rivers_bend

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Frank’s mom sends his dad to pick him up. He’s afraid he’s going to get a lecture about responsibility, but his dad just wants to hear all about school. It’s a relief to be able to tell him about his interview project with Janine, and about meeting Bob and Ray, and not have to make up stories about how he’s fitting in and making friends. With the vodka still sloshing around in his brain-to-mouth filter, he doesn’t trust himself to start talking about Gerard and Mikey. His dad really doesn’t need to hear about him getting wasted and sucking on other boys’ tongues. Boys who are brothers, and wow. That is still a total trip.

They go out to dinner, and Frank sobers up over tofu in black bean sauce and an entire pot of green tea, though he does have to practically suffocate himself in his napkin to stop the giggles when he opens the menu and the irony of skipping Chinese food with the Ways only to have it anyway strikes him.

Morning comes much too early the next day. Frank blames MSG when his mom asks him why he looks like he’s going to puke when she puts a plate of eggs in front of him, which gets a rant about his father not worrying enough about Frank’s health, trying to poison him blah blah, but he can mostly tune it out and it’s way better than getting grounded for drinking on a school night. He feels better once the eggs are in the trash and he’s washed a couple aspirin down with a glass of water and a mug of coffee. It doesn’t seem fair that he was fine after Bob’s party and feels so shitty after drinking in the afternoon, but Gerard wasn’t exactly serving up top-shelf stuff, and hell. Maybe it is the MSG.

With a hoodie, two scarves, a beanie he wouldn’t be caught dead in, and an extra pair of mittens stuffed in his backpack courtesy of his mom’s fretting, Frank trudges up the steps to school. Fortunately, he also managed to snag an extra pack of Pop-Tarts, because now that he’s caffeinated, he’s getting hungry. Eating in homeroom doesn’t carry the penalties that eating in any of his other classes does, so he sneaks pieces of pastry into his mouth while Mrs. Hopewell gives what is probably supposed to be an inspiring lecture about school spirit and supporting the stellar lacrosse team. Frank heads to English uninspired and a little jittery.

The last place he wants to go after English is PE. He figures he might feel better about it if he gets to see Gerard first, so he takes the art-hall route to the gym. Gerard’s standing on the floor of his locker with practically his whole head inside the cubby made by the top shelf, muttering expletives. Frank doesn’t want to scare him, make him bump his head or anything, so he stands quietly (lurks) and waits for him to be done. It’s only half successful. Gerard doesn’t end up with a scalp wound, but he does jump and bash his elbow on the locker door when he turns around and sees Frank right there.

“Hi,” Frank says. “Sorry.” His face is doing that involuntary smile thing again, so he probably doesn’t look as sincere as he feels. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I thought you said you aren’t a stalker.”

“If I were stalking, I’d be over there.” Frank points at the little alcove across the hall, half hidden by a display cabinet. “I’d be a ghost. You’d never see me.”

“I think you’re confusing stalker with ninja,” Gerard says. He sounds pretty grumpy.

He’s cute when he’s grumpy, but Frank wants to see him smile. (Then he wants to kiss the smile off his face, but he’s pretty sure even in the art wing, school is not a good place for that.) “Did you lose something?” Frank asks.

“Out of fucking smokes,” Gerard says. “Don’t suppose you have any?”

Frank wishes. “Smoked the last one with you yesterday.”

Scowling, Gerard pulls his messenger bag out of his locker. “Fuck government. I need cigarettes.”

They’re almost to the doors when Gerard notices that Frank’s still with him. “You’re coming with me?”

“Duh,” Frank says. “Nicotine and good company, or sweating with a bunch of meatheads. It’s not much of a contest.”

“I’m not good company,” Gerard says.

Frank doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Coach Ghastly will make you polish the lacrosse trophies for detention.”

They haven’t cleared the gates yet, but Frank lets his laughter bubble up anyway. “See?” he demands. “Fucking liar. You’re great company. Ghastly. He is, too. Fuck.”

The twitching at the corner of Gerard’s mouth tells Frank that the look of disdain he’s trying to pull off is a total lie. “You can’t tell me you’ve never heard him called that before.”

Frank snorts. “I don’t hear shit, man. Mikey was like the second person in this whole school to say two words to me.”

“Stalker like you, don’t tell me you don’t hear the gossip, though.”

“Who’s gonna gossip about Coach Astley?” Frank skips ahead a little and turns to walk backwards, facing Gerard. “Heard how you ate a live frog in Biology, though.”

It’s Gerard’s turn to honk a short laugh. “Why the fuck would I do that? No one would do that.”

A bubble of delight bursts in Frank’s chest. Bad-ass story or not, he’s never down with animal cruelty. “I did wonder.”

“I refused to put my frog in a jar of formaldehyde,” Gerard says. “And I might have called the teacher a sadistic prick and told him to go fuck himself when he sent me to the principal.”

“Did you really pull a kid’s tongue out with your bare hands?”

Gerard grabs Frank’s arms, yanking him against his chest. Does mentioning the tongue thing make him mad? Horny? Is he going to punch Frank or kiss him? But he swings Frank around so Frank’s facing forward on the inside of the sidewalk rather than the outside. Apparently he was just saving Frank from backing into a hydrant.

“Thanks,” Frank says. “So did you?”

“It was his lip,” Gerard mumbles. “And I didn’t pull it off.”

“Ow.” You can get a much better grip on someone’s lip than you can on their tongue.

“He threatened to cut off Mikey’s balls.”

Frank’s pretty sure the last thing he’d do is threaten harm to Mikey Way while Gerard was in hearing distance. Or tattling distance, though Mikey doesn’t really strike him as a rat, or as someone who particularly needs his brother to stand up for him. Not that Frank wants to threaten Mikey. Just, Gerard’s way more of a cupcake than the rumor mill would have it, but he takes that big brother thing pretty seriously.

“What’d he have against Mikey’s balls?”

“I think Mikey made out with his ex. But she was his ex, so he had no right to get mad.”

Frank’s not sure about that—jealous is jealous, it doesn’t matter how much right you have about it—but mad or not, you don’t get to fuck with a dude’s junk.

“What—“ he gets out, and then Gerard’s grabbing his arm again.

“Do you have a death wish?” Gerard’s staring at him all frownyface, and Frank realizes that he almost just walked out into the street on a red light.

“Does it sound too much like a line if I say you’re distracting?” Frank tries.

Gerard says, “Yes,” but he turns a little pink and his mouth is doing that twitching thing again, so Frank’s happy.

“You are. Totally distracting. I can’t stop wondering if I can get you to kiss me again.”

Dropping Frank’s arm like it’s hot, Gerard goes even pinker, and stares hard at the light as though he can make it turn green with the power of his mind.

“Oh, wow,” Frank says. “That would be an awesome superpower.”

“Making people kiss you?” Gerard asks, only half looking at Frank.

“No. Well, yeah. That would be awesome, too, but I was thinking about being able to change lights to green with your mind.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of a weirdo?” The light changes and Gerard starts crossing, not checking to see if Frank is coming. But Frank is totally paying attention now, so it’s cool.

“All the time,” Frank says cheerfully.

Gerard obviously doesn’t have a comeback for that, because they walk to the 7-Eleven at the end of the block in silence. Tasting the cigarette already, Frank starts to speed up when they get to the parking lot, but Gerard says, “Wait.”

Waiting is not exactly Frank’s best trick.

“Hafta see who’s working. If it’s the guy with— Yeah. That guy calls the school if he sees you in there in your uniform. There’s another place in a couple blocks.”

But Frank wants a cigarette now. Not in another couple blocks. Using the cars in the lot for cover, he ducks around the side of the building and around the back of the cardboard recycling bin, Gerard at his heels asking what the hell he’s doing.

“I’ll just take off my uniform,” Frank says, propping his backpack on one knee and digging for the clothes his mom made him take that morning.

“Weird and crazy,” Gerard says, hastily turning his back when Frank starts unbuttoning his blazer.

“You’re the one they call psycho-boy,” Frank points out. “And oh my god, I’m just taking off my jacket. I don’t think it’s going to melt your face off or anything.”

“How am I supposed to know what you’re taking off? Just trying to give you some privacy.”

“Is this a no to the making out again?” Frank asks. He’s not actually worried, though maybe he should be. But Gerard had been pretty into the kissing yesterday before Mikey interrupted them, and the way he won’t meet Frank’s gaze seems more shy than uninterested. “Just so I don’t get my hopes up.”

“You’re more obsessed with making out than Mikey is,” Gerard mutters.

“Pretty much just obsessed with making out with you,” Frank corrects him, tugging his sweatshirt down over his head. Gerard still has his back turned when Frank’s face clears the neck hole.

“We can’t just make out in the street,” Gerard points out.

“Okay. Let’s go somewhere we can make out, then.” Wrinkling his nose a little, Frank pulls on the fugly beanie in the hopes it will distract from his school slacks, and remembers he’s got his sneaks in his bag since he was on his way to PE. “Here,” he says. “Help me balance.” Gerard turns and Frank grabs his arm. Not that he couldn’t lean on the recycling bin, but Gerard’s a lot cuter.

“Do you have your whole closet in there?” Gerard asks, eyeing Frank’s backpack like Frank might have put an undetectable extension charm on it.

“Mom’s a big believer in knitwear preventing bronchitis and stuff.” Frank pulls off his second school shoe and stuffs his foot into his sneaker. “And I’m cutting PE, remember?”

“Huh, you look different,” Gerard says. He touches Frank’s shoulder with a finger and his mouth does that lopsided quirk like when he’s drawing. Frank can’t help darting in and pecking a kiss on the downturned corner.

He expects Gerard to protest, ask what Frank thinks he’s doing, or maybe pretend it didn’t happen. He does not expect Gerard to surge forward, stumbling over their feet as he pushes Frank back against the wall, jarring his spine and sending a flood of heat to his dick.

“Mrmph,” Frank says around the tongue Gerard’s shoved into his mouth. Gerard does ignore that.

The wall is cold and hard, and Gerard is warm and soft, and Frank definitely has a thing about being pinned between them. Rather than trying to finesse the kiss the way he did last time, Frank lets Gerard set the pace, turned on by how Gerard can’t seem to get close enough fast enough as much as he is by how he’s rubbing his hip up against Frank’s dick. It doesn’t feel at all like the kind of making out that could go on for hours and not lead to anything.

Frank’s got his hands under Gerard’s blazer, fisted in his shirt, and is making whimpering noises into his mouth, trying really hard not to hump his thigh so good he has to buy smokes with a load in his shorts, when a horn bleats from the lot making Gerard jump back, panting, eyes glazed.

“Fuck,” Frank says, out of breath himself. “Fuck. You are so fucking— Why’d you stop?”

Gerard blinks at him, then blinks some more, fingers still griping the shoulders of Frank’s sweatshirt. “We need cigarettes,” he says slowly.

Frank grins. “Aww, sweetie, it was good for me, too.”

That snaps Gerard out of his daze, makes him pfft and push Frank as he lets go his hold. “You’re a brat, too. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Be nice, or I won’t get you any smokes.”

“Brat,” Gerard repeats, digging out his wallet so he can give Frank some cash.

Gerard stays in the alley with their bags, out of sight of the plate-glass storefront while Frank goes in to get them cigarettes. The dude behind the counter blatantly checks Frank against the height tape on the door jam, and his hand disappears under the counter about where you’d expect a panic alarm—or maybe a gun—to be. Frank wonders if it’s the fucking beanie he’s wearing of if the guy’s just been robbed one too many times. Either way, he seems a little high strung to be in the minimart business.

“Hey,” Frank says, making sure his hands are visible. “How’s your day going?”

The guy just looks at him.

“Two boxes of Marlboro Reds, please.” Frank concentrates on looking and sounding as old as possible. He hasn’t been carded buying smokes since he was thirteen, but it would not surprise him at all if this were the dude to break the streak.

“Smoking kills, you know.” Now that Frank’s almost to the counter and still has his hands visible, the guy takes his own hand off whatever he’s got down there.

“I have heard that,” Frank says, and what the fuck? Isn’t this guy supposed to be selling shit, making money here?

“Just so you know,” the guy says, and turns to his racks of cigarettes. Frank’s not in the clear yet with the whole ID thing, but things are looking good. The dude gets out two boxes of Reds and puts them down just out of Frank’s reach.

“Thanks,” Frank says, pulling out his money.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Frank says confidently.

“Super. You got your ID on you?”

Not super. Not super at all. “Sorry,” Frank says, contrite as he can. “Must’ve left it in my other pants.”

“No problem.” Frank starts to slide his money over, but the guy continues, “These’ll be right here for you when you come back.”

Frank doesn’t bother to ask if he’s kidding. The guy is not a kidder. He also manages to resist flipping the dude off as he leaves, but only because he’s still not sure that wasn’t a gun he was reaching for when Frank came in. Asshole. Gerard’s gonna think Frank’s a total loser if he can’t even fucking buy some god damn smokes.

When he rounds the corner of the building, Gerard takes one look at him and says, “Do not tell me the fucker carded you.”

“The fucker carded me.” Frank feels like the biggest tool ever. Which doesn’t even make sense, but he can’t help it.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Gerard says. “Guy’s even carded fucking Mikey, and Mikey never gets carded.”

Frank wants to ask why the hell Gerard sent him in there in that case, then remembers that Gerard wanted to go to another store and it was Frank’s idea to stay here. “Just want a fucking cigarette, man.”

Gerard shoves Frank’s backpack into his arms. “Now can we go to the Dixie Dip?” he asks.

“Fuck you,” Frank says. “Why didn’t you tell me instead of wasting our time?”

“You started taking your clothes off. I lost my train of thought.”

It’s all Frank can do not to bust out his victory fistpump. He does treat Gerard to a shoulder-shimmy though. “Oh, yeah.”

“Keep it in your pants, brat,” Gerard says. But he’s smiling as he heads through the lot to continue their quest for tobacco.


The Dixie Dip is another four or five blocks from school, and half way there Frank checks the time on his phone. “What have you got after Government? Because it looks like we’re cutting third, too.” Frank has no qualms about missing his French class—he’s got a detention at this point no matter what, and they just had a pop quiz yesterday so there won’t be one today—but he’d feel bad if all the time he wasted at the 7-Eleven made Gerard miss an art class or something.

“Psychology. We have to go back for lunch or Mikey will worry, but if you want to skip fourth, too, there’s a comic store next to the Dip.” He says it like he thinks maybe Frank is going to argue about a comic book store being a worthy place to spend his time, but all Frank hears is Let’s spend the next two hours hanging out together even though we’ll get in trouble for it. Not that he has anything against comics. And he bets he’ll get to see that happy-excited look on Gerard’s face again—the one he had while he was talking about his drawings with Mikey in the cafeteria the other day. Frank likes that look.

They get their cigarettes and two crappy cups of coffee and stand huddled against bricks between the windows of the Dip and the comic store watching each other feed their addictions.

“You’re seriously a smoker,” Gerard says when Frank’s smoked half his cigarette in the time Gerard’s gotten his lit and taken two puffs.

“Yeah,” Frank says. It’s shit for his lungs, and if his mom finds his stash she always throws them away, so sometimes he has to go a few days between the end of one pack and the start of the next, but he gave up trying to convince anyone he’s just a social smoker sometime last year. “Did you think I was pretending?”

Gerard looks at him, takes another drag and another sip of coffee. “Maybe. I thought you were just looking for an excuse to follow me, find out more about Mikey.”

“If I wanted to find out more about Mikey, wouldn’t it make more sense for me to have followed Mikey somewhere?”

“No,” Gerard says in that way that means yes.

“Besides. Mikey didn’t run off in the middle of lunch. I didn’t need to follow him.”

“Whatever.” Cigarette down at his side, Gerard communes with his coffee for a minute. “Wait. If you thought I was Mikey’s boyfriend, what were you doing making out with him?”

Probably Gerard knows his brother’s lips get around, so if Frank explains he won’t exactly be sharing state secrets. “I’d already seen him kissing two different girls at Bob’s party. And I asked, and he said you don’t care who he kisses.”

“You didn’t think that was strange?”

“I thought you had a modern and open-minded agreement.” Frank remembers Mikey’s distinct lack of groping. “It also explained why Mikey didn’t try to get to second base.”

Gerard snorts. “Mikey doesn’t really believe in going to second base with anyone unless he’s dating them. Thinks it’s leading them on.”

“Guess I’m glad he didn’t try with me, then.”

From the look on Gerard’s face, that’s the last thing he expected Frank to say. “Why?”

“Because Mikey’s not who I wish I were dating.” Frank looks right at Gerard as he says it so his point is clear.

He either succeeds or totally fails, because Gerard says, “Wanna see if there’s anything new?” and makes a grab for the door of the comic book store. Frank ditches his coffee and stubs out his cigarette and follows him.

The store is smaller than the one Frank usually goes to out by his dad’s house, but they’re using every inch of space, so it looks like they have at least as many titles.

“Gerard, my man,” the guy behind the counter says. “You know it’s only Tuesday, right?”

“That was one time. During the summer. Days are more confusing then.” Gerard turns to Frank. “Dave is never gonna let me live that down.”

Dave (Frank assumes) lets his gaze slide from Frank’s beanie to his ratty PE shoes. “Mikeyway, I always suspected you might be a shape shifter. I like the new look. Not sure I see the point, but who am I to question?”

“Funny,” Gerard says. “I do have friends besides my brother, you know.”

Dave gives him a look like Gerard’s trying to convince him he was raised on a moon colony. Gerard just rolls his eyes.

“This is Frank.”

“Hi,” Frank says. He’s not exactly sure what to do with Dave or this Gerard who doesn’t get all bent out of shape when someone teases him.

Dave comes out from behind the counter and holds out his hand for Frank to shake, but is looking mostly at Gerard when he says, “Is this you trying to tell me Mikey doesn’t have superpowers?”

“He totally has superpowers,” Gerard answers. “Just nothing so obvious as shapeshifting.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dave says, finally remembering to give Frank his hand back before he’s focused on Gerard again. “I’m gonna have to wait for the book, aren’t I?”

“There’s a book about Mikey?” Frank asks.

“Not yet,” Dave tells him. “Not yet. But your friend here’s gonna write one, and it’s gonna be epic. Batman: Year One epic.”

“You’re writing a book about Mikey?” Frank doesn’t ask if his superpower is getting served beer, because while Dave seems pretty cool and so far hasn’t called them on cutting school, he is an adult, and if he just knows Mikey and Gerard from his store, he might not know about the whole alcohol thing.

“Dave,” Gerard says, pointing at him and looking as stern as a kid with too-long greasy hair and an ill-fitting school uniform can look. “New rule. No talking to Frank.” Gerard turns on Frank. “You, no listening to Dave. No one’s writing a book about Mikey.”

“Do you have Year One in hardback?” Frank asks Dave, ignoring Gerard’s rules. His paperback got destroyed when his grandma’s basement flooded, and his dad gave him some hardback collections last Christmas, so a hardback replacement would look better on his bookshelf.

“Do you want to show him where they are, Gerard, since I’m not allowed to talk to him?”

“I don’t know why I keep coming in here,” Gerard mutters.

“Because I brought you back a signed copy of Arkham Asylum last time I went to London and you owe me an eternal debt of gratitude.”

“Holy fuck. You have a signed Arkham?” Frank wants to see that.

“Mikey has it. Gave it to him for his birthday. And you’re not following the rules.”

“Yeah,” Frank says. “I’m not very good at rules.”

“We like him, G-Way. He can stay.”

Gerard stops in front of a display of hardbacks. “And people wonder why I just want to hang out with my brother,” he says.

Spying Year One, Frank picks it up. “Don’t front. You know you love hanging out with me.”

Gerard blushes a little bit and shoots a panicked look in Dave’s direction, but the door’s opening and he’s distracted looking at his new customer.

“Don’t worry,” Frank whispers. “I won’t tell Dave why you love hanging out with me.”

“Ugh,” Gerard says. “Are you buying that or not?”

“Yes.” Then Frank remembers that it’s the middle of December and his mother will probably kill him if he tries to buy himself anything until he’s seen what’s under the Christmas tree. “No. Fuck. Christmas. But I know it’s here.”

“You like Arkham?” Gerard asks.

“Of course.”

Gerard hooks a finger in the pocket of Frank’s hoodie and tugs him toward the back of the store. “You seen We3?”

Frank hasn’t, but he’s more than happy to let Gerard show him.

Without Dave teasing, Gerard loses his long-suffering air and as they wander around checking out the inventory, showing each other things they’ve read, Frank gets to see his happy-excited smile more than once. He does keep asking Frank what time it is though, until finally Frank asks why he doesn’t just text Mikey if he’s freaking out that much about missing lunch and worrying him.

“Lost my phone,” Gerard admits.

“In your room?” Frank wouldn’t be surprised if Gerard loses his bed sometimes, never mind a phone.

“Maybe,” Gerard admits.

“I could come over after school if you want, help you find it.” Frank doesn’t usually invite himself places—that’s not how his momma raised him—but from what Bob and Mikey’ve said and what Frank’s seen himself, if he waits on Gerard for an invitation they’ll be in their eighties when it happens.

“You— I guess.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic. You’ll be able to text your brother again, and—“ Frank lowers his voice— “if you’re nice, I’ll let you kiss me.”

“Let me. That’s what we’re calling this?” But his gaze is fixed on Frank’s mouth and he doesn’t seem able to look away.


They get back to school just in time for lunch to start, Frank remembering as they hit the hall outside the cafeteria that he’d better put his blazer back on if he doesn’t want detention for being out of uniform as well as cutting class.

“Fucking blazers,” Gerard says, watching Frank try to smooth out the wrinkles in his. “Teenagers are uncomfortable enough in their skin without making them uncomfortable in their clothes, too. And don’t try to tell me that a uniform levels the playing field and erases class and social differences; that’s a fallacy, and a dangerous one.”

“Um, wow,” Frank says, staring a little. “I— was not going to try to tell you that. I fucking hate this thing.”

“And don’t get me started on how they’re enforcing gender stereotyping and dictating a false gender binary to the student body.”

“Please,” someone who sounds a lot like Mikey says from behind Frank, “don’t get him started.”

“You know it’s wrong to force the girls into skirts and the boys into pants. You know it is, Mikes.”

“I know, Gee.” Mikey puts an arm around Gerard’s shoulders, herding him toward the cafeteria. “Did you give him coffee?” Mikey asks sotto voice in Frank’s direction.

“Yeah,” Frank says, “but like an hour and a half ago.” Although Gerard had actually been just as passionate in the comic book store, it’s just that Frank had been expecting that—the lecture on school uniforms seemed a little random.

“I can hear you,” Gerard points out.

“Coffee gets you excited,” Frank says. “Good to know.”

“Usually it’s not so bad, but I wasn’t paying attention and he ordered a quadruple shot latte on the way to school so whatever he got with you was on top of that.”

“My ear is seriously like nine inches from your mouth right now.” Gerard has his hand up flapping back and forth between his ear and Mikey’s lips, and he looks ridiculous and fucking adorable and Frank wants to hold hands with him really badly.


When they get to what Frank’s hoping he’s not premature in already thinking of as their table, Gerard sits down next to Mikey, which means that Frank can’t lean into him or nudge their knees together, but at least he can look at him without having to turn his head. And it does make sense, really. Mikey is Gerard’s brother and best friend in the whole world, and Gerard’s known Frank for two days.

“I told Frank he could come over after school again,” Gerard tells Mikey, after he explains that they practically had to cut three whole classes because the asshat at the 7-Eleven carded Frank.

“Okay, cool,” Mikey says, and then he actually looks at his brother. Frank thinks Gerard’s face pretty much looks like Gerard’s face, but obviously Mikey sees something in his eyebrows or whatever, because he says, “Oh. I totally forgot. I’m going somewhere. So it’ll just be the two of you.” It’s only marginally more subtle than the stilted getting-snacks conversation. Gerard tries to hide the pleased look on his face, but he isn’t any more successful than Mikey is subtle. Frank doesn’t try to hide his pleased look at all.

Math isn’t too interminable, because they have their quiz so there’s the whole ticking-clock thing going on, but History is at least a hundred years long. During Business Skills Frank imagines Gerard in his studio class working on his art project, tries to picture it, wonders if it’s some kind of still life, or a portrait, or if he gets to draw zombies and cat people and household-appliance weaponry. It’s a better bet than thinking about Gerard’s bed and how in an hour or so Frank might be lying on it with Gerard’s tongue in his mouth. That way lies madness. Also boners. Frank’s not that big a fan of in-class boners. Especially not in Mrs. Ware’s class, because she looks like she might be your grandma, and that shit’s just not right. When the final bell rings, it’s all Frank can do to contain his whoop of joy.

Gerard isn’t at his locker when Frank gets there, but people are still coming out of the studio, and Frank’s classroom is only in the next hall, so he probably didn’t miss him. He peers through the window in the door and can see Gerard’s arm and shoulder up to where his hair falls over his collar. He’s gesticulating passionately, paintbrush in hand, in the direction of a man in his fifties Frank assumes is Mr. Zukaris. Craning his neck to try to see Gerard’s canvas, Frank misses the kid coming at the door from the other direction, and gets beaned in the head as she opens it.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him rubbing his skull. Then, and Frank’s not sure he isn’t hallucinating this part, she says, “Oh, hey, Frank, right? Janine’s friend from English. You were at Bob Bryar’s gig with Mikey Way.”

“Um,” Frank says intelligently.

“Nice to meet you. See you around.” And she’s off, down the hall and around the corner.

Frank rubs his head again. This whole not being invisible thing might take some getting used to.

While he was distracted with head injuries and total strangers knowing his name, Frank missed Gerard wrapping up whatever conversation he was having and getting his things together, and suddenly he’s there, almost tripping on Frank’s feet as he tries to get out of the classroom.

“Oh hi,” he says. “You’re here.” Frank can’t tell if his tone is pleased-but-distracted, or perturbed.

“I didn’t think you knew where my locker was so it seemed logical to come to yours.”

“Yeah.” Gerard starts fiddling with his combination lock. “Mikey might have pointed yours out to me after lunch.”

Frank hopes Mikey didn’t mention he knows where it is because he saw Frank getting stuffed inside it. “So you still want help finding your phone?”

“Sure.” Gerard shuts his locker with a clang and hooks his bag over his shoulder. Apparently there is something super interesting about where the strap attaches. “Or. We don’t have to look for my phone if you’d rather do something else.”

“My dad’s not coming to take me for dinner tonight,” Frank points out.

“Cool.” Looking up from his bag, Gerard gives Frank a smile half-way between his little drawing-something-he-likes one and the excited-about-a-great-comic one.

They walk really close to each other on the way to Gerard’s house. They don’t hold hands, but their knuckles brush, and every time they do, Frank catches Gerard looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

By the time they get to the top of the stairs down to Gerard’s room, they’re practically running, and there is none of the pretending they’re here for any reason other than making out that Frank was half expecting. They drop their bags on the floor and dive at each other, hands twisting in polyester blazers, teeth clacking. “Ow,” Gerard mumbles against Frank’s mouth, kissing him again, and again, finally finding an angle that doesn’t mush either of their noses or pinch lips between teeth, then ruining it almost immediately by pushing Frank across the minefield of his room.

“Can we—“ Frank pulls away, but keeps his grip on Gerard’s elbows as he backs toward the bed so he doesn’t lose him. “Just let me—” He almost goes down, but Gerard catches him, and they make it the last couple of feet to where Gerard can safely tackle Frank onto his mattress.

The bed is nothing like the wall in the alley, but it’s just as good to be pressed against with Gerard’s soft warmth in terms of making Frank’s dick hard, and then even better, because they’re alone, and Frank’s not wearing a ridiculous beanie, so Gerard can grab his hair, pull his head back, suck on his neck. And when Frank says, “Oh my god,” way louder than he means to at the feel of Gerard’s teeth on the patch of skin right under his ear, there’s no one to hear them and come investigate. Gerard groans, sucks harder, makes Frank arch nearly off the bed despite Gerard’s full weight on top of him, and Frank can’t help but think of Gerard sucking his own blood in the parking lot, can’t help wondering what it would feel like if he were sucking Frank’s blood right now.

“Sorry,” Gerard mumbles when Frank starts whimpering.

“No. That was— Good. Noises of good.”

Gerard peers at his neck. “I mean I think I gave you a hickey.”

Never has Frank been more grateful for his mother’s habit of fussing at him to wear scarves and keep his hood up even in the house, because it’s hard to keep it warm enough for her to be satisfied he won’t get sick. “S’okay,” Frank assures him. “Really.” Since they’re paused anyway, Frank tries to get his hands between them, undo Gerard’s blazer buttons.

Gerard stares a moment and then rolls off Frank onto his back, says, “You too. And shoes,” and then they’re both flopping around, trying to get their jackets off, kick off their shoes, and move up the bed all at once. Frank gets a forearm in the ribs and very nearly elbows Gerard in the eye, and he says, “Come to a show with me,” as he’s pulling off his tie, because he really wants to see Gerard sweaty and wild in a pit.

“A show?” Gerard’s on his side, jacket gone, one shoe off and one still on, struggling with the knot on his tie. Frank can’t wait any more to kiss him.

“Later.” Pushing Gerard onto his back, Frank climbs on top of him and Gerard immediately gives up on his neckwear, grabs Frank’s hair again, gets back to licking his mouth. It’s not as good as having Gerard’s weight on top of him, except for the ways it’s better: Gerard straining up to reach him; the way he can snug his dick right up against Gerard’s; the way it makes him feel tiny and powerful at the same time; the way Gerard’s leg comes up to hook around his, pull him closer.

Frank’s pretty sure he could stay here forever, just like this, but he also wants more. He wants everything.

The thin light coming through the basement window has gotten thinner and Frank’s sweating through his shirt, rutting against Gerard and not even caring if he comes in his pants, when Gerard gets his hands on Frank’s shoulders and pushes him back. “Gotta get my tie off. Dying,” he gasps. The perverse part of Frank wants to pull Gerard’s tie tighter, go back to kissing him, see how much he’d squirm, but the rest of him would like Gerard to invite him over again, and decides that he should probably not choke him on their first date. Assuming this counts as a date.

“Just so you know,” Frank says while Gerard’s picking at his knot, “I’m planning on going for second base. Maybe even third.”

Gerard looks at him, eyes still a little glazed, but serious, too. “You’re not worried I’ll think you’re my boyfriend?”

No point beating around the bush. Worst case scenario, Frank’s life goes back to what it was last week. Which would suck, sure, but it’s not like he hasn’t been pretty obvious here already. “I want to be your boyfriend. I also want to get in your pants. Either would be good. Both would be fantastic.”

Gerard’s mouth does that thing Frank loves where half of it smiles and the other half almost grins. “I’ve never really been sure where the baseball analogies fit, but whatever base is you taking your shirt off, I think we should do that now.”

Frank only bothers with the top two buttons before yanking his shirt over his head. Gerard’s still working on his tie by the time Frank’s topless. “Seriously?” Frank asks. “What did you do to it?” Already moving to run his hands down Frank’s torso, Gerard doesn’t complain when Frank takes over.

Somehow it’s like Gerard soaked the knot in water after he got it around his neck, and they end up with Frank straddling Gerard’s stomach, digging into the stubborn fabric with his nails while Gerard skates his hands up and down Frank’s ribs, circles Frank’s nipples with his fingers.

“You can touch them,” Frank says, pausing his efforts in order to eye the half-inch of skin Gerard’s treating like a force field.

“Yeah,” Gerard breathes, but he doesn’t get closer. “Kinda like watching them get hard when I’m not even touching them, though.”

And wow, okay, speaking of hard, Frank could kill a zombie with his dick right now. “I’m gonna cut this off you,” Frank says, pulling frustratedly at Gerard’s tie. But that loosens it so he can get his fingers between the fabric and Gerard’s neck and yank it open enough to pull it over Gerard’s head. “Fucking finally.”

Clearly Gerard agrees, because as soon as his tie’s off, he starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. Frank shoves it up and off as soon as there’s enough access. Which leaves Frank’s junk resting on Gerard’s pale belly. God, he wants to rub all over it. “Is it too soon to say I want to jerk off on you right now?” Frank asks. It’s all he can think about.

“Um.” Gerard looks at the bulge in his pants, the way his hips are rocking a little. “Maybe? I mean, that would— Really?”

“Yeah,” Frank says. “Never mind. Next time. But can I—“ Scooting down, he leans in and presses the side of his face to Gerard’s belly. It’s even better than it looked, so soft and so warm and perfect. He turns his head, presses in with his other cheek, then his nose, and then he’s kissing it, and this. This is what he wants to do forever.

Gerard’s wiggling, like maybe it tickles, and without even thinking about it Frank brings his arms up to pin him down, hold him right there so he can sniff and lick and kiss and rub his face over every delicious inch of skin. He’s heard a guy talk about titty facewashes before, and how he just wanted to get all up in there and drown, and that’s how Frank feels right now. Not that Gerard’s belly is like a girl’s tits, but it has some give, just the right amount so if Frank pushes in he can’t breathe, and he had no idea. He’s humping the mattress, clinging to Gerard’s waist, digging in with fingers and chin and nose and teeth, and Gerard’s panting and twitching, and he’s practically pulling Frank’s hair out by the handful, but he’s not telling Frank to stop.

When Frank bites a little too hard, Gerard whimpers, and Frank apologizes, lapping at the bite marks, soothing them with his tongue and lips, and then his “sorry, sorry, sorry,” becomes, “please, please, please,” and he isn’t even sure what he’s asking for. But the hand he had on Gerard’s far hip starts inching closer to his dick and, god, that’s what Frank wants. He wants to touch it. Wants to feel Gerard come with Frank’s face right there, cheek pressed to his quivering belly, feeling him go tense then liquid. “Can I?” he asks, but his hand’s already there.

“Fuck,” Gerard answers. “Fuck. Yes. Fuck, oh god, oh god.”

And he’s so hard already, dick like a fucking rod under Frank’s hand, so he doesn’t even try for Gerard’s zipper, just squeezes and rubs him through his pants, kneading his belly with his other hand, rocking his face into the softness, digging in deep as he can, so he’s suffocating himself, lungs working to inhale Gerard’s skin, and it’s so fucking good. Fucking perfect, until Gerard rips him away by his hair, says, “Breathe, Frankie, jesus, fucking breathe.” And that’s when Frank comes.

Sometimes coming wears him out, and he just wants to sleep, but sometimes it energizes him, makes him feel like he can do anything. This is one of those times. Propping up on one elbow, he gets both hands working Gerard’s fly, has it peeled open and away from his dick before Gerard can ask what he’s doing.

“Gotta touch you,” Frank says. “Please. You gotta let me touch you.”

Gerard just flops back against the pillows, his hips lifting into Frank’s hands.

“Yeah,” Frank murmurs. “Yeah.” Gerard’s thick and heavy between his palms, blood-hot and flushed. Frank hasn’t spent a lot of time looking at cocks—he feels weird watching porn on a computer he shares with his mother, and when his own dick’s hard he’s usually too busy jerking off to really examine it that closely—but Gerard’s is pretty awesome. And like, right there. Frank wants to kiss it, but there’s gonna be a next time, there has to be, and he’s probably scared Gerard enough for one afternoon. He rubs it between his hands instead, kissing Gerard’s belly, his hipbone, the curve of his ribs.

“Stop fucking teasing,” Gerard moans, making Frank realize that random fondling doesn’t exactly a stellar handjob make.

“Right,” he says. “Right.” He tries to focus.

While he’s doing that, Gerard takes him by the wrist and pulls his hand up to his mouth, licking the ball of his thumb, his palm, up his fingers. It’s wet, and slimy, and pretty much the hottest thing anyone has ever done to Frank in his life, including having his dick in another dude’s mouth. “Jesus,” Frank breathes, and Gerard mumbles, “’s better wet,” around the fingers he’s sucking on.

“If you don’t stop that soon, I’m gonna need that hand to jerk myself off.” Frank tries to care that that isn’t even fair to think about getting off twice before he’s gotten Gerard off once, but holy fuck it just feels so good.

Gerard obviously doesn’t think it’s fair either, because he gives Frank his hand back. Like, still super sensitized. Gerard’s dick feels like it’s burning up, slipping through Frank’s fist fast and easy, and yeah. Yeah. The angle’s wrong for Frank to get his face back in there, but he lays his other hand flat on Gerard’s belly, feeling it tense and jump, feeling Gerard’s dick respond when Frank squeezes the flesh there.

“So much hotter without your clothes,” Frank tells Gerard’s belly. “So fucking hot.” He speeds up, wanting to see Gerard’s jizz against his skin, wanting to feel it.

He expects a sound, or a change in Gerard’s breathing, but all he gets is Gerard’s dick jerking in his hand and then come spilling over the fingers splayed on his belly. He’s the one who gasps, releases his breath on a drawn-out moan, while Gerard just keeps inhaling and exhaling, deep and steady.

“Was that—“ Frank says. He came, so it can’t have been horrible.

Like Frank’s words released him, Gerard takes a shuddering breath, and hauls Frank up the bed onto his chest, smearing jizz everywhere on the way. Frank takes the rib-crushing hug and the way Gerard’s got his face buried in Frank’s neck as a good thing.

Until it starts getting hard for him to breathe. The squeak he makes isn’t exactly dignified, but it is effective. More effective than expected, in fact.

Gerard releases him, pushing him up until he can stare into his face, eyes wild and intense. Frank’s stomach does that swooping thrill like when Gerard pinned him to the wall in the alley, or was bucking underneath him while Frank was on his lap, and the guy’s just looking at him. “Fuuuuck,” Frank breathes.

“You don’t even—” Gerard says, his grip on Frank’s shoulders so tight it aches. “You don’t even know.”

“Don’t know—“ What. Frank’s gonna ask what, but Gerard’s flipping him, surging up and over, looming in Frank’s face, and the word’s knocked right out of him.

“You gotta, please, Frank, you gotta let me—“

There’s no time for Frank to even wonder, never mind ask, gotta let him what, before Gerard’s pawing at his waistband, his fly, careless of the fact that Frank’s junk is right there and gonna get mauled if he’s not careful.

“Lemme—“ Frank says, pushing Gerard’s hands out of the way, because what’s he gonna say, No, please don’t get my dick out, I’d rather die of blueballs? Uh huh. No. He gets the button done, and as soon as he starts on the zipper, Gerard’s pulling, fingers hooked in not only the pants but Frank’s briefs, yanking the works down to his knees.

“Please,” Gerard says again, running a finger down the edge where Frank’s pubes thin to a smattering of leg hair, a look of wonder on his face.

“You need an engraved inv— aaak!” Frank dares anyone not to squawk when a dude basically faceplants in their naked crotch.

“Gnnngh,” Gerard moans, nuzzling his nose deeper into the groove at the top of Frank’s thigh. “You smell like sex.”

Which, duh, that’s what happens when you cream your shorts. But Frank’s not feeling very quippy at the moment, what with the way Gerard’s nuzzling and sniffing is heading for Frank’s dick. “Ungh,” he says instead.

“Can you—“ Gerard tries to push Frank’s thighs apart, but since he’s lying on Frank’s left leg and Frank’s still hobbled by his pants, he’s not that successful. Apparently he’s willing to make do, though, because before Frank can offer to get more naked, Gerard starts licking his dick like it’s a popsicle in August.

“Okay,” Frank says weakly.

“Taste like sex,” Gerard mumbles, lips brushing the base of Frank’s cock.

Frank nods, not that Gerard’s paying any attention. He’s too busy kissing every inch of skin between Frank’s hipbones.

And Frank was so, so wrong thinking Gerard licking his hand was the hottest thing ever. Because Gerard fucking sniffing him is somehow hotter, never mind the things he’s doing with his tongue, and god, his fingers, cupping Frank’s dick so he can rub little circles under the head with his thumb, suck wet, clinging kisses to the shaft, jack him a few times before—oh god, fuck—opening his mouth around the tip, licking, sucking, so fucking good Frank doesn’t even care when his teeth catch for a second on his way down.

He squeaks, flinches a little, but he doesn’t care.

Gerard pulls off, says, “Sorry. I’ve never—“

And god, why is that even hotter? That Frank’s is the first cock he’s ever had in his mouth? “No, s’good. Don’t stop. Please. Fuck, Gee, please.” Gerard doesn’t complain about the nickname, and Frank hopes that nuzzling a guy’s junk means you’re past the need for formalities.

“D’zit always taste this good?” he slurs, chin propped on Frank’s thigh.

Since Frank’s had exactly zero dicks in his mouth, and he’s not really into licking his fingers after he jerks off, he’s not super qualified to answer that question. “Just fucking suck me, please. We can talk after.”

Gerard, thank god, giggles at that and gets back to what he was doing.

Objectively, maybe, Gerard is not all that skilled at giving head. Even after the first time, he hasn’t really got the hang of keeping his teeth out of the way, though Frank can tell he’s trying, and at least he hasn’t stopped to apologize again. He hasn’t got any rhythm, and he’s for sure not deep throating, but he keeps making these hungry, greedy noises that make Frank feel like he’s gonna vibrate out of his skin, and his mouth is wet and hot and tight and he keeps doing this thing with his tongue that makes Frank’s dick jerk, and the way he’s drooling everywhere makes his fist a slick-wet tunnel to thrust into, and skilled or not, Frank is a big fan of his technique.

The last (and only) time Frank got a blowjob, he was so drunk that he had to work to come. Now he’s having to work to hold on, despite the fact he came like fifteen minutes ago. He tries to get a hand in Gerard's hair, maybe slow him down some, but he just ends up cupping the back of Gerard's head, grinding awkwardly into his face.

That makes Gerard cough―and oh, there are his teeth again―makes his hand tighten roughly, and Frank should probably be squawking and flailing and protecting his junk, but he's too busy coming.

"Are you, um?" Gerard says, squinting up at Frank.

"Good. Great. You bit me."

Ducking Frank’s gaze, Gerard nuzzles his groin, kisses the top of his thigh. “If I promise I’ll get better, will you let me practice?”

“All day, every day,” Frank answers, voice thick with feeling. “Except the parts where I’m practicing on you.”

That gets him Gerard’s most blinding grin yet.


The next day at school is confusing, because Gerard decides he wants to walk Frank to his classes, and Frank decides he wants to walk Gerard’s to his, so they end up lurking around the other one’s locker getting tardies, wondering if they’d somehow misread the sappy, dirty texts they’d exchanged after Frank made good on his promise and helped Gerard find his phone before going home, and the clinging, frantic kisses in the janitor’s closet before school. But at lunch Mikey explains to both of them how meeting up in the halls works a lot better if you know where you’re meeting, and after that, things go much more smoothly.

Since Frank already has practice going by Gerard’s locker between classes, mostly they meet there, and they look at each other longingly, hating everyone else in the halls, and Gerard shows Frank his locker art, even lets Frank tape up the Frank-and-Mikey-led, iron-wielding not-hipster army picture once he finishes it. They’re standing there before Gerard’s studio class a few days after winter break, debating whether the irons would be any good as weaponry against Gerard’s cat woman (not because Frank really cares, but because that’s much more socially acceptable behavior than sucking Gerard’s dick in the middle of the hall) when the girl who hit Frank with the door a few weeks ago approaches.

“Hi, Frank. Hi, Gerard,” she says, reaching for the door of the classroom.

Frank debates just asking Gerard what her name is, but figures that even with Gerard and Mikey and Janine, and even Bob and Ray who they’ve been hanging out with over break, it’s not like Frank’s so flush with friends he shouldn’t try to make more where he can. “So you never told me your name,” he says, before she can escape into the studio.

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah. It’s Erika.”

“Nice to meet you,” Frank says, holding his hand out. She shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, too. Officially,” she says, and as the bell rings, hurries inside.

“Do you have to go to Business?” Gerard asks, voice tickling in Frank’s ear.

“No.” He doesn’t even have to think about it. Except, “But don’t you need your studio time?”

“Fuck.” Gerard frowns, and Frank doesn’t take his thumb and smooth the wrinkle that puts between his eyebrows. “Yes. I’m already behind on my oil painting.”

“That’s what I thought.” Gerard hasn’t complained, quite the opposite in fact, but Frank knows they’ve both been getting behind on their schoolwork. “See you after, though,” Frank says, darting a look around the hall before dropping a quick kiss on Gerard’s shoulder.

“Yeah. See you after.”


After, Frank and Gerard are waiting for Mikey at his locker, and he’s taking forever. They aren’t making out against the wall or anything (although Frank wishes they were, because damn is Gerard a good kisser) but Gerard has his chin propped on Frank’s shoulder and an arm around his ribs pointing out details in the sketch for his painting Frank’s looking at.

“Hey, shortass,” comes a sneer from behind them. “Psycho-boy sucking your dick now?”

The urge to let his fist fly is strong, but Frank would pretty much have to elbow Gerard in the stomach to do it, so he just turns and gives PE-class Asshole Number One a nasty smile. “Yes,” Frank says. “He is. And he’s amazing. Better than you’ll ever get.”

The asshole doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that. “Yeah, well,” he sputters. “I get plenty of head. You don’t know how much head I get.”

“Don’t care, either,” Frank points out.

Erika from Gerard’s art class shows up at asshole’s elbow. “God, Carl, you’re not going to try to count that pity blow Alexis gave you at your party last summer when you drank so much gin you cried about being a virgin and then couldn’t get it up, are you?” When he boggles at her wide-eyed, she boggles back, mocking him. “And their names are Frank and Gerard, not shortass and psycho-boy.”

“Like I care what their names are,” Carl mutters.

“Like we care about your sexual inadequacies,” Gerard says, arm still around Frank’s waist, chin still hooked over his shoulder.

“I get being obsessed with Gee’s mouth,” Frank adds. “Believe me. But I’m not sharing. Sorry.” Erika laughs at that, and Carl scowls.

“Fuck you all,” he says, pushing Erika aside to get away.

“Not if you paid me,” Frank calls after him.

“Paid you for what?” And there’s Mikey, finally.

“Carl is jealous that your brother’s giving Frank head instead of him,” Erika explains. “And Frank doesn’t want to fuck him.”

Mikey draws his eyebrows together slightly in what Frank has learned is his frown. “No,” he says. “We’re not talking about Gee and sex.”

“Am I really amazing?” Gerard whispers in Frank’s ear.

“The most amazing,” Frank whispers back, letting his shoulders settle against Gerard’s chest.

“Ugh,” Mikey says. “You two are not making out through the whole movie again.

“I like movies,” Erika chimes in. “I can distract you so you don’t have to watch them.”

“Great idea,” Frank says before Mikey can protest.

Erika puts an arm around Mikey, and the other around the bundle of Gerard and Frank. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

~fin~