Backstage - Gerard Way x Reader
Summary: You were working as a tour manager for My Chemical Romance. But somewhere between shared hallways and glances during backstage that lasted a little too long, the tension between you and Gerard stopped being something you could ignore.
Pairing: AFAB!Reader | current!gerard, divorced!gerard
Warnings: nsfw, current gerard (hell yea), oral sex (male&female receiver), unprotected intercourse (don't), age gap (reader is in late 20s, gee is 48) rough sex, dirty talk, spitting, dominant dynamics, marking/bruising, creampie, possessive themes, smoking (cigarettes), aftercare (he's a softie.)
Word Count: 12,8k
—MDNI—
authors note: my first fic ever. i still have a looong way to go and improve. i hope you like it and, if u do, let me know! i'd love to hear your thoughts. also i wanted to mention that the band's mentions of their families are purely fictional.
You made sure to fight for your dream career and make a living out of it, and so far, you did well. Above-average grades, enough volunteering programs, creative projects, and whatever you could find. All that hard-work to build an attractive resume that could land you something that allowed you to climb the career ladder.
It took you a little over ten years of sleepless nights, unpaid internships, and missed special occasions to be at the point where you are now.
You worked with independent artists for a couple of years before landing a role in a well-known festival, which gave you the tools, knowledge and confidence to crave for something even bigger. You knew you could do it.
Working as a tour manager wasn't the easy job you thought it would be when you were seventeen, freshly out of high school, with high expectations and tons of energy.
You had to be on every detail and more before even thinking of adding a new date: booking a venue, the capacity, the visas, the bureaucracy, shipping equipment, food and catering, health insurance. Even the parking lots. You were in everything. You wanted to be successful, and make sure that the artists could bring their art into life to give the fans the best experience possible.
And, as it was expected, connections are the key to success.
That's why you got a call on a random Tuesday from one of your university professors, asking you to meet her for coffee because she knew someone that was looking for someone, and she thought you could be fitting for the role.
"This band hasn't had a world tour in almost twenty years, I'm sure you'll do great. I can help you through it."
She leaned forward as she spoke, lowering her voice slightly while sipping on her latte. So, you took the opportunity, as you always do.
It was a couple of hectic months of daily meetings, Zoom calls, budgeting, negotiations with other tour managers and potential show openers, different venues all around the world, merchandising brands, ambassadors, booking hotels, flights, and lots of paperwork, graphic designers and the band, but it had all paid off.
You spoke mostly with Gerard, who was the mastermind behind the concept of the tour. They created an entire fake country, with a fake language and a dictatorship on charge. At first, you were a little unsure of the concept. He assured you that the fans were used to these creative concepts, and that there was nothing to worry about.
"We need to get a lot of blood, though. Like... gallons of that stuff."
"Excuse me?" Blinking, your brain was scrambling through thoughts, trying to come up with an explanation for his crazy request.
“Yeah, fake blood." He teasingly smiled at your surprise, teeth and all. "I mean, we cannot get that much fake blood in every location, isn't it better to just... bring it with us? And dilute it or whatever"
You scoffed in relief, why did you even think of the real thing?
“Sure, we'll find a way to… get you the blood."
Your inbox never seemed to empty, your phone never stopped buzzing and your caffeine consumption tripled.
When the day of the last meeting came, and you had never had such a nerve-wrecking Uber drive before.
This reunion was reserved for the crew leaders and the band, to polish things off. Mostly, it was an excuse to celebrate the success of the planning.
To be honest, it surprised you how demeanour was that day: formal attire and polite greetings. No one would've guessed that you used to go to sleep late, sat for hours in front of a screen with red eyes from reading updates on sketchy websites of the exact men that were right in front of you. The thought alone made your stomach twist in embarrassment.
And no one should know, either. You wanted to keep your past hidden in some forgotten blog, tucked away on a deep side of the internet where it couldn’t haunt you.
They were reserved, polite and professional but buzzing with excitement. There was an unspoken understanding in the room, all eager to finally bring this into life and give the fans the show that they have been waiting for. The anticipation felt electric, like the calm before a storm.
But alas, they were still the band. Rules, if there were any, bent around them. Smoking was permitted inside the meeting room, the sharp scent of Marlboro cigarettes mixing with the sweet cloud of chocolate-vanilla vape. The smell clung to the curtains, the carpet and to your blazer, thick and unapologetic.
"Man, I have been waiting for this for what seems like forever." Ray said, leaning back in his chair and pulling his long hair back. There was a big screen in the middle of the meeting room, where the comments of the tour announcement on social media swarmed the pixels.
“We’re going to kill it.” Frank added, a grin breaking across his face, eyes gleaming with boyish excitement.
"I told ya, guys. The concept is awesome. They're loving it already and don't even know half of the story”. Gerard grabbed a cup of coffee, looking at you curiously. "You really helped bring our vision into life." His tone softened at the end, his gaze lingering on you just a second too long for you to notice, enough for warmth to crawl up your neck.
Cheeks flushing, you grabbed the plastic folder and put the rest of the papers inside of it. You stood up, taking a final sip from your coffee, now lukewarm and slightly bitter, and leaving the mug back on the table.
"And that's all, everyone. Thank you so much for coming today." Your voice sounded steadier than you felt. "You will be getting the monthly schedule mailed to you today, plane tickets will be available in 48 hours. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me." Chairs scraped against the floor. Hands clasped. Goodbyes overlapped.
You stayed for a bit, chatting with Mickey about the possibility of traveling back home during a four-day break from shows, when Gerard’s presence interrupted the thought.
"Hey, so sorry for bothering. I just wanted to come here quickly and tell you how grateful I... we, we all are of you working with us. It's a pleasure to work with someone like you." Compliments coming your way, you felt your stomach burn. His eyes were bright, his smile gentle, shy almost. This was not the stage, theatrical grin. This was different. Personal.
"I say the same. I enjoyed every second of the planning, as exhausting as it was. Now all that's left is the best part, isn't it?" You replied, Mickey's presence long gone into some banter conversation with Frank.
He laughed under his breath, gesturing in the air as if he could already see it unfolding.
"Yeah, I cannot wait. This is going to be amazing. Thank you." His hand extended toward you. When his fingers wrapped around yours, the contact felt grounding. His skin was soft, grip firm and warm. The scent of smoke and coffee lingered between you. For a brief second, the room faded into a distant hum. You nodded, holding his hand a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“I can’t wait, either”.
And for the first time that day, your calm wasn’t an act.
The first leg of the tour started, and it couldn't have gone better. The concert was electrifying, disruptive, perfectly curated down to the smallest cue. The actors on stage, the timed explosions, the confetti cannons, the handouts and interactions with the crowd.
Everything ran on schedule, each lighting cue hitting on beat, each pyro burst igniting right on its mark. Even the transitions between songs flowed without a hitch. After all, fans had more than twenty years to memorize the lyrics of the songs.
From your spot near the monitor desk, headset pressed to your ear, you watched the stage manager call cues, vibrations of the sounds of the show rumbling deep in your chest. And you were proud of it: the production schedule, the technical rehearsals, the endless back-and-forth emails, the contingency plans stacked in your folder.
As the weeks passed, the guys brought their families with them to a few shows. The backstage turned warmer, noisier. Kids laughing, phones recording TikToks near the catering table, homework spread out on the tables between garment racks and flight cases.
And so far, Frank's children were the cutest. They were funny teens, eager to learn more about their dad's job, even asking to take a peek from the stage at the sea of fans during line check. Ray spent most of his downtime with his family, chatting near the guitar tech station, occasionally testing a riff while his kids clapped along. Mickey didn't bring his family as often, but he made sure to FaceTime them before every show.
You pretended to believe that Gerard didn't have his family with him as much to respect their privacy, but you knew better. You have seen it: he hadn't worn his wedding ring in private ever since you first saw him, the faint indentation on his finger the only proof it had ever been there. And you made sure to never ask anyone about it.
The question sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken, buried under professionalism.
As of now, there were two shows booked in the same venue. The first one, as expected, went smoothly. As soon as the show ended, your work started again. You stood backstage near the parked SUVs, with cold water bottles freezing against your skin for the guys in the band.
They all took one and started walking inside. Mickey grabbed his, putting it against his neck to cool himself down. Ray and Frank took his, said thank you and walked inside the van. Gerard grabbed the last one, stopping for a second.
"I loved the crowd today. They were... passionate." He said, brushing his damp hair away from his face.
"Yes, they were really loud today ." You replied, slipping one ear of your headphones off to listen to him a little better. "I could barely listen to the staff."
"I had to break character like three times." He swayed the bottle back and forth on his hands, the condensation making his skin shimmer in the dim light.
From inside the car, Mickey screamed at Gerard.
"Man it's getting late, we gotta leave."
From the SUV, the three guys were looking attentively at Gerard and you, patience running out.
"Can I help you with anything?"
Uncapping the bottle and taking a gulp of water, he looked at you. From your feet to your face, he swallowed, patiently.
"No. Thank you."
He walked into the car, sitting down next to Ray. Stealing one more glance at you as the door closed, you looked to your surroundings you. Everyone around you running around, no one seemed to be fazed by what had just happened.
Security moved like clockwork, escorting them through the service corridor.
You walked the empty hallways long after the crowd had disappeared, sneakers echoing against concrete floors, checking dressing rooms, confirming that the backline had been secured, making sure the lighting console was properly covered and the set pieces locked.
Only when you were satisfied, did you head back to the hotel.
Show number two began with the familiar rhythm of load-in and soundcheck.
You were backstage, waiting for soundcheck to start. Crew pass hanging from your neck, walkie-talkie clipped to your belt, black T-Shirt with a foreign, unreadable language print on the back and comfortable black sneakers grounding you against the constant movement around you. Someone tested a snare near the drum riser, the faint aroma of dust and heated cables mixing in the air.
Thankfully, you had left everything mostly sorted out the day before: updated setlists printed, hospitality confirmed, lighting presets saved. It was the exact same routine as yesterday, at least on paper. But you were still on edge, walking briskly through a narrow corridor near the dressing rooms.
You had to find the lighting crew to let them know about some malfunctioning LED screens that happened during last testing. You were rehearsing the instructions in your head when a hand suddenly stopped you in your tracks, resting on your shoulder.
“Hey, sorry. Did I scare you?” His voice came softer than you expected, close enough that you could feel the vibration of his soft voice against your ears over the distant hum of amplifiers.
You turned, the subtle scent of shampoo and clean cotton reaching you.
Gerard stood there with a towel hanging from his neck, catching droplets of water that slid from his damp hair onto his black T-shirt. He must have taken a shower before getting ready for the show.
“No, it’s alright. What happened? Do you need anything?” Your tone stayed professional, even as your pulse betrayed you.
“I wanted to ask you about some wires I almost tripped on last night. Is there a chance they could tape them down better today?” He scratched the back of his head, almost sheepish, though a playful spark lingered in his eyes.
You tried to focus on his words. Cable management, safety compliance, stuff you knew but couldn't grasp on to. You really did. You were trying to understand the message he was sending you, and failing miserably. His unfazed attention set on you distracting your every thought.
“Uhm… Wires on the stage? That’s weird.” You blinked, buying yourself a second to recover and mutter a better answer.
You checked three times the stage before the show, and there were no wires. Maybe during the second half of the show someone moved something.
“Sure. I’ve never seen wires on a stage before,” he replied, sarcasm evident, a quiet chuckle in his voice.
You two had grown somewhat close during the last few weeks. Constant proximity had consequences.
Shared glances during rehearsals, inside jokes about missed cues, an accidental hit of his elbow to your rib during the fast change of costume before the switch to the B stage. At the end of the day, you constantly saw each other under the fluorescent hallway lights backstage.
“Yeah, sorry. You’re right. I’ll tell them to reroute or tape them down before the show. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks. You’re on top of every detail,” he said, holding your gaze longer than necessary, that gentle smile appearing again, making your knees lose strength. You smiled back, nodding.
“Thank you. It means a lot.”
And it did.
More than it should have.
The compliment settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and unsettling. You will definitely be thinking about this today before going to sleep.
And there you stood, the noise of crew members moving around you fading into a distant blur, both waiting for the other to say something —anything— to keep the conversation going.
The walkie-talkie buzzed on your hip, the static crackling loudly
"That must be the tech crew, I'll get going."
You adjusted your pass and stepped back with a soft smile, creating a distance that felt heavier than it should.
You nodded before leaving, feeling his eyes on your back. Only when you turned the corner, out of sight, did you release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heartbeat took longer to settle this time, echoing faintly in your ears as the day moved forward.
The soundcheck was scheduled early in the evening, under a scorching sun that bounced off the metal barricades and turned the stage into a slow cook oven. Heat shimmered above the plastic flooring. Sweat gathered at the back of your neck as techs moved equipment into position.
Still, it went smoothly, besides one speaker malfunctioning during the second song run-through, producing a sharp burst of feedback that made everyone wince. Within seconds, the audio engineer swapped the cable, and the problem was fixed almost instantly.
You watched it from the crowd area, standing near the barricade where, in a few hours, hundreds of fans would press forward. Making the most out of the free time you allowed yourself, you also took a smoke break. The empty venue felt cavernous, echoes bouncing off concrete walls.
You took a quick picture of the band, just silhouettes against the afternoon glare. You sent them to Claudia, the Community Manager in charge of the band's social media and then slipped your phone back into your pocket, taking one last drag before throwing the filter on the floor.
You headed to stage left, climbing up the small set of stairs where an assistant was putting, one by one, guitar picks on the pick holder glued to Frank's mic stand.
Once you set a foot on the stage, high above the ground, a smooth voice interrupted your thoughts.
“You'd be an amazing landlord, did you know?” Gerard said playfully, walking up beside you. Black sunglasses were covering his eyes.
“Huh? Why do you say that?” Frowning, you removed one of your earbuds, momentarily confused by the randomness of the comment. The faint hum of white noise disappeared, replaced by the distant sound of the metal clanking of the barricades being pushed around.
“Yeah, you fixed the wires. The floor’s completely cleared up. Not even a speck of dust. If I were to fall, that's because I’m a fucking idiot.”
He gestured toward the spotless stage, props and instruments laid out neatly in their marked positions, tape lines clean and precise.
In moments like these, you realized how surreal it was. Who would've thought that one of the greatest bands you knew, one of your teenage celebrity crushes, was here complimenting your work with genuine admiration. You felt the rush before you could stop it, warmth flooding your cheeks.
You giggled. You couldn’t help it. And the corner of his mouth twitched when he noticed the blush deepening.
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, aren’t I?” You shrugged, trying to sound casual, attempting to downplay the emotions swelling in your chest at his praise. Professional. Grounded. Normal.
“Sure thing.” His tone softened as he stepped closer, wrapping his right arm around your shoulder in an easy, familiar gesture. The fabric of his T-shirt brushed against your arm as he guided you backstage with the rest of the band. The scent of vanilla and something distinctly him surrounded you.
“Are you going to leave like you always do, or do you want to hang out with us for a while? Most of the guys’ families are here tonight.”
Your body stiffened before you forced yourself to relax. You suppressed the butterflies creeping from beneath your stomach, threatening to rise into your throat.
“I’ll try to hang with you guys for a bit…” You hesitated, then added, “Isn’t your family coming tonight?” You asked it carefully, as if the question weighed nothing. Though, it did.
“No. I don’t think they would come to the tour.” His gaze drifted away for a fraction of a second, fingers adjusting the hem of his shirt, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
“Oh. Got it.” You didn’t push.
You knew better than to cross invisible lines. But your eyes betrayed you.
They moved subtly to his left hand.
You looked for the gold band.
There was none.
Two hours left for the show, and you were leaning against the wall beside the catering table, chatting with members of the crew and their families. The room smelled of popcorn, humidity, and fresh coffee.
Laminated passes swung from necks, teens glued to extension cords charging their phones, and actors checking their stage clothing on the mirrors for the fiftieth time of the night.
Frank's wife walked up to you, greeting you with a warm hug, catching up on the last few weeks when you hadn’t seen each other. You weren't close, but had definitely built some trust after a while.
“It’s nice to see you all with your families. It makes the show feel extra special,” you said, sipping on orange juice, your body thankful for the glucose.
“Yeah, we really enjoy it. It’s a shame about Gerard’s, though.” She lowered her voice slightly, glancing across the room toward the couches near the dressing rooms.
“What do you mean?” you asked, trying not to sound too invested.
“Just… you know. Going through a divorce right before a succesful tour like this.” She sighed softly. “It must be conflicting."
For a split second, the noise backstage dulled. Hiding your surprise, you replied.
“I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling right now.”
Your eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward him.
He was sitting on a black leather couch, long legs stretched out, chewing gum absentmindedly and showing something on his phone to the makeup up artist who was drawing scars on his face with stage makeup.
“He’s a nice guy. He deserved better, anyway.” She gave your arm a gentle squeeze before walking away to sit beside her family.
The last phrase echoed in your head.
He deserved better.
Your heartbeat shifted.
You usually didn’t have time to enjoy the concert. There were cues to confirm, security updates to monitor, last-minute hospitality requests... but you still managed to steal glances here and there.
The show was phenomenal. The crowd roared with every note, lights cutting through smoke in violent flashes of red and white. The band were masters at their craft, moving with instinctive precision across the stage, never getting out of character.
Gerard was a performer at heart. As the frontman and center of the band, he was made for the spotlight. The overhead lights caught the angles of his face, fingerless leather gloves on his hands.
He looked just as captivating as he had twenty years ago: older, sharper, but still unfairly magnetic. You just had to pretend not to clench your legs together when you saw Gerard grab a fistful of his hair, tugging it back while sticking his tongue out at the crowd.
The scream that followed from the audience was deafening.
No one around you noticed the way your breath hitched. The noise was loud enough to swallow your reaction whole.
Three hours later, you stepped into your hotel room, shoulders aching, your body begging for a shower. The silence felt abrupt after the chaos.
You kicked off your shoes near the door, sighing as the carpet softened your steps.
You were exhausted, but the caffeine you had consumed throughout the day still pulsed stubbornly through your veins.
At the end of the day, you were in your late twenties, traveling abroad with what used to be your teenage dream job. Big venues, sold-out crowds, laminated all-access credentials, contact number of people who, otherwise, would have no idea of who you were.
What else could someone ask for?
You couldn’t answer for anyone else.
But you could answer for yourself: you needed to be fucked.
It had been months since you’d had sex that felt intentional. Even longer since it felt good.
Well before this tour project landed in your lap and consumed your life. Your phone rang just as you were applying moisturizer to your legs, the scent of coconut filling the room.
Claudia. The closest friend you had made during the past few weeks. You were closer in age than most people on the crew, so the connection had formed easily: shared eye rolls during long meetings, late-night food deliveries, whispered commentary during rehearsals and a constant back and forth of TikToks and Reels between you two.
“Hey, are you free tonight?” Her voice came through lively, already buzzing with energy.
“Why?” you asked, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you finished rubbing the lotion into your skin.
“We are going to the hotel bar. It closed just for us. Most of the us are going. And maybe we’ll hit the club down the street afterward.”
You paused for only a second, silence on the other side of the line.
"C'mon, It'll be fun. We won't plan on staying late."
“Sure. I’ll be there in an hour.”
You didn’t allow yourself to overthink it.
Finally! A reason to dress up. A reason to feel like something other than production staff and a corporate nightmare.
You pulled out the emergency black dress you had been keeping at the bottom of your suitcase for weeks, smoothing the fabric over your hips. The only pair of black sandals you had brought were finally being put into use.
You did your hair properly for once, added eyeshadow a little heavier than usual, cheeks more pink and lipstick adorning your lips. As you put on your jewelry, you studied your reflection in the mirror, lingered longer than necessary.
Key in hand, you grabbed a purse with your wallet and your phone and walked out of the room.
You ran into Ray and his wife by the elevator. They were heading down for a drink before going to bed. They both smiled when they saw you.
“Woah! It’s the first time we’ve seen you dressed up in months!” Ray laughed, his arm circling his wife’s waist. You laughed with them, the sound lighter than it had been all day.
She complimented your dress, asking you where did you get it from. Small talk filled the elevator ride until the doors opened into the low-lit bar.
The atmosphere was warm. Amber lights, clinking glasses, relaxed laughter and soft music. You went straight to Claudia.
“Ugh, I thought we would never had a chance to dress up.” She scanned you dramatically from head to toe. “You look pretty. Let’s take some pictures before we look wasted.”
She led you to the bathroom, posing in front of the full body-lenght mirror, phone camera facing the mirror. She let you decide which picture to post first, making sure you both approved it before posting it on social media.
After a while, you returned to the bar, greeting crew members, accepting compliments, enjoying the loose atmosphere. Someone had already started a small dance circle near the back.
Claudia and you were chatting with two sound engineers about venue photographers, debating which one kept sneaking unflattering candid shots, when you spotted him. You both turned slightly as conversation continued, but your attention had already shifted.
He was sitting on a bar stool, dressed entirely in black. The dim lighting traced the line of his jaw. You didn’t even register exactly what he was wearing, because you looked away the second you realized his gaze was fixed on you.
“Sorry— what were you saying?” you asked, forcing yourself to refocus.
“I said that they gave me the wrong pass when I walked out earlier. I had to show them my credentials from yesterday for them to let me back into the venue,” Claudia repeated, watching you carefully. “What are you looking at?” She hid her smile behind the straw of her drink.
“Nothing. I should go say hi to everyone. Come with me?” You cleared your throat, tilting your head subtly in his direction.
She followed beside you as you made your way across the room, greeting people along the way. A few crew members stopping you to talk about the weather, the outfits the fans wore during the concert or how quickly the drinking water ran out at the venue. At the end of the day, their lives revolved around the tour for a couple months. There wasn't anything else to talk about, really. Still, they managed to find the fun in it, laughter followed you in small bursts.
With every step toward him, your pulse intensified. The carpet felt uneven beneath your sandals, the air heavier. Did you go overboard with this hairstyle? You should've done something more subtle.
Insecurity taking over you at the thought of getting close to him.
Avoiding him was no longer possible. It was time.
Claudia and you went straight toward him.
You just realized that Gerard was sitting right next to his friend Charlie, who gestured toward the empty stools beside him.
"Hey, girls. Nice to see ya here. Have a seat." Claudia started the conversation, bubbly and energetic, about some trends and memes on the internet.
She pulled out a secondary phone in which they had the official Instagram account of the band. She showed them some comments of the last two shows and memes that fans made. Charlie laughed, grabbing the phone and scrolling through a fan account.
"I don't get it, honestly." Gerard said, "An apple called Philip? That's the whole meme?" He squinted at the screen in disbelief.
"Yeah, Frank loves it. I think it's funny, too." Claudia replied, chuckling and retrieving the phone.
"Do you get it?" Pointing at you, Gerard asked with a smile.
"I think it's creative!" He nodded in agreement, shrugging slightly.
You could smell Gerard's cologne from where you were sitting. Subtle enough to be noticed but enough to make your head dizzy.
The bartender asked for your orders and you asked for a mojito because, honestly, you couldn't form a proper thought and it was the first drink that came into your mind.
You looked at Gerard's glass, but you couldn't have guessed what was drinking if you tried. You just focused on one thing: the naked fingers of his hand.
He caught your eyes focused on his hands, and you had to play it off.
Find an excuse to justify the prying gaze fixed on his fingers.
"Hey, what did you order?" You leaned slightly toward him.
"A mocktail. Nothing fun." he said, circling the ice cubes of his drink around the glass. "Are you going out with everybody?" His tone was casual, but attentive.
"I don't know, I want to go out and have some fun but I am already way too tired to handle a night out." You played with the mint of the drink with your finger.
"Same thing here. I gave up night life ages ago." Laying back a little on his stool, he rubbed his hand on his tights, stretching his back. "I would rather just... relax in bed, watch a TV show, something quiet to ease the adrenaline. What do you usually do after the shows?" His arms now rested on the table, eyes remained on you as he asked.
You were sipping on your drink, and some got caught in your throat. You tried to play it off, coughing a little. You won't tell him what you actually do, alone in an hotel room, searching for relief and a good sleep.
"After the shows? Uhm... I like to take a hot shower, scroll on my phone, maybe go out on a walk..." Voice trailing off as you say his eyes focused on you, nervousness creeping over you.
Your words were interrupted by Claudia telling you that they were ready to leave, and they would just walk in groups to get there.
"Oh, I'll go later. I need to grab something from my room before leaving."
Gerard tried to play it cool, and not pay too much attention to the blossoming disappointment in his chest knowing that you would be leaving soon.
"What do you need to grab from your room?" You looked at him, slightly frowning at the question "I mean, what would you need to bring to a club that was so important, anyway? If you don't mind me asking."
"Uhm... My cigarettes. Why?"
"I can give you mine." He said, taking an opened box of cigarettes from his back pocket and putting it in front of you on the bar table. "I got them during my last trip to Japan. You will need to give me one before you go. They are all I have left, I already ordered some but the shipping will take a while."
Grateful for the gesture, you smiled warmly as your hands grabbed the box, analyzing the foreign design.
"Well, do you want to go out for a smoke?" You asked innocently, with fluttering eyelashes.
"I do. Have you gone to the rooftop of this hotel? We've been here before with the band, actually. The view is amazing."
He spoke excitedly, emphasizing with his hands.
"I haven't. Show me?" You held his gaze.
Both of you stood up from the stool, making sure that there wasn't anyone else close enough to listen to what you will say next. They did not need to hear it, anyway.
You spoke directly to the actor sitting right next to Gerard.
"Do you want to come with us?" You asked, knowing damn well the answer that will follow.
You were in charge of checking everyone's medical records for health insurance.
"No, thanks. I do not smoke." Dismissively, he waved.
"Oh, it's fine. I guess I'll see you later then." Smiling politely, you nodded at him, walking toward the elevator with Gerard following you.
The distance helped you to hide the smirk forming on your lips. You hand’t had the opportunity to be alone with him. The idea thrilled you, even if nothing were to happen.
Behind you, you were completely oblivious of the internal dilemma that the man behind you had on his mind.
Some people looked at you two, conspicuous at the scene unfolding in front of them. No one would ever dare to say anything about it though.
He pressed the button, and you both waited. After a couple seconds, the elevator came and you both walked in, and he pressed the last button on the console.
He looked at the numbers on the small screen, fixated on the changes of numbers on the LED display. Trying to hide the racing thoughts in your brain and not to focus so much on the slight tremble forming in your hands, you focused on his side profile, a question hanging on your lips.
"I don't want to intrude, I genuinely don't. But, may I ask why didn't your family come to tour?" He sighed, looking at you.
"It's not convenient at the moment. You know, it’s the middle of the school year... I also got divorced a couple of months ago." A faint side smirk touched his lips as he rushed through the last sentence.
Your breath caught in your throat. You didn't expect such a straightforward answer.
"I didn't know. I'm so sorry."
"No worries, everything is sorted out now."
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the cold night breeze rushed in immediately, brushing against your skin and slipping beneath the fabric of your dress.
The air smelled faintly of rain and distant asphalt, that metallic scent cities carry after dark. Somewhere far below, traffic moved in slow waves with the occasional horn echoing upward, muted by height.
He motioned toward the door for you to step out first. This simple gesture made your stomach flutter.
The rooftop stretched wide and quiet, concrete still holding a trace of the day’s warmth beneath the chill.
You walked toward the railing, positioned at a safe distance from the edge of the building, your heels clanking softly against the floor. The city lights below painted everything in gold and amber tones, turning your skin warm despite the cold. You rested your hands lightly on the cool metal railing.
Your pulse quickened, and you didn't know if it was because of the height or the company. His presence registered before his voice did, shoulder nearly brushing yours.
The warmth of his body contrasted with the crisp air, and you became acutely aware of every inch of space between you.
From his back pocket, he pulled the box of cigarettes and a lighter. As he opened the box, your eyes followed every movement: the flick of his thumb, the way his knuckles flexed with practiced motion, the way the cardboard bent. He noticed.
With a low chuckle, he tilted the open box toward you.
“There you go, lucky girl.” You looked down. There was an upside-down cigarette tucked carefully inside the pack. Your lips parted in quiet amusement. You lifted your gaze to him again, finding a playful, almost proud look on his face made something warm spread through your chest.
He nudged the box closer, raising eyebrows inviting you to take it. You slid the cigarette out slowly with a smile and a faint blush on your cheeks.
He took one for himself, tapping it lightly against the box before placing it between his lips. The lighter sparked on the second flick, the small flame dancing in the wind. He cupped it with one hand to protect it, leaning slightly toward you as he lit his own cigarette first. The glow illuminated his features for a moment, sharp nose, focused eyes, and the furrow on his eyebrows. He inhaled, then turned his head deliberately, blowing the smoke away from you.
The scent of tobacco mixed with the cold night air, curling upward and dissolving away from you. Then he handed the lighter to you. You did not take it.
"Can you light it up for me?" You held his gaze as you brought the cigarette to your mouth, hugging it with your lips. He moved the lighter closer to your face, flicking it. Your hands cupped the tip against the wind, fingers brushing his knuckles a secondlonger than necessary.
The end of the cigarette sizzling due to the flame. He saw the fire reflecting briefly in your eyes, as the far end glowed orange while you took your first drag.
Neither of you spoke.
Somewhere below, a siren wailed faintly and faded. And beside you, close enough to feel his sleeve grazing your arm, he stood with that small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Nervous, excited.
Just like you.
Leaning against the rail and voice full of confidence, he broke the silence.
"What about you? You never speak much about your personal life."
The question settled between you, heavier than the smoke blowing out of his lips. You did not know what to say. You wanted to share more about you, keep the conversation flooding, to keep him looking at you like that, but where would you even begin? What would you say?
"Uhm, well. I went to university and did as many creative projects and internships as I possibly could to get to work in the industry." Gratitude filled you for the cool railing beneath your fingers, grounding you and steadying your composure. "I barely had any time to do anything else besides learning about this, really. Besides that, this kind of job is my life."
Smiling, you tapped the filter of the cigarette to let the ashes fall.
A casual shrug followed, as though it had all unfolded effortlessly, as though it hadn’t cost sleep, relationships, fragments of yourself.
The man in front of you was a listener. Attentive. Present.
His gaze didn’t wander. It didn’t rush you.
It waited.
The words came out steadier than you felt, stomach burning with emotions. He tilted his head slightly.
“Yeah, but that’s your job. You know about mine, too.” His voice softened. “I want to know more about you.” Shifting onto one hip, he added, “I don't know… do you like our music? Tell me the truth. I won’t get of fended.”
One arm crossed over his chest, cigarette resting between the fingers of the other hand. Studying your face as if your answer mattered more than whatever was happening in the beautiful landscape of city lights and buildings.
You exhaled slowly, smoke leaving your lips in a thin stream. “I went to a small school,” you began, surprising yourself. "We all listened to the same music. It was our way of discovering a new world without leaving town.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the railing.
“We’d to lock ourselves in my room and listen to music all day, until my parents yelled at me to turn it down.” A soft laugh slipped out. "I think that’s why I work in this industry,” you continued, more softly now. “I like being part of something that makes people feel that same thing that I felt when I was younger. Even if I’m behind the scenes.” You glanced at him, almost shy despite yourself.
“And yes,” you added with a smirk, “I like your music.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. But you weren’t finished.
“On a more personal note, I don’t date much,” you said, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. "You know this better than I do, but this job takes up most of my time. And when I do…” You hesitated. “It’s hard to find someone who understands it."
Your eyes searched his instinctively. The vulnerability hung there, exposed for his eyes to see. Another drag gave your hands something to do.
“And what about you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, a subtle challenge in your tone. “Do you always bribe women with Japanese cigarettes on rooftops in exchange of information?”
And there it was your wolf dressed in sheep clothing. Your humor as a defense mechanism to hide the deep interest in his answer.
"Nah, women vape more nowadays. I don't go around giving vapes away." The joke rolling effortlessly on his mouth. He did not want to push for more information. He respected the boundary you set for yourself. Maybe you would eventually loosen up and speak more about yourself.
And maybe he’d still be there when you did.
“You’re very good at this,” you said after a moment.
“At what?” His brow lifted slightly.
“Getting people to talk. You ask very precise questions.” A soft huff of laughter from him.
“After so many years in interviews you kinda learn how to read people.”
“And?” you pressed lightly. “What have you read so far?” His gaze lingered a moment too long, playful narrowing in his eyes.
“That you deflect when things get too real.” You scoffed, though your smile betrayed you.
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” Smoke drifted sideways as he exhaled. “But I don’t mind. I like figuring things out.”
You shook your head, amused.
“So what now? Another psychological question?”
“Maybe.” He tilted his head. “Let’s keep it safe.”
“Safe?” You arched an eyebrow. He nodded toward you with the cigarette between his fingers.
“Back when you were locked in your room, listening to music that made your parents mad, true teenager fashion…” A slow grin spread across his face. “I assume we were part of that soundtrack, too. Who was your favorite member of the band?”
And there it was.
A mischievous grin appeared on his lips before he took a drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing softly in the dark, warm light spreading across his face.
"Ray, definitely." You quickly replied, almost too quickly. "He's awesome. There aren't many guitarists like him these days."
Warm laughter followed, surprised and genuine, bringing a hand up to his face as if to hide the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.
"I wasn't expecting that answer, but yeah, I agree. He's one hell of a musician."
"What answer were you expecting?" You asked, stepping a little closer and raising an eyebrow.
A rush of courage rushing through you, enough to make you feel brave enough to have this conversation.
"You know… I mean, I hate to be that guy, but… statistically speaking, Frank and I are the most likely to be the fans' favorite." He shrugged, feigning arrogance, but his eyes searched yours for something more honest.
"I figured you already knew that. I didn't want to be cliché. You are still everyone's favorite at the end of the day."
"So am I your second favorite member, then?" Little wrinkles formed at the sides of his eyes as he smiled, tilting his head slightly.
"You could be the first."
"How so?" He flicked the ash off his cigarette, gaze darkening with curiosity.
"I mean, you gave me your last box of cigarettes, and the one that was upside down." You said, unconsciously brushing your hair out of your face. "That means a lot."
"I could have done more..." He replied quietly, taking a final drag and throwing the filter on the floor. "As much as you let me." Grinding the remnants of the cigarette beneath his shoe, his voice dropped lower.
"I would have let you do more." He licked his lips, looking fiercely into your eyes. You held the filter between your lips, sure that it would stain with your lipstick before taking a slow, deliberate drag.
Silence and tension grew between you two, the slow wind of the night caressing your hair. He never looked away from you. Not even when you leaned in just slightly and softly blew the smoke toward his face, the night breeze carrying it away between you.
He didn't say a word.
You two stood there, goosebumps rising on your skin from the cold night air. You wanted to get closer to him, the warmth radiating from his body tempting you to leave the professionalism back at the hotel bar where you guys reunited.
"You have no idea of what that means, sugar." Letting out a chuckle, the nickname lingered on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.
"Then I'll need you to tell me."
He smiled, averting his gaze to the skyline before looking back at you.
"I have been pretending for weeks now." His fingers ran through his hair, pushing it back.
"Pretending what?" You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence, but genuine doubt taking place in your mind.
"Pretending that I don't want you." His hand combed through his hair again, slightly pulling back his sleeves. "I am no fool. I see the way you look at me, too."
You focused on him, on his eyes, on his presence. He stepped into your space without hesitation, and before you could take another drag, he reached up and took the cigarette gently from your lips, his fingers brushing the corner of your mouth in the process.
His eyes never left yours as he brought it to his own mouth instead, inhaling slowly, as if claiming the moment along with the smoke.
“You don’t look at everyone like that.” he said quietly, the words almost lost in the wind but heavy enough to anchor you in place. He exhaled to the side this time, not breaking eye contact. Not giving you space to escape this conversation.
“Tell me I’m not imagining this.” He stepped closer, just enough to make the cold irrelevant. The warmth of him bled through the thin space between your bodies. His free hand laying inches near your hand on the railing. Your eyes moved from his eyes to his lips,
“If I’m wrong,” he murmured, slow and controlled, “you can step back.”
He didn’t.
And neither did you.
"You knew. You want this too. Why didn't you do anything about it sooner?" You asked, heartbeat rising with every passing second. Standing closer to him than you've ever been, your voice barely above a whisper.
"You know why. There are so many reasons why this is wrong for me to do." His voice grew quieter, a conflicted expression on his face.
"Who cares?"
"I care." His jaw tightened. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." Your hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his warm hand.
"I..." He sighed, closing his eyes briefly as if gathering courage. "I am trying so hard to find a reason not to kiss you right now." His voice dropped to a murmur. Chests almost touching. "But you're making it impossible."
"Kiss me." A murmur from your mouth broke the silence, hand sliding slowly on his arm.
"You promise you're okay with this?" He raised his hand, feeling the walls crumbling down. Unexpectedly, you felt his touch resting gently on your cheek.
Silence took over.
You rose onto your toes to stand up closer to him.
He closed his eyes, breathing out a "Fuck this" and breaking the distance between you two.
Your cigarette on his digits falling on the concrete floor, still lit. His lips felt heavenly on yours, moving slowly as the murmur of the city's traffic played in your ears. A hand settled at your waist, guiding you closer, your own finding the nape of his neck.
The warmth of his mouth did contrast with the coldness of the weather, sending chills down your spine. The kiss got deeper, as he pulled you to his embrace and held your body in his hands.
You pulled apart, breathing erratically, close as ever. You just stared at each other before closing both of your eyes, lips slightly grazing each other. Teasing, you met your lips again, not holding back this time. Open-mouthed and greedy. The pent up tension fading away wich each movement of his tongue on yours.
You broke the kiss, foreheads touching and breathing heavily you mustered up the courage to ask the biggest question of your life:
"Do you wanna go somewhere else?"
"I do. Let's go."
You grabbed his hand, going straight to the elevator.
Once inside, you just stood there. You didn't know if the elevator had cameras, but it was better not to risk it. He pressed a button, you assumed it was the one leading to the floor he was staying at. Your legs were slightly shaking. His heart fluttered in a way that he hasn't felt in years. When you started doubting if his interest was genuine, anxiety creeping up your mind, you felt his thumb softly grazing the back of your hand. You looked to your side, only to find him already looking at you.
The doors opened, and he walked first, guiding you. With his free hand, he slid a card out of his pocket and opened the hotel door.
Once inside, he locked the door and left the card on a side table. You knew he had the presidential suite, you booked it yourself. But you didn't really check the pictures on the website. It was nice, spacious and luxurious.
He guided you to the middle of the room, where he stood up in front of you, grabbing the side of your face.
"This is our last chance. I want to make sure that you are okay with this."
"I am, Gerard."
"This is way too risky"
"I know. I want you. Isn't that clear enough?" He just nodded. His soul wasnt bearing the need to be close to you.
"We can just… Spend the night. And then we go back to normal."
You spoke, aware of the complexity of the situation. He just got divorced after a long marriage. The age gap and the work relationship that involved you two made matters worse. The tour would end, eventually.
You wanted to protect yourself, place a safety net for the inevitable fall that will come after this night was over. He was fixated on you, never still. Fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress, grazing your jaw with the other hand.
"Whatever you want, honey." His thumb brushed your lips, opening it slightly. "As long as you let me..." He kissed you deeply as you combed your fingers on the crown of his head. He was intoxicating you, mouth soft against yours.
You grabbed onto his hair, his back, his shoulders. He felt dizzy, pulling you impossibly near to him. He grabbed onto your clothes fiercely, hands exploring through your body before grabbing your neck with a gentle touch. Drawing out of you a surprised, needy sound, from the back of your throat. His pants were getting impossibly tight and uncomfortable.
"You drive me crazy" You felt a warm breath on your skin as he spoke. His lips left wet, warm kisses on your neck as you started playing with his belt, taking his shirt out of his pants and touching his soft, plush skin.
Whimpering, your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. You felt his hands touching your bare legs, nibbling at the nape of your neck where it connects to your shoulder. With the last button undone, your trembling hands slid the shoulders of his shirt off of his body, soft glow from the only light in the room glowing against his pale skin. He slid his shoes off as messily as he could without separating from you. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, you gasped a little. He let it fall on one of your shoulders, breaking the kiss.
Like a predator, he walked around you to be behind you. The sound of the zipper of your dress sliding down, painstakingly slowly.
You couldn't hold his gaze, closing your eyes and feeling his mouth on your skin. You heard the sound of the fabric hitting the floor, the cold air of the room on your skin revealed that you were now almost completely bare in front of him.
He spoke as he pressed his lips against your bare shoulder.
"I always knew that you would look even better naked." Looking at you through the mirror, his hands wandered through your torso.
"Open your eyes, baby." As he groped your breasts, you opened your eyes, realizing how exposed you were in front of him. His fingers stroked your nipples, your underwear growing impossibly wet. He started playing with your body, biting on your earlobe; you listened to his ragged breath. You were ecstatic, and he was barely doing anything to you.
You reached out behind you, hooking your finger into the belt loop of his pants to pull him closer to you. You felt his hardness poking at your ass and started grinding on it, his touch never ceasing.
Quickly, you turned around, and placed your lips on his again. The sound of his belt coming undone followed by the zipper was halted by a small gasp from you. He bit your lip, hard enough to feel pain but not enough to hurt. You slid off his pants and looked up at him with plush, swollen lips and teary eyes.
"Go to bed.” He pushed you slowly until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you sat down on it. He quickly removed his socks, walking with one last piece of clothing on his body. Then, he fell to his knees.
With a delicate touch, he grabbed your ankle, removing your high heels one at a time, before pressing gentle kisses on your skin, travelling upwards to the thick part of your thighs, stopping right where you needed him the most. He straightened his spine, leaving short pecks on your lips as he played with the elastic of your underwear.
"You stop me if it gets too much, right?" You stood up a little, giving him the signal to remove them
"Yes, I'll let you know." He grabbed your panties and let them fall to the floor, sitting in the middle of your legs. Spreading your knees open, he broke the silence.
"I wanna listen to you, baby." Placing his arms around your thighs, he licked his lips and went straight to your core. Pointing his tongue, he softly licked a stripe down the middle of your folds, testing and teasing you. He repeated the action, fluctuating in tempo and speed, searching for the one that elicited the most reaction out of you.
"Damn, Gerard..." you grabbed his head softly, guiding his movements. With one hand, he spread your folds even more, exposing more of you.
Soft moans came out of your mouth, his eyes preying on your every reaction. He drew his head back taking a deep breath. Slender fingers started circling your clit before sliding them inside, whimpering at his movements inside of you as he curled them at the perfect spots. He was flicking his tongue, savouring every moment.
You felt light-headed, skin on fire. The cool air from the AC and his touch and presence raised goosebumps all over your body. Moving away from you, he grabbed your hands making you stand up.
He sat on top of the carpet, laying his back on the floor.
"Sit on my face and fuck yourself on my tongue." Obeying his demand, knees on the sides of his head, careful not to put your entire body weight on his face. You moved your hips as your body pleased, his attack on your core with his mouth never halting. As you held yourself grabbing a fistful of his hair, his fingers slid over your torso.
"You are so good, Gee." Pulling and pinching on your nipples, he groaned. The vibration of his voice making it even more pleasurable than it was before. Sucking, biting, sliding his tongue on your clit. The sounds were as erotic as they were grotesque.
"Fuck, I am so close..." He never stopped, keeping his rhythm with the same intensity as before. You felt the knot snapping inside of you, warmth spreading all over your body. His touch sent pleasurable waves all over your body for what felt like forever, his touch on you slowing down as your moans decreased.
You stood still for a moment, trying not to fall on top of him. Your entire body was shaking. All strength left your limbs. He touched your thighs, pushing you back to let you sit on the floor. When you looked at him, half of his face was glistering with your essence, gasping for air.
Eager to taste yourself on his tongue, you shared an open-mouthed, dirty kiss. He stood up slowly, holding you in his arms and leaving you on top of the bed once again, standing next to it. You noticed the wet patch on his boxers, sticking your hands inside to feel the weight of him, taking his cock out.
He grabbed your wrist, keeping your hands off him. He pulled his boxers down himself, dick springing free, hitting his stomach.
"Please, let me suck you off first." You looked at him, red cheeks, afterglow already evident on your face.
"I can't resist that pretty face of yours" He stood up in front of you, his length in front of your face. You grabbed it instantly, licking at the precum dripping from the head. The salty taste melted on your taste buds, making your mouth water. One of his hands was on his hip, and the other brushed his hair out of his face.
The sight on top of you was enough to send you spiraling, hungry to savour him. Immediately after grabbing length in your hand, you deepthroated it, making yourself gag and salivate at the intrusion.
The saliva made the glide of your hand on his cock smooth, he guided your movements with a wary hand on your head. You sucked on him as if your life depended on it, the most beautiful moans coming out of his mouth.
"Babe, I won't last long." He pushed your head off of him, eyes watering and breath ragged. He whimpered as he quickly pulled back.
"I need to fuck you now" You understood immediately, jumping to the middle of the bed.
Eyes locking, he signaled the pillows on the head of the bed. The mattress gave way beneath you, softening and flattening where you laid. He walked toward the bedside table, where a black bag sat there. He took out an unopened new box of condoms. You grabbed his hand, stopping it as he was taking them out.
"Do you really want to use them?"
"I mean, I haven't been with anyone else in so long... I got tested, though.”
"Me too. I am on the pill." At the sound of that, he threw the box to the floor. On top of you, he made space for himself between your legs. With a hand on his back, you grabbed a fistful of his cock, stroking it before sliding it up and down your folds.
You placed him at your entrance, feet locking behind his hips. He pushed inside, moaning in unison as you both felt the contact with one another.
He devoured your lips in a wet, messy kiss, swallowing your moans.
"You're so wet, honey... I slid right in." He started thrusting his hips against you, breasts bouncing with every move.
"You feel so good, Gerard"
"Do I? Let me know, baby. Talk me through it." He spoke with his breath against your neck, whimpering in your ear.
You felt his finger running through your hair before landing on the side of your face. Thumb drying a black tear running from your eye to your temples.
"I have been waiting for so long for this." Your throat felt dry, voice coarse. Hips your hips moving with his as you tried to gain some friction in your clit from this position.
He grabbed your jaw, opening your mouth slightly. "Take out your tongue f'me."
And that's when you felt it: he spat in your mouth. If there was a way to feel even closer to him, that was it. Your walls clenched around him, your grip on his back leaving red marks across his skin. He pressed on your cheeks.
"Swallow."
And you did.
After a long, deep thrust, he removed himself from top of you. The void he left behind feeling rude and cold against the chill air of the hotel room.
"C’mon. Ride me." Hands pulling you up from the bed, he laid next to you, stroking his dick, impossibly hard and slick with your juices. You sat on top of him, legs on either side of his hips.
The touch of his skin against your thigh, fingertips caressing the expanse of his chest as you placed yourself on top of him. That's when you locked eyes, sitting down on his length, moaning at the same time. The sight was heavenly, straight out of your dreams.
Leaning down, you kissed him, sliding his length in and out of you. His hands guiding your movements and leaving bruises on your flesh. You were drunk on Gerard, his name was the only thing in your mind.
You wanted to make him feel good, impress him, make him crave more of you. Ruin him for everyone else who may want to take him away from you.
"You look so pretty like this." He bit your lip, leaving a trail of kisses from your mouth, to your cheeks, your neck and clavicles. He kissed the valley of your breasts, tongue flicking on your nipples.
"You were made for me." The cold traces of saliva on your skin mixed his hot breath made you grab on his shoulders, sounds of slapping skin picking up the pace.
You couldn't answer him. But if you had to, you would definitely not deny it. His touch was electric. Your mind was full of him: his smell, his warmth, his taste. Forming a coherent thought was impossible. The burn on your legs was exhausting, pleasure taking over and refusing to let you stop.
His hips thrusted up to meet yours, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.
"Gee, I can't... I'm too tired..." You complained, the burn on your knees from the carpet and the sheets felt like burns on your skin. He grabbed your hips with force, flush against his, feeling him deep inside of you. In the blink of an eye, he spun you around, taking the the most delicate gasp out of you.
With knees on the bed, he looked at you. Lips swollen, red cheeks, your hair spread on the pillow, completely bare under him. He reached out for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
"You have no idea what you do to me." His hand grabbed the back of your knee, pushing it against you. Quivering, hands trembling with excitement, you swept back the hair from his face.
The snark contrast between his relenting pace and the gentleness of your touch made his heart swell on his chest. You looked at him with the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen.
A wave of awareness took over him. He was here, on top of you. No one else. In this moment, you were completely his. He lowered his gaze to where your bodies met, avoiding your eyes for the first time. He was flustered, letting a soft giggle escape from his lips.
Suddenly, it all felt too real.
The faint glow on his skin, his soft moans, the lines of his face, his taste lingering on your tongue. The raspiness of his voice. He was a heavenly sight.
The connection between you became apparent the moment your lips met for the first time, a thousand feet above ground, with the sky and the stars witnessing the collision. Thoughts raced through his head, he was holding himself back.
After so many years, his stamina was wearing off. He couldn't expect to last as much as he did when he was in his twenties. It was particularly difficult now, when he was balls deep inside of you, feeling the wetness of your pussy rubbing against him, making a mess on the sheets underneath.
"Show me how you touch yourself." Straightening his arms, he rose up a little to see you properly . The absence of your touch on his back left his skin cold, goosebumps rising across it. You moved your hand, until you reached your most intimate part. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, the ministration of your fingers sending sparks of pleasure through your body.
Heaven must definitely exist. Paradise. Eden. And it must look like this: You, with a halo of hair spread on the pillow, swollen lips, teary eyes and bare skin only for him to see. Velvet, sloppy, warm walls welcoming him in.
"Where do you want me to...?" He muttered through gritted teeth, doubt clouding his mind.
"Come inside of me, please." Pulling at the root of his hair, begging for him. The thought alone had him biting his lip so hard he was certain that, if his mind weren’t clouded by you, he would have tasted blood by now. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. For a fragile second he thought it would slip.
His thoughts felt hazy, heavy with want, thick with something far more dangerous than pleasure. He could almost hear himself saying it. Those three words. The kind of confession that doesn’t leave room for retreat. He swallowed it down.
The pleasure fogged his intentions.
His thrusts slowly became more erratic, although he was grateful that he was keeping up with his workout routine. Your legs locking around his hips, you pushed him even deeper.
He was now resting his body weight on his forearms, caging your head between them. With a loose grip, he grabbed the sides of your face. Your hair was getting tangled between his fingers, pulling away from your scalp.
The mixture of pain, pleasure and overstimulation. Your back arched, hips convulsing as your inside walls fluttered around him. The sensation sent him over the edge, spilling inside you warm and sticky.
The feeling sending shockwaves from your core and all over your body. Your hips jerked slowly on him. The sudden movements made him growl, sparks of pleasure seeming to never end.
He laid on top of you, breathing in your neck, careful not to put his weight on top of you. A dull ache settled deep in your hips from holding on so tightly onto him. The musk of sex and sweat lingered in the air.
The faint hum of the air conditioner on the background and ragged breaths were the only audible thing in the room. Slowly, as you both regained your breaths, he pulled out.
“Are you alright?" He asked, moving to your side and laying in the bed, his hand warm and comforting on top of your belly.
“Yeah, I am. Just tired." You looked to your side, gently smiling. His eyes locked on yours, thumb caressing your skin. Afterglow looked so good on him.
You swore you could look at him forever.
He moved his hand down, fingers softly grazing your slit.
"Gee, what are you...?"
He shushed you, the pads of his fingers pushing the white traces of him threatening to escape from you. It was as if rushes of electricity cursed through your veins, but you remained silent. Just a whimper on your lips as you felt a flick on your clit while his digits left your body, heading straight to his mouth to lick them clean.
You were at loss of words.
“C'mon, we should get you cleaned up."
He moved slowly, stretching his back and arms before straightening to his full height. From the edge of the bed, you accepted his offered hands and let him pull you upright.
Guiding you to the bathroom, you went straight to the toilet. As you were peeing, he turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature and making sure that there were enough towels for you two. He waited for you, and once again, helped you stand up from the toilet.
"My legs feel like jelly." You joked, the change of atmosphere evident in the air. He just smiled brightly as you two walked in the shower.
"I'm sorry, I'll be more gentle now." The luxurious showerhead was big enough you fit you both, with no need of anyone standing on the cold side of the shower.
You turned around to get a pump of shampoo from the bottles the hotel provided, enjoying the smell of the luxury brand name. Your hand was now full of shampoo, your mind racing everywhere instead of being focused on the small bottle next to you. You let a scoop of shampoo fall down in Gerard's hands, and he started washing his hair.
Foam gathered in dark strands. Eyes closed. Lips parted just slightly. Watching him felt almost indulgent, a lingering haze still softening everything around you. You enjoyed the sight, still in haze, as you massaged your own scalp. The same process happened with the conditioner. The fragrance hitting your nostrils and adding to the intimate ambiance of the steam in the closed space. Then, he pumped soap into his hands, rubbing it against his fingers.
"Turn around." A single click on his tongue was all it took for you to command. He rubbed your sore shoulders, experienced digits against your tight muscles. You had to hold back a moan. His hands slid from your shoulders, to your arms, to your back. He gently slid his hands down to your legs, dragging his hands against your thighs, one at the time.
Water blurred your vision when you turned to face him. Droplets clung to your lashes, forcing you to blink him back into focus.
This time, your hands explored.
His skin was soft and tender. The plush of his belly, his legs. You were sure they looked better than yours. His skin felt smooth, solid where you expected strength, softer in places that made him feel more real, more human.
Fingers mapped quietly downward and back up again, attentive without rushing.
He did not look away.
You turned off the faucet, silence replacing the steady rush, squeezing the excess water out of your hair.
He walked out first, grabbing a towel and putting it around his hips before giving you the largest one. As you were drying yourself, he rubbed his hair on another towel, walking up to the bathroom counter and putting on some deodorant. You wrapped the last towel around your head, standing next to him.
Steam thinned gradually. He reaches out for the blue bottle of mouthwash, giving you a full cap.
The scene was overly domestic. Double sinks. Shared routine. It left a strange ache behind your ribs.
You spat the minty liquid, deeply regretting not being able to taste him in your mouth anymore.
As you left the bathroom, he turned off the lights. You walked straight to your purse, taking out your phone to check on the time as you sat on the edge of the bed. It was well past 4 a.m., and you had some unanswered texts.
11:23 Claudia: U can tell me when youre ready and ill come and pick u up
11:36 Claudia: We are waiting for you lmk
11:37 Claudia: Ok ill leave soon ok
00:06 Claudia: we all left
00:31 Claudia: I am assuming you just didn't want to go and went to sleep
00:31 Claudia: At least you could've told me omg you're making me worry
01:02 Claudia: Text me when u see this so i know youre okay
01:03 Claudia: if you want to come were still there, ill let u know when we leave
04:08 You: Sorry! I fell asleep haha
04:08 You: Im ok tho, sorry for worrying you :(
Instantly, you received a reply.
04:08 Claudia: We r still at the club LOL glad to know u ok
You just left your phone in your purse, thinking of what to do next.
You looked up and saw Gerard with a water bottle in hand from the minibar, already looking at you.
"It was Claudia, they are at the club." You spoke as he lent you the bottle. You smirked, touching his fingers on purpose as you took it.
"What'd she say?" He sat down next to you, silence taking over as you both gulped the water down.
“She was worried, I didn't tell her that I wouldn't go. Apparently almost everyone went... They were waiting for me."
"Oh... Nothing to be envious about" He shrugged. "I think we had a better time than them, anyway."
You smiled at that, nodding, eyes scanning the room. Should you stay or leave? Does he want to chat and hang out for a while or does he want to send you back to your room? You didn't have enough confidence to ask him. The uncertainty settled heavily in your chest.
"What are you looking for?" He asked.
"I don't know where my underwear is."
"Why do you need it, though?" You stopped at the thought, not being able to answer. Puzzled look on your face, he looked as if he was doing the most obvious thing in the world.
He stood up and grabbed your black panties from the leg of the bed and your dress from the other corner.
You felt how your heart dropping to the floor. You were expecting to, at least, be able to use the blow dryer in the bathroom, and not look like a hooker leaving a luxury hotel room with a skimpy dress and wet hair.
But he interrupted your thoughts. He folded the dress in half, setting it on an armchair on the corner of the room next to your purse. He walked up to you, panties in hand, extended towards you.
"You can sleep without underwear if you'd like. I don't mind."
Relief spread through you before you could hide it.
He didn't want you to leave.
At least not yet, and that was enough with you.
You finished drying yourself, putting on the black lace of a joke of underwear. Patting your hair dry, he did the same thing, black boxers on his hips. The bedside lamp light was warm, making the room feel cozy.
He moved towards the clean side of the bed, curling up the duvet and sheets on top of the opposite side, where he did the most sinful things to you just minutes ago.
“C'mere" he spoke, leaving enough room to fit you next to him. Walking on fours on top of the mattress, you laid next to him. He moved your hair to one side so it wouldn't wet the pillows. His eyes held yours for a long moment.
"Did you have a good time?" Deep down you expected him to be a usual pillotalker, so you were enjoying this
“I did. You were great" He smiled, the warmth radiating from him added to the intimacy of the moment. His arm circled your waist, drawing you closer until your cheek rested against his chest.
“I'm glad." His hand on the back of your head slid slowly toward your jaw, the softest caress on your skin.
“I enjoyed this, too. Sorry if I didn't last long"
"Are you kidding me?" You spoke softly, didn't want to sound rude. "It was perfect. Don't worry.”
"I promise to make it even more perfect next time."
It was not playful. It was a promise.
He watched your expression carefully. “You can stay,” he said simply.
Not asking.
Starting.
Voice low against your ear, he added: “I know what you're probably thinking...”
Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, the rules had already begun to bend.
“I want this to not be just one night, too.”