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The smell in the lobby is sickening, as much as it’s meant to be pleasant. Heady cologne and smoke are familiarly nauseating. A jet-lagged man deadened by various prescription drugs that aren’t in his name would equate it to the sour taste of stomach bile.
Gerard straightens his tie with his free hand while dragging his luggage to the reception desk. The lights are too bright and hot for his oversensitized mind. The stale, dry air of the plane has left his skin feeling irritated and hot, and he can hardly pay attention to the words of the receptionist. It’s second nature by now. He nods along and gives his information, and then he’s set with his hotel key.
The lobby is vast, similar to many places he’s stayed in on the strip in Vegas, but modeled after the art deco movement. It’s a heartless replica of the many historic monuments and hotels that erupted in New York in the ‘20s, feigning character through mockery, and severely lacking authenticity. There’s a large chandelier straight in the middle of the room, and the elevators are directly opposite, but to the left is a wide hallway. Gerard stops directly under the chandelier, staring in confusion and attempting to work out the destination.
“Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” The receptionist asks upon seeing his helplessness.
“Oh. Yes. What’s down that corridor?” Gerard inquires, straightening himself.
“There’s a few things. A lavatory, to your left, and, of course, The Lounge. You can check the directory to the right of the elevators.”
“The Lounge?”
“It’s a bar.”
“Oh. Right, thank you,” Gerard struggles to form a polite smile, then heads in the direction of The Lounge.
“Sir, you’re not allowed to bring your luggage into common areas.”
Gerard stops. “Oh, um —“
“I can have it brought to your room.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“You can leave your bags here. Just to let you know, we do charge for the service.”
“Of course you do,” Gerard mutters under his breath. He makes his way towards the desk and leaves his bags in front of it. To her, he says, “That won’t be a problem. Thank you.”
Gerard doesn’t wait to hear her response, but he can infer based on countless repeats of the same interaction. And common sense. He treads down the hallway slowly, dizzied by the busy pattern on the walls. The hall stretches on until the lobby is no longer visible. He passes the restroom, and then there’s an open sitting place, and straight ahead is the bright, simple signage of the bar. It’s dark and empty, save for one elderly woman nursing an iced water. She shoots Gerard a gummy smile when he walks in, sending chills down his spine.
He sits at the counter. The bartender is nowhere to be seen, but he is to be heard, humming some familiar tune in the back room. Gerard considers calling for him, but he still has an hour before he’s supposed to meet Mikey, meaning he has to stretch his time here.
It’s a good five minutes before a man comes through the back. He's looking down at his phone, tapping away at the screen, and smiling as he sends a text. When he finally sees Gerard, who's looking expectantly (and amusedly) at his face, he shoves his phone in his pocket.
“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, easing into a friendly smile. It’s fake. Gerard concludes this based on two facts: 1. Nobody is happy to see a customer so close to closing, and 2. He’d already caught a glimpse of his genuine smile, and this one pales in comparison.
“All good,” Gerard replies, drumming his fingers against the slightly tacky wood surface.
“Are you all set to order?”
“Yeah, can you do a sidecar?” Gerard asks, settling in a little. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the first button of his shirt. It’s stuffy inside, but the bar doesn’t smell as strongly as the lobby. It smells of citrus cleaner and leather. Ambient jazz music plays from a speaker in the corner, which matches the art deco theme without going too over the top. Still, the integrity of the building is laughable—or Gerard is a bit too perceptive of interior design.
“Sure thing,” the bartender says. He sets to making Gerard’s drink straight away, and Gerard’s gaze lingers on the deft movements of his hands. He checks his watch to distract himself, and then his phone to find he’s missed two calls from Mikey in the past five minutes.
“Shit,” Gerard mutters. The bartender looks up at him curiously, then glances back down at the orange he’s slicing. A text comes through.
mikeyway: can’t make it tonight. Call me asap.
Gerard frowns and shoves his phone back in his pocket. He’ll have time to call Mikey back before the night ends.
“Stood up?”
“Hah. No,” Gerard says. “Well, sort of. My brother was supposed to meet me at a diner a few blocks away, but..."
“That sucks, man,” he says sympathetically.
“Yeah, well,” Gerard shrugs. The bartender — Gerard takes a peek at his name tag: Frank — sets his drink before him. Gerard takes a sip and crinkles his nose at the oversweet, sugared rim.
“Is something wrong?” Frank asks, amused. Gerard glances up from under his eyelashes, and his heart skips a beat upon seeing the bartender’s curious grin. The glint of his lip ring is made obvious when he flicks his tongue against it.
“No, just strong,” Gerard lies. “It’s good.”
Frank mutters something about remaking the drink, and Gerard brushes him off automatically, both men going through the motions without giving any thought to the person in front of them.
Gerard continued to sip his drink, expecting Frank to walk away, but he stays put where he’s leaned against the counter. His eyes don’t settle on Gerard, though, which is a blessing. For one, it allows Gerard to take him in. He’s young—at least a decade younger than Gerard is, but probably more considering the smoothness of his skin and the lack of wear on his wide, tattooed hands. After a minute or two, Frank turns around and starts polishing glasses.
“So, are you from around here?” Frank asks over his shoulder.
“I’m living in L.A., but I’m from here — well, from Jersey, anyway.”
“Oh, that’s cool, me too. What brings you home?”
Gerard can’t help the small smile that creeps up his lips. Home. This place hadn’t been home for years. “I’m here on business.”
“That figures,” Frank says. He sets the glasses upside down and faces Gerard fully now, leaning back against the bar. “How long are you staying?”
“Three nights.”
A woman in a faux-fur coat walks in and sits two stools away from Gerard. She’s younger, which is made more obvious by her overstated fashion choices, but it’s hard to deny she’s beautiful: her honey-blonde hair hanging pin-straight across her shoulders; her skin as unblemished and pale as a blooming lily; her eyes glittering like tumbled topaz. Gerard shoots daggers at her sculpted face when Frank moves over to serve her.
She glances over her shoulder at Gerard and grimaces. He has half a mind to leave then and there, but instead locks eyes with her as he downs his cocktail. Frank is quick to take Gerard’s empty glass, shooting him a small smile before making the woman’s drink.
Gerard looks out the windows, which show a near panoramic view of the street outside. It’s wet with rain, the city lights shining off the asphalt like spotlights on a stage. It’s a perfect image, a familiar, constant view that stays the same in nearly every city. Gerard could be in L.A. right now and he’d be none the wiser, hearing the honking horns and tires dragging over wet asphalt. There’s people down below, too, in their great coats and puffer jackets, walking in hordes like worker ants, filing into doors one by one to get into whatever club or cafe or diner that’s still miraculously open.
“Can I get you anything else?” Frank asks, knocking Gerard out of his thoughts. The elder turns back to him, casting a sidelong glance at the other patron. The old woman had left sometime earlier, but the young girl stayed glued to her barstool, twisting slightly with the motions of her skinny calves against the chair legs.
“Oh, uh,” Gerard’s eyes meet Frank’s shyly. They’re piercing, round, and framed by dark, shaped eyebrows. “Maybe a Coke?”
“Rum and coke?” Frank asks. Gerard had meant just coke, but he nodded his assent anyway, and Frank starts making his drink.
The woman starts talking eventually, and her valley accent is unmistakable. She’s flirting with Frank. Her high tone of voice and obnoxious giggle give her up within seconds. Gerard doesn’t care, not necessarily, but Frank’s body language suggests that he doesn’t see her ministrations. He’s leaning a little to the left of her, as if trying to escape, and his eyes don’t meet hers for longer than a few seconds at once.
Gerard ignores it as well as he can and listens to Frank speak, not registering his words in the slightest. The smooth, low cadence of the bartender’s voice is soothing over the ambient jazz music, and it’s almost enough to cancel out the shrill tone of the other patron.
“I can’t…” Frank says, his voice wavering a bit. “I’m not allowed to. Work policy.”
Gerard hadn’t caught what the woman said, but by the sound of Frank's voice, and the insincerely apologetic expression he wore, his interest was piqued. Gerard stays focused on his drink, refusing to glance over at the encounter happening to his right.
“How about I wait ‘til your shift is over?” She asks, her voice low and sultry. Gerard tries to disguise his laugh as a cough, but the woman still shoots him a glare before batting her eyelash extensions at Frank.
“I wouldn’t be comfortable with that. I’m sorry,” Frank says softly, looking at the bar counter as he mindlessly wipes it with a rag. Gerard watches the way his muscles ripple with the movement, his pale, inked skin shaded beautifully under low light.
“That’s okay. I think I’ll pay now.”
Gerard downs his drink to occupy himself after witnessing such an awkward encounter. The lady is quick to leave as soon as she pays, and then Frank is right there, taking Gerard’s empty glass as he sets it down. Their fingers brush slightly.
“Can I get you another?” Frank questions.
“A water?” Gerard smiles.
“Oh, c’mon, let me make you something nice. On me.”
“Okay,” Gerard says bashfully, feeling his cheeks redden. He’d always been quick to embarrass, so it wasn’t a new look on him, but it had been years since anyone made him blush so easily. “Surprise me.”
“Okay,” Frank says, eyebrows raised. “Anything I should avoid?”
The answer is all of it, truthfully. It had been months since he had a drink, and he didn’t intend to change that tonight. Happenstance led him here, in front of this doting young bartender, and Gerard knew that a third drink is a bad decision; he knew sitting here by himself in the bar is idiotic, maybe even a little pathetic.
“I don’t do martinis,” Gerard answers.
“Didn’t think so,” Frank says turning around and picking an assortment of liquor. There’s a moment of silence, Gerard drumming his fingers against the bar.
“Were you telling the truth when you told that woman to fuck off?”
“About what? The ‘no customer’ rule?”
“Yeah.”
“No, that was all bullshit,” Frank shrugs. “But, it’s probably frowned upon.”
Frank’s straightforwardness is admirable, or maybe Gerard’s just a little too loose right now. He finds the man exceptionally charming in his white button down, the sleeves pulled up. It’s taken him until now to realize that Frank’s uniform is meant to mimic bartenders of the early 1900s — black armbands, a black and grey pinstripe vest.
"Well, why’d you reject her?” Gerard dares to ask. It’s reminiscent of a schoolgirl talking to a friend at a sleepover. If he were on a mattress right now, he’d be kicking his feet and blushing.
“She’s not really my type,” Frank answers good-naturedly. He places Gerard’s drink in front of him. It’s a stunning purple, and Gerard has no idea what’s in it.
“What is your type?” Gerard asks. It comes off more flirtatious than he wanted. He takes a sniff of his drink. “What is this, sizzurp?”
Frank laughs a little. Gerard takes a sip. “I don’t know if I have a type. I like ‘em a little bit older, funny, brunet..." Frank trails off. “Male.”
Gerard freezes. He sets his drink down slowly to avoid clinking. Frank stands there, apparently waiting for Gerard’s reply, or any indication that he even heard. His line of sight connects directly with Frank’s chest. He glances up at his eyes, then down to the strange, fruity drink Frank had made special for him.
“I’m sure you meet a lot of guys like that, with a job like this,” Gerard starts. “And I bet you know you’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” Gerard says, feigning oblivion. It held true, though — if Frank expected anything out of Gerard, he would be sorely disappointed; anything more than a shitty, tipsy one-night stand isn’t on the table. Gerard can smell the alcohol on his own breath, and it’s familiar in all the worst ways. The nostalgia he gets from the worst period of his life settles heavy on his chest. Yet he’s not dissuaded like he expected. Frank’s peculiar smile and relaxed demeanor, paired with the casual way he speaks to Gerard, are simply alluring.
“I‘ll live.” Frank shrugs. He glances at the wall to their left, at the clock. “We close in forty.”
Gerard looks at the clock to double-check. He’d only been sitting there for half an hour and was already halfway through his third drink. He could feel the other two sloshing around in his stomach. Frank seems to have noticed his surprise.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine. It’s just jet lag screwing up my internal clock,” Gerard reasons. “I’m not usually like this. I don’t do this. Ever.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not anymore,” Gerard shrugs. He sips his cocktail. “I usually don’t talk with the bartender so much either.”
Frank frowns.
“Then again, I haven’t met one who cared to talk to me.”
Frank doesn’t say anything in response to that.
“Do you take a lot of older guys to bed?” Gerard asks out of nowhere. He regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth.
“I —-“
“Sorry,” Gerard interrupts. “I mean, have you got plans after closing?”
Frank inhales sharply. “No.”
Gerard spins the rings on his finger nervously, looking coyly under his lashes. “Maybe you want to come up to my room?”
“Okay,” Frank nods, glancing into the sitting area. It’s completely deserted.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll come up after I close.”
“Awesome.” Gerard grins. “I’m ready to close out.”
“Okay.” Frank smiles, his cheeks warm and red. “Last name and room number?”
“Way. 1032.”
“Okay, Mr. Way,” Frank says, drawing out his name as he charges the transaction to Gerard’s room. “You’re all set.”
…
The outer walls in Gerard’s room are entirely glass. He’s on the corner of the building in a suite with a sketchy wrap-around balcony. Some of his coworkers were likely in the rooms next to his, but he was the only one that came in from L.A. — the others coming from Illinois. His flight departed hours earlier than theirs.
Gerard sets his watch and ring on the dresser and shucks his suit jacket and shoes. He debates showering, but figures there will be time for it later, after Frank leaves and he’s inevitably awake, restlessly searching for sleep that will never come. He checks his phone instead, sitting on the sofa in the living room.
mikeyway: I’m really sorry
mikeyway: did you land okay?
g: landed fine. Sorry. Crashed for a few minutes.
Mikey read the text immediately and decided to call Gerard instead of texting. Gerard contemplated declining, knowing that his brother would know something was wrong through some weird sense of intuition. Maybe telepathy.
Gerard answers.
“Hey. Are you in your hotel yet?”
“Yep,” Gerard answers. “They got me a presidential suite.”
“What’s new?” Mikey laughs. “Look, anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. The girls caught the flu from school and are puking fucking everywhere. It’s disgusting.”
“Aw, that’s terrible. I’ll drop some care packages off for them tomorrow,” Gerard says decidedly. “Do you think we'll be able to meet up tomorrow at all?”
“Yeah, of course. Just without the girls and their mom.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Okay cool. You wanna do brunch?”
“Sure.”
“Eleven-thirty?”
“Sounds good.”
“And you’re staying at The First Centennial, right?”
Gerard hadn’t really caught the name of the place, but he figured that made sense. There’s a buzz, and then Frank’s timid voice comes through the intercom. Gerard nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Mr. Way? It’s Frank. From downstairs.”
“Just a minute,” Gerard buzzes to Frank, forgetting Mikey on the phone.
“Who was that?” Mikey asked.
“Housekeeping.”
“It’s one a.m." Mikey said, confused.
“I asked for some extra towels,” Gerard said absently, making his way to the entrance and running a hand through his unwashed hair. “I’ve got to answer the door now, so. I’ll call you in the morning?”
“Okay… love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Gerard tucks his phone into his pocket as he answers the door and steps out of the way for Frank. He’s changed out of his work clothes and into a plain black tee and dark jeans.
“Holy shit, I didn’t even know we had rooms like this,” Frank said instead of greeting Gerard. He traced his fingers along the walls as he explored the suite.
“It’s pretty nice,” Gerard comments. “I like the view.”
“It’s fucking awesome,” Frank fawns. He walks into the bedroom, and Gerard follows close behind. Frank just looks outside for a minute, his hands pressed to the glass. “It’s beautiful.”
Gerard stares at Frank, delighting in his excitement. He lets his eyes trail down the tattoos on Frank’s arm — the rising sun on his elbow, the Virgin Mary on his forearm. Frank turns, and Gerard darts his gaze back up to the younger man’s face.
“Who were you on the phone with?” Frank asks, thumbs in his belt loops.
“My brother,” Gerard answers.
“The one who stood you up?” Frank jokes. He toes off his shoes and flops onto his back on the mattress.
“Yeah.” Gerard grins. “I think it worked out okay though.”
“Yeah?” Frank asks, feigning innocence. His fingers play with the hem of his shirt. “Why’s that?”
Gerard crawls up from the end of the bed, hovering over Frank before slotting his knees under the bartender’s spread legs. He leans in slowly, his lips just brushing Frank's, until he surges up to meet them in a searing kiss.
“I have a cute boy in my bed now,” Gerard answers, dragging his lips over Frank’s neck. He nips just below Frank’s jawline, making him shudder. One of Frank’s hands threads itself into Gerard’s hair, the other resting on his hip, squeezing the chub spilling over his waistband. Frank ruts up against Gerard’s stomach, already straining his jeans. “You’re so hard already.”
“I can’t help it,” Frank breathes, running the hand on Gerard’s hand down to the older man's bicep, squeezing along it. “You’re fucking hot.”
Gerard pauses for a moment, nosing against Frank’s collarbone, before he kisses him again, slow and sensual, his tongue pushing into Frank’s mouth — it’s dirty and sloppy, and Frank’s hot, responsive mouth against his has him filling out his slacks within seconds.
“Fuck.” Gerard groans, running a thumb over Frank’s slick, swollen lips. He pushes his thumb into it, opening his jaw, Frank takes his thumb in obediently and sucks, swirling his velvety tongue around it. He withdraws his thumb after a moment, dragging it across his cheek and leaving a wet smear.
“Can I suck your cock?” Frank asks innocently, ghosting his fingertips along his chest and down his torso, stopping at the top of his belt buckle.
“You wanna?” Gerard teases, stroking his fingers along Frank’s pronounced jawline.
“Please?” Frank begged. He brought his hand lower down to palm at the older man’s clothes erection. “I wanna taste you. You feel so big.”
“Go ahead, baby,” Gerard says, pushing his hips toward Frank’s hands. Frank undoes his belt buckle and tugs it away in a swift, practiced move. Gerard unzips his own fly and impatiently shoves his pants down to his knees, stopping with a thumb in the waistband of his boxers. Frank settles more firmly on his knees, dragging a soft palm up Gerard’s inner thigh — warm, pudgy, soft — and moves to caress his balls, testing the weight of them in his hand briefly. Gerard says tersely, “Don't be such a tease.”
Frank smiles mischievously, but stopped his torment, instead cupping the outline of Gerard’s cock. He runs his thumb over the head, making the older man twitch, then finally pushed his underwear down, watching in awe as Gerard’s dick bobbed: thick, long, and throbbing. Precum gathered in a few glistening drops at the tip of the pink, swollen head. Gerard took himself in hand, giving a few relieving strokes while Frank continued to stare, unashamed.
“Wow,” Frank breathed, then knocked Gerard’s hand away to replace it with his own, pumping the man’s member hesitantly. Gerard groans through a laugh.
“You’re so cute,” Gerard says, holding onto the back of Frank’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. Frank leaned into it with fervor before laying back, pulling Gerard with him. Gerard hums in surprise. “Thought you wanted to blow me.”
Frank sniggered, turning his face against the pillow as Gerard nipped at his neck. Frank’s hands landed on the curve of Gerard’s ass and thigh, encouraging him as he said, “straddle my chest — fuck my face.”
Gerard doesn’t need much more invitation, shucking his pants and underwear the rest of the way off before kneeing his way up Frank’s lithe, fully clothed frame. Frank looks up at him with half-lidded eyes—swirling black pools — as Gerard takes himself in hand, guiding his cock towards Frank’s mouth while Frank cranes his neck, caressing the tip with his tongue in a smooth, slick swipe. His hands come up to the other man’s ass, encouraging him deeper into his mouth and humming when Gerard obliges.
He thrusts into Frank’s mouth, relishing in the wet, tight suction that Frank so happily provides. His dark lashes fan over his pale cheeks, his thin brows crease in pleasure, while his pink lips mold around Gerard's cock. Drool already pools on his chin.
“You look so pretty. Such a good boy.” Gerard deepened his thrusts, causing Frank to gag and sputter. “Your mouth was made for this.”
Frank moans around him, relaxing his muscles to take him deeper, further into the tight press of his hot throat.
He pressed his thumb to the hollow of Frank’s cheek, feeling his length slide in and out of the younger man. He twitches, leaking precum onto Frank's eager tongue. Frank grabbed one of Gerard’s hips, his other hand squeezing between their bodies to briefly touch his balls, before pressing up against his perineum, prodding in a gentle massage.
Gerard slows his thrusts, watching Frank struggle to swallow around him as he pushes in to the base, Frank’s nose pushing against his stomach, capturing the moment in his mind, before pulling all the way out.
“You alright?” Gerard asks because Frank hardly looked composed, gasping for breath, his cheeks red and tear-stained. He looks beautiful; he looks ruined.
“Yeah,” Frank croaks out, petting Gerard’s hip reassuringly, his thumb brushing over thin, silvery stretch marks. Gerard tries not to pay it any mind, tries not to flinch away from the suddenly gentle touch. “So fuckin' alright. You?”
Gerard laughs, kneels off of Frank, and settles beside him. “I’d be better if you took your clothes off.”
“You don’t want to help?” Frank teases, but he already had his t-shirt over his head. Gerard hurries to move onto his pants, and gets those undone and off, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs. Frank’s hands find the knot of Gerard’s tie and discard it before starting frantically on the buttons of his shirt. Gerard helps him along for the last few buttons before twisting the shirt off, leaving him completely bare.
Before Frank could take too good of a look, Gerard’s hand finds the waistband of Frank's boxer-briefs, pulling them down gently — a stark contrast to how roughly he was treating him only moments before. He takes Frank’s cock in his hand, stroking gently and without much pressure, as if feeling it out. A spurt of precum dribbles down Frank’s dick and spreads to Gerard’s thumb.
“Look,” Gerard whispers, stopping his movements but holding his hand in a loose fist.
Frank looks down, blushing at the sight. Gerard’s wide palm envelopes nearly his entire cock. "Oh shit.”
“You’re so small Gerard comments, completely cool and neutral. “It felt bigger when you were humping my hip like a dog.”
“It’s— you’re just—“ Frank blabbers, flustered. Gerard squeezes his balls just the wrong side of too hard, and he whines, though his cock betrays him, pulsing at the sensation.
“It’s pathetic,” Gerard hisses, looking up at Frank from under his lashes. “You ever make anyone cum with that thing? You ever fuck someone with that?”
Frank nods. Embarrassed tears well up in his eyes and he quickly blinks them back. This — this kind of talk; the way Gerard was tapping into his vulnerabilities — was a step too far for a one night stand, as much as his body responds to the humiliation.
“Girls or guys?” Gerard asks, and Frank looks up at him blearily. Between his thoughts and the barely-there stimulation of Gerard’s loose fist, Frank briefly forgot what they were talking about in the first place.
“Girls,” Frank mumbled. Gerard tsks.
“Did you make them cum?” Gerard asks huskily, speeding his strokes on Frank’s cock, unable to stop watching the head disappear on the upstroke and reappear — only barely — when he reaches the base of the younger man’s length.
“I don’t know,” Frank admits.
“You’d know if you did, Frankie,” Gerard teased, tightening his hand and stroking Frank in earnest. “Your little cock is just so useless, isn’t it? You’re so selfish, getting yourself off and doing nothing to please your partner.”
“Gee —,” Frank gasped, bucking his hips forward. His face reddened. “I can’t.”
“Close?” Gerard coos, but he takes mercy on Frank and slows his hand to a glacial pace. “Already?”
“Please, I don’t wanna cum yet,” Frank babbles, falling into a character he often took with men like Gerard—older, dominant men. He can't help but submit to his touch and act stupid and desperate, even when his emotions are at war in his head.
“Why not? It’s not like this —" Gerard flicks his thumb over the head of Frank’s dick " — is going to do any good.”
Frank's dumbfounded. He can't defend himself, and he knew Gerard isn't someone to challenge. “I want to cum from your cock.” He exhales out a staggering breath, trying to keep control of his hips. Gerard releases him at last.
“I don’t have lube." Gerard frowns.
Frank grins cheekily and leans over the bed to get at his pant pockets, pulling out a condom and a few sachets of lube, tossing them between himself and Gerard on the bed. “They had some in the gift shop downstairs.”
Gerard giggles — high and girly — before playfully pushing Frank to lie back by his shoulder. “Of course they did.”
Frank’s playful smile wipes away any nervousness Gerard might've had.
Frank spreads his legs while Gerard kneels between them. He rips a sachet of lube open and spreads it on his fingers, bringing them down to Frank’s asshole, looking to the bartender's face for approval. He nods, gaze never dropping from Gerard’s face.
Gerard eases a finger into him, more explorative than purposeful. He watches the digit drag in and out of Frank, his jaw dropping at the tight heat surrounding his finger.
Frank whimpers involuntarily. His face flames in embarrassment, but Gerard only soothes him with a firm hand on his inner thigh. He slowly adds a second finger, stretching the other man well with long, thorough motions. He makes sure to never touch where Frank needs him most.
“God, even your fingers feel big,” Frank groans, pushing back onto Gerard’s fingers. His hand came up to still the younger man’s hips. Frank stills automatically. His chest rises and falls deliberately. His eyes slip shut.
“Doing okay?” Gerard asks, basking in the sprawl of Frank’s wound-up body. It was easy to see that Frank needs to expel his energy, but he held back from moving for the man above him.
“Yes,” Frank grits out at Gerard, who crooks his fingers, finally brushing against his prostate. “Feels so good.”
Gerard presses in a few more times, touching Frank’s prostrate head on just to see the furrow of his brow and the pink of his tongue, visible through his parted mouth. He withdraws his fingers, which earns a soft sigh from the bartender.
“Ready?” Gerard asks. Frank softly opens his eyes and nods, reaching for Gerard’s shoulder and tugging him forward until they’re nose-to-nose. “Like this?”
Things had taken a turn into untread territory. Frank’s eyes were gentle and imploring, having lost most of his eagerness within seconds. He lay relaxed beneath Gerard.
“Yeah,” Frank's eyes flit between each of Gerard’s. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” Gerard swoops down for a chaste kiss. Frank reaches onto the nightstand and hands Gerard the condom, his fingernail clinking into the gold band around Gerard’s finger.
Frank falters, but says nothing, pressing the small packet into Gerard’s palm. The older man tries to slide the ring off as quickly and discreetly as possible, but he fumbles, guilty under Frank’s watchful gaze. He waits silently and patiently until Gerard finally sets it on the table.
Frank runs hand from Gerard’s shoulder blades until it reaches the dip of his lower back. Goosebumps rise down exposed skin, his hair standing on end in the conditioned air. The crisp white sheets feel similarly cold, but Frank’s body radiates heat, his palm hot against his back like a branding iron.
“Fuck me,” Frank breathes against Gerards mouth. Gerard wordlessly slips the condom on and slicks his cock, pressing it to Frank’s hole before sliding smoothly inside of him.
He bites back a gasp and waits for Frank to adjust, pressing his forehead to the man’s collarbone.
“Go,” Frank says simply. Gerard thrusts cautiously, setting a slow pace. He keeps his eyes closed ans his chest pressed close to Frank’s — enough to almost feel his heartbeat.
Gerard speeds his thrusts, pushing deep into the body below him until the headboard hits the wall rhythmically. He lifts Frank’s legs over his shoulders, never giving him a chance to catch his breath — but his low moans serve as encouragement.
Frank’s body is like a furnace beneath Gerard, feverish with want and need. Sweat shines along the dip of his collarbone, his hair mussed, and his cheeks flushed in an image of pure sex.
“This what you needed, baby?” Gerard teases. “To be stretched full and drunk on cock?”
Frank squeezes his eyes shut and nods. His words only come up as gasps. Gerard slows his pace to mouth along Frank’s jaw, nibbling his earlobe while grinding in deep, slow motions into him. Frank went to reach for his own cock, but Gerard knocked his hand away, quickly replacing it with his own.
“Close?” Gerard asks.
“Yes, God yes. Please, can I cum?" Frank whines. Gerard speeds his pace on Frank’s cock, and within seconds, Frank is spurting across his own stomach, smearing cum between their slick, sweaty bodies.
Gerard maneurvers Frank’s limp body, and fucked into him carelessly, cumming inside of him with a strained groan.
Almost as soon as Gerard pulls out and ties off the condom, Frank rolls out of bed and wordlessly pads across the suite to the bathroom.
Gerard cleans himself up and settles into bed, figuring that Frank will be fine seeing himself out. He’s drifting off in the low light of the bedside table when he’s shaken awake. He starts — can feel himself yelping and is horribly embarrassed by it — and looks up to see Frank, in a fluffy white robe, standing over him.
“You were snoring,” Frank says, grinning. He sits on the edge of the bed, near Gerard’s knees. “Is it alright if I stay here for the night? I’m kind of scared of the parking garage.”
Gerard scoots back and lifts the blanket to let Frank slide in next to him. He does so gingerly, leaving about a foot of space between them, and faces away from Gerard.
“Could you get the light?” Gerard murmurs into his pillow. Frank does.
They lie in still silence until the buzzing of the AC starts up again.
“You don’t have to lay so far away,” Gerard whispers and reaches an arm around Frank’s torso, tugging him close before Frank gets the chance to protest — though by the way he places his own arm over Gerard’s, he wouldn’t have.
“You’re warm," Frank mutters.
“You’re cold.” Gerard whispers. He slots his chin over Frank’s shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to his neck.