nobody will love you like the devil will//frerard/ferard

chapter ten

He heads straight there, walking so fast he gives himself a stitch and has to climb the last hill almost bent double, clutching his side. Gerard, he reminds himself. Just a little bit further.

By the time he gets there, his face feels hot, his side is killing him and he's pretty sure he's going to have to salt and burn the socks he's wearing.

"Well, well, well," says Gerard by way of a hello when he opens the door, looking Frank up and down. "Bad day at the office, huh?"

"You have no idea," says Frank darkly, shouldering his way past Gerard and into the apartment. His skin feels two sizes too small and he wants to crawl right the fuck out of it. He drops his bag and his blazer on the floor in the hallway, then wrenches his tie off and throws that down as well.

He stalks through to the living room and throws himself down on the couch with an irritated sigh. It's – almost better, just for a few seconds, but then Gerard sits down next to him, too close. Frank can feel the warmth rolling off him and smell his cigarettes and see the faint sheen of sweat on his neck.

And then it's not better at all, it's worse. Even worse than it was at school, and that's just not fair. He crushes the itch of restlessness and tries to breathe. Zen. Yeah. He's the motherfucking ninja of Zen. He has this Zen thing down.

Gerard gives him a long, appraising look. "I'm guessing you're gonna want to watch something with lots of blood and guts."

"Yes fucking please," Frank says fervently. He can't think of anything he wants more right now.

"Okay. You pick a zombie movie, I'll fix you a drink."

Frank slithers off the couch to thumb through Gerard and Mikey's extensive collection of horror movies while Gerard grabs the bottle of rum from the floor by his foot and fumbles a red Solo cup out of the package next to the bottle. Frank picks one with a promisingly gory cover and slots it into the machine, then flops back down on the couch and holds his hand out for the cup. It's lukewarm, not cold like Frank wants, and Gerard's been generous with the booze and sparing with the mixer. It makes Frank's eyes water and his throat burn, and he only manages to drink half of it before the throbbing ache in his skull makes him stop. He puts it down by his feet and tries to concentrate on the movie.

Somehow, though, bad actors getting torn limb from limb by the walking undead just can't quite catch his attention and keep it. He gazes vacantly at the screen, not really processing any of what's playing out on it, drumming an off-beat tattoo against the stained carpet with his heels. It feels like everything's been turned up to too much, the clingy drag of his damp shirt on his skin, the hair tickling the back of his neck, the noise Gerard's nails make when he scratches his neck, the ripple of Gerard's throat when he downs another mouthful of his drink and licks his lips clean. He wonders if this is what adults mean when they talk about the crazy shit being a teenager does to your brain.

high school was the best time of their life was a fuckin' idiot," Frank says darkly, fidgeting in place.

Gerard looks over at him, one eyebrow raised, one corner of his mouth curled into that little smirk that just gets right under Frank's skin every time. "Aw, come on," he says. "You can't be all bitter and jaded yet, you're practically a fuckin' newborn."

And Frank just – snaps.

His mouth is on Gerard's before he even knows what he's doing, hot and messy and artless. Some tiny, distant part of his brain is aware that this is his first kiss, holy shit, and he's probably doing it all wrong, but he couldn't care less right now. He slings one leg over Gerard's thighs and fumbles his way into his lap, greedy and desperate. Gerard's hot all over – hot skin, hot mouth, hot hands grabbing at Frank's hair, his ass. He's bigger than Frank, broader shoulders and stronger arms, and the way he's just holding Frank where he wants him feels fucking awesome. Gerard makes a low, encouraging noise, pulling Frank closer and licking into his mouth. Frank grinds down against him and it's good, it's so fucking good. This is what he's needed all day, it's just taken him until now to figure it out.

"Yeah," Gerard breathes, rolling his hips up against Frank's ass so Frank can feel his hard-on through his jeans. "Fuck yeah, Frank."

Frank gets his hands on either side of Gerard's face and kisses him again. It's deep and dirty, and Gerard tastes like booze and something sweet when his tongue slides against Frank's. His stubble's kind of rough under Frank's hands, and Frank holds on. His thought process has been replaced by a mindless stream of more-more-more-more-more. He's rutting frantically against Gerard, his breath coming fast. It's so good but he wants more, more of Gerard's skin against his, he wants to be even closer--

And then he's shuddering and going still, his mouth slackening as he comes in his pants, and it's as if that breaks the spell. He pushes away and reels backwards with a rough, shocked gasp. He stands there for a long moment, completely paralyzed, and Gerard doesn't say a word. He's hard in his jeans, flushed and panting and looking like porn. His lips are slick and shiny, slightly parted, and his hair's sticking up where Frank was pulling at it.

Frank stumbles out of the door and runs all the way home.