Gerard wasn't exactly a prude and he sure as hell wasn't modest, but frankly, the thought of sex freaked him the fuck out.
Maybe it wasn't sex itself/, but the idea that he was going to be naked and uncomfortable and inexperienced and self-conscious in front of someone he loved and admired was one that froze him in place every time the opportunity was presented to him. And, really, it shouldn't have been difficult to just.../do it. Lights off, pants down, a few minutes of friction and weird noises- bam. Done. Of course there was the post-experience clean up, but that was an afterthought. It was kind of just like masturbation...with another person. Or something.
But if that was the case, then why did he freeze up every time Frank's hands slid to his belt? Why did his breath hitch in his throat with surprise and he apologized again and again and felt so damn stupid for keeping his boyfriend from the simple pleasure and closeness they both wanted? Because it was more about closeness than actual sex. And they'd done almost everything between little pecks on the cheek and whatever step came just before complete nudity. Gerard may have been quiet, introverted, shy and naïve to the point of childishness, but he was no stranger to the bruised lips and cat-scratches of makeout sessions, the awkwardness of dry-humping on their beds while their parents were out, and the messy hand-jobs that required a change of pants and a quick trip to the sink. But if his internal sexual radar told him that more than their hands were going to be involved, you'd better damn well believe that Gerard was out.
And it always happened at the last second. The kisses grew deeper, more passionate, their fingers digging into each other's hips while they ground against each other, the sharpness of their jutting hip bones pressing into their skin. Gerard would even be sure he wanted it, wanted it to the point where he was sure he didn't care anymore. Frank's hand would slide into his pants and that was okay, because he actually enjoyed that part. The hand screwed around inside his underwear for a while and it was fine. But when the hand pulled out of his underwear and started to push down on his jeans...the lust disappeared, replaced by a sudden pang of terror. And, of course, he'd move Frank's hand, stare at the sheets and stutter out that he couldn't, because it just wasn't the right time. Gerard felt like an idiot, because if it wasn't the right time, then why did he always head to the bathroom, trusty bottle of lotion in hand, the minute Frank left? He wanted to have sex without having sex, and he had yet to figure a way around that.
-
"Hey, cutie," Frank answered the open door with a grin, intentionally flicking on his internal flamboyant switch. He wrapped his arms around Gerard's waist as he entered the house and gave him a light peck on the lips, bouncing onto his tip-toes in order to do so. It wasn't that Gerard was tall. Actually, Gerard was only five foot seven. Frank just happened to be five foot two. The fleeting thought, "Napoleon would be proud" frequently floated across the exterior of Gerard's brain. He returned the kiss and smiled softly as he leaned his forehead against Frank's, the two of them rocking back and forth gently, swaying with hands on hips and arms around necks as if they might dance. They stood in the hallway for a moment, basking in the warmth, the scent of their separate inoffensive colognes wafting into their noses. Frank pulled one of his arms away from Gerard's neck and gave his backside a gentle squeeze, smirking against Gerard's lips.
"You look hot today," he rumbled in a low voice, his voice reminding Gerard of the rumble of water flowing over rocks. Gerard kissed Frank's forehead and stroked his hair. It was getting long. The usually short locks now waved down towards his ears, disheveled and sexy.
"You look hot every day," he smirked. There was something about standing there- just standing there- that made him feel so entirely human/. Life felt simple, as if they were children again. And in those few moments they didn't think about school or parents or the past or the future. There was only.../then. And the time was water that simply rushed around them while they stood rooted in place. As it always should have been. Frank returned his arm to its place around Gerard's neck and delicately nuzzled his face into the crook of Gerard's neck, feeling the softness of the skin against his nose, the texture of the other boy's t-shirt against his cheek. Gerard pressed his lips to the top of Frank's head, the tiny hairs quivering slightly as he exhaled through his nose. Innocence.
