.”  Frank had managed to - well, not forget their first encounter, back in L.A., but he hadn’t considered all the implications.  At the time, it hadn’t seemed necessary.  And now -

“Do,” says Grant.  

Frank shivers.  “I … okay.  I think I’m gonna crash, though, so - “

“Speak to you soon,” Grant says.

“Okay,” Frank says quietly. The line goes dead and Frank lets his hand drop to his lap. He’s too exhausted to get up and move somewhere more comfortable, so he curls up on the sofa and pulls his coat over himself as a blanket.

When he wakes up, Mikey is poking his ankle.

“The fuck, dude,” he grumbles and kicks Mikey in the thigh.

“I could ask you the same, when there is a perfectly good bunk you could have been sleeping in,” Mikey points out.

“That would have required getting up and going back there and I was way too fucking tired for that.” Frank sits up and leans his head on Mikey’s bony shoulder. It’s not very comfortable, but Mikey deserves it for waking him up. “We almost there, Mikeyway?”

“Yeah, driver said about half an hour left,” Mikey says and rests his cheek on the top of Frank’s head for a second.

“I should go wake Gee up or he’ll be a total bitch,” Frank says, but doesn’t move to get up.

Mikey giggles. “Man, it’s been too long since we last toured if I almost forgot how much he hates waking up when the bus stops.”

“I don’t know how you could forget,” Frank grumbles.

Mikey nudges him in the side. “This has been pretty great so far.”

“Yeah, yeah it has.” And it has. Frank hasn’t been unhappy in the last few months by any means, but playing shows is like a whole other plane of existence and he’d missed it so much. He nudges Mikey back and grins at him before standing up. “Okay. Time to go wake the dragon. Pray I return.”

When Frank crawls in the bunk with Gerard, he finds it’s less waking a dragon and more coming face-to-face with a sleepy puppy. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi.” Gerard sounds a little croaky, but not too bad.

“How’re you feeling?” Frank asks.

“Tired, but could be worse. I need coffee.”

“Mikey told me a few minutes ago that the driver said we’re about half an hour out. So if you can hold out, we can get real Parisian coffee,” Frank says. And wow, that sounds fucking good right now.

"What'd you do while I was sleeping?" Gerard asks.

"Finished my book. We need to find a book store that sells books in English, because I need a new one," and after a moment's hesitation Frank adds, "and I called Grant again."

“Mmmm,” Gerard hums, stretching.  “I bet he was glad.”  

“I guess,” Frank says.

“Don’t do that,” Gerard replies instantly, once again echoing Grant without realizing.

Because it’s Gerard, Frank can’t really stop himself from spitting out some of the words he’d held back earlier.  “Do what?  It’s just the truth.  I’m not, I can’t be - “

“Frank.”  Now Gerard is sounding cranky, and, typically, is seeing right through Frank’s bullshit.  “Grant liked you a lot before.  You think he’s going to like you less now?”  He raises his eyebrows.

“Maybe.”

Gerard rolls back over and buries his face in the pillow.  “Fine.  Be an idiot.  I can’t actually stop you,” he says, muffled.  The last word comes out with a spasm of coughs and Frank sits up, rubs Gerard’s back till he’s quiet.  Gerard sighs and curls a hand around Frank’s knee, so Frank sits where he is until the bus stops.

***

An eight-hour bus ride is still an eight-hour bus ride, even if you sleep, so most of the guys crash when they arrive.  Pedicone joins Frank and Gerard in the tiny cafe attached to their hotel and they drink fantastic coffee from ridiculously small cups and chat idly about where they should go for dinner later.  Then they go upstairs, where Gerard curls up with his laptop and Frank gets his camera out and starts shooting some photos from their balcony.  By dinnertime, it’s apparent that Gerard is not going anywhere, and Frank kisses him on the forehead and leaves him in bed.  

In the morning, their tour manager calls and says he’s arranged to have them do the interviews at the hotel, so Frank and Ray take the bullet for the earliest one and let Mikey and Gerard sleep.  It’s a good plan.  Everyone’s back on their feet the next day for the Guitar Hero appearance, and they even have enough time to go to the Louvre.  Gerard slips his hand into Frank’s somewhere in the medieval art galleries and doesn’t let go at all, not even when they brave the crush of people around the Mona Lisa.  

They’re still holding hands, in fact, when they all congregate back at the doors where their driver is waiting, and when Gerard begs off going out to dinner for the third night in a row, Frank makes a disappointed little noise. It’s one of the Paris restaurants he remembers from the Food Network, but he’s not about to let Gerard go back alone.  Gerard leans close enough to whisper, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Frank goes from zero to really fucking ready in about three seconds.  He hasn’t had his hands on Gerard, other than some mostly-innocent cuddling, since - well, since Edinburgh.  Talk about a tough act to follow.  But he wants, so fucking much, and Gerard sounds wicked and breathless and about 110 percent better.  His fingers tighten around Gerard’s and he says quickly, “I’ll get us a cab.”

James is the only one close enough to have overheard the exchange, and he’s totally smirking evilly in their general direction.  Frank flips him off and drags Gerard over to the taxi stand.

Frank tries, okay. He really does, but once the taxi ride stretches beyond three minutes and the cabbie starts cursing loudly in French at the traffic, he can't handle it anymore. He slides across the back seat, pulls Gerard's mouth to his and they kiss and kiss.

"Of fucking course you got turned on by the fucking Louvre," Frank whispers in Gerard's ear. Gerard giggles breathlessly and Frank can't keep his hands to himself. He has to touch. He puts his hand up Gerard's shirt and strokes his belly, then moves down, running his fingers over Gerard's hardening cock. Gerard moans, and it's a damn good thing the taxi stops in front of their hotel right then. Frank pulls a fistful of Euro notes out of his pocket and throws a bill through the window. It's way too much, but Gerard is pulling Frank away and up the steps to the door of the hotel and Frank doesn't even fucking care. It's been a while since they couldn't keep their hands off each other like this, since they couldn't even wait out a relatively short taxi ride.

It's just the time of day when the lobby is packed with people coming in from the day's activities or going out for dinner, and Frank wishes they would all disappear or get the fuck out of his fucking way. Instead, they wait in front of the bank of elevators with an old lady wearing way too much perfume and a whole bunch of people in suits.

Frank doesn't even realize he's clenching his fists until the elevator opens on their floor and Gerard is pushing him into the hallway. By some miracle, they get their room door open without much fuss with keycards and then Gerard has Frank's back against the wall and his lips on Frank's neck and his hands are roaming everywhere, already scrabbling at Frank's zippers and buttons.

"Frankie, Frankie, Frankie," he murmurs against Frank's throat. Frank wraps his arms around Gerard's waist under his jacket and pulls him as close as possible, until their hips are together and Frank can feel Gerard's hard cock against his own. They both moan.

"Goddamn, Gee," Frank murmurs into Gerard's hair. "Bed."

Gerard backs up and starts pulling off his clothes, throwing them in a pile on the floor, no fucking around. Frank does the same and Gerard pushes him onto the bed and crawls on top of him.

"Fuck, Frankie. I need to fuck you." Gerard puts his mouth on Frank's right nipple and sucks. Frank arches his back and wraps his legs around Gerard's waist.

“Yes,” Frank gasps out. Their dicks are sliding together and Frank can’t really think, he just thrusts his hips against Gerard’s. Gerard’s breath hitches, and god, Frank will never, ever get enough of that sound. Gerard kisses his way up Frank’s chest and neck and jaw to his lips.  “Fuck.  Gerard.  I need you,” Frank murmurs.  He could have come, maybe, just from the kissing in the taxi; he was so fucking overwhelmed by Gerard, by the need for this.  He’s not sure he’ll last now.  Not with Gerard already nipping at his throat, raking his fingertips over Frank’s tattoos.

They’re so fucking frantic, both of them.  Frank would laugh if he didn’t already feel like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs.  Instead, he steadies Gerard, running a soothing hand up the outside of Gerard’s bare thigh as Gerard leans off the side of the bed to dig for lube.  When Gerard sits back up, his eyes glitter crazily and he slicks the fingers of one hand, no hesitation.  Frank’s expecting it, is fucking watching, but he still gasps as Gerard’s fingers press inside and he bears down automatically to feel the stretch.  “Frank,” Gerard moans, “God, you’re so fucking tight.  I always fucking forget; how could I forget?  I need - I need - “

Frank’s eyes are drifting shut, fluttering, his need to see Gerard’s face telling him to fucking wait it out for just one second, warring with the the fucking waves of sensation from everywhere Gerard is touching him.  He runs his own hands over Gerard’s naked chest, feels the lean muscles shift, watches Gerard’s eyes go hot and fucking predatory.  Gerard’s got one hand braced on Frank’s hip and he reaches out to close it around Frank’s cock.  Frank jumps, fucking howls at the sudden grip, thrusting up into Gerard’s hand in tight, tiny motions.  “Wait,” he gasps after a moment.  “Don’t - I want you inside me,” he groans.

Gerard leans over and kisses him again, biting hard at the center of Frank’s bottom lip.  It’s almost enough to distract him from the sudden emptiness as Gerard pulls his fingers out; he slicks himself up and pushes in, hot and velvety-hard and so fucking big and Frank’s entire body just locks up in a giant arc of yes, this.  “You, you’re,” he croaks.

“Yours,” Gerard croons, hips moving in tiny circles like he’s afraid he’s the one about to lose it.  “You make me crazy.  Please - I - “  He sucks in a breath, bows his head till Frank’s chest is curtained in bright red hair, snapping his hips in harder, faster, and Frank just wraps his legs tighter, heel pressing against the small of Gerard’s back, letting Gerard push him to the fucking edge and over, urging him with desperate gasps to follow.  Frank can feel the hot rush inside him when Gerard finally breaks and comes.  He moans long and low and tugs at a handful of hair till they’re panting against each other’s mouths, chests slippery with sweat, with Frank’s come, and Gerard’s still buried to the fucking hilt, Frank still clinging with hands and feet.

They lay there for a minute as their breathing starts to even out. Gerard buries his face in Frank’s neck, nuzzles behind his ear, kisses him slow and sweet, and pulls out. Frank makes a pathetic noise and holds Gerard for a few more seconds before he lets him roll off the bed and pad into the bathroom to clean up. Gerard comes back with a damp washcloth and wipes it gently over Frank's body. He throws it blindly over his shoulder when Frank grabs him and pulls him back into bed. Gerard props himself up on one elbow and stares down at Frank.

"I love you so fucking much," he says fervently, cupping Frank's cheek in his hand before leaning down and kissing him. Frank's glad of the kiss because he feels like he's lost the ability to communicate with words, so he puts everything he can into it, tells Gerard everything with his lips and his tongue. Frank pulls Gerard more fully on top of him, wraps his arms around his neck, and clings.

After a few minutes, Gerard rolls them over so Frank's head is resting on his chest and wraps his arms around Frank's shoulders. "We should put our pajamas on, order room service, and watch French TV," Gerard's voice rumbles under Frank's ear.

"Yeah," Frank agrees, but neither of them move, clearly not ready to break this moment quite yet. They have all evening.

***

The next day, they're up early to get breakfast then get on the bus to head to Amsterdam. It's a much shorter trip this time, but still long enough that Frank really regrets never getting to a bookstore. Gerard is curled up on the end of the sofa with a sketchpad and Frank is stretched out beside him on his belly, propped up on his elbows and playing Angry Birds on his phone, bored out of his mind. He checks his email to break up the monotony and sees the message from Grant with the comics. He grins broadly and grabs his laptop off the floor, swinging around to lean against Gerard's shoulder.  Opening an issue of Batman & Robin, he starts reading. Sometimes he forgets how fucking great Grant is at what he does. He's so absorbed that he doesn't really notice that Gerard is doing anything until he starts talking, but not to Frank.

"...and he hates it when I read over his shoulder, so I thought I'd just call you."

"Because you talking on the phone is so much less distracting," Frank grouses, but leans into the touch when Gerard runs a hand through Frank's hair and kisses his temple. Frank can hear the rise and fall of Grant's voice as he talks; the words are indistinct, but Frank can hear the amusement there.

"He'll get over it...Yeah, I'm feeling fine. It wasn't too bad. Nothing a little extra rest couldn't cure." Frank hears what he’s pretty sure is a question, but Grant’s accent makes him sound like he’s asking a question half the time, so Frank isn’t sure until Gerard starts talking.

"Yeah, it was a pretty relaxed schedule. We were busy, but it's been a lot worse before. Everyone is getting really fucking tired of answering the same goddamn questions all the time, is the biggest problem."

Gerard pauses to let Grant speak and Frank finally just gives up even the pretense of reading, closes his laptop, and leans more heavily on Gerard. Gerard wraps an arm around him and he closes his eyes and just listens.

"Exactly! Every once in a while we'll get someone who attempts to ask different questions or just asks us random shit. We love those. Mikey and I did one yesterday? I think it was yesterday, where we had to answer either/or questions about geeky stuff. It was great."

Frank smiles when Grant starts talking again. He wishes he could actually hear, but at the same time, hearing just the tone is oddly comforting.

"We went to the Louvre yesterday. Like, we'd been before, and it's always amazing, but this time was different to me." Whatever Grant says, it's soft and Frank can barely hear him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I was pretty fucking happy. Am," Gerard tightens his hold on Frank. "And then we skipped dinner and went back to the hotel." Grant says something and Gerard giggles. Frank peers up at him and his cheeks are a little bit red and he looks so fucking adorable, Frank can't help himself. He leans up and kisses Gerard's cheek and then moves his lips down to Gerard's neck.

"Yeah, it was a great night. It was really nice to have some time just to ourselves without any outside obligations...Yes. Twice." Frank turns under Gerard's arm and moves his tongue over Gerard's spot and Gerard squeaks.

"I think he's trying to get me back for interrupting his reading," Gerard says breathlessly. "You're still working on Batman, right?" Frank can hear Grant a little more distinctly now, he sounds entirely amused, but starts talking about what he's doing anyway. Normally, Frank would totally want to hear that sort of thing, but he's a little busy. Gerard can fill him in later. He's good at multitasking like this.

It's when Frank goes back to the spot and Gerard outright moans that Frank remembers they're in a public area and if Ray or Mikey walked in they'd be traumatized, and if Pedicone walked in he'd probably gesture for them to keep going and watch. Frank's not really interested in any of those options, so he places one last kiss just under Gerard's ear and sits down, pulling Gerard's arm back around him.

Frank spaces out, and jumps a little when Gerard hands him the phone.  He looks at it, then back at Gerard.  “He wants to talk to you,” Gerard says helpfully when Frank doesn’t move.

“Hello?”  The case is still warm from Gerard’s hand.

“Frank.”  Grant greets him softly.  “Tell me something.”

“Anything in particular, or just something?”  Sometimes Frank just can’t help it.

Grant is, of course, unruffled.  “Do me a favor,” he rephrases.

“I’ll try.”

“You seem awfully fond of...performing, shall we say?  You keep making Gerard make those noises down the phone line, I’m going to start having a unique reaction to the sound of the telephone ringing.”

“Sounds inconvenient.  But to answer your question, I am a performer,” Frank points out teasingly.  “What’s your point?”

“I thought I’d be able to get down to London on Sunday,” Grant tells him, sounding quite frankly disappointed.  “But I can’t, I’ve an appointment.  Will you find yourself a nice empty room and call me?”  The implication is crystal clear.

Frank sucks in a breath, and Gerard looks at him curiously.  “Both of us, or - “

“Whatever you like, Frank.  It’s your birthday.”  Grant sounds smooth, like he propositions people for phone sex every day.  Hell, Frank wouldn’t put it past him, at least not during certain periods of his apparently fascinating past.

“I … of course I will.”  He sounds ridiculously polite to his own ears.  

Grant gives a pleased little laugh and says, “I’ll be waiting.”

Well, now Frank will be too.

***

“Happy birthday,” Grant says immediately upon picking up the phone.  He sounds scratchy, sleepy, and Frank glances immediately at the clock.  It’s … really the middle of the night.  It’s not precisely his birthday anymore, but -  

“Thank you, hi, sorry, you told me to call, the guys took me out, it’s so late but we just got back,“ tumbles right out of Frank’s mouth.  He only stumbles over a couple words.  “I had some drinks.  Not too many.  Gerard’s here too, he’s laughing at me, the fucker - “

“Frank.”  He can hear the smile in Grant’s voice, too.  “I’m glad you did.  I told you to, didn’t I?  If you’re tired, I can phone you later.”

“M’not that tired,” Frank breathes.  “Not for you.”  He feels his face heat up a little, even though no one can see him but Gerard, no one can hear him but Gerard and Grant.  He struggles out of his sweatshirt and toes off his sneakers, scrambling up on the bed.  He has to sprawl, adding a twisting stretch in for good measure and he sighs appreciatively.  Grant makes an approving little humming noise and Frank hears rustling on his end of the line as well.   “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Just getting comfortable,” Grant tells him smoothly.  “I can tell you are.  What’s Gerard doing?”

Frank turns to look across the room.  “Sitting on the couch, fucking staring at me,” he answers.  Gerard waves his freaky spread-finger wave and, when Frank sticks out his tongue, raises his eyebrow as well.

“Does he like to watch you?” Grant asks, and for a second Frank thinks, Watch what?  But he’s never actually forgotten what they were planning on doing here, or at least, his dick hasn’t.  He’s been at least half-hard since the elevator ride upstairs, and Gerard’s over there on the couch with his other hand pressed lazily up against his crotch, so -

“Wouldn’t you?” Frank drawls.

“Yes,” Grant says emphatically.  “I would, but I can’t.  Hence the phone call?”  

“Sarcasm,” Frank starts grandly, “does not - no, that’s a lie, every fucking thing looks good on you, Grant.”  Gerard makes a noise from the couch and Frank adds, “See, Gerard thinks so too.  He’s probably thinking about the leather trenchcoat again.  Predictable.”  Gerard makes another noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan.  

“What are you thinking about, Frank?”  

“The fucking suits, Grant.  Always with the suits.  Makes me wanna - “  He stops.

“Tell me,” Grant says instantly.

“Peel them off.  Every last little piece.  Slowly,” Frank answers.  Gerard laughs a little, and Frank adds, “He thinks I can’t go slow.  I could.  For you.  I think you’d like that.”

“I would,” Grant answers, voice dropping into a meaningful growl.  And Frank’s dick is fucking throbbing, shit.  He hauls in a breath and Grant says, “Frankie, whatever you’re wearing, take it off.  Now.”  Frank scrambles to obey, wriggling out of his jeans and t-shirt and socks so fast that Gerard makes a little startled noise.  Frank looks over and Gerard’s staring even harder.  They’d only left the desk lamp on, so it’s a little dark.  Frank smirks and kneels up on the mattress, shifting to give Gerard a better view.

“Now what,” he murmurs into the phone he’s still pressing to his ear.  “No, wait, what about you?”

Grant laughs a rough little laugh.  “I’m in bed, Frank.  I’m a bit ahead of you.”  

Frank breathes out.  He’s never been in Grant’s house in Scotland, much less his bedroom, but he pictures it anyway: crisp sheets, maybe a down comforter, and most of all, Grant.  “Push the covers down,” he whispers.  “I want to see you.”  His eyes flutter shut.  Grant’s body, he knows what that looks like.

Fabric rustles across skin, and Frank’s free hand skims down his chest to his thigh automatically, rubbing slowly.  “What are you going to do now?” Grant asks softly.  

“If I was there - “

“You are here, Frank,” Grant interrupts.  “I’m waiting for you.  I’m all yours.”

Frank bites back a moan.  “I … I’m gonna crawl up the bed, so you can pull me onto your lap, let me straddle you.”  Frank runs his hand back up his chest, throws his head back to rub the side of his throat, lets the stretch bend his voice. “That’s how I like it best.  Will you let me ride you, Grant?”

“Are you asking?”  Grant’s voice is thick, too.

“Mm, no.  Telling.  But not this time.  This time, we can’t wait.”  Frank curls a hand around his cock, already flushed and bobbing against his belly.  “Fuck,” he swears under his breath.  “Oh, fuck.”  It feels so fucking good.  He hears the curse echoed in Gerard’s voice, cracks his eyes open to see Gerard on the couch, pants open and dick pulled out through the opening.  He’s pumping already, short no-fucking-around strokes that Frank knows will get him off in no time.  “Grant,” he whispers into the phone, “tell me where to touch you.”

“My neck, ” Grant answers immediately, and Frank almost laughs.  So much like Gerard.  “Kiss me, bite me, make it hurt a little, I don’t care.  Then my chest - fuck, Frank, anywhere, I just want to see your hands.  Those tattoos.”  He’s breathing heavily.

“You get my hands.  Anywhere you want,” Frank tells him.  He can’t keep his eyes open; he can feel that his hair is all over his face, swaying as he starts jacking himself more quickly.  Gerard’s breath, his little noises, are filtering through and Frank’s fallen in with his rhythm.  “I’m rocking up against you, but it’s not enough, I’ve got to touch you.  You think I can’t hold onto us both, but I can.”

Grant groans in his ear, a filthy, liquid sound.  “Fuck.  I know you can.”

“Damn right I can.  I wanna suck you off, so bad, I have ever since the first time, but I just don’t wanna stop - I can’t stop - I gotta touch you, me, I - “  He moans, losing half the sound to a giant gasp of breath.  “Tell me you’re close.”

“Yes,” Grant grits out.  “Get me off, Frank, shit.”

“M’gonna,” Frank pants.  “Get you off, fuckin’ lick you clean, all of it.”  There’s a sudden silence, then a garbled curse from Gerard.  Frank knows he just came, and his eyes fly open, lock with Gerard’s.  He’s staring through his hair, mouth open, when his last two or three strokes send him panting over the fucking edge, and then he’s murmuring into the phone, “So fucking sexy, want you to touch me, wanna know how you taste.”

Grant gasps, “Fuck, Frank,” and goes completely silent for a moment.  His breathing sounds like ocean waves in Frank’s ear.

He hears Gerard get up and go to the bathroom. He comes out and tosses Frank a damp wash cloth, strips his clothes off and crawls in bed, curling around Frank who still has the phone pressed to his ear, listening to Grant breathe.

"Wish you were here," he murmurs. "Or us there."

"So do I. Soon. Just a few more days," Grant reminds him.

"Counting on it," Frank returns.

"Happy birthday, Frank." Frank kind of wants to wrap the way Grant says that around him like a blanket.

"Thank you. G'night." He hits the end button, drops the phone on the bed, and turns over on his side and looks at Gerard. "Best birthday ever," he declares.

Gerard smiles and pushes Frank's hair out of his face, "Good."

Frank's eyes droop closed, the beer and the orgasm catching up with him. He feels Gerard kiss his forehead and then he drops off to sleep.

***

The bus is fairly quiet. Gerard's sitting at the table sketching and talking to Mikey and Alicia who are curled up across from him, but everyone else is sleeping off Berlin in the bunks. Frank wasn't really paying attention, but he's pretty sure the drive to Hamburg is supposed to be a relatively short one. He's contemplating cracking open the book he managed to grab in the five free minutes he had in London, or putting in one of the movies Ray got him for his birthday when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

He fishes it out and his stomach swoops at the name on the display. "Hi," he says grinning.

"Good morning, Frank. Are you busy?"

"No, I was just trying to decide whether or not to read or put in Black Sunday and watch it for the millionth time," Frank answers. "Talking to you sounds way more fun."

"By Bava?”

“Yeah.”

“I love that film," Grant says. "We should watch it together sometime."

"It's a date." Frank pauses over the word, and then rolls his eyes at himself because, yeah. That's exactly what it would be. "Seriously, that's one of my favorites. Ray got me the deluxe special edition for my birthday."

They talk about horror movies for a while and the stacks and stacks of VHS tapes he still has in boxes in his mom's basement that his dad gave him throughout the years on birthdays and Christmas and when he was sick. "Looking back, it's a little weird, but that was one of our things when he and my mom split. Not that mom wasn't into it too. They used to wake me up on my birthday wearing masks and screaming."

Grant laughs. "Well, mine were anti-nuclear activists. Everyone has strange parents, I think."

"Truer words," Frank says. "So aside from talking to me, what are you up to today?"

"Packing for my annual winter migration. And getting the house all squared away so I can leave it for months," Grant answers.

"Oh!" Frank hadn't forgotten that Grant lived in L.A. during the winter, exactly. He just hadn't thought about it in the context of himself or Gerard yet. "Um, when are you leaving?"

"A few days after you all. I won't be in Los Angeles properly until late November, though. I’ve meetings to attend and various people to visit for a while first," Grant explains.

A tiny part of Frank is relieved. It's just so much to take in, to think about, to get used to, but, "So what you're saying is there will be, like, only a week we can see you before we go out on the road again?"

"Apparently so," Grant says regretfully.

"Will you be there by the 22nd?"

"Not until the 24th, unfortunately. I tried to re-schedule, but since it's so close to the holiday, it proved impossible." Grant sounds so genuinely bummed out that Frank really wants to kiss him.

"You should come for Thanksgiving. If you don't already have plans."

"Frank," Grant's voice has gone all soft and warm, "I would love to."

It's then that Frank realizes he just invited Grant over for a major holiday and he should probably have run this by Gerard first, but when he looks up, Gerard is beaming at him. Frank grins back and continues talking to Grant, "Good. It's gonna be great. Mikey and Alicia will be there and I think Don and Donna are coming out?" He raises his eyebrows at Gerard in question, who nods, "Yeah, Don and Donna and Mikey and Alicia and now you. Well, and knowing Mikey, a few strays he picks up will show."

"I look forward to it," Grant says in the same tone. "Almost as much as I'm looking forward to Monday."

Frank grins and blushes a little bit. "I'm looking forward to Monday, too."

"As delightful as our phone conversations have been, I do find that I much prefer being able to touch you and see your face," Grant says.

"I... yeah. Me too." Frank blushes even more.

"I should probably let you go and get back to work. Have a good show tonight, Frank."

"Thanks. Good luck with everything you have to do. See you Monday," Frank says.

"Monday," Grant says with promise and hangs up.

"That was Grant?" Mikey asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Frank says and pockets his phone again.

"How's he doing?" Mikey asks.

"Good. Busy," Frank answers.

"Cool," Mikey answers and takes a sip of coffee. Alicia gives him a shrewd little look. Frank isn't sure what to say, so he shrugs it off, picks up his book, and starts reading. He'll save Black Sunday for when he can watch it with Grant.

***

Frank wakes up the morning after Hamburg feeling a little terrible. He hopes it's just the previous night's beer making itself known, but after copious amounts of water, food, and a nap, it doesn't fully lift. By show time, he's feeling a lot more human, but he just knows that by the time they reach London the next afternoon, he's gonna feel like hell.

And he's right. He sleeps almost the entire bus ride from Dortmund to London and he hardly knows which way is up when they get to their hotel and check in. But they're supposed to have dinner with the head of the record label for Europe, so Frank starts rummaging through his suitcase, trying to find decent clothes to wear.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gerard demands.

Frank blinks at him. "Getting ready for dinner?"

"Fuck no, you're not. You need to stay here and rest, asshole."

"I've played shows feeling worse than I do now," Frank reminds him.

"Frankie, no. We are not doing that anymore, okay? We're not working until our faces explode on airplanes, or our stomach problems get so bad each meal induces an anxiety attack, or we're just so miserable and exhausted we forget how great this is. We're not doing that anymore. We have the time, we have no shows, so just fucking stay here and rest like a normal person." Gerard delivers this speech with so much passion and conviction, Frank is kind of surprised he didn't stamp his foot or bang his fist on something. When Frank opens his mouth to respond, Gerard glares at him.

Frank glares back. "Fuck off, I wasn't going to argue."

"Then what?"

"I love you," Frank says crossly. "And you better bring me presents," Frank says. Gerard wraps his arms around him and Frank buries his face in Gerard's chest.

"I love you too. And when have I ever not brought you presents?" Gerard turns Frank around and steers him toward the bed. "Get in. Are you hungry? We can call room service. And I bet we could get the concierge to send up some cold meds because I think I used the last of your stash."

"Gee, I'm fine. At this point, I just need to sleep. Go have dinner." Gerard pulls off Frank’s shoes and pants and pulls the covers up.

"Okay. Call if you need anything," he says and kisses Frank's forehead before slipping out the door. Frank rubs his face against the cool pillow and rolls onto his stomach. Hopefully if he sleeps through the night and most of Sunday, he'll be feeling okay by Monday. Hopefully.

Except he doesn’t feel any better on Sunday and when he wakes up to Gee’s alarm on Monday morning, he wants to punch things, he feels so crappy. Well, if he had the energy. Instead he just moans. Gerard rolls over and wraps his arm around Frank’s waist.

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” he murmurs sleepily. “Want me to stay here? Let Ray and Mikey take care of things today.”

“No. I’ll be okay. You have to meet Grant this afternoon, anyway,” Frank croaks.

“He could meet us here, you know.”

Frank shakes his head. “He doesn’t need to be stuck hanging out with an invalid.” Frank’s throat seizes up and he starts coughing. He gasps out, “Who will just cough all over him.”

Gerard makes a little objecting noise.

“Whatever, you’re like, required to. It’s part of the deal.”

Gerard sighs, but lets the conversation drop. He squeezes Frank then rolls out of bed and starts getting ready for a full day of meetings and interviews. Frank closes his eyes and listens to all Gerard’s little noises. It’s somehow soothing, even when he drops something and swears, and Frank falls back to sleep.

***

Frank is used to people sneaking into the room with him while he's trying to sleep off a cold, but this is the first time he's ever woken up to Grant Morrison sitting next to him on the bed and doodling in a sketchbook.

"Mmmph," he says intelligently.

"Hello." Grant smiles down at him. "How are you feeling?"

"How did you...?" Frank croaks.

"I managed to catch an earlier flight and ended up having lunch with everyone; Gerard gave me his keycard," Grant explains.

Frank sits up and scrubs his eyes with his hands. "You could've stayed out with them. I'm not... I don't." He starts coughing and Grant pulls him against his side. Frank rests his forehead against Grant's chest.

"If I wanted to stay out with them, I would have. I wanted to see you."

"You're crazy, man," Frank says once he stops coughing.

"I hear that frequently. It hasn't stopped me yet," Grant says, rubbing Frank's back.

Frank sniffs, then pulls away and pads into the bathroom. He pees and blows his nose for about twenty minutes, then collapses back onto the bed. "Ugh. Well, you're seeing me. Snotty and disgusting. And I'll probably fall asleep on you."

"If I minded any of that, I would stay away. Come here," Grant says.

"I'm gonna get you sick," Frank protests. Grant just gives him a look and he scoots toward Grant who pulls him close, wraps both his arms around Frank, and Frank feels his body relax almost against his will. He's just so tired.

"Sleep, Frank," Grant murmurs.

The next time Frank wakes up, his head is in Grant's lap and Grant is stroking his fingers over Frank's scalp and through his hair. It feels amazing and he's really fucking comfortable and then he goes and ruins it by coughing his brains out.

"Ugh, fuck," he gasps, scrabbling to sit up. He manages to get his knees under himself and leans over, gasping for breath between horrible, hacking coughs. He feels Grant's hand gently run up and down his back.  

"Darling," Grant murmurs. Frank puts his hands on his knees, catching his breath. He hates this so much.  "Can I get you anything?" Grant asks.

Frank can't even muster up any pride at this point. "Water?" Grant disappears into the bathroom and comes back bearing a glass. Frank takes slow sips, hoping he doesn't start coughing again. Grant sits back down next to him on the bed and when Frank finishes drinking and sets the glass down on the bedside table, he immediately pulls Frank into his arms, Frank's back to his chest.

"I can’t say I ever noticed, but Gerard tells me you're ill frequently," Grant says. Frank sighs and rests his head against Grant's shoulder.

"Yeah. Guaranteed, if someone gets sick, I will get it worse and for longer. I'm surprised my immune system held out this long."

"I'm sorry," Grant says and kisses Frank's temple.

"That's life, I guess. I'm used to it at this point. Sometimes it's more frustrating than others, but there's nothing I can do about it." Frank shrugs and Grant tightens his hold.

"If you're feeling up to it, I believe you promised me a movie date," Grant says.

"Yeah, I think I can manage to not pass out on you for a couple of hours," Frank says with a self-deprecating laugh that makes him cough again.

"You say that as if you think I'd mind if you did. You don't have to entertain me, Frank. I knew you were ill before I came. I want to help you feel better and if that means sitting quietly and reading your books, I will do so happily," Grant says into his ear.

"Okay. I just--"

"Hush. Let's watch the movie."

It actually ends up being the most fun Frank has had watching that movie in a while. Since they've both seen it more than once, they talk about it more than they actually watch. Frank's voice starts giving out toward the end, and he leans against Grant and it's just really nice. When it's over, Frank just stays where he is and dozes a little. He blinks fully awake when the door opens and Gerard comes in and beams at them.

"What?" Frank asks.

"Nothing. Just. You two." Gerard leans in and kisses Grant, then Frank and sits down on the edge of the bed with a hand on Frank's knee. "How're you feeling?"

Frank shrugs, "Okay. Getting tired again, though. You should take this man out to dinner. He's been cooped up in here with me all day."

Grant sighs and he and Gerard exchange a look. "Or we could get room service and watch TV," Gerard suggests.

They order room service, and Frank dozes off halfway through his pasta.  Every once in a while, he tunes back in to Gerard or Grant’s voice.  They’ve settled onto the couch and are poring over one of Gerard’s sketchbooks.  Every now and then, one of them will rummage for a pen and draw something or scratch a few notes on a page, or lean in for a kiss mid-sentence.  Frank tries really hard to keep his eyes open for that - he can ask Gerard about the sketches later, but he can’t get enough of watching the two of them.  Eventually Gerard catches him and smiles one of his softest, tiny smiles.  “You gonna be conscious for a while?” he asks.  “It’s time for your medicine.”  

Grant watches with a sort of amused fascination as Gerard and Frank go through their cold-treatment evening routine.  By the time Frank’s finished his tried-and-true mix of pharmaceuticals and homeopathics, Gerard’s managed to locate Doctor Who reruns on the television.  Frank tries to stay awake, he really does, because Gerard and Grant both appear to have Opinions on Doctor Who and it’s pretty fucking hilarious, but the last thing he really remembers is rolling over and curling up against Gerard.

Frank can sleep through an earthquake on a good day, so he’s out like a fucking light for at least twelve hours.  When he wakes up the next morning, Gerard’s already gone for day two of their London meetings and Grant is fast asleep next to him in the bed.  Frank’s already made it into the bathroom, pissed and downed a cup of water before he realizes - he can breathe.  His throat hurts like a bitch - hence the water - but the worst of the cold seems to have passed.  He’s still exhausted, though, despite all the sleep, so he coughs experimentally a few times and then crawls back into bed beside Grant.  Grant doesn’t really wake up, just drags Frank across the mattress and wraps his arms around him.  It’s - really nice, and Frank’s too tired to be confused.

The next time Frank wakes up, Grant’s in the desk chair, a Sex Pistols t-shirt tossed on over his briefs, bare feet propped on the edge of the mattress.  He’s drinking tea and reading the newspaper.  It’s sort of a fascinating picture, at least for Frank.  Yesterday was the first really informal day he’s spent with Grant - well, ever.  He must make some sort of noise, because Grant looks up and catches him staring.

“Good morning,” Grant says.  “For … a little while longer.”  Frank glances at the clock, too.  It’s nearly noon.  “How are you feeling?”

Frank sits up and rubs experimentally at his chest, coughs into his fist.  The congestion has loosened a lot.  “Like I’m just starting to get sick, which means I’m almost done being sick.”

“Good news.”  Grant lays the paper aside.  “But it’s good you can have an extra day to recover.”

“Gerard will keep me in bed as long as he possibly can,” Frank grouses, snorting when Grant raises an eloquent eyebrow.  “He’s very overprotective,” Frank clarifies.

“He is?” Grant says pointedly, and Frank’s face heats up.

“You haven’t really seen - it gets bad, sometimes - “  Frank stops himself.   “It used to get bad.  On tour, especially.  We’re … not always the best at knowing when enough is enough.”  It’s, like, the understatement of the century.

“Neither am I,” Grant says.  “I’ll work myself into the ground for a deadline.  Or, I used to.  Not getting any younger,” he adds ruefully.

“At least your lungs work,” Frank grouses, swinging his feet to the floor to go investigate the breakfast tray he clearly slept through Grant ordering.  Grant grabs him as he goes by and tugs him close.  

“We’ll order up some fresh water for tea, yes?  And something for you to eat?  What would you like to do today?”  Frank just stares.  He wasn’t really expecting to be conscious today, much less have company.  

“I … food would be great.  I think I’m gonna take a shower?”  As soon as he says it, itches spring to life in three or four spots.  He feels grimy and terrible and here’s Grant, looking sexy as hell in his fucking underwear.  His fucking life, seriously.

“I’ll order you something.  A salad?”  Frank nods and Grant tugs him close enough to kiss him.  Frank turns his head at the last second.  

“You’ll get sick.”

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Grant murmurs, lips trailing back down Frank’s cheek to press almost chastely against Frank’s.  “My opinion on that is the same today.  Now go shower.”  He lets Frank go and gives him a little pat on the ass as he sidles by.  

Frank knows he’s still red in the face when he gets to the bathroom, but he can’t bring himself to look in the mirror, just turns the tub faucets on scalding hot and lets steam fill the air.  Once he’s under the spray, he takes a few deep breaths.  There’s barely a rattle in his lungs.  Thank fuck.  He scrubs himself slowly, enjoying the feel and the white noise of the water.  When his soapy hand brushes his cock he’s surprised to feel a twitch of interest.  He’s still really fucking tired, but he’s starting to feel like with a little more time … he wonders idly what Grant would do if he did start jerking off in here.  Gerard can always tell somehow, the fucker.  Frank shivers at the thought and files the idea away for some other time.

The fact that he knows there’ll be some other time, that there might even be many … that’s something he’ll eventually have to think about too.  But not right now.

Grant’s pulled on a pair of pants and tidied up a bit when Frank steps out the bathroom door with a towel clutched low on his hips.  He’s making no effort to hide his appraising glance, and Frank remembers - he really likes the tattoos.  The corners of his mouth tilt up and he drops his towel on the floor by his bag, rooting around for clean clothing unconcernedly.  He’s feeling so much better now that he’s clean, still tired but in a way where he wants to relax, not crash.  Frank looks up and Grant’s eyes are still on him, and Frank’s hands pause on the hem of his shirt.  He takes a step forward.  Then their food arrives and there’s the bellboy to deal with, covers to set aside, and the moment passes.  

When Frank’s made his way through most of his salad and two cups of tea, he pushes the tray away.  Grant’s finishing up too; he wipes his mouth with his napkin and carries the tray to the door to leave for the cleaning staff.  Returning to the sofa, he says to Frank, “Come here.”

Frank obeys, sinking onto the cushions - it’s surprisingly comfortable.  Grant is unsurprisingly comfortable, broad and muscled in places where Gerard is newly slim, but they’re both warm.  They both pull Frank close like they’ll never let him go, and Frank’s pretty much a sucker for cuddles at all times, but.  This is different.  Grant fishes a book from underneath the pile of newspaper on the end table; it’s Frank’s own book, a collection of Hunter S. Thompson short stories.  Grant flips to a marked page, tugs Frank a little closer, and starts reading aloud.

Frank’s read this one a million times, or so it seems; he doesn’t really need to listen to the words, though he tries.  He really tries, but just the sound of Grant’s voice is enough to listen to, his accent bending words in unfamiliar ways.  He has to concentrate, but it’s soothing, and Frank doesn’t realize he’s tracing his fingertips up and down the center of Grant’s chest till Grant stops reading and takes a slow breath.

Frank flattens his hand against Grant's chest. "Sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, though it is quite distracting. Was that your aim?"

Frank shakes his head, "No. I.. no. I like hearing your voice. Keep reading?"

Grant kisses the top of his head and picks up a couple of sentences before he stopped. Frank goes back to listening, this time attempting to keep his hands more to himself. Grant finishes that story and flips forward and starts reading another. It's one Frank hasn't read as often as some of the others, but the way Grant reads it, the way he emphasizes certain things is giving Frank a new appreciation for the story.

Which is just one of many reasons waking up forty-five minutes later is really frustrating. He's feeling better, dammit. There's no fucking need to be falling asleep like this. Especially not when he has a hot, interesting guy here hanging out with him for no reason.  Frank’s temper flares like it hasn’t for a while, and he clenches his teeth.  He really needs - well, he’ll start with a fucking smoke.

Grant’s set the book aside and picked up his notebook while Frank slept.  He closes it around his finger as Frank struggles to extricate himself from his sprawl, reaching out a hand to Frank’s arm.  Frank shakes it off and goes to grab his coat, hat, shove his feet into a pair of shoes.  “Frank?“ Grant asks.

“I need a cigarette,” Frank mutters.

“Well, wait a moment, I’ll - “

“No!  Just - I’ll be back.  Please.”  Frank’s heart is thumping in an ugly rhythm.  Grant eyes him speculatively and leans back into the couch cushions.

“As you wish.”

Frank wishes a lot of things.  Most of them, right now, revolve around the earth swallowing him.  He huddles outside on the smokers’ patio and smokes his way through two cigarettes, shoulders hunched around his ears like an overgrown bird.  He counts it as a win when he barely coughs after, but he’s also barely calm.  

He goes back upstairs and sheds his outerwear into a pile on the floor.  Grant’s still writing; he looks up briefly when the door opens but doesn’t say anything, and Frank stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching with a miserable twist of fascination and confusion.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grant says after a moment.  “Come sit down, and say whatever you need to say.”

Frank sits and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.  He feels Grant swivel on the couch cushions to face him more fully.  “Why are you here?” he says, more to the pictures on the opposite wall than to Grant.

“Because you invited me to come to London, two weeks ago in Edinburgh,” Grant says.  “Or was that a rhetorical question?”

He should have known he wouldn’t get away with this so easily.  Not with Grant, who makes his living with words.  “And you came all the way down here to see us, so - why have you spent the last two days in my fucking sickroom, Grant?”  He looks over; Grant’s expression is unreadable.

“Because you’re here, Frank.  You keep asking, and I keep telling you that you don’t have to entertain me.  Are you sure that’s your real question?”  He meets Frank’s eyes steadily, and Frank looks away, hunching over his knees.

“Why are you not with Gerard?”  He’s too tired to yell, so it comes out quietly.  It comes out exactly the way he really means it; not just now, not just today.

“Frank.”  Grant sounds irritated, but also genuinely hurt, fuck.  Frank feels a hand close around his shoulder and tug till they’re facing one another.  He looks up.

“I need to know,” Frank says miserably.  

“Let me ask you something,” Grant says.  “When is the last time you or Gerard slept with someone else?”

Okay.  Not mincing words, then.  “We’ve brought people home before, but the last time was - “  Years ago.  Frank can’t even remember.  They don’t go out much anymore, not in L.A.  They don’t really fit in with the crowd, and they don’t really want to.

“I mean, on your own.  Separately.”

Frank knows the answer immediately, but it takes him a moment to say it.  “Not since Gerard got clean.”  Not since Bert.  If Grant doesn’t know about Bert, Frank is absolutely not getting into that right now.

“And how long have I known Gerard?”  It’s been four years.  They got friendly right around the time The Black Parade dropped, started spending more time together after the band went on hiatus.  “Are you starting to understand?” Grant asks, watching Frank closely.  Frank holds his gaze, even though it’s hard to.  “I know how your relationship works, and what the rules are.  I know you; perhaps not yet well, but enough.  I’d never have taken that next step if I didn’t want you just as much as I do Gerard.”

He’s still hurt; Frank can see it in his eyes.  But he’s calm, so calm.  Grant, Frank suddenly understands, will take what they’re able to give.  Gerard knew that from the start - because he’s Gerard - and went all in, head over fucking heels.  Frank’s seen that since Edinburgh, and he’s given what was easy - the sex - and he’s been holding back almost everything else.  “I’m an asshole,” he tells Grant ruefully.

Grant smiles.  “I know that, Frank.”  

“See?” Frank says, shooting a helpless little smile back.  “You know me pretty well.”  He pushes himself up onto his knees, leans in to find Grant’s mouth.  As kisses go, it’s warm, uncomplicated, but so full of potential that Frank whimpers a little.  Grant tugs him close again.

“Should I keep reading?”

“Show me your notebook?  I want to see what you’re working on.”  He reaches for the book himself and settles in.

Grant lets Frank flip through the pages, reads some of the more illegible stuff to him, explains other bits, how this one thing was an idea for Batman, but then he got this idea for a whole new story and maybe he'll write that instead, laughs when he can't remember what the fuck he was on about with this one sentence. There are doodles and sketches throughout: some of Batman, some of Robin, a couple of Superman and many other comic book characters, some of cats, and random objects and people. Almost all of the drawings have little notes. For the actual characters, there are notations about color and various important details. For the random drawings of things Grant clearly encountered during his day, there are notes about what made the thing or person being drawn particularly memorable.

Looking at it all, Frank feels a little overwhelmed and a lot in awe. There are more ideas in just a few pages than Frank feels like he's had all year. And it isn't like 2010 has been a barren desert of a year for him, creatively speaking.

The most recent pages are mostly text. Grant says it's fleshing out his story idea a little more. Frank flips back further and comes across a sketch that's clearly him and Gerard, that must have been done last night when Frank fell asleep. It's a simple sketch without much detail, just him curled up around Gerard and Gerard looking down at him. It takes up a whole page and there are no notations on it. It takes his breath away. That this is what Grant sees. This is what they look like to him.

"I don't want to forget," Grant says. Frank isn't really sure what he's referring to, but he figures it doesn't matter. Frank reaches up and pulls Grant down for a kiss. He can't really keep at it for long, because his lung capacity is shot, but when he pulls away, Grant doesn't let him go far. He buries a hand in Frank's hair and leans his forehead against Frank's for a few moments.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Frank breathes. "Dunno how I managed to get two crazy-talented geniuses in my life."

“Have you ever watched video of your shows?”  Frank wrinkles his nose and Grant laughs.  “Fair enough.  But you’re amazing, too, Frank.  You should play guitar with me some time.”

Frank starts to laugh, but then realizes it’s not so much funny as it is something he abruptly can’t get out of his head.  “Yes,” he says meaningfully.  He forgets sometimes that Grant used to have  a band.  Gerard says they were decent.  Frank pictures Grant’s hands curving around the neck of a guitar and his face feels a little hot.  His fingers twitch a little; he hasn’t played for days himself.  Tomorrow, he tells himself, he’s stealing Ray’s acoustic.

Tonight … he wraps a hand around the back of Grant’s neck and licks his lips.  Tonight is for something different. The angle is good for cuddling, but not so much for what Frank has in mind, so he gets up on his knees and swings around so he’s straddling Grant’s lap.

“Hi,” Frank says.

“Hello.” Grant smiles and puts his hands on Frank’s waist.

Frank wraps his arms around Grant’s neck and leans in, pressing his lips to Grant’s. He opens his mouth the tiniest bit and Grant takes control. He slides his hands up under Frank’s shirt and pulls him closer, his tongue doing things to Frank’s mouth that have him almost totally hard already. When Frank has to pull away to breathe, Grant rubs his hands over Frank’s back and kisses his cheek and his neck, makes his way back to Frank’s lips.

He hears the door snick open, but doesn’t bother to stop kissing Grant. Gerard can just come over here and join them. He does, at which point Frank finally breaks away and looks at Gerard. He’s looking at them like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. It makes Frank’s stomach swoop. Gerard leans in and kisses Frank, then Grant. Grant leaves one hand on Frank’s waist and puts the other on Gerard’s jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb as they kiss. Frank is pretty sure he could watch this all day and never, ever get tired of it.

And then, of fucking course, he starts coughing again. It’s not that bad as coughing fits go, but he has to pull his arm up to cough into his elbow and he accidentally knocks Gerard right on the chin. Gerard puts a hand on his neck and Grant strokes his back until he stops. Basically, the mood is totally destroyed.

“Okay. I think that means it’s time to take some meds,” Frank says with a sigh and gets up off Grant’s lap and disappears into the bathroom to take his cocktail. When he comes back out, Gerard is curled up under Grant’s arm and looking at him with concern.

“Grant said you were feeling better.”

“I am,” Frank says firmly. “Seriously. Pretty much just doing the lingering cough thing right now. Which is why we’re going to go out to dinner because I have not left this hotel room for more than ten minutes since we checked in.”

Gerard frowns. “But--”

“Gerard, I’m fine. A little tired and I have a cough, but I’m pretty much okay. I need to get out.”

“He really has seemed much better today,” Grant assures Gerard.

“If I start feeling awful, I will tell you and we can come back,” Frank promises.

“Okay,” Gerard says somewhat reluctantly.

“Babe, you are gonna have to find a happy medium with this wanting to protect us all ... thing,” Frank says a little exasperatedly.

“I know,” Gerard sighs. Frank leans forward and kisses Gerard and pulls them both up off the couch, first Gerard, then Grant.

“C’mon. Let’s go get food. I’m fucking starving.”

The restaurant’s dim and paneled.  It doesn’t have that put-on romantic atmosphere Frank likes to make fun of; it’s just a sort of warm, cavelike room.  Grant says something to the hostess and they get a big horseshoe booth back in a quiet corner.  Clearly he really is magical.  Frank sprawls a little, watching Gerard across from him, Grant between them.  Gerard’s telling them about his day as they eat, and it feels so fucking normal, like they do this all the time.  It’s so much better than a phone call, though, because Frank can hook the toe of his sneaker around the back of Grant’s calf and watch Grant shoot him a small smile.

“You really ought to come to the interview tomorrow if you can,” Gerard says to Frank, then teases, “Sorry to deprive you of your alone time with him, Grant.”  Frank and Grant both smile a half-beat too late, both clearly thinking of their earlier discussion, and Gerard frowns.   “Did I miss something?”

“It’s nothing,” Grant assures him, which he ought to know is the actual worst thing to say to Gerard, because then Gerard will look at Frank and Frank will cave, because Frank always caves.

“It’s not important,” Frank offers.  “It was my fault?”

“Frank - “ Grant protests.  

Gerard’s starting to look freaked out.  Frank’s too far away to reach him, but Grant’s not; Frank sees their fingers twine together on the tabletop.  Grant tells him quietly, “If Frank needs reassurance that my interest in him is genuine, I won’t fault him for it when it’s easier to simply provide it.  He thinks he upset me.  I’m not upset.  So … it’s nothing.”

“Frank,” Gerard snarks,  “when I told you I couldn’t stop you from being an idiot, that wasn’t encouragement to try harder.”  It’s a little mean, yeah, but Gee gets bitchy when he’s scared.  Frank knows that.

“Gerard,” he says quietly.  “Can you blame me?”

“You’re pretty much the best person I know,” Gerard replies, just as quietly.  “So yes, I can.”

Frank doesn’t always know what to do with the amount of love he has for Gerard.  There are no words big enough, and it ends up escaping in other ways.  He’s just grateful Gerard understands what it means when he ducks his head, tucks his hair behind his ears.  He sees Gerard watching his hands, catches the glint of his own ring in the dim light, and when their eyes meet there’s a smile on Gerard’s face.  He’s seen that smile traced in ink just this afternoon, in Grant’s sketchbook, in the drawing of him and Gerard.  Yeah, he’s been an idiot -doubly an idiot - to think that Grant would come between them, that he could.

“I’m done being an idiot,” he tells Gerard, flicks a glance over to include Grant in the statement.  Let me prove it, his eyes say.

“I’ll get the check,” Gerard replies smoothly, like Grant’s suave motherfucker vibe is, like, rubbing off or something.  God help them if it is; everyone’s easy enough for Gerard already.  

The glimpse of Grant’s expression that Frank gets as they hail a cab outside tells him that this should be an interesting night.

The ride back to the hotel is painfully slow. Frank doesn't even realize he’s fidgeting like crazy until Grant's hand clamps down on his thigh. Frank forces his body to still, to relax. Grant loosens his hold, but doesn't move his hand. It makes Frank want to squirm again, but he stays still, focuses on the warmth of Grant's hand, on the sound of Gerard's voice as he tells Grant some story about him and Mikey as kids. Frank's heard it before, but he listens anyway.

By the time they pull up to the hotel, Frank has never been more ready to be out of a car. By some miracle, there's an elevator already waiting in the lobby and it doesn't stop once on the ride up to their floor. Gerard fumbles with the keycard for a few seconds, swearing when the damn light persists in staying red. Grant calmly takes the card from Gerard's hand and sticks it in the slot, pulls it out, and opens the door, gesturing for them to go in before him. Frank sees his hand tremble, just the slightest bit.

Gerard is already shedding his outer layers and sitting on the bed, tugging at his boots. Frank has something he has to do first, though. He stops and turns and waits for Grant to shut the door. He tugs on Grant's jacket and pulls him close. Grant wraps his arms around Frank and looks down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"I did mean it when I said I wasn't upset," Grant says softly.

"I know. I still hurt you, though. And I don't want to do that. Like, ever. But I probably will again because I'm an asshole who doesn't think, and I hate that. But--"

"Darling," Grant cuts Frank off and leans down to kiss him softly.

Frank tries to be patient, he really does, but he’s had enough of soft, of slow, of everything but more and right now.  He bites Grant’s lower lip and starts shoving at his clothing.  Grant hisses when Frank’s fingers scrape across his nipples and he pushes back, equally frantic, till Frank’s legs hit the mattress.  Their hands collide as they both pull at Frank’s shirt, and Frank gasps as Grant’s fingers splay across his chest just as Gerard mouths at the small of his back.  He’s reaching around from behind Frank, nipping the soft flesh at Frank’s waistband as he works the fastenings of Frank’s belt and jeans.  

Frank looks down and to the side.  Gerard managed to get his boots and jeans off while Frank had Grant backed up against the door, and he’s kneeling on the edge of the mattress, leaning over to get his hands and mouth on Frank.  All Frank can really see is the crown of his head, messy red hair, the stretch of pale skin under worn black cotton and red boxer-briefs.  He shoves Frank’s jeans and underwear to the floor and Frank steps out of them.  Grant makes a ridiculously hot growly noise in his throat and grabs Frank’s hair, tugging his head back to kiss him again.

Frank’s naked, hemmed in on both sides, shivering uncontrollably everywhere their hands are touching him.  Gerard swipes his tongue across the small of Frank’s back and Frank moans into Grant’s mouth, hips hitching forward against Grant’s.  “Lie down,” Grant tells him, nipping at the scorpion on Frank’s neck, and Frank pulls back, scrambles up the mattress.  Grant gets rid of the rest of his own clothes and follows, chasing Frank’s mouth, licking and biting his way back down Frank’s chest.  Frank’s stomach heaves under his lips, and Grant pins his restless hips with a heavy forearm.

Frank’s moaning before he even feels Grant’s mouth, and Gerard curls up beside him, one hand skating up Frank’s side to cup his cheek, pull their mouths together.  He swallows the noises Frank makes, licking into every corner of Frank’s mouth, fingers tweaking Frank’s nipples till he arches helplessly off the mattress.  Grant’s licking slow, wet stripes up the underside of Frank’s cock, tongue flicking across the slit, swirling gently around the head, and when he finally closes his lips around the shaft and sinks down, Frank actually cries out, hands skittering across the sheets.  One finds Grant’s free hand and clings.  The other reaches upward, fisting in Gerard’s hair and holding their mouths together.

Fuck, but Grant is fucking good at this.  Frank has to pull away from Gerard’s mouth to gasp in a few big breaths, and Grant just keeps going, mouth hot and perfect, fingers trailing down from Frank’s hip to nudge behind his balls, tracing delicately along the crack of his ass.  Frank’s hips buck up involuntarily, and Grant doesn’t fight it, just splays his hand across Frank’s ass and sinks down further.  Frank moans, hips jerking in tiny, even motions as he fucks up into Grant’s mouth.  Gerard’s nipping along the line of Frank’s shoulder, muttering filthy endearments into his skin, and Frank can’t hold on, he can’t, it’s been too long and he wants them too much and he is on fire, consumed, utterly lost.  He groans out Grant’s name, squeezing his fingers, spine freezing in a perfect arch as he comes harder than he has in a good long while.  

His lungs don’t particularly appreciate the extra use and he takes a few big, gasping breaths and coughs a little. Gerard strokes his chest and Grant slides up his body, pressing him into the mattress, dropping kisses on his belly, his chest, his neck, the corner of his mouth. Frank can feel how hard Grant is against his thigh and god, he can’t wait to be fucked by Grant again sometime soon. Not tonight, though.

“So fucking beautiful.” Grant’s voice is gravelly and used in his ear. Grant leans across his body, shoves a hand into Gerard’s hair and kisses him. Frank watches their lips move and the hints of tongue and god, if Frank had anything left in him, he’d be so fucking turned on watching this.

“He tastes like you,” Gerard gasps out when the kiss breaks. As if to prove it, Grant turns and kisses Frank thoroughly while Gerard nips and sucks at his neck. Grant moves back and tugs at Gerard’s hips until he goes up on his knees, hands on the bed. Between them, Gerard and Grant manage to strip off Gerard’s shirt and briefs while Frank rolls over, grabs for a condom and the lube he knows is in the drawer of the bedside table and hands them to Grant. Grant takes them, letting his fingers brush Frank’s before he squeezes some lube onto his fingers.

Frank turns his head so he can watch Gerard and god, Gerard is beautiful like this. He’s coming completely undone as Grant stretches him. He gasps and moans and leans over to kiss Frank every time he has the breath to spare. Frank looks back at Grant who raises an eyebrow. Frank pushes Gerard’s hair away from his face, makes him look in Frank’s eyes.

“Babe, you ready?” Frank asks.

“Yes. God, yes, fuck me please,” Gerard begs.

Frank looks back at Grant and nods. Grant’s eyes don’t leave Frank’s as he lines up and pushes slowly inside Gerard. Once he’s in all the way, his eyes drop closed and Frank can see tiny tremors running through his body.

Frank turns his eyes back to Gerard. He’s collapsed down onto his elbows, head hanging between them, his shoulders moving with each huge breath he takes. Frank runs a hand through his hair and Gerard looks up at him, his eyes full of a million things. He pushes back up onto his hands and leans down to kiss Frank again and again.

“Fuck him,” Frank croaks and Grant slides a hand up Gerard’s back and thrusts. Gerard pushes back and they move like that for a few moments before Grant leans over, drapes his whole body over Gerard’s back and kisses the back of his neck.

“Grant. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gerard gasps and rolls his hips back again and again. Grant leans back up, puts one hand on Gerard’s waist and reaches around for Gerard’s cock and starts thrusting in earnest. They’re both close. Frank can tell by the way Gerard’s breath is hitching with each stroke, each thrust, by the way Grant’s thrusts are becoming faster, losing rhythm. Gerard leans over again so his mouth is against Frank’s jaw, and he stays there, forming kisses when he can manage them, panting when he can’t. Frank cups Gerard’s cheek, holding him there; he comes with a broken moan that Frank feels more than he hears.

Frank’s eyes go back to Grant and he watches him come undone a few moments later and then collapse down over Gerard’s back again. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the cut of Grant’s cheekbone.  Grant’s got his eyes squeezed shut, but he looks up at Frank’s touch and he’s so fucking wrecked, in the very best way.  It sort of takes Frank’s breath away, if he had any left from watching what just happened.  “Fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs.  Grant turns his head and kisses Frank’s palm, sitting up enough to pull out.  Gerard makes a liquid, needy sort of moan and buries his face into the pillow next to Frank’s head, then rolls over, stretches out.  Frank pushes himself up to kiss Gerard gently on the lips.  The bed shifts as Grant climbs off it, and Frank slips off too, to tug the bedspread out from under Gerard.

The bedspread’s pretty gross, so he leaves it piled on the floor, bending to tug the sheet and duvet out from under Gerard’s legs.  A warm hand on his hip makes him jump; but it’s Grant, of course, returning from the bathroom and wrapping around Frank from behind.  Frank looks up, over his shoulder, but Grant’s got his face tucked against Frank’s hair, just fucking holding him for a moment, and it makes something swell in Frank’s chest to be held like that.  When Grant lets go Frank doesn’t let him go far, twisting around and going up on his toes to kiss him.  “Get back in bed,” he tells him.  Grant climbs over Gerard to stretch out on his side next to him, and when Frank gets the covers adjusted to his liking, Grant’s propped up on an elbow, combing Gerard’s hair away from his face, running his fingertips over the shaved bits on the sides.

Gerard’s face … there aren’t many people who Gerard lets see him like this.  He’s so goddamn beautiful - always, yeah, but especially when the walls are down.  Frank climbs in on the other side of him, leans down to kiss the center of his pale chest, and then tucks his face into the side of Gerard’s neck.  He leaves his hand splayed over Gerard’s heart, and after a moment he feels warm fingers cover his.  None of them say another word, but Frank’s pretty sure no one needs to.