Frank makes sex noises while being massaged, or so Gerard’s just found out. Gerard’s hands aren’t only good with pen and paint; his fingertips are masters at easing tense muscles and banishing back pain. But, for some reason, Frank’s never been able to vouch for that until now. Usually it’s Mikey. Some weird brother thing they all thought, when Mikey was feeling particularly low or frustrated, Gerard’s nimble fingers would always find their way to his brother’s neck or shoulders, and there they’d stay, rubbing away the frown on the younger Way’s face until he was completely calm and relaxed once more. Frank would often watch them with a look of admiration for the bond they shared, maybe only slightly jealous that his aching back had to go on suffering in a cracking silence. So, he takes matters in to his own hands.
He’d never straight up ask Gerard, not at first anyway, it’s best to get him when his defenses are down and when he’s not paying that much attention e.g. when he’s sketching. So, like the cunning fox he is, Frank curls up on the couch next to Gerard, back facing him, as he sketches away, pad in his lap and one hand resting on the back of the small bus couch. And sure enough, after Frank nudges Gerard’s fingers gently with his back, they grip a soft hold of Frank’s t-shirt. Gerard’s still obliviously applying shading to his work, completely unaware of what his fingers are up to. They’re rubbing small slow circles on Frank’s right shoulder as Gerard hums at his sketch, still absent minded to his none pencil working hand as it creeps up Frank’s shoulder blade. He chews on his lip as Gerard’s fingers continue to work away weeks worth of aching stress, staying as quiet as possible as to not disturb the working artist.
However, when Gerard’s thumb curls round the side of Frank’s spine and eases a particularly knotted up muscle Frank can’t help but let a peculiar moan slip. Gerard’s hand instantly freezes and he looks up from his pad to his still hand on Frank’s green t-shirt. Frank cranes his head over his shoulder and smiles, innocently. “Uh, hey?”
Gerard’s hand slowly drops from Frank’s back. “Um, hi,” he says before scooting back on the couch as Frank turns himself around. “What was I doing?”
“Rubbing my back,” Frank states.
“Oh, well, uh, sorry. I didn’t realise-”
“No,” Frank interrupts him, “no, it’s fine, I liked it. It felt really good, actually. My back’s been killing me for a while. I might let you do it again some time.”
Gerard nods and smiles softly. “Okay, sure,” he says before gathering his things and wandering off in to the bunk area. Frank grins when’s he’s gone. Bingo.
The next time Frank stops Gerard when he’s walking past his bunk. He opens his curtain with a swish and puts his hand on Gerard’s shoulder. “Dude, I’m totally knotted up again,” he says before practically pulling Gerard in to his bunk. So Gerard ends up lay behind Frank, one hand tucked under his own head and the other sweeping up and down Frank’s clothed back.
Frank starts to sigh a little, which doesn’t bother Gerard all that much. But then he starts to sigh a little more, and then he groans every now and then, and then – then he moans as Gerard gets to the base of his back before saying, “Oh God, that’s good.” And Gerard would have to be dead to not be a little affected by it.
So he makes his excuses, “Yeah, ok. Totally forgot I gotta, uh, Mikey…” and scrambles over Frank and drops out of the bunk to duck his head under the freezing cold shower for a minute, or maybe two.
And this continues for the rest of the week. Frank’s back sustains several injurious, after which he puppy dog eyes Gerard until he gives up and crawls back in to Frank’s bunk, where he’s subjected to Frank’s verbal sexual torture. He takes so many cold showers that week he’s sure he’s going to get pneumonia, or at the very least a fucker of a cold. But he can’t say no and he doesn’t really want to. Secretly, he kind of likes it.
By Sunday its hotel night and Gerard’s pretty excited. A clean room and a warm bed he can bury his head in to and forget about the whole world for at least eight hours. Eight whole glorious hours.
“Hey, Gerard. Can you come to my room in five? I think I did something to my back again.”
God damn it.
Gerard wonders how he got here, straddling his best friend who’s face down on a hotel bed, shirtless and moaning. He touches Frank’s skin again, fingertips digging in to the flesh of Frank’s lower back and he’s moaning again. Gerard closes his eyes and shivers, thankful Frank can’t see anything right now, let alone Gerard’s red face. Frank moves himself forward, thrusting almost against the floral bed sheets as Gerard grabs Frank’s shoulder blades for dear life.
“Fuck, Gerard,” Frank groans, “you’re so good at this.” There are a thousand different other scenarios in Gerard’s brain right now where he’d hear those exact words and suddenly, red cheeks aren’t his only problem anymore. There’s a serious case of wood going on now in his stage jeans (because Frank didn’t give him time to change) and to make matter’s worse, Frank’s now still and silent.
Frank shifts quickly, sending Gerard tumbling to the mattress beside him. Gerard prepares himself for the horrified face of his friend, even closes his eyes for a second, but when he opens them he’s met with smirking. And now it’s Gerard’s turn to be mortified. He leans up on his elbows, ready to make up some far fetched extremely rare medical condition when he gets a face full of Frank and a mouth full of, well – Frank.
His arms flail around for a moment or so until he finds himself flat on his back with Frank now straddling him, kissing him like it’ll save his life. And really, after a week of being crammed in a bunk with Frank’s sex noises Gerard’s lost the power to restrain himself, and so he kisses back – hands soon deep in Frank’s dark hair.
Frank pulls back, lips now shiny with spit as he breathes, “God, finally,” and dives back down before it’s got time to register in Gerard’s brain. With his hands scratching down Gerard’s torso for the hem of his shirt he uncomfortably shifts himself down, setting his sights on getting Gerard’s jeans around his knees after his shirt’s shoved up his chest.
Gerard breathes heavily beneath him, groaning and arching his hips without intent as Frank looks at him one last time with a devilish grin before sinking down. “Oh, fuck, Frank,” he chokes out as he feels Frank’s lips wrap around him, tight and mind mushing. As talented as Gerard is at massaging, Frank’s definitely taking the trophy home for this one. He licks and hums and swallows until he’s got Gerard sweating, shivering and aching from the waist down.
He tries to get Frank’s name out when he comes, but just ends up uttering the first letter until his hips jolt violently and Frank’s still swallowing. He pants as Frank cockily slinks his way back up to grin in Gerard’s face. “Hi,”
“I hate you,” Gerard pants, “really fucking hate you,” he finishes, though he can’t stop himself from smiling.
“I think that’s enough talking,” Frank whispers before sucking on Gerard’s bottom lip and rolling his erection in to Gerard’s stomach.
Gerard couldn’t agree more.
