Frank was surprised when Gerard looked up from the bed, because he didn't think he'd even been listening to them. He'd just been lying on his back with his sketch pad propped up on his knees, not paying any attention to Frank, Ray, and Mikey talk about going down on girls. To be honest, Frank was startled that he'd even have anything to add.
"The thing is," Frank was arguing, "and don't get me wrong, I like it and all, of course I do, but the thing is, how do you even know you're doing it right?" He shook his head. "It's frustrating, you know? They could be faking it, or something, and half the time, they don't even tell you what'sworking."
That was when Gerard looked up. "Huh," he said, sounding surprised.
"What?" Frank demanded, looking at him from his vantage point of the beanbag chair in the center of the room.
"Nothing, it's just -" Gerard waggled the pencil he was holding. "It's easy to tell. Your face gets really wet when you're doing it right."
Mikey, sitting on the floor next to the bed, shut his eyes and shook his head, muttering, "I don't want to know about this, Gee."
Gerard looked at Mikey with concern. "What? Why not?"
Ray, sort of spinning back and forth in the half-broken desk chair by the desk (the back tended to fall off), laughed. "Gerard's right, dude," he said, grinning at Frank. "If your eyelashes don't end up sticky, you're doing something wrong."
Gerard looked at Frank. "Your eyelashes don't always end up sticky?" he said, still sounding surprised.
Frank blinked, confused. Wait. What did Gerard know about it? "I - well, no, not - I mean -"
Gerard stopped pouting at Mikey for not wanting to so completely overshare with his brother, and sighed. "Mine do, every time." He wiped one thumb over his eye now, like he was remembering or something. "It can be distracting," he said.
Wait. "Wait." Frank sat up as best he could on the beanbag. He looked at Gerard, then at Mikey, who looked really focused on the back issue of Doom Patrol on his lap, then at Ray - who shrugged and widened his eyes - and then back at Gerard. "You mean you -"
"Besides," Gerard said thoughtfully, sitting up now, and letting his sketch pad slide off his lap. "It tastes different, when a girl comes. You can totally tell."
Frank was staring. His mouth was open, too, but he couldn’t quite get himself together here. If ever in the world there was someone who he was pretty sure got less action than Frank, it had to be - had to be - Gerard. "Wait," he said again. "I mean - listen. How many girls have you gone down on?"
"Oh." Gerard fiddled with his pencil again, slouching back down on the bed and pulling his sketch pad close again. "Some. I mean -" He drew a little bit, then leaned back, studying the pad with a critical eye. "A few." He looked up.
Frank was staring at him, waiting, and he made a violent, well, elaborate on this turn of events, please! motion with his arm. Ray was paying pretty close attention, too. Mikey had laid down on the floor and had his eyes shut again.
"I mean, not a lot," Gerard said finally, squinting at them a little. "Maybe - fifteen? Or, I don't know -" He chewed on his lip a little. "Around twenty," he said tentatively.
"Not a lot," Frank said, turning to look at Ray, outraged. "Not a LOT." He was pretty sure - no, never mind, he was absolutely sure he and Ray didn't have anywhere near twenty girls between them. Jesus Christ. (Mikey didn't count. Mikey had this weird getting-laid superpower or something.) Sure, Gerard was in college, but holy crap, college had to be way more awesome than Frank had previously thought if even Gerard got laid that often. Fuck, college had to be a virtual sex fest if dudes who lived in their mom's basements and got their little brothers to bring them weed got to eat girls out on a regular basis. Frank thought about the year left he had in high school with fucking despair. College was too fucking far away. Frank wanted sex fests now.
