Fanart:
Three Pieces
by 
silentdescant
Two Pieces
by music_medicine
Fanmixes:
Walk On Back To Me by bexless
Though The Winds Of Change Will Blow by silver_etoile
Work Text:
"Take it again from the top. I want you to run through the set and I want it clean this time. Start with 'Stardust Kisses.'" Frank looked up from his clipboard to the stage and caught Jenna looking at him, smiling uncertainly and clinging a little to her bass. He tried to smile back but it mostly came out as a grimace.
The band sucked. They really fucking sucked. Frank normally didn't care - they'd sell, and he'd had his producer do enough work on their demo that you couldn't even tell they could barely hold their own instruments upright - but they were headlining Kingston Records’ annual showcase that Saturday, and he really needed them not to suck. Or, at the very least, to stop fighting. The rest – the talent – could be manufactured. After all, that was Frank’s specialty.
They were halfway through the first chorus when Mark fucked up the key change which threw Laura's singing off, auto-tune be damned, and Frank winced. Laura stopped singing in order to scream at Mark, Shaun stopped drumming and Jenna stopped playing and started screaming at Mark too, before Frank could run interference.
"You dumb fuck, get it right for once! You're making me sound like an asshole up here!" Laura yelled.
"Everybody stop fighting and try it again!" Frank yelled, cutting Laura off before she could get started again. Jesus, these kids were giving him a fucking migraine. He motioned to his assistant.
"What can I get you, Mr. Iero?"
"Excedrin and a bottle of water. And possibly a gun."
Megan looked at him strangely. She was new, didn't really get his humor. Or at least his weak attempts. He raised an eyebrow. "Just the pills and the water, please."
"Right away, sir," she said and walked away. Frank sighed. This was going to be a long day. The start of many long days. He'd fought for the headlining spot at the showcase, and won, and he had his entire reputation (and probably his job) staked on this. A fact that The Walter Cronkites had apparently completely ignored in lieu of being complete little shits.
Shaun kicked off the song again but Laura immediately fucked it up, screeching in frustration and throwing her microphone to the floor.
"Laura, what the fuck-" Mark started, throwing his hands up in the air.
"I can't do this!" Laura said, pointing at Mark. "You keep fucking up! You fuck up every fucking time! How can I sing if you can't even fucking play the notes right?"
Frank quickly made his way to the stage and hopped up the steps to get in the middle before this could get any worse. "Guys, stop, fucking stop. Let's start it again. Laura, listen, you have the synth hooked up already, you just have to match the key-"
"I don't like that key! You can't tell me how to sing," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "I lead the band, I get to make the decisions about-"
"Excuse me? You don't lead this band," Shaun said from behind his drumkit. "Last time I checked me and Mark were the ones who started this and you were the one who got in because you lied in your craigslist ad."
"Yeah, and I'm the one who made it actually happen and booked our gigs, way to completely leave me out," Jenna said, getting closer into the huddle.
"I'm the singer, I'm the leader," Laura said.
"Yeah, well, have fun leading a band without a drummer, because I'm fucking done," Shaun said, throwing his drumsticks down. "This is stupid. Fuck you."
"Fuck you," Laura spat.
"No, fuck you," Mark said, turning to follow Shaun off the stage.
"Fuck you too!" Laura called after them. Jenna turned without saying a word and followed the boys, and Laura hurled more obscenities at them as she chucked a tambourine off the stage towards the exit.
She turned and wheeled back to Frank, her hands in front of her in a weird, desperate grabbing motion. "It's okay, right, I mean, I'm still here, we can still-"
Frank moved back and hopped off the stage, effectively cutting her off. "I have to make some calls." He pulled out his cellphone as he walked, already punching in Shaun and Mark and Jenna's numbers in a last ditch attempt to placate them enough to come back. It didn't work. They were out. They were all out and he didn't have a band for the showcase. Fuck them all, he was fucked.
*
The last person Frank wanted to see when he stormed back into the office was Jared fucking Leto, but the smarmy asshole was sitting in Frank's fucking chair, feet up on Frank's desk, looking like the proverbial cat with the canary.
"Leto," Frank practically growled as he dropped his briefcase onto one of the guest chairs in front of his desk.
"Iero," Jared retorted with one of his trademark smirks that made Frank want to bloody up his nose.
Instead, he silently counted to five before he asked, "What do you think you're doing?"
Leto shifted in Frank's chair. "Oh you know, just testing things out, getting a feel for things. Heard you might be looking for a new job soon, what with your band imploding. Word travels fast."
Fucking assistants and their fucking gossip chain. Frank took in Leto's smug fucking face and his stupid hair and there was no way in hell he was letting this guy take his job. "Man, fuck you, you think I don't have this locked down? You think you could do this better?" Frank moved forward and leaned down in Leto's face.
Leto stood up to match Frank's glare. "I fucking know I can."
Frank smirked at him. "It'll be fun to see you try. Now get out of my fucking office, I've got work to do."
Leto continued the staring match for another minute before walking around the desk and out of the office. Frank exhaled and moved around the desk to sit down. His chair was warm from Leto's ass, gross. "What a fucking dick," Frank mumbled to himself. It would be fine. This was L.A. and Frank knew a lot of people. He could throw something together in four days that would at least impress Patrick enough to keep his fucking job. This was what he was best at, improvising. He punched the button to buzz Megan.
"Yes, Mr. Iero?"
"Get me Greta Morgan on the phone."
"Right away, sir."
He could do this, he totally fucking could. He'd find somebody.
***
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Gerard groaned and rolled over, pressing his face back into the pillow. “Mnngrh.”
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
No fucking way. He shot a hand out to smack at the alarm clock and kept his eyes closed as he heard it thump against the carpet, silenced. Finally. It was tempting to go back to sleep, really, truly, deeply tempting, but at that point an ambulance siren screeched past the apartment window and his brain throbbed awake in protest.
Fuck.
He sighed and rolled over to his back, slowly opening his eyes. The weird Jabba-the-Hut-shaped water stain on the ceiling above his bed stared back.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he drawled. The water stain, as expected, did not reply.
Gerard levered himself to a sitting position, shifting his legs over and leaning back a little. Good. Not too sore. The carpet was gross and weirdly damp underneath his feet. He coughed once, scratched at the skin underneath the elastic waistband of his briefs, and fumbled for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, lighting one up and inhaling before he stood up and headed towards the kitchen.
“Bert?” he rasped around the cigarette. “Dude, did you spill something, or did you get drunk and piss on the carpet again?” He opened the door to the one cabinet in the kitchen and peered in. Practically empty, except for some coffee creamer and sugar. Fridge was about the same. Coffee it was. He fumbled the grinds into the old maker and shoved the pot under the tap before leaning back against the counter and taking another drag.
“Bert?”
No answer.
He turned and squinted back into the dark apartment toward Bert’s small bed. Empty. Either he'd already left or he'd never come home. God dammit. Gerard exhaled a plume of smoke and went to find his fucking phone.
Six tries later and Bert finally picked up on the other end. “Good morning, sunshine,” he slurred. “How’s your ass?”
“Fuck you, you alive?” Gerard said, taking another drag. “And did you piss on the carpet again?”
“Yes. And maybe. I don’t know. Could have been the cat.”
“We don’t have a cat.”
“Don’t we?”
“No,” Gerard sighed. “I’m allergic.”
“Of course you are. Come to Sweet's.”
Gerard sighed again. “Fuck you, Sweet’s. What’s at Sweet’s?”
“There’s a band.”
“Uh-huh. And blow?”
Bert giggled. Gerard could hear the noise of the club behind him, though muffled, like he was answering from inside the bathroom. Gerard stubbed the cigarette out in the chipped ashtray on the counter and immediately lit up another one.
“Smoking’s bad for you, baby,” Bert said. “Gonna age that pretty face.”
“Yeah, and coke rots your brain out and makes you piss on our carpet, you fuck,” Gerard said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I gotta get to work. You want me to come get you?”
He really, really, really didn't want to get to work, but there were about two days before there'd be a yellow slip from the landlord under the door, and Gerard was not in the mood to move again.
“Aw, man, come on, it’s my night off.” Bert made a sound like he was covering the speaker with his hand, mumbling to someone else in the room. Probably Richard, that sleaze.
“Rent doesn’t take a day off. And we’re out of coffee,” Gerard said, finally pouring his cup into the old, cracked mug with the angry fat kitten on it (it said ‘Not a Morning Kitten’ on it, and it was his favorite). He dumped in creamer and sugar and raised it to his lips, blowing gently across the surface.
Bert sighed. “Fine. But don’t forget to feed the cat before you leave.”
“You got it,” Gerard said, before hanging up and tossing his phone onto the counter. At least Bert was going with him that night. It always sucked worse when there wasn't somebody to cover your back.
A quick shower, shave, a bit of eyeliner, and a pair of pants he had to lie down on the bed to get on and he was ready. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around his shredded t-shirt and headed out the door, locking the four locks behind him. Not that there was anything to steal, but you never knew. It was fucking L.A., after all.
***
Oh, fuck this shit. Frank was already the last label guy to leave the office that night, he still didn't have a replacement band, and now to top it all off, there was a fucking BMW roadster with a goddamn stick shift in the space where his assistant had told him his rental was parked. Frank Iero did not drive fucking stick shifts.
Apparently he was supposed to now, though, and he was also supposed to know where the hotel was when the GPS inside the car obviously didn't have a clue. "Mother fucker," Frank cursed, as he came across another block he didn't recognize. The car moaned and shuddered beneath him as he tried to shift it into another gear. He just had to be all independent and get his own car this time instead of having to wait on a driver, fuck that idea. When this was over he was never driving in this city again. And he was going to fire Megan. And set Jared Leto on fire. And drink a bottle of whiskey. Maybe all at the same time. He was good at multi-tasking.
The car jerked as he tried to go from second to third and then back to second again. Frank resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel, but only just. There was no way he'd last the week with this fucking car. He just needed to get back to his hotel, if only he could fucking find it.
***
“Gerard! Gerard, baby, sweetheart, sugarlips-“ Bert drawled, throwing an arm around Gerard’s shoulders. “Did you bring me a present? Besides your beautiful face.”
“Kitty’s empty,” Gerard said, shaking his head and stubbing his cigarette out against the tile of the dirty bathroom. He pulled away from Bert and crossed the room towards the stalls, lazily flicking the butt over the wall in the vague direction of the toilet. When he turned around Bert was already back on the counter, leaning against the grimy, sludged mirror and swinging his legs.
“Richard’s gonna be pissed,” Bert said. “End of the month’s coming up.”
“Richard’s always pissed. Maybe Richard wouldn’t be so pissed if you stopped taking his drugs and then didn’t pay him back, man,” Gerard said. Seriously, Bert was allowed to make his own fucking choices, but it would be nice if his choices didn't involve using their rent money for blow.
Bert shrugged. “You know, we could get in on that, he said he'd take us on. The pay is better and you wouldn’t have to worry about –“
“ No,” Gerard said, shaking his head emphatically. “No fucking way. You want to be in even more fucking debt with that scab?” Just thinking about working for Richard made him want to spit. It was bad enough this was his job, he could at least pretend not to be totally in the gutter, if only for his own sanity.
Bert looked away, up at the ceiling. “Better than having an empty kitty.”
“No, not better,” Gerard said, flicking his ash towards Bert’s swinging legs. “Be your own fucking man. Your choice, your rules, your terms.”
“Well, technically, you’re someone else’s fucking man, babe,” Bert slurred, half-closing his eyes. “And you sound like a bad impression of me three years ago.” He looked paler than usual in the dim light of the bathroom, the fluorescent bulb hollowing out his skin. Did he always look so pale? Gerard couldn't remember.
Bert rolled his head a little to look at him and chewed on the skin of his index finger, grinning. “You look good tonight. Who are you, hm? A rockstar? Starlet? The next big thing?”
“I’ve always been the big thing, baby,” Gerard drawled, tilting his wrist. Bert barked out a laugh, like Gerard had expected, and he grinned a little too. He'd take it where he could get it. "Come on, night’s young, rent’s due, and this band sucks.”
Bert swung his legs hard and propelled himself off the counter, his sneakers hitting the floor with a wet noise. “They always do these days.”
“On that, at least, we can agree,” Gerard said around his cigarette, holding the door to the bathroom open for Bert to pass through and into the dark crowd.
*
The boulevard was loud and filthy. Gerard paced slowly back and forth along the sidewalk, making sure to keep his head up instead of down and watching the cracks in the pavement. Bert always said that people just knew, knew by the look on your face what your game was, and Gerard knew too well that it was true.
He turned and paced back toward Bert, who was already perched on top of the domed garbage can, his legs folded underneath him in a position that was probably only comfortable for him. Bert licked his fingers and held out the remains of the cheap pastry he’d picked up from the convenience store on the corner.
“You hungry?” he asked, sucking the icing off his thumb.
Gerard shook his head. He rarely ate when they were working, and definitely not that shit. The boulevard had a habit of taking away his appetite.
Gerard sighed and leaned against the side of the garbage can. Business was fucking slow. A group of girls walked by, too young, too shiny, almost vibrating with energy, fake IDs probably tucked into their purses. Gerard watched them head down towards the Red Parish music venue, a couple blocks away, their arms wrapped around one another, almost like one, glittery, sharp creature.
“Son of a bitch,” Bert said, flicking the side of Gerard’s head.
“What, motherfucker?” Gerard asked, ducking away. Bert just jerked his head towards the opposite direction.
“ That, motherfucker,” Bert said, eyes wide.
“Holy shit," Gerard managed.
A fucking expensive-looking BMW thundered down the boulevard, jerking and screeching at every stop. It came down the street towards them, hastily shifting over to the right lane. Other cars honked at it as they passed. The car made a terrible noise and then slid to a stop almost directly in front of them. Bert shoved Gerard in the back.
“Dude, get on that.”
Gerard just stared. “Oh man, I don’t know-“
Bert shoved him harder. “You got this. Fucking go. ”
Gerard exhaled, slowly, then rolled his shoulders back and tossed his hair. He had this. The passenger side window was partly rolled down but he couldn’t see who was inside. He walked over (he had this, he had this) and rapped once against the window with his knuckles before peeking inside.
“You lost?” he asked.
***
Somehow Frank had ended up on Hollywood Boulevard. He didn't know how to get to his hotel from here, but he knew enough to know he was really in the wrong neighborhood. It took him a few tries to get going out of the last stoplight and when this one turned green, he almost stalled the car. "Fuck," he said over the obnoxious grinding noise the car was making. He really hoped the company had paid extra for the insurance, because he was pretty sure he'd left half the engine on the other side of the city.
He finally got the car jerked into motion, other cars swerving around him and honking their horns. He jerked the car across two lanes and to the right so he could stop for a second and figure out where the fuck he was.
He was in the middle of punching the hotel address into the GPS again, as if this time it would have a signal long enough to tell him where the fuck he was, when he heard someone knock on the passenger side window and ask, "You lost?"
Frank looked up and saw a guy, a really fucking pretty one, leaning against the side of the car like he owned it. "Um... I. What?"
The guy grinned at Frank like he knew all about the effect he apparently had on people. "I asked if you were lost. Or did you just find what you were looking for?" The guy shifted his weight as he spoke and pushed his jacket open a little, so Frank could see the ripped t-shirt and tight black jeans.
Frank cleared his throat. This guy wasn't being very subtle. At all. Hopefully Frank could get some directions and get moving before anyone noticed and misread the situation. He should have just driven away, but where the fuck was he supposed to drive to? "I was trying to get to the Beverly Wyndam-Hillshire. Do you know where it is from here?" he asked, clearing his throat a little.
The guy smirked at him. "Sure I do. I'll tell you for fifty bucks."
Frank barely kept his jaw from dropping. "Seriously? You can't charge for directions!"
There was that fucking smirk again. "I can do whatever I want, baby. I ain't lost." He turned around and leaned his, admittedly hot, ass against the window. Frank sighed. He didn't have time for this.
"Fine, fifty bucks. Where do I go?"
Frank twisted in the seat and fished his wallet out of his back pocket to pay, but instead of waiting for Frank to hand him the money, the dude just reached in through the window, popped the lock on the door, and got in the car.
"What are you--" The guy cut him off by grabbing the fifty out of Frank's hand. "Fifty buys you personal." He gestured up the road. "You'll wanna take a left up there."
Frank sat motionless until the guy poked him in the shoulder, none too gently, and said, "We should really get going." Frank snapped out of it and attempted to put the car in gear. They lurched back out onto the boulevard and got in the left turn lane. When Frank was barely able to get the car through the intersection, the guy said, "You need a hand with that?"
"You can drive a stick?" Frank asked. The engine moaned and shuddered again.
"Some might say it's my specialty," the guy answered, which made Frank's face heat up. "But if you meant on a car, yes, I'm familiar."
Frank wanted to laugh out loud. This was so ridiculous. But fuck it, right? He was in L.A., and if this guy could get him to his hotel in one piece at least he'd have a story to tell later. Frank pulled the car over, screeching to a halt in the parking lane. "Good. You're driving," he said as he quickly got out of the car and walked around to the other side to open the passenger side door.
The guy slinked out of the car and stood in front of Frank. "Are you serious?" he asked, darting a look back to the car.
Frank could see the barely suppressed excitement in his eyes. It was kind of cute. "Yeah, I'm serious. Even with your directions we'd never make it if I kept driving." Frank knew he was being crazy right now, and it was probably just the exhaustion, but anything seemed like a better idea than leaving other half of the engine on the street. And if the guy was lying, well, he'd still probably do better than Frank.
The guy made a weird noise of excitement and darted around to the driver's side. Frank slid into the passenger's seat and watched, amused, as he futzed with the mirrors and clucked his tongue before moving the seat back several notches. "You're really goddamned short."
Frank rolled his eyes. "I prefer the term compact, okay?" he said. If he joked about it, it was easier to ignore the part of the whole situation where he was letting a prostitute drive his rental. He was sure this never ended badly for anyone, really.
The guy didn't answer, just grinned lopsidedly as he turned the key and revved the engine. Before he got them back out on the road, he leaned over and reached across Frank's lap for his seatbelt. The guy's face was really close and he smiled as the latch clicked into place. "Safety first," he said softly, then sat back in the driver's seat and gunned the engine, pulling sharply onto the street.
Frank's hand tightened on the armrest reflexively as the car zipped down the road. "I've always wanted to drive one of these," the guy exclaimed as he turned them sharply enough that Frank almost smacked into his shoulder. "My dad was a mechanic, so growing up we always had all of these cars at the house, mostly vintage ones or pieces of shit, but sometimes he'd bring a newer one home and let us drive them around the neighborhood."
"You from around here?" Frank asked, as he got himself braced a little better in his seat.
"No, I'm from Jersey originally, but I've lived here since I was twenty."
Jersey, huh, Frank thought, Small fuckin' world. "Since you were twenty. How long ago was that?"
The guy shot Frank an amused look and said, "Don't you know you're never supposed to ask a lady her age?"
Frank kind of boggled at him. "But... you're not a lady."
The guy giggled (it was seriously a giggle, Frank was pretty sure he hadn't heard a dude giggle in years). "No, I'm not a lady. As far as you know, anyway," he said, then winked at Frank.
Frank felt himself grin in response, and seriously, this guy was pretty funny and really cute too. Frank didn't really have any intentions of... well, obviously the guy was a hustler, but Frank really just wanted to get back to his hotel. Still, he was pretty tired of referring to him as "guy" in his head. "So do you have a name, Jersey?"
The guy turned and flashed Frank that smile of his. "You can call me Gee."
"Gee? That stand for anything?"
Gee took them around another corner before answering, "Gerard."
"That's a bit of an unusual name," Frank said. Gerard shrugged, like he got told that a lot. Frank cleared his throat. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Gerard."
"Nice to meet you too, BMW. You got a name?" Gerard said, looking over at him.
"Oh, right. Yes. Frank."
"Hi Frank. Can I ask you a question, Frank?" Gerard said, whipping the car around a corner.
Frank felt incredibly nervous, although whether it was from the speed or the impending question it was hard to tell. He managed to nod anyway.
"Why the fuck are you in this beautiful piece of machinery if you don't know how to drive it?" Gerard asked, running his long fingers over the steering wheel. Frank shifted back in his seat, relaxing only a little.
"It's a rental. My assistant got me the wrong car."
"Rental? Assistant? You on a business trip?"
Frank sighed. "You could say that."
"Funny, so am I! But unfortunately this trip is only taking me across town. You sound like you're not from around here. East Coast?" Gerard said, smirking a little. "I know an East Coaster by their cursing at traffic alone."
Frank found it hard not to smirk back. "Based out of New York, mostly."
"I knew it!" Gerard said, punching the air a little. "I can always tell."
Frank huffed out a breath and leaned all the way back in his seat. Gerard seemed to have dropped most of the strut once he realized Frank wasn't going to pay him for anything more than the drive to the hotel, and he was much less intimidating this way, much more like some regular guy Frank had just met. Frank let himself breathe as he listened to Gerard tapping out the beat of the radio on the steering wheel with his thumbs, trying to relax for the rest of the ride.
Except, he kept finding himself staring at Gerard. He was striking, which was sort of strange to think, but it was true. Frank had never seen anyone quite like him before, with his pale skin and dark hair, delicate nose and sharp jaw. He was fascinating to watch, the contrast in his features beautiful, with his almost feminine face and masculine hands. Frank only realized he was spending more time staring at Gerard than paying attention to where they were going, when Gerard turned his head slightly and caught Frank looking. Frank felt his face flush with embarrassment, but Gerard just winked at him, like he was used to being stared at, and turned back to watch the road.
It was only a few more minutes, and they were finally at the hotel. Gerard kicked the car into neutral and put on the brake, then slid out in a fluid motion, tossing the keys to the valet before Frank had even finished unbuckling his seat belt. The valet got into the car and drove it away without even a hiccup from the engine, leaving Frank and Gerard standing on the sidewalk.
They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, Frank not really knowing what to say; he'd never been in a situation like this before. Eventually, he let his professional demeanor take over and stuck his hand out to shake Gerard's. "Thanks for the ride." Gerard smirked again, and Frank winced, going over his words in his head.
Gerard saved him from further embarrassment by shaking his hand and saying, "Anytime." He turned and walked over to the nearby bus stop, sitting down on the bench and lighting a cigarette. Frank hovered near the entrance to the hotel, watching as Gerard lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. He needed to go inside. Gerard's back was mostly turned to him and he wasn't really paying any attention to Frank at all, just staring into the distance down the empty road.
Frank really needed to go inside. He was so tired, and it'd been a rough fucking day on top of a terrible week in a continually stressful year. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a conversation with someone where they hadn't been a complete asshole to his face, and he'd been one in return. Before this. Before Gerard. Jesus, that was sad.
Frank squeezed his hands into fists in his pockets and watched Gerard take another drag. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But in a couple of minutes Gerard would be on a bus and back to the boulevard and some deep, secret little part of Frank's brain wanted him to stay.
Before he could even think about what he was doing, he took a few strides over to where Gerard was sitting on the bench. Gerard looked up at him and his eyes were wide with surprise, the cigarette still poised in mid-air.
"You want me to get you a taxi?" Frank asked. It was the least he could do. That's all. He would just get him a cab. At least Gerard wouldn't have to spend part of his fifty bucks on fucking bus fare.
Gerard seemed to collect himself a little and smiled up at him. "I like the bus at night. It's usually pretty empty and the drivers don't mind if you just ride for a while."
Frank nodded and looked down at his shoes. "So, um..." He paused, scratching the choppy hair at the back of his neck. Fucking, fucking hell, there was no way he could just blame this on being tired, this was some serious shit, there was no way he was actually going to do this. He was just going to offer Gerard bus fare and then go upstairs and forget about this crazy fucking day. "If I were to ask you to come up for the night, how much would that go for?" So much for that. Frank's stomach plummeted down to around his knees, absolutely terrified of any way Gerard would answer.
Gerard's eyebrows shot up almost comically high. "The whole night?" he asked, incredulously.
"Yes." Fuck.
Gerard looked at Frank and took a long drag of his cigarette, obviously considering something. Maybe he'd say "no" and Frank could pretend he hadn't just gotten himself into this situation. Gerard seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, and exhaled a plume of smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Whole night's a thousand." He looked at Frank like he was daring him to haggle.
That meant yes. Fuck. Frank didn't know how he felt, except that he was kind of numb all over. Was that a lot of money for this? He didn't know. It seemed fair. Maybe. Who cared? Did it even matter at this point? Gerard had said yes. "Okay," Frank said slowly, at least managing to not make his voice come out too uneven.
Gerard looked a little surprised, but covered it quickly. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his boot as he stood up from the bench. Frank wasn't sure what to do, so he just turned on his heel and entered the hotel, focusing on making it through as Gerard followed.
***
Gerard had either just made the best fucking deal or the worst fucking decision of his life. He was too rattled to really tell. Frank seemed pretty legit, and he'd let Gerard drive his car and took him to his hotel instead of some sketchy place somewhere. But nobody who'd ever wanted Gerard in the first place was totally legit.
Frank led the way through the lobby and over to the main check-in desk. The lobby was incredible - lush and clean and shining even in the low lights from the overhead chandeliers. Gerard felt weird and out of place. He tried not to press too close to Frank as he talked to the woman behind the desk and got his messages from the day.
The woman looked at Gerard intensely as Frank briefly flipped though the stack of messages and mail on the front counter. Gerard tried not to fidget and to look like he belonged there, with Frank.
"Will that be all, sir?" she asked Frank, still looking at Gerard.
"Ah, yes," Frank said, darting a glance back to Gerard. "Some room service as well. Champagne and strawberries."
"Of course, sir," the woman said, turning her glance from Gerard back to Frank. Gerard let himself breathe.
Frank tapped the envelopes against the counter and then set off towards the bank of elevators, only darting a short glance back to Gerard to see if he was following.
The elevator was almost completely empty except for the elevator guy (seriously, why the fuck didn't Gerard have that job, Mikey'd always said he was great at pushing people's buttons, he was sure the metaphor worked for real buttons, too) and some middle-aged couple, looking tired and bored. They stared at him as he stepped in, and their shoulders immediately tightened.
Gerard slunk back against the rear wall of the elevator, Frank standing slightly off to the side. The silence over them was fucking ridiculous. He knew that couple was just holding it in until they got off on their floor so they could talk about him.
"Man, I swear, this heat, right?" Gerard said before he could stop himself. Frank jerked like he'd been shoved, but stayed silent. The couple only glanced over and pinched their mouths tighter without saying anything.
"I mean, normally you'd have to worry about chaffing in these tight pants, but I avoid that. You know the secret? Baby powder. Works great in your underwear," he said, staring right at them. "I mean, well, I don't really know that last part, since I gave up underwear for Lent last year and just never went back. You should try it some time. Really freeing."
The couple looked right at him, horrified, and Gerard couldn't help the little thrill in his stomach. Pushing buttons indeed. The couple sort of awkwardly stumbled off at the next floor and stared at him as they left. Gerard just gave them a little wave. "Good luck with the chafing!" he said, smiling wide as the heavy doors slid shut.
He chanced a look at Frank, who didn't look mad, but didn't necessarily look thrilled, either. Gerard slumped a little and shoved his hands back into his tight pockets. The elevator guy waited patiently as they rose even higher, and it was only then that Gerard noticed their destination floor. The penthouse. Fuck. God damn. The elevator went up to Frank's room. Gerard had done jobs in some pretty decent hotels (and some pretty okay houses, and some marginally clean bathrooms) before but this was fucking insane. His stomach dropped again, humming with nerves.
Frank didn’t seem nervous. Frank probably never got nervous. He probably had people he paid to be nervous for him. Gerard rocked up on his heels a little and tried not to check his hair again in the polished brass backing of the elevator buttons.
The doors finally opened and revealed the hallway leading to the room. Frank held back to thank the elevator guy but Gerard strode out ahead, unwilling to wait, or at least unwilling to look hesitant. There were big potted plants and carpet so soft he could barely feel it under his feet and the doors to the room were these huge carved wooden things (Rose totally would have been able to save Jack from freezing his balls off if she’d been on one of them instead).
Frank quickly punched some code into the little keypad beside the door and the lock clicked open. Frank’s hand was gentle on the small of his back, barely touching, as he guided Gerard inside.
“Fuck me,” Gerard said, stopping in his tracks. Jesus.
Frank smiled a little, but it looked a little hesitant, now that they were up in the room, like he actually cared if Gerard approved. “You like it?”
“Oh fuck you, you know this is incredible.” Gerard strode ahead, out of Frank’s touch, to run his finger over the marble-topped side table next to the couch. The place was spacious, it was well decorated, and it was fucking expensive.
“Oh, man, should I have, like, taken my shoes off at the door, or something?” Gerard asked, turning back towards Frank. “I’m probably tracking in the whole Boulevard right now.”
“No, no. You’re fine,” Frank said, still standing by the door, his hands in his pockets.
“Well, good,” Gerard answered.
Frank was silent.
Gerard awkwardly cleared his throat and leaned back against the sofa. “So, Frank.”
Frank was still silent. He was watching Gerard like he was a wasp trapped in the room, less like he was a pest than like he was something dangerous and if Frank didn’t move he wouldn’t be stung.
Gerard sighed and spread his hands out on the cushions. It looked like he was going to have to take the lead on this one. “Now that you’ve got me up here, what are you going to do with me?”
Frank didn’t smile, but his mouth untensed a little. “I honestly don’t have a fucking clue.”
Gerard pushed back off the sofa and took a few steps toward Frank, slowly. “Well. Lucky for us, I’m a god-damned professional. Now before we begin-“
“You want to be paid?”
Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Not to suck the romance out of this whole situation before we even start, but yes."
Frank pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the bills. "A thousand, right?"
Gerard nodded and took the money Frank handed him. Usually he counted it first, but there was something about Frank that made Gerard trust that he wasn't getting screwed, at least out of money. Besides, he was already overcharging. By a lot. He folded up the wad of cash and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.
“Now, the next thing we need to do is have a little discussion. You’re a businessman, so I know you know how this goes. Setting the terms.” He started, keeping his voice light. He didn't need to freak Frank out anymore than he obviously already was. This wasn't Gerard's favorite part either, but it was necessary.
Frank was silent, again. Gerard stepped closer until he was so close to Frank he was almost toe-to-toe. Crowded into his space like this, Gerard noticed just how small Frank actually was, which was weird because he projected so much larger than he seemed. Gerard reached his hand up and ran his fingers up the length of Frank’s tie, all along the underside so his knuckle grazed the pressed shirt covering Frank’s chest. Frank was still silent but Gerard could hear him breathing carefully and deliberately through his nose.
"I only have a few rules. No breaking the skin, no tying up, no marking. Not on the first date, at least."
Frank nodded. "Is that all?"
"I always use condoms."
“Anything else?” Frank asked, leaning closer to Gerard, seemingly unaware of the motion.
Gerard smiled a little. “Yeah. I don’t kiss on the mouth.”
Frank pulled back enough to look into Gerard’s eyes. “Seriously?”
Gerard rolled his eyes. "Fuck no, who do you think I am? All the weird shit I get asked to do, you think I'm not going to kiss on the mouth -"
Frank cut him off by leaning forward and pressing their lips together, almost a little clumsily, and Gerard opened up for him immediately. He wrapped his hand around Frank's tie and pulled him closer. Frank made a little noise, kind of a 'hnngh', so Gerard pulled harder and then used his body to press Frank the few steps back until he was shoved up against the entrance doors.
This was good - Frank was relaxing into it, spreading his fingers against Gerard's waist, gaining the confidence that he could do this, that Gerard wanted him to do this.
Gerard was about to move his hand down, down, down to work on some of those buttons on Frank’s nice shirt when there was a loud knock on the door behind Frank’s head. Gerard’s body jerked away like he’d been shocked, accidentally slamming his back against the bar off to the side. He stared at Frank, frozen.
Frank looked at him sort of dazedly. “Room service.”
Gerard felt his shoulders drop. “Oh. Right.” Of fucking course.
Frank pulled his tie back into place and turned to open the door. There was some guy in a sharp little uniform with a rolling tray at the entrance. He ducked his head and came in when Frank stepped to the side. With champagne, apparently. And strawberries.
Gerard tried not to stare. He didn't exactly need to be wooed, here.
“Just put it over there, thank you,” Frank said. The guy wheeled it in and parked it, then clasped his hands gently and looked up at Gerard.
Gerard stared back.
The guy looked pretty uncomfortable. He looked from Frank back to Gerard. Gerard crossed his arms over his chest. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he said, a little harshly.
“He wants a tip,” Frank said, already digging in his pocket for some bills. Gerard looked away so he wouldn’t see how much it was, how much Frank just carried around in his pocket like that. Of course it was a fucking tip. Fucking smooth.
Gerard kept staring at the wall until the guy had nodded his head at them politely and disappeared back down the hallway towards the private elevator. Gerard used everything in his control to keep from fidgeting, even though all he wanted to do was run his hand through his hair, maybe hide his face a little.
Frank didn’t say anything, though, just walked over to the cart and picked up the bottle of champagne.
“You hungry?”
Starving. “No, not really.”
“You should eat something.”
Gerard pressed his palms against the bar enough to propel himself forward, slowly circling Frank around the couch, watching his movements as he opened the champagne bottle. Practiced. Frank had done this before. He’d bought room service for people before. Not exactly like this, not with someone like Gerard, but he knew the motions, knew how to retreat back into them.
Frank poured two glasses of champagne and held one out to Gerard, his hand steady.
“Here.”
Gerard shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
The glass lowered a little. “I didn’t put anything in it.”
“I know, I watched you. But I still don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink on the job or don’t drink all the time?”
Gerard shrugged. "All the time. Don't drink, don't do drugs, all that fun stuff." He kept his voice light but didn't care that he still sounded pretty proud. He was proud. At least of that.
Frank lowered the glass all the way and blinked at him a little, like he was taken off balance. Well, good. Gerard didn't mind changing his perceptions, even if they were just perceptions about boys he'd picked up from the street. “Well. That's good, then. Do you eat strawberries on the job?”
Gerard crawled up on the sofa so that he was on his knees, facing Frank over the back. “Only when other people buy them for me.”
“Well, then you’re in luck.” Frank held out a strawberry and Gerard plucked it out of his hands, twirling it a little before sucking it into his mouth and biting down. Goddamn, he hadn’t had a fresh strawberry in forever.
Frank watched Gerard and quietly ran a finger around the rim of the champagne glass before raising it to his mouth and taking a huge drink. “You can have as many as you want.”
Gerard paused in licking a bit of the juice off his finger to smile at Frank. “Thanks.” Maybe he could steal some to take home to Bert afterward. Bert would flip.
Frank passed over the bowl and Gerard took it, slowly sitting back on the couch until he was completely sprawled out. He kicked at his boots, toeing them off onto the floor. “So, Frank,” he said, reaching into the bowl and pulling out another strawberry. “What can I do you for?”
Frank came around the side of the sofa and slowly lowered himself into one of the huge armchairs, still just looking at Gerard, his head resting on his hand. “You mind if we just watch TV for a little while?”
Gerard rolled his head until he was looking at Frank, trying to read his expression. Frank still looked a little freaked out. He was incredibly focused on where Gerard was in the room, but hadn't made any suggestions as to what he actually wanted Gerard to do.
Gerard was pretty good at reading people. It was part of his job. It might be a shit job but he still had to make sure the customer was satisfied, especially if he wanted to get repeat business. And tonight, Frank was his job. If Frank turned out to be one of the good ones, one of the ones that wasn't interested in taking out their pent-up issues on his face, or whatever, just wanted someone to make them feel they weren't alone, well, then. Gerard could do that too.
Maybe he was just one of those guys who was lonely, wanted to pretend someone else belonged there. Gerard had a regular who paid him a hundred bucks to tell him about his day while Gerard made him a sandwich. Turkey and cheese, every time. They watched The Daily Show together. There were weirder things.
But Frank didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was lonely, or would be lonely for long. He was really, really hot, if Gerard was honest about it, totally the kind of guy he used to take home in college, and he certainly had money, but Gerard had been in this business long enough to know that didn’t mean a god-damned thing, especially when it came to fucking. Frank glanced over and caught Gerard's eyes, just for a second, but long enough to completely disrupt his train of thought before Frank looked back at the flickering screen. Gerard felt twitchy all over, uneasy. He needed to figure out how to play this right, but he was drawing a blank.
They sat in strange silence for a while, watching the news while Frank sipped at his drink and Gerard worked on the bowl of strawberries.
Gerard cleared his throat. “There’s a horror marathon every weekend on the public access channel that’s actually pretty awesome, if you’re into that, or, I mean, we can keep watching the news or whatever-“
“You like horror movies?” Frank asked, picking his head up a little.
Frank liked horror movies. He was totally the kind of guy Gerard used to try and hook up with. It was a little ridiculous. “Yeah, well, I used to be all into that shit but now I just catch it whenever it’s on at Sweet’s. They show it on the TVs above the bar. Haven’t been to the movies in a while. The old shit’s better anyway.”
"That it is," Frank said, leaning forward and picking up the remote. The TV was fucking enormous, of course, and Gerard watched as Frank flipped through the channels to get to the marathon. Frank kept his eyes on the screen and Gerard allowed himself to look over at him, look at him while he wasn’t looking at Gerard.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the flickering shapes on the television screen, casting weird shadows onto Frank’s face. Gerard watched him run his fingers around the rim of his glass again without drinking from it. Eventually it seemed like the tenseness from Frank's body was slowly soaking into the cushions of the armchair, although Gerard was positive that if Frank knew Gerard was paying attention he’d tense up again. Frank moved slowly to place the nearly empty champagne glass down on the end table next to him and then ran a hand through his hair, sighing and relaxing a bit more into the cushions.
About halfway through the movie, Frank's eyes started to close. Gerard tilted his head to watch Frank’s face, not even pretending to look at the TV anymore. He wasn't really sure what he should do; he'd never had a john fall asleep on him before the sex. Gerard wasn't exactly sure what Frank wanted from him, but he'd felt the way Frank had kissed back, the way Frank watched him when he thought Gerard couldn't see, the way he watched his mouth on the berries. He wanted Gerard, even if he didn't really want to admit it to himself.
And if Gerard had to be the one to help Frank admit it to himself, well, then, he could do that. Frank was a really attractive guy, and it'd been a long time since Gerard had thought that about a client, and an even longer time since he'd actually wanted someone who'd picked him up. Frank wasn't from here, but he could be a regular when he was in town. It could be a good thing. It could be a good thing for both of them if Frank would let it be a good thing. He just had to do the convincing.
He waited until Frank's eyes finally closed and his breathing got regular before he quietly shifted his body to move from his position on the couch. Gerard moved slowly, his bare feet not making any sound on the carpet. He knelt down without using his hands for balance, neatly folding into the space between Frank’s spread thighs. Frank just breathed deeply, his head cradled on his hand. Gerard worked on getting Frank's dress shoes untied and off his feet. Once he got them and the socks off, he looked back up at Frank, but his eyes were still closed. He put his hands on Frank's feet (they were very nice feet, he had to say), then ran his fingertips gently around Frank's ankles and then up his calves underneath his dress pants, stroking gently, almost tickling, all the way up to the soft skin behind Frank's knees. This time when he glanced up, Frank’s eyes were barely opened slits. Gerard smiled, then moved his hands up and down again.
Frank inhaled sharply and shifted his legs, his eyes wide open now. His hand dropped to the armrest of the chair. Gerard slid his hands out of Frank's pants so he could run them up his thighs and then around the back of them, where he dug in and tugged until Frank's ass slid down the chair.
Frank opened his mouth, then shut it, like he was about to say something but stopped himself. He stared at Gerard’s hands sprawled around his legs, like he wasn’t sure if he was really awake or not, if they were really there. He looked a bit startled, but Gerard could see the desire in his eyes. It was a good look on him.
“Frank,” Gerard said, moving his hands up Frank’s belt, “you didn’t ask me up here to just watch movies with you.”
Frank just watched his face. His whole body was tense.
“There are some guys who would. But not you. And before I suck more than just the romance out of this situation, again, trust me - I know what I'm doing. Okay?”
Frank blinked at him. “I-"
“Exactly. Now shut up. It’s going to be harder to have a conversation with your cock down my throat," Gerard said, voice low.
If it wasn’t so dark in the room, Gerard would have sworn Frank almost fucking blushed. Good, blushing was very good. Gerard pulled hard at Frank’s belt, and Frank arched his back a little to shift his body enough to help Gerard get it out of the loops. Gerard made quick work of the buttons and zipper and pushed Frank’s shirt up his stomach, leaving it bunched up under his armpits.
Gerard paused to rub his thumbs over the birds tattooed low on Frank’s hips, the bottom of them disappearing under the waistband of his underwear, even more distracting than his quickly hardening cock. These were certainly a surprise.
He leaned forward to taste them. “What are these? Sparrows?”
“Swallows,” Frank said, barely above a whisper. Gerard grinned and hooked his thumbs into Frank’s waistband and pulled down, until his underwear was down and out of the way with the rest of his pants.
“A swallows man, I should have known. How many of these tattoos do you have, anyway?” Gerard asked, kissing his way down Frank’s stomach, skipping his cock to run his teeth over the words inked into his upper thigh.
“A lot," Frank answered, his breath hitching a little. "You see a lot of businessmen with tattoos under their clothes?”
“Can’t say that I do,” Gerard replied, totally impressed. He pressed himself in closer to Frank’s body, pulling Frank's thighs more around his sides. Frank was already half-hard and pretty flushed. Good.
Gerard leaned up and over Frank’s chest, grabbing his tie again to guide his head up towards Gerard’s for a kiss. It was rougher this time, Frank opening for him immediately, and Gerard shifted his other hand to Frank’s cock and began stroking.
Frank’s hips raised a little with the strokes into Gerard’s fist, and he pumped harder. He shifted around to bite at Frank’s ear, the skin on the side of his throat, and Frank gasped and he was finally hard, his whole body practically vibrating under Gerard’s hand. Gerard let go of Frank's tie, letting him fall back onto the armchair. Frank looked up at him with confusion on his face (as well as a nice bit of spit on his swollen lip where Gerard had bit down). Gerard fished around in his back pocket, pulling out a condom and ripping the foil with his teeth, only stopping fisting Frank’s dick long enough to slide it down and over the head.
“You know what they say, Frank. Safety is very sexy,” he said, running a hand down Frank’s dick to back behind his balls, palming and squeezing them gently in his hand.
“Mnnaaagh,” Frank managed, which was pretty much an agreement.
Gerard ducked his head and took Frank's dick in his mouth, licked around the head and slid down. Frank bucked up into his mouth and Gerard could see out of the corner of his eye where Frank's fingers were digging into the armrest of the chair, his fingernails white from the pressure.
Gerard worked his mouth over Frank’s cock, let Frank buck up, and kept his teeth out of the way. When he moved his hand farther back, off of Frank’s balls and down, Frank moaned and grabbed onto Gerard’s hair. Not yanking, but definitely tugging, firm, his fingers caught up in the tangles by Gerard's ears. Gerard moved his fingers, stroking harder, at the same time he swallowed Frank down, his throat taking Frank’s cock as far as he could.
“Oh my God,” Frank said. He sounded wrecked. Good.
Frank’s other hand was in his hair, now, and Gerard kept sucking until he could feel Frank's whole body tightening up underneath him, right there, right about there-
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Frank moaned, “ fuck, Gerard, fuck fuck fuck -“
Gerard pulled almost completely off before swallowing him down again, pressing his fingers in, and Frank barely had time to get out another fuck before he was arching up and crying out, coming so hard Gerard bet his toes had curled.
Gerard pulled off completely and stroked him through it until Frank slumped back, spent. Gerard rolled the condom off and tied off the end, tossing it towards the wastebasket in the corner. Frank barely moved as Gerard cleaned him up and pulled his pants back up from where they were pooled around his feet. He secretly congratulated himself for another job well done - Bert said his mouth always got him into trouble, but he knew how to put it to good use, too, if Frank's face was any indication.
Satisfied, Gerard grinned a little and thumbed at the wet corner of his mouth. Frank just stared. Something warm pooled around the pit of Gerard's stomach but he ignored it and pushed it down, away.
Gerard squeezed Frank's thighs a little and went to lever himself into a standing position, his legs a little wobbly from being on his knees so long. “Well, Frank, I think –“
“Wait, wait-“ Frank said, sitting up straighter. “What about you?”
Gerard stared back. “What about me what?”
Frank darted his eyes from Gerard’s face down to the crotch of his pants, where Gerard’s erection was apparently making itself known. He'd gotten hard pretty much immediately (and especially when Frank was making those sounds, Jesus), but he always felt weird about it, unless it was something the client was obviously into. He was tempted to offer to just take care of it in the bathroom (like usual), that it wasn’t part of the deal, but Frank was already slipping his fingers into the waistband of Gerard’s pants, pulling him closer, between his spread legs.
Gerard didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hovered in the air, gently flexing, as Frank tugged him even closer. He thought for a second that Frank was going to blow him right there, while he was standing, but Frank slid a hand around to the back of his thigh and coaxed Gerard towards him, up onto his lap.
Gerard went with the motion and folded his knees up into the over-sized chair, straddling Frank's lap and gripping the back of the chair around Frank’s head. The horror movie on TV was still the only thing illuminating the room and it made it hard to read Frank’s expression. He kept looking up at Gerard like he was waiting for something, but Gerard kept his face carefully blank, trying to get his thoughts in order.
He could push off, if he wanted. He didn't have to do this. He didn't have to let Frank do this. But that low thrum in his stomach was there, had been there, if he was honest, since he'd kissed Frank by the door and Frank had opened up to him immediately. Frank swallowed and Gerard watched the dip of sweat in the hollow of his collarbone, barely visible through his rucked up business shirt. Fuck. Fuck.
Frank raised a hand to Gerard’s face and ran a thumb under his eye, in a weird, tender gesture, before sliding his hand around to grip into Gerard's hair and pull him closer for a kiss. Gerard went willingly.
He was pretty sure he could just do this for the rest of the night, make out for a while with his dick pressed up against Frank’s stomach through his pants, like he used to do in college with the boys at parties, but as soon as his mind started to wander a bit he was brought sharply back into it by Frank ripping at the button on Gerard's pants and shoving them down his hips enough to work his hand in and wrap around Gerard's dick.
Gerard gasped into Frank’s mouth. “Oh, hi, fuck. ”
“Yeah?” Frank asked, pulling away to bite at Gerard’s neck.
“ Fuck yeah,” Gerard said. It’d been a long fucking time since somebody else seemed so determined to get him off, and if Frank wanted to palm at his dick to make himself feel better about paying for it afterward then, well, more power to –
“Fuck me,” Gerard said, bucking into Frank’s hand. “God damn. ”
Frank wrapped his free arm around Gerard’s waist and pulled him in to his chest until they were almost completely pressed up against one another, Gerard’s dick rutting against the starched front of Frank’s dress shirt on every pump of Frank's fist.
Gerard's hips jerked again, and again, and Frank was panting now, not kissing him, just pressed against Gerard’s face. God dammit, Gerard was closer than he thought, he was –
“Wait, Frank,-“ he started, and tried to pull away, but it was too late. Frank kept stroking and Gerard’s stomach plummeted and twisted and he came hard, writhing against Frank’s chest, Frank’s arm still wrapped around his waist to keep him steady. It felt so good, it felt so good, so much better than whenever he jacked off halfheartedly in the shower in his shitty little apartment.
When he was finished and could actually feel his face again he sat back in Frank’s lap, panting.
Frank was smiling up at him, fucking smug. Gerard knew that expression.
He glanced down at Frank’s chest, any retort he had disappearing immediately. “Oh my God. ”
“What?”
Gerard pressed his palms to his cheeks. “I came on your tie. ”
Frank glanced down. “Oh. So you did.”
“I came on your tie, oh my God, Frank, that is a really nice tie and I came on it. ” Even though this wasn't anywhere near the most embarrassing thing that had happened to him on the job, Gerard still felt completely mortified.
Frank just flipped the fabric a little with his finger. “And on my shirt, too, it looks like.”
Gerard jabbed him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you let me come on your tie. You don’t get to take that out of my paycheck, okay, I tried to warn you, but no -“
Frank caught Gerard’s finger in his palm and gently held it away from him. “Gerard, I promise, it’s okay."
Gerard frowned. “It’s a nice tie.”
Frank shrugged. “I have others. It’s part of the whole ‘businessman’ schtick.” He pulled at the knot until it came undone and then tossed it toward the wastebasket in the corner. “All fixed.”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Obviously.” Frank probably had storage closets full of nice ties. That he could throw away. After people came on them. Gerard sighed.
Frank squeezed his thigh and shifted and Gerard took the cue, slowly crawling back off Frank's legs and straightening out until his knees cracked. His pants were still undone and he moved to zip himself up, but Frank stilled him with a soft touch on his wrist.
Gerard glanced up at Frank and Frank just nodded his head toward the bedroom. Frank didn’t say anything, just turned away and worked at the buttons of his own shirt as he walked, pulling the shirt off and tossing it on the floor outside the bedroom door. Gerard stared a little at the tattoos scrawled around his hips and into the dip of his lower back, before Frank disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom. Gerard paused only to pick up the remote and turn the TV off before he grabbed the hem of his own shirt, pulled it up and over his head, let it drop to the floor by his feet, and followed.
***
"Of course I know the fucking party is tonight," Frank said, shifting his cell phone against his shoulder. "I'm not a fucking idiot."
"You could have fooled me," Leto drawled in his ear. "I'm sure it'll look real professional when you show up all by your short lonesome. Bill told me that he loved the proposals and the demos I sent him about my new talent. He already mentioned maybe boosting them to the headlining position for the gala on Saturday."
Frank ripped the top off a sugar packet and imagined it was Leto's head. It was soothing to watch the granules dissolve in his coffee. "Yeah, well, tell Bill to tell me that himself, which he won't, because you're full of shit. That spot is mine, I earned that, and don't even try."
Leto laughed. "Whatever, Iero, you just keep crawling up that hill. I'll see you tonight."
"Fuck you," Frank said, and hung up. He sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes.
"Not before some coffee," Gerard drawled from behind him.
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