Chapter Five: Frank/Gerard — February 14, 2004
info: Frank Iero is definitely not in love with Gerard Way. Frank Iero is definitely not writing vent poetry wishing Gerard wasn't such an enigma. Frank definitely doesn't publish his writing online under the pseudonym of F.T. Willz. Gerard becomes a fan of the poems he has no clue are all about him. Hell, Gerard never notices the way Frank is always manically, tearfully, and furiously writing in his notebook. Why would he ever notice Frank anyways? It's not like they'd ever agreed on a label for what they were so why would Frank care?
Spanning from approximately 2002-2007, this story is told in non-chronological order.
additional info: In this fic, Gerard is a transman several years into his medical transition and has undergone HRT and top-surgery long before the majority of the story takes place.
[Author is a transman who has undergone the same medical transition as Gerard.]
Chapter Five: Frank/Gerard — February 14, 2004
Gerard mindlessly flipped through the same dozen channels the shitty motel television had to offer as he sat cross-legged on the king-sized bed. The tour manager had fucked up and accidentally booked the only honeymoon suite in the entire downtown area after the band member's insistence that he and Frank share a room. He wondered to himself if Brian had done this intentionally and if it was another typical tour prank... or if perhaps Brian knew that the two of them had never been merely bandmates with one another. Gerard didn't mind the romantic atmosphere despite a gut instinct telling him that Frank would either laugh himself to death or be mildly horrified at the very idea that the staff would assume they were newlyweds (or at least as close as two men could be to such a thing in the early-mid 2000s). He couldn't determine exactly why, but he deeply hoped that Frank would have neither reaction and, if he was being honest with himself, Gerard had no idea what he hoped Frank's reaction would be when he finally got back from a beer run and scoring drugs. The ironic juxtaposition of sitting in a honeymoon suite wondering what his relationship was with the man bringing home scheduled narcotics as a love language was not lost on him whatsoever.
He smirked to himself and continued cycling through the same channels, mentally taking note of the time which meant two things: Trainspotting would be on channel 10 in less than three minutes. It also meant Frank was nearly an hour later than he said he would be. He started worrying about the youngest member of the band yet, then again, when didn't he worry in some capacity about Frank? It was pretty hard not worrying about someone who gets hurt and hurts everyone else on stage with his visceral stage presence nearly every night. Still, it was a rougher part of downtown in a city they weren't terribly familiar with. His mind swam with the thoughts of what could go wrong. He could nearly drown in those thoughts if left alone with his own mind for long enough. By the time Frank arrived to the motel for the first time that evening, Gerard was engrossed enough in the opening scenes of the film, quietly reciting to himself in perfect timing and emotion with the main character's iconic opening monologue, he jumped a bit from his seat in the middle of the bed and nearly snapped his neck with how quickly his head whipped around to see Frank accidentally crashing into the door. The poor fucker had evidently attempted to carry a case of beer and a stash of drugs in all by himself without thinking of how he'd get through the door and still be able to close it behind him. Beer cans lay strewn about the floor but thankfully none were dented thanks to the carpeting of the honeymoon suite.
The film's opening monologue was a faint buzz in the background, 'Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?'
The setting sun of the February afternoon cascaded golden light and violet shadows through the sole window of the room, painting the young men in its ethereal melancholic glow. Gerard couldn't help but notice how the light made Frank's eyes sparkle — Frank, meanwhile, locked eyes with Gerard's which were a radiant shade of green rather than their usual hazel hue. Their hearts fluttered and palpitated in unison. The singer's gaze left the guitarist more stunned than a deer in headlights. He gulped. Frank felt grateful when Gerard finally spoke, his tone sassily playful as usual. "Are you gonna pick up those cans you dropped or are they part of the room decor now?"
"Wha-? Oh... yeah. Right. My bad," he said in a shaking voice as he proceeded to clean up the mess of his entrance, placing the beer neatly into the minifridge. He briefly turned his attention to the television and its electric hum. "Oh, one of your favorite movies is on, huh? Maybe this place is less of a shithole than we thought it would be, y'know what I mean?"
Gerard chuckled lightly, "I saw Dawn Of The Dead is supposed to come on right after this is over, too!"
"Fuck yes! Do the other guys know?"
"Mikey called me from his room to tell me about it while you were out."
"Couldn't be bothered to walk down the hall to his big brother's room to tell ya the good news?" A snarky grin spread across his face.
"He knew you'd be back any minute and said he didn't want to interrupt us."
"He thinks we're having crazy nonstop sex," he plainly stated.
"Why would he think that?" Frank blushed.
Gerard rolled his green sunset-tinged eyes. "Why wouldn't he think that, Iero?"
Frank couldn't come up with a snarky retort to brush him off and the nerves made his hands unsteady. He wordlessly offered Gerard a cold beer which he grabbed, the elder of the two sighing in quiet relief the instant the cold metal touched his palm. He cracked open the can and effortlessly downed half of it in one swig. Frank copied his actions, hoping it would steady him enough to prevent any possibility of Gerard noticing his shaking.
"You're blushing like crazy, dude. What's on your mind, Frankie?"
"I don't know where to begin, honestly..." he trailed off as he considered everything he'd ever thought about saying to the black-haired man in front of him who was sitting on the bed with a look that was unreadable. Mysterious as always, Frank thought to himself.
"You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge or mock you, you know that," his tone was calm and reassuring.
"There's something I've been wanting to ask you for a long time but it's probably fucking stupid... Well, I guess it's more of a two-part question."
"Okay," Frank took a deep breath before continuing, "Do you like me?"
"What? Of course! You wouldn't be in the band if I didn't like you!"
"No, not like how you like the other members of My Chem. I meant more like... Do you like me?"
Gerard's eyes widened innocently in understanding realization. "Oh... Yes, Frankie. I really fucking like you. Um... What was the other part of the question?"
"Um, I was just wondering, like, how long exactly have you liked me like that for? Like, was there any specific moment or time or anything where you realized you liked me?"
"Hm," he pondered the question for a moment, "I knew from the moment I met you that you'd be an important part of my life and that I felt jealous pretty much every time someone would so much as look at you like they might want you, too."
"What, at the Eyeball Records party we first met at?"
"Yeah. Before then I just knew you were my kid brother's roommate who had some connections in the underground Jersey music scene, y'know? I was kinda shocked the first time I spoke to you because I've never connected and bonded with anyone as instantly and easily as I did with you."
"What, like love at first sight or something?"
"More like this weird obsessive nature I couldn't shake. I started thinking about you just randomly all the time after that first meeting. The very thought of you became a drug all of its own. The only drug I've never been able to stop and would never want to quit even if it killed me. I instantly had a crush on you that first meeting, no doubt."
Frank's face grew even hotter and he abandoned all hope of trying to hide how red his cheeks were. "When did it become more than just a crush?"
"Frankie, if I could rewind time I would have kissed you during our very first gig together. I would have kissed you in the studio when we were writing and recording Bullets. I would have told you I liked you the night we met and asked you to stay the night at my place had I not been worried about scaring you off or you not feeling the same way."
"Wow, uh... I mean, for me personally, that first time seeing you was kinda shocking."
"In a good way, I hope," Gerard teased.
"Yes, obviously in a good way, Gee!" Frank and Gerard both giggled. "The way Mikey talked about you, I just assumed you were some weird vaguely-goth art-freak nerdy loser who was a total basement-dwelling hermit who never saw the light of day and lived in a world of comic books and horror movies."
"Not exactly wrong," he laughed.
"Yeah, true enough, I guess. Still... Nothing could have prepared me for finding out my roommate's big brother wasn't just a multi-talented musical genius — Mikey failed to warn me that his big brother's unfairly hot and attractive in every way conceivable."
"I think it would've been weirder if Mikey had told you I was hot," he giggled again.
"Ugh, you know what I mean, Gee!" Frank buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie out of habit, the sleeves bunching up on his arms as the oversized zip-up Banner hoodie was one he'd borrowed from Gerard's clothing the previous day. He refused to take it off as it provided him with a sense of comfort and security in the scent imbedded in the fabric that would otherwise be absent whenever he wasn't in close proximity of Gerard. On his errands of getting enough beer and drugs for the group, Frank had hardly noticed just how alone he was when he was enveloped in the scent of Marlboro Red 100s and burned-black coffee. Frank's hands absentmindedly fidgeted in the pockets until his fingers caught on plastic baggies and pill bottles. Remembering why he'd taken so long to get to the motel in the first place, Frank pulled the assorted bottles of pills and dimebags of powder out of the pockets and placed them neatly atop the coffee table in front of him that was adjacent to a worn black leather loveseat. He noticed Gerard must've already put an ashtray, lighters, matches, and an open carton of cigarettes there while he awaited Frank's arrival.
The man sitting on the bed observed as Frank emptied his pockets, a newfound sparkle in hazel-green eyes indicated that he was impressed by the younger's haul. "Coke, xanax, uppers, downers... and a bunch of other shit, too. Plus I got a few bottles of liquor for us and the rest of the guys. It's a fuckin' all you can snort, smoke, and swallow buffet or something," his social anxiety made him overthink everything to begin with. Being around Gerard seemed to heighten parts of that anxiety. Being alone with Gerard was a whole other story. But being booked for half a week in a literal honeymoon suite with Gerard in tight black clothes, lounging on the bed with his legs mindlessly spread open as much as the tight jeans would allow? Forget about regular social anxiety — Frank could hardly keep himself from stuttering and stumbling through every sentence he spoke, and he could hardly keep his tongue in his own mouth or cock in his pants, not that he'd admit it out loud.
"Perfect," he smiled with his teeth showing, his familiar vocal-fry snapping Frank out of his swiftly-wandering thoughts. Frank knew he only smiled like that when he was at his happiest. He smiled back at him, feeling a twisted sense of pride and accomplishment. "Did way better scoring than I could. I just hope you didn't have to suck anyone's dick or anything for all this."
"Oh, fuck off, Gee! Besides you're the only guy I've ever sucked off for drugs and you know it."
Gerard rolled his eyes. "You say it was just blowing me for drugs but you also were asking me about the moment I knew I liked you as more than a friend or bandmate... Don't you think I wonder the same about you? You and I both know that 'like' doesn't exactly describe what we feel for each other."
He hated when Gerard was right. "Is that some sort of confession or an attempt to pry one out of me?"
"Fine. I first felt attracted to you and totally mesmerized by you the night we met. I needed to be around you, there was simply no other option after I knew you at all. Maybe I wasn't as drunk as I said I was that first time we kissed but neither were you. When I'm fucking you it's like nothing else matters. Nothing matters more to me than you, no matter the context. It's been that way as long as I can remember of you being in my life."
He blinked, a little taken aback by the amount of passion and honesty in Frank's words. "I feel the same way."
Frank didn't know what to do with his hands and he sure as hell didn't trust any words that threatened to spill out of his mouth in fear it could jeopardize whatever semblance of a relationship the two men had. In a moment of desperation and idiocy, Frank poured a small amount of coke on his own tongue and placed a xanax on top of it. He stuck out his tongue at Gerard the way he usually did but held it steady and unmoving as he began the dangerous game of teasing Gerard who knew the drugs would be absorbed into the guitarist's saliva and bloodstream if he didn't act right away.
Gerard had always been good at acting without thinking, especially when it came to Frank. He got up from the bed, nearly rushing Frank and accidentally slamming him against the motel room door in the process with the old wood groaning in protest as Frank was pinned against it, with one of Gerard's hands grabbing Frank by the collar, the other hand in his short dark hair. Frank had no choice but to look up at him with his tongue still out. He wasted no time at all in licking the younger man's tongue with plenty of pressure repeatedly. After a few minutes, Gerard could feel the start of the come-up, signifying he'd managed to absorb the majority of the drugs he'd been teased with just a moment ago. Gerard continued to lick and push his tongue against Frank's, pushing inside his mouth with little resistance. He quietly groaned into the kiss, opening his mouth more while pulling Frank's hair to force his mouth open. Pale artist hands moved from Frank's collar to his belt buckle as their tongues and lips brushed against each other.
"Always," the singer growled. "You're fuckin' lucky that I have a higher tolerance to all this shit than you do. You probably wouldn't have fully overdosed but you'd sure as hell have the most miserable high of your life." Gerard kept looking down and away as he thought out loud: "I guess this is the silver lining to being a junkie, y'know? I mean, I wouldn't have been able to keep you safe and still feel sober otherwise like what I just did."
Frank took the hands that clung to his belt and held them in his own. Gerard felt hot and cold in equal parts and Frank knew quite possibly better than Gerard himself the telltale signs of the beginnings of withdrawals; the dose wasn't nearly enough to so much as keep him stable and certainly wasn't enough to make him feel anything from it. He was sinking all too fast into something far worse than sobriety and the younger of the two knew of only one tried and true way of helping him.
"Oh fuck, Gee, no- You're not a junkie, alright? Look at me. Look at me!" He lifted his chin and turned his head for him, resting his hands on either side of his jaw, looking him deeply in his tear-filled eyes. His pupils weren't the right size and made Gerard's withdrawal only that much worse. Frank wondered to himself if Gerard even knew that that's what was happening to him. "Even if you were I know that nothing could never stop me from loving and wanting and needing you. I promise it would never change anything between us, got it?" His usual vocal fry had wavered and cracked towards the end of the sentence from not just the emotional weight of his own words, rather he had faltered after the L word they never said to each other so as to make it less real left his lips in a flustered gasp.
"You'd still want me even if I was practically a damn zombie? Not like Romero or Dawn of the Dead, I mean the real-life kind where I'm just unpredictable and wasting away faster than you can even blink. You'd want me even if that became a permanent reality?" Gerard bit back his tears through gritted teeth, making sure none spilled over so he could keep playing the role of the face of the band who has to keep his shit together for the cameras and fans at all times.
"I'd want you even if you stopped wanting me." He was careful to use want in place of love, assessing that Gerard must not have heard the initial slip-up. "You can't scare me off, Way. Never."
He seldomly showed his truly vulnerable side so openly like this. His walls were down and he was coming down too hard and fast for either of them to fix fast enough. Gerard tried to speak. Frank recognized the far-away almost unresponsive glaze in his eyes along with the sweat pooling out of him. He knew to immediately grab a bag or trash can or something for Gerard to puke into.
"Body couldn't absorb the xanax fast enough to stop it. 'M sorry. I hate that you have to see all this shit."
"I'd hate you going through it alone a whole lot more."
After a few minutes, Frank gave Gerard as many pills as he insisted on needing lest he suffer through that withdrawal that was only just getting started. He drank a beer in case the lack of booze was hurting more than helping. To counteract the sedatives he popped a few uppers and then required Frank's assistance to cut up the coke lines on the glass coffee table as his own frail pale hands were shaking far too much. He looked up at Frank, hazel-greenish eyes like a gun that was fully loaded and aimed at himself already; guilt-riddled and silently apologetic as Frank cut the lines easily, hands no longer shaking now that he had his bandmate's to worry about.
"It's alright, Gee. I won't let anything bad happen, I promise you'll start feeling better after we do these lines together. It's never failed before."
Gerard couldn't help but smirk at the truth and honesty conveyed succinctly within a couple of sentences. This was not their first rodeo. Trial and error led to the shared knowledge within the band that the quickest way to remedy the puking from withdrawal was to pump the frontman full of benzos, powder, whatever pharmaceutical narcotics they had available, and as many drinks as he could keep down.
Frank finished cutting the few lines on the table. He rolled up a dollar bill for each of them and handed one to Gerard. They snorted the coke in unison and waited for the high to hit. Trainspotting remained playing quietly in the background as the young men sat on the loveseat by the coffee table covered in coke residue. Frank arranged it into another line and split it with him. Gerard lit a cigarette and Frank followed suit. It was as if an eternity had passed before the drugs finally began to take effect.
Frank checked Gerard's pupils only to see that they greenish hazel hue had been nearly fully eclipsed by blown pupils. He didn't need a mirror to know his own were no different. His eyes darted to Gerard's hands holding a nearly-finished cigarette and saw that they were still, no longer shaking in the slightest. He huffed a sigh of relief at that. The colour had returned to his skin alike the life that had returned to his eyes. Gerard would be alright.
Meanwhile, Gerard's gaze kept darting from Frank's parted rosy lips to his darkening eyes and back to his mouth again, breathing in his secondhand smoke as he smoked what remained of his own cigarette before they both lit another in near-perfect synchronization. He stared openly and sultry now, his legs unintentionally falling splayed-open. "You have pretty eyes, Frankie." His voice came out soft, sweet, inviting.
Frank nearly choked on his smoke, coughing as he replied. "Th-thanks. Though your eyes are way prettier than mine."
He rolled his eyes. "Would it kill you to take a compliment, dude?"
"You have pretty lips, too."
"Thanks, uh, so do you-" Frank's half-assed attempt at accepting yet another compliment was cut short by Gerard's lips crashing into his. They quickly extinguished their cigarettes in favour of Gerard straddling Frank's seated lap, fisting the younger's hair as he bit his lower lip, sucking on his lip ring playfully before deepening the kiss.
Tongues pushed against one another messily with frantic desperation as they finally finished unbuckling and removing their belts. Neither could resist the primal instinct to grind their hips against each other, feeling their jeans gradually becoming uncomfortably tight as their hardening cocks pressed together through the layers of fabric. Frank softly growled with impatience as he unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down Gerard's tight jeans that had nothing underneath, instantly freeing the elder's hard cock. His mouth watered at the sight as he removed his own pants and boxers with Gerard's assistance.
"We have lube, right?" The elder of the two asked with urgency.
"Yeah," replied the younger as he pulled a handful of packets of lube out of the pocket of his discarded bluejeans.
"Good — I don't wanna bother with you warming me up tonight. Just want you. Forget the condoms while you're at it, too; I need to feel absolutely-fucking-everything, got it?"
"Oh, fuck yes," he breathlessly moaned his response as Gerard began sucking his cock. "Oh fuck, am I not hard enough already for you, Gee?" The words came out in a pathetic whine.
"You're a lil over half-hard. Need to make sure you're rock-fuckin'-solid enough to take my ass right away. Besides, sucking your cock just makes me need you inside me even more."
Frank couldn't argue with that logic. Gerard was kneeled between Frank's knees between the loveseat and coffee table gently kissed and sucked his tip before teasingly kissing and licking up and down the sides of Frank's cock which had begun growing longer and thicker from the stimulation as he continued to harden; he'd always been a bit more of a 'grower' than a 'shower'. The singer pressed kisses along the vein of the underside of his cock before pressing his tongue flat against that same vein, slowly licking from base to tip with firm pressure. He repeated the action until Frank was whining and whimpering, hips bucking involuntarily. Gerard swirled his tongue around the head, paying careful attention to where the head met the shaft. Continuing to tease, he sucked the tip while using his tongue on the veiny underside. When he felt Frank about to lose control over himself, Gerard locked eyes with him as he took the entirety of Frank's length down the back of his throat in one go. He loved the way Frank's eyes widened and lips parted with a groan, noises becoming louder and rhythmically timed to each bob of Gerard's head as he quickened his pace. Frank's orgasm hit him too hard and fast to warn Gerard who audibly gagged and choked as he expertly swallowed the cum shooting from the cock that was still buried deep in his throat, Frank's fingers knotted in his hair and holding him there until he was done.
Gerard pulled off and licked the remaining cum from his own lips, swallowing again. "Think you can still fuck me after I made you cum so fast?" There was a wicked gleam in his eyes, proving just how badly he needed to be put in his rightful place.
"Shut up," he snarled as he man-handled Gerard, pushing him onto the bed and pushing his knees to his shoulders. Frank kneeled in front of the bed so his face was level with Gerard's cock and ass. Without another word, his tongue began to rim his hole before sliding in and out, starting slowly and quickly escalating the speed and depth, making him whimper helplessly as his own cock twitched and sweated beads of pre-cum. Frank wrapped a tattooed hand around the length, pumping at a merciless pace. The whimpers became moans which nearly gave way to screams as Frank's hand was painted in white warmth.
Frank applied copious amounts of lube to his own cock as he positioned himself over Gerard, smiling with pride in himself as he spoke, "I think the better question is if you can handle a second round, baby."
Something inside Gerard snapped at the term of endearment. "Frankie, if you don't fuck me like you're tryna get my faggot ass pregnant somehow right fuckin' now, I swear to god, I'll-" he was stunned into silence as Frank easily slammed himself inside Gerard, burying himself deep in a single thrust. Gerard's hands clawed into Frank's still-clothed shoulders as the younger drilled his cock inside his hole with a brutally deep and mercilessly brisk rhythm. Gerard's eyes rolled back into his head as Frank repeatedly nearly pulled out before thrusting balls-deep back inside and back out again, over and over.
God, I hope Mikey, Ray and the rest of the band and crew can't hear this, Frank thought to himself as he quickened his pace, forcing Gerard's rhythmic screams to grow progressively louder and louder with no end in sight.
"Fuck, Frankie," Gerard cried out, legs wrapping around Frank's waist and hips with his feet locking him in place, giving Frank no choice but to deepen his thrusts, quickening the pace further. It was when Frank was in the midst of giving Gerard a hickey on the most sensitively erogenous part of his neck that the elder earnestly stated, "I love you- Mmnnhh... fuckin' shit you're so perfect. Fuck, I love you so much, Frankie!"
Frank's hips nearly stilled in his genuine shock. After all this time of knowing each other and all these times they've fucked, kissed, and everything else they'd done together, Frank refused to believe that this was anything more than the drugs and sex getting to Gerard in the heat of the moment. "Are you sure you really mean that, Gee and not just because I'm nine inches inside your ass right now?"
Gerard struggled to reply between thrusts and moans and screams of pleasure. "Yes, Frankie. I love you. I'm in love with you. I think I probably always have been in love with you... Was always just too chicken-shit to say it for real. Didn't wanna risk destroying whatever it is that we have together."
"Fuck, Gee... Fuck, I love you too, baby. I love you so fuckin' much and I swear you could never ruin or destroy anything. I love you, baby," he repeated. Seeing Gerard's dick twitch once more and feeling him tightening around him, Frank began to stroke him in time with his thrusts and made a point of hitting Gerard's prostate on every movement both in and out.
The passionate making out continued, Gerard screaming into Frank's mouth, "So fuckin' close, Frankie! Need to feel you flood my guts while I cum on your cock!"
"Say you love me again," he ordered.
"I love you! Frankie, baby, I love you so motherfucking much!"
"I love you more," he murmured as he spilled inside of him, walls clenching around his cock as the tattoos on his knuckles became unreadable as Gerard's second far-larger load covered the dark ink.
Gerard unhooked his feet and unwrapped his legs, freeing the rhythm guitarist who pulled out slowly and carefully, being gentle so as not to cause any discomfort to Gerard. Grabbing the baby-wipes they kept handy for cleaning up, Frank tidied up the both of them and collapsed on his back next to the singer, both panting and staring up at the ceiling. They lit cigarettes, Gerard pulling an ashtray off the nightstand to set it between them.
The closing lines of Trainspotting emitted from the buzzing old television, 'Now I've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways. It wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Or we'd outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. But let's face it, I ripped them off - my so called mates. But Begbie, I couldn't give a shit about him. And Sick Boy, well he'd done the same to me, if he'd only thought of it first. And Spud, well okay, I felt sorry for Spud - he never hurt anybody. So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers - all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person. But, that's gonna change - I'm going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm gonna be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.'
"Did you really mean it when you said you loved me, baby?" Frank anxiously inquired.
"Of course, Frankie. I've always meant it, even when it was through other ways of showing and telling you."
"So it was never just casual fucking?"
"Well, fuck — that's a relief bigger than anything I could ever describe."
"I know exactly how you feel."
"I love you more, Frankie."
There was a long moment of silence while both debated within their minds of what to do next. "I could go for a few more lines, how about you? I'll line them up again and make them bigger than the last round we did."
"Fuck yeah, baby," Gerard grinned, comforted by the fact that they shared the same idea of how to avoid any further awkward silences. "Let's do some lines and you can show me that guitar part you were working on for Bury Me In Black."
"Only if you show me the lyrics you've got written down."
Pulling out notebooks, pens, and Frank's guitar, the couple began to do what they do best together: Get high and create something out of nothing.
They didn't even notice when twilight gave way to a moonlit sky full of stars only half as sparkling as their locked eyes which were already both hungry for more. They had never been good at hiding just how much they craved each other. Now that they'd confessed the true depths of their feelings for one another, the cravings would only increase. Love and lust were simply other drugs they'd forever chase the high of and would stop at nothing for a fix.
The two young love-stricken men worked tirelessly, bordering on complete mania as they spent much of the next several hours going back and forth between making out and actually focusing on writing songs for the band's next album.
At some point, Gerard had said, "Happy Valentine's Day, Frankie," voice crooning even more beautifully to Frank's ears than any song he'd ever heard Gerard sing.
Frank blushed. "Happy Valentine's Day to you as well, Gee."
"Will you be my valentine?" Gerard giggled with childlike giddiness.
"Only if you promise to always be mine."
"I promise. Forever and always."
If only things could have stayed like that forever and always. For Frank and Gerard both independently and together, it was nothing if not rare for anything good to stay. They knew the risks. They would ultimately someday know the way things wouldn't always be this way. It wasn't always this way. Yet, no matter what happened between them, at the end of the day they both knew one thing to be certain: The show must go on.
