My Chemical Romance Fanfiction

Negative Space

Gerard hip-checks him out of the way to unlock the door. He doesn't answer until they're both in the car and he's pulling out of the tiny parking space they found a few blocks away. It's two in the morning, and they're the only ones awake once they get past the efflux of people from the show.

Gerard says, "I like being part of the push." He says, "I like feeling like that power is coming from me."

"Yeah?" says Frank.

"Yeah. It's about control, I guess."

"For me, too," says Frank. "Giving up control. When my arms are trapped between other people and I can't move, except I'm still moving the whole time, just not my own movements."

Gerard is listening carefully. Street lamps light up his face in bursts along the road, casting blurry shadows of his eyelashes across his cheeks, and Frank can tell he's paying attention.

"Letting everything go," says Frank. "Not having to worry about anything, anything, even standing upright."

Gerard isn't wearing a shirt, and maybe it's the cold Jersey air or maybe it's Frank's words, but his nipples are all tight and nubby. Frank lets the silence stretch out for a while, then he says, "I miss it."

Gerard could say they just did it, Frank isn't missing anything, but he doesn't. Maybe he gets that Frank means he misses being able to do this anytime, all the time, every weekend.

Maybe he gets that Frank isn't talking about thisat all.

***

It's not because he's married and he's not supposed to. It's not because of the consequences if he did. It's because he knows Jamia, he knows his wife, and he knows what sex means to her. He isn't going to cheat because doing it, even if she didn't know about it, would make him the kind of guy who doesn't deserve her.

***

They're both exhausted. It's that time of night when flat on the floor feels like a perfectly normal place to be. They're exhausted, and giggly, and Gerard says, "Bondage."

The carpet is a little scratchy against the backs of Frank's elbows. "Never."

"Fisting."

Frank laughs. "I wanted to try after she had the twins. Thought if she could get those through there, she should be able to stand a hand. She said I could if I gave her an epidural first."

Gerard turns his head, grinning. "I meant being fisted."

"Ow, motherfucker, no."

"Rimming."

Frank goes quiet, because the answer is no, but he's afraid if he says it his voice will crack from how suddenly desperately he wants it. He's thought about it, a tongue in his ass while he jerks off, squishy and wet inside him, and the memories of his fantasies nudge up against his attention, vying for a spot.

"I love rimming," Gerard murmurs. "Feels so dirty, having my nose up in someone's asscrack."

Frank sits up, because if he doesn't, Gerard is going to see that he's hard. He swallows twice, then says, "Never tried it."

"You want to, though."

It takes another long moment to say, "Yeah."

He risks a glance at Gerard. He's still lying flat, and he's not trying to hide his own erection. But he isn't moving toward Frank, he isn't trying to do anything, and as long as they're not doing anything, it's allowed. No one can get mad at them for talking about sex, and it's just as ridiculous to blame them for physiological reactions they can't control. It's still within the rules.