#frerard fic

The Detectives Secret and the Mystery of the Dancing Flowers by jjtaylor (M, 84k)

Reader’s POV:

I was standing on the train platform way before the whistle blew.

Every second on the platform made me feel the weight of what I might lose. After two years of silence, fear filled the air, causing my hands to shake and my heart to race.

Two years of waiting felt endless.

Two fucking years of letters that stopped arriving in the mail.

Two years of praying that I wouldn’t get a knock on my front door.

Two whole years of imagining him dead, alive, or somewhere in between.

The announcement was abruptly cut through the air:

“The 309th is coming home.”

And that’s when I saw him. My Gerard.

It was odd, really. He somehow looked older and younger at the same time. His hair was longer, his face gaunt, and his shoulders were so tense, it looked like the world might come crashing down over him at any moment. I could see his eyes scanning the crowd frantically.

The moment we locked eyes, I could see the resolve in his gaze soften.

“Gee,” I breathed.

It was like his whole body, right then and there, collapsed into relief. And then he was moving. Running. I barely had time to open my arms before he’d wrapped himself around me, burying his face in my neck and choking out sobs. I could feel him burrowing deeper as if he were trying to breathe me in and prove to himself that I was real.

I feel him shaking.

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m right here, my love.”

He doesn’t let go. Not even when the crowd has pushed around us.

“I thought-” his voice cracked against my skin, barely more than a breath. “I thought I wasn’t gonna make it back to you.”

I slide my hand up the back of his head, fingers burying in his longer, tangled hair. “Don’t say that,” I whisper, though it trembles out of me like a plea. “Don’t even think it.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes red and glassy, scanning every inch of my face like he’s terrified it’ll vanish.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says, voice shaking. “After the letters stopped. After everything. I thought you would’ve moved on. And I… I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

I cradle his face in both hands, cold palms pressed to his warm, trembling skin. “Gerard. I waited every day. Every single fucking day. Do you hear me?”

He nods, but there’s doubt in it. Like he can’t quite believe that he deserves to be waited for.

His thumb brushes my bottom lip, a soft, reverent touch. “You look the same,” he whispers. “But you don't. You look... stronger. Different. God, you’re breathtaking.”

A broken little laugh escapes me. “Honey, I’ve aged two years waiting for you. That’s all you’re seeing.”

He leans in until his forehead touches mine, our breaths mixing, close enough that I can feel every tremor in him. “I missed you so much it hurt,” he whispers. “I used to dream about your voice. Your hands. The way you said my name.”

Emotion claws up at my throat as I swipe a tear off his cheek with my thumb. “All I’ve wanted for these past two years is to hear you say mine, Gerard.”

He swallows hard. “Your name?”

“My name. My nickname. Anything. I just want to hear you talk.”

His eyes flutter shut like he’s overwhelmed at the request.

“Baby,” he breathes, voice cracking.

“My love.”

“Sugar. I didn’t think I’d ever get to tell you that again.”

And at the last one, my knees buckled, and my vision blurred as I wrapped my arms tighter around him, pressing my face into the curve of his shoulder. “You’re home,” I whisper. “That’s all that matters.”

Gerard clings to me like I might slip through his fingers if he eases his grip. His hands tremble where they hold my waist, sliding up my back, touching me like he’s relearning every inch.

“I need you to tell me this is real,” he murmurs into my hair. “Please.”

So I take his face in my hands again and kiss him softly, slowly, and steadily. Grounding. He gasps into it, a desperate sound pulled from somewhere deep and wounded.

When I pull back, he’s staring at me like I just put breath back into his lungs.

“It’s real,” I whisper, my thumb brushing his cheek. “Everything about this is real.”

He exhales shakily and drops his forehead to my shoulder again, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in the world.

I’m still holding Gerard when I hear footsteps approach. Slow and careful, like the person doesn’t want to intrude.

Gerard stiffens almost immediately. Not pulling away from me, not reaching for whoever it is. Just freezing. That soldier’s instinct again, like he thinks he has to shield me from anything that comes near us.

I brush my hand down his back once, soothing. He breathes out, letting me know that it helped.

Then a voice cuts the tension in the air.

“...You gonna act like you don’t see me, man?”

Frank. It has to be.

It’s gentle, but there’s an edge under it. The kind that comes from being bone-tired and pretending not to be.

Gerard’s breath stutters. He turns his head, and I look up over his shoulder.

I recognise him immediately from the photo Gerard sent me before the letters stopped arriving. Only he looks smaller in person. Smaller, but cut cleaner by the world. Like something had chiselled him down to the truest parts.

He gives me a polite, curved little smile.

“So you’re her,” he says. Not unkind. Not accusing. Just… confirming something he’s been carrying around for two years.

His voice is rough around the edges, low and tired, but there’s something gentle under it.

I nod. “And you’re Frank.”

His eyebrows lift, almost surprised.

He shoots a look at Gerard like, ‘You told her about me?’

Then they look at me like, 'You actually remember?'

“Good,” he says quietly. “That’s... good.”

Gerard squeezes my hand, and with his other hand, he reaches out, without thinking, and touches Frank’s forearm. Familiar. Way too familiar. The kind of touch that belongs to people who kept each other alive.

That tiny touch makes my stomach twist. Not painful, not angry. Just… tight.

Oh. You matter to him, too.

Frank’s eyes flick down to Gerard’s hand on him. His jaw flexes, something small and aching in his expression before he schools it away. And then he looks at me again. Longer this time, measuring the space I take up in Gerard’s world.

Oh. You mean something to him, too.

My jealousy is polite. Quiet, controlled, unspoken. For now.

It was then that I realized that Gerard wasn’t alone out there.

“...You hugged him first,” Frank says lightly. Almost teasing. Almost. But there’s something underneath it.

I raise my chin a little. “I’ve been waiting two years.”

Frank’s face shifts. Barely, but enough that I catch it. A crack of something sharp and vulnerable. He nods once, deliberate.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

The words hit strangely, landing heavier than they should.

Like there’s an entire world packed into them.

Gerard shifts in my arms, and Frank’s eyes track the movement instantly. So familiar and so automatic that it’s obvious he’s done this before.

Calmed him.

Held him.

Anchored him.

But then Frank’s shoulders snap back into something rigid, almost military, like he’s reminding himself:

Not here. Not now. Not where anyone can see.

His hands stay jammed in his pockets. His posture straightens. His jaw tightens.

Conditioning is what I’d call it. Don’t ask, Don’t Tell muscle memory. The instinct to hide affection even when it’s trying to climb out of him.

That alone hurts to watch.

Gerard’s grip on me tightens, and Frank’s breath catches like he felt something that used to belong to him slip a little out of reach.

There it is.

The jealousy. Sharp enough to cut, but polite enough to disguise.

He takes a step forward anyway, voice low but steady.

“You okay, Gee?”

I feel Gerard’s body react. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. It’s the same way his body reacts to me.

Recognition.

Stability.

Home.

He’s used to hearing that voice when everything is crashing down.

Used to leaning toward it in the dark.

I stroke Gerard’s back, and my hand stays there a moment longer than necessary.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’ve got him.”

Frank’s eyes flick to my hand, then back to Gerard.

A flicker of tension rolls through him.

He smiles, and it’s too small. Too polite.

“Sure,” he says. “Just... he gets like this sometimes. After missions. After-” he cuts himself off like the details are classified. Or like the intimacy in them is.

Gerard murmurs something against my shoulder, quiet and half-formed. Frank’s whole stance shifts toward him before he stops himself short, pulling back like he’s at attention.

The conflict tears across his face for half a second before he masks it again.

“Old habits,” Frank mutters, shrugging stiffly. “You learn to… keep things close.”

Hidden, he means.

Secret.

Untouchable.

My stomach knots.

Gerard finally lifts his head, eyes unfocused, cheeks damp. Frank steps in again, instinctively reaching out and then jerks his hand back like he’s been burned.

Literally flinches away from touching him.

Like someone might be watching.

Like two years of hiding affection has rewired him.

He clears his throat and tries again, clasping his hands behind his back like he needs to occupy them.

“We should get him home,” Frank says. “He… he doesn’t do well with crowds.”

I angle Gerard closer to me. “I can handle that.”

Frank’s jaw tightens. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know. I just... I’ve had practice.”

The double meaning lands like gravel.

Gerard, still dazed, sways slightly toward Frank’s voice.

Toward familiarity.

Toward someone who learned how to steady him in a place where no one else could know they were touching.

I can feel the heat crawling up my neck, and I know Frank sees it.

He looks away, but not before I catch the ghost of something like victory flashing behind his eyes.

Polite rivalry, secret history and the very notion that we are two people learning in real time, that we share the same man.

And one of them still flinches at the idea of being seen caring.

Frank must see me internally battling myself because he clears his throat and shifts his weight like he's bracing for something.

“Look,” he says. Eyes flicking between Gerard and me, “I, uh… I don’t really have anywhere lined up yet. Not until the VA gets me processed.”

Gerard tenses in my arms, guilt flashing across his face like he’s the one who abandoned Frank.

I smooth my thumb over Gerard’s knuckles, grounding him. “What does that mean?” I ask.

Gerard’s fingers spasm lightly around mine, like he’s bracing himself before he speaks.

“It means…” He exhales shakily, eyes flicking between Frank and me, as if he’s afraid of choosing wrong. “It means we made a plan. Before we got here.”

My heartbeat stutters. “A plan?”

Gerard nods once. “Yeah. On the train. We-” He swallows, jaw tightening. “We didn’t know what the reception would be like. Or where everyone would end up. So we talked through options.”

We.

Not I.

Not me and you.

Gerard and Frank.

I try not to react, but something flickers in Frank’s eyes like he catches it, like he’s watching very carefully.

Gerard squeezes my hand, pulling my attention back to him. “I told him you’d want me home. With you. That you’d… take me back.”

My chest twists. “You decided that without asking me?”

He winces, not because I’m wrong, but because he knows I’m right. “I didn’t want to lose time. I’ve already lost two years.” His voice cracks, just barely. “I couldn’t risk waiting to ask.”

That lands like a blow. Painful and tender. Desperate, even.

“And Frank?” I ask quietly. “Where does he fit into this plan you two made?”

Gerard’s eyes drop for a moment, shame, not secrecy, before he lifts them again.

“He stays close,” Gerard says. Firm. Steady. Like this part is non-negotiable. “He’s been with me every day for two years. I can’t just-” His voice falters, but he forces it back into shape. “I can’t just not know where he is.”

Frank doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t have to.

“He’s staying with us,” he says quietly. “Until the VA clears him. Until he’s… until we’re okay to be on our own.”

The words land like they were already decided. Like they were spoken somewhere between war-torn train cars, whispered over rations or in the dark, trust built in the places no one else could see.

My breath hitches and, not because I want to argue, but because I can see how much it costs Gerard to say it out loud.

To ask for this.

To ask for him.

Frank stands a half-step back, shoulders stiff, gaze lowered but not passive. Waiting. Prepared to be told no. Prepared to disappear if I say the word.

Gerard tightens his grip on my hand.

“I need you both to be safe,” he murmurs. “That’s all this is. Safety.”

Maybe it is.

Maybe it’s more.

Maybe none of us is ready to name it yet.

I nod slowly. “Alright.”

Gerard’s eyes shine with relief. Frank’s flicker up for just a second, surprise, gratitude, something gentler buried under exhaustion, before he looks away again like he doesn’t want to take up space he hasn’t earned.

And just like that, the three of us start toward the station exit.

Gerard is walking between us.

Frank is hovering close enough to catch him if he stumbles.

Me holding on to the hand that made it home.

Sweat.

If Frank had to describe any concert in one word, it would be sweat. A few come after... Catharsis, injury, exhaustion...

For the most part, it was sweat.

He could feel it especially after this show.

Still gasping for air a minute or two, Frank smiles as he sees Gerard and Ray celebrating the show together, as energized as ever. He can't help but stare, smiling as he sees Gerard ramble on about whatever was his favorite part of the show, complimenting Ray's work and talent.

He seemed happy like this.

He sighs to himself, looking at the bottle of water on his lap, the adrenaline wearing off as exhaustion washes over him. He closes his eyes, drifting off to other thoughts as he tries to rest without falling asleep.

"Psst."

Frank groans, opening his eyes, looking at Gerard as he leans toward him, his red hair slightly falling on his face, both hands behind his back. "Hi."

"Hi yourself. Why are we falling asleep backstage now?"

"I'm old now, Gerard. Give me a break."

"If you're old, I'm ancient." He brings a hand up to Frank's face, holding a can of beer. "Let's celebrate."

Frank grumbles to himself, taking Gerard's hand to get off the couch, struggling as he walks to wherever Gerard's bringing him.

Gerard opens the door for Frank—he finds himself in one of the dressing rooms—, and as soon as Gerard enters, he shuts the door with his back against it. He grabs Frank's wrist, making him flinch as he moves him closer with a light tug. 

"Gerard?" Frank raises an eyebrow, looking at Gerard's smile.

"I told you. Let's celebrate." He sets down the beer, already forgotten as he focuses on Frank.

Moments like these were always sweet. They weren't as showy as three or five years back, making it intimate, a secret, something only the two of them knew. While Ray and Mikey thought they were celebrating, talking and drinking, they kept their secret in their hotel bedrooms and backstage dressing rooms.

They were married to women they love now, but they couldn't stop their old habits. It's best left off as something that isn't talked about.

Taking the back of Frank's neck, sweaty and damp, he leans in for a kiss, surprising Frank slightly before he accepts the kiss, leaning closer into Gerard, pushing him against the door. He sighs as they break the kiss, scowling slightly as he looks at Gerard.

"You smell horrible."

"What?" He laughs as he speaks. "I always smell horrible. You don't need to tell me, Frank."

"Yeah." He sighs, burying his head on the crook of Gerard's neck. "You're so sweaty too. Gross."

"Pfft. Do you want me to shower before we do this or something?" He laughs, petting Frank's hair, almost condescendingly. Frank simply leans closer to him, smiling into his neck.

"No." He buries his hands inside Gerard's sleeveless shirt, the coldness of his skin crashing against Gerard's heat. He pulls back, trailing kisses from Gerard's jaw, slowly, carefully, up to his shoulder. "Pretty."

"Mm." Gerard doesn't try to come up with an answer, simply petting Frank's hair again. "Didn't you say I was gross?"

"Yeah. You are." He steps back, looking at Gerard wholly, at the hair on his face, at his uncovered arms, at his obvious bulge under the infuriatingly skinny jeans—it makes him dizzy, having someone so beautiful just for himself. "Take it off."

Gerard smiles. "You're bossy, huh?"

"I—No, shut up. Take that shirt off." He groans at Gerard's teasing, even if he obliges. "That shirt was a fucking horrible idea. I can see everything while we play."

Gerard giggles, and it's a noise Frank loves too much, able to erase his annoyance, to get him back to cloud nine as he leans close to Gerard again, running his hands through his back, his skin uncovered now. "What, should I wear three layers of extremely bunky clothes? Bet the fans would love that."

"No," Frank replies, too quickly. "Fans would hate that. You'd hate that. I'd hate that. Mikey would probably love that."

"Hey, don't bring my brother to the conversation. That's not very appropriate."

"Who cares about 'appropriate'?"

We're married, Gerard, there's nothing "appropriate" about this, he almost wants to say, but shuts himself up with more kisses, his hands resting on each side of his chest, squeezing softly as he nibbles on Gerard's shoulder.

"Gee, I have an idea," Frank says, making eye contact with Gerard, his hands still resting on his chest. "Don't know if you'll like it."

"I'm up to anything, puppy. Go ahead."

"I—" he groans, the words already fighting to not get out of his mouth. He knows he can try anything with Gerard, he knows there won't be any judgement—that's why they're doing this, not out of love, but out of lust. 

He takes in the whole sight of Gerard again, giving him a small kiss on the cheek before speaking. "Raise your arms for me."

"You're being very cryptic about this," He raises his arms with a doubtful stare. Frank can't help the small moan that comes out of him, already wanting to throw himself on Gerard. "Gonna tie me up or something?"

"No. Maybe another time." He tries to calm himself down, looking at Gerard's face instead. "You always do this shit at shows. Raise your arms. And I can see everything every time you do that because of that... fuckin' barely functional shirt you wear. You don't even bother to shave. It's gross, really."

"As if you shaved."

"I'm not shoving my armpits up to everyone's faces."

Gerard raises his eyebrows, tilting his head. "What's that supposed to mean? I mean, dude—Sorry for having armpits?"

"And you smell, too."

"Geez. You've got me so turned off."

Frank laughs in response, giving Gerard a small kiss, as if apologizing. "Listen, I know this is gonna sound weird. But... They turn me on. Y'know. The, uh... Mmh."

Gerard furrows his eyebrows, trying to spot any deception from Frank's eyes. Instead, he avoids eye contact, his head back on the crook of Gerard's neck. "Seriously?"

"Ugh, you know what? Forget everything I said. Let's just fuck like normal." Frank immediately retracts, his voice muffled under Gerard's skin.

Gerard scoffs at Frank's bluntness, softly pushing him out of his hiding place, forcing eye contact with him. "You're being serious?"

"I told you to forget it."

"Since when do you have an armpit kink? And why didn't I know?" He asks, cradling Frank's face, rubbing his thumb on Frank's cheek softly. 

"I don't know, Gee... I don't think I have one, but—but your..." He whines, trying to look below Gerard's arm, raised as he holds Frank's face. "I-It's different. I get so fucking distracted because you decided to dress like a slut."

"Tsk. Asshole." He squeezes Frank's face, a pout forming. "Sleeveless is suddenly dressing like a slut? What, are we in the Vatican?"

"You look hot, is what I'm trying to say," Frank's words barely come out, the embarrassment and arousal too overwhelming. He wishes he hadn't said anything in the first place. "And that fucks me up, Gee."

"Hm. You're saying I'm so hot you're into armpits now?" Gerard's grasp on Frank gets looser, kinder.

"Yeah," he chuckles, smiling into Gerard's touch. "I guess."

"Okay. Go ahead." Gerard lets go of Frank's face, raising his arms as high as he can, his fingers intertwining. "What'd you wanna do?"

Frank moans again, both his hands resting on Gerard's waist, trying to tether himself with his warm skin as he buries his nose in Gerard's armpits. He immediately moans, the texture of the hair and the strength of the smell making his hips thrust on Gerard's thigh involuntarily. Gerard can't hold back a giggle, feeling ticklish.

"You're such a freak," Gerard insults, still holding his arms up high. "I swear, tomorrow you're gonna tell me you've got a piss kink."

Frank doesn't bother replying, licking a stripe up to Gerard's forearm, having to get on his tiptoes, then burying his face on Gerard's armpit again. His hips shift again, trying to find pleasure, humping on Gerard's jeans, moaning as he rubs his face on Gerard, relishing on the feeling of the rough hair on his softer skin.

"G-Get this fucking—thing—" Frank mumbles, his hands flying to his belt, struggling to undo it, too hazy with lust to think straight. "Fuck—get this off me, I need—"

Gerard interrupts him with a mocking laugh, his own breath heavy as he drops his arms to help Frank undo his belt. He pulls the belt out of the loops swiftly, helping Frank with the button and zipper of the jean. 

"Please, Gee, raise 'em again, I need to—need to smell ya, please—"

Gerard smiles as he raises his arms, feeling the pressure of Frank's nose on his skin, his breath fast as he takes in the musk, making him dizzy, thoughtless as the only thing he can smell is sweat and dirtiness. He licks again, his body shuddering with the saltiness of sweat. He knows Gerard's gross—he said it himself—, sweaty, his deodorant already given up, but something about his specific smell, the strength of his exhaustion, of his passion, it's too much for Frank. He knows it's disgusting, and yet...

"Mm—Love—Love your smell, Gee, so good, sososososo good, need more—"

He grinds on Gerard's leg, the harsh material of denim making his cock throb with the additional stimulation. He forces his boxers off of his waist, continuing to thrust roughly. Gerard simply laughs in response, amused.

"Frankie, I know you're enjoying yourself a lot, but my arm's getting tired," Gerard sighs out, panting along Frank's rhythm. "Besides, you're being really selfish right now, mutt."

"Mm, so sorry, Sir," he forces Gerard's arm up, holding his shoulder with a spread palm, forcing his arm to straighten up, letting Frank push himself deeper into Gerard's armpit. He's still thrusting as his other hand cups Gerard's crotch, squeezing, getting a small groan out of him. "This better?"

"Mmh, yeah, again." Gerard throws his head back against the door, feeling the exhaustion of keeping up his arms for too long, starting to hurt as he feels pins and needles, blood failing to rush to them.

Frank alternates in between humping and squeezing, refusing to get his face out of Gerard's armpit, his mind failing to work, only focusing on his impending release. He gets more desperate, moaning against Gerard's skin as his hips shudder, refusing to break contact as he grinds himself down to an orgasm. 

"Close? You gonna come just from my smell?"

"Y-Yeah, Sir, I am, I—"

He shudders with a low groan, biting at Gerard's skin as he comes on Gerard, staining his grey jeans, shooting up to his belly. He slowly pulls away, and Gerard almost moans at the sight—Frank's hair was messed up, his whole face sweaty and burning hot, feeling the dirtiness of Gerard on his own skin. 

"God, you're fucked. You're genuinely insane."

Frank laughs, embracing Gerard into an awkward hug, still twitching with the leftover pleasure. "Sorry. That was amazing, though. You're so fucking gross."

"Jesus, stop that," Gerard embraces Frank back, kneeling down quickly to pick up the beer on the floor again. "You have no right to call anyone gross."

"You're full of cum. And sweaty. And gross."

"Whose fault is that?" He cracks the beer open, offering Frank a sip. Frank breaks the hug, accepting the can from Gerard. "Be right back. I'll get something to clean up."

Frank sighs, settling down on the couch of the dressing room, still only having a shirt on. As he's getting down from the high, his heart jumps in panic as he notices Gerard hadn't come yet. As soon as Gerard comes back with towels and wet wipes, Frank gets up, walking toward him.

"What is it, Frankie?"

"Sit. We're cleaning up later."

Gerard tilts his head, sitting on the couch, setting down the towels and wet wipes beside him. As soon as Frank kneels in front of him, Gerard smiles in realization, already unbuckling his belt.

"Ah. I thought you'd forgotten."

"Sorry, I just felt so good—I'm sorry." Frank helps Gerard drag both his jeans and his underwear off with one quick movement, his dick springing out of the clothing. He moans at the sight, feeling the blood rushing to his cock again as he gives Gerard a tentative lick. "Y'smell good here, too," he mumbles.

"Yeah? Disgusting. You're a freak."

Frank moans in response, lapping at Gerard's tip, his hand grasping his hardening member as he takes all of Gerard in his mouth. He gags, but keeps Gerard as deep as possible, his nose against Gerard's pubic hair. He feels the pricking of tears as his throat tries to gag again, but he forces himself to stay, the saliva bubbling up at the base of Gerard's dick. 

"Frankie, oh my God, you're a beast, what the fuck is wrong with you—?" He unconsciously thrusts deeper into Frank's throat, making him gag again. "Shit—holy shit, how are you doing this—Close, close, d-do I pull out?"

Frank hollows out his cheeks, applying pressure on Gerard as a way to assure him, guiding him over the limit. "Ah—fuck!"

He doesn't even need to swallow as Gerard comes, the salty liquid going straight through his throat. He only pulls away when he's sure Gerard has finished, and immediately coughs, a bit of the liquid flowing back to his mouth. He swallows, trying to make Gerard proud as he shows off his empty mouth, his tongue sticking out. He only needs a few thrusts on his hand to come too, groaning as his head falls on Gerard's thigh with exhaustion.

Gerard chuckles lightly, his breath heaving as he looks at Frank. "God, that was great. Does the armpit kink give you amazing head abilities or what?"

"Maybe." He tries to get up, his legs aching as he gathers the towels, helping Gerard clean up his chest and legs. "Y'aren't... Y'know, that, uh, saying I'm gross, that's... You aren't actually grossed out, right?"

"Frankie, if I was, I wouldn't have come so hard. I just know you like it when I insult you."

Frank whines, leaning on Gerard's shoulder, letting the exhaustion of the concert and the sex catch up to him. "Yeah, I guess. Fuck, we need a shower."

"Don't think we'll have one 'til the hotel in two days."

"Fuck me, dude. I feel so gross."

"Whose fault is that?"

The sounds of chatter surrounded the cafeteria. Whispers and giggles, undoubtedly directed in one direction: Gerard.

His eyes never left his lunch tray as he scurried his way back to his brother's table, clenching onto his tray in fear of some asshole flipping his tray from underneath, leaving him wearing his unwanted food. Not like it has happened before but Gerard sure as hell knew it would one of these days.

As he sat, Mikey met his gaze, oblivious to the mocking aimed at Gerard.

"You didn't fancy the mousse? It's caramel."

Gerard brought his eyes back down to his food. A few fries, an apple and a chocolate milk carton. An odd lunch for sure but the other options were too much considering Gerard's lack of appetite due to nerves.

"No, not really. I'm not that hungry."

Mikey shrugged and went back to his mousse. "Suit yourself."

Gerard's thoughts kept wandering back to the earlier events of the day.

-

From the back of the classroom, Gerard felt a bit more at ease. He had eyes on all the other students which made it less likely that he'd get a pencil or something thrown at the back of his head. It also meant he could easily watch people without them noticing. Not in a creepy way. At least Gerard thought so.

Gerard moved the pencil messily against his memo pad, taking breaks to glance up at his art subject for today. She was a fairly pretty girl, easy to draw. Gerard thought she'd make a good superhero, drawing on a mask, covering the area surrounding her eyes.

Just as the bell went off, startling him out of his art-induced trance, his arm slipped, knocking the memo pad to the floor along with his pencil. Shit.

"What's this?" A familiar jock picked up the memo pad. Oh shit.

"Give it back." Gerard attempted to order but it came out more as a plea.

"Who'd you draw today, faggot?" He said with a cruel laugh and a nasty grin. His eyes quickly scanned the class, landing on the girl seen in the drawing. "You got the hots for Frank's girlfriend? Oh, he's gonna be so pissed when he sees this." He pocketed the memo pad before Gerard had a chance to try to protest. Shit shit shit!

Gerard watched helplessly as the jock left the classroom, arm around his buddy's shoulder with the memo pad peeking out the top of his blazer pocket.

-

Gerard is snapped out of his wandering thoughts as a sandwich flies past his shoulder, barely missing him.

"What the hell are they picking on you for now?!" Mikey angrily whispered, his anger not directed towards Gerard but towards the sandwich-launching culprit, the same jock from earlier...

Standing next to Frank.

Oh, how he wished the linoleum floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Frank wasn't paying any attention to the food being launched at Gerard, thankfully. He was too busy talking with his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. Ah.

Gerard was just happy that Frank wasn't the kind of guy who picked on people; he had his dim-witted jock friends to do that for him. How the hell would he have explained to Frank that he was drawing his girlfriend as a superhero because she looked pretty from Gerard's view at the back of the class? That would've made him sound creepy, maybe it was. He also didn't even know if he'd be able to say all of that without stumbling over his words.

-

As the end of lunch approaches, Gerard cautiously glances up at Frank to confirm they've left the cafeteria so he can be on his way without the fear of confrontation. He grabs his bag and his half-empty lunch tray, placing it on a trolley filled with other filthy trays.

"I'll see ya at home" Gerard mumbles to Mikey before speeding off to his classroom.

-

As the morning sun begins to rise and Gerard's alarm blares an overheard ringing noise, his bedroom door is slammed open. His mother, standing in the doorway, moves to Gerard's window to open the blinds, giving Gerard second thoughts about sticking his head out from underneath the sheets.

She hits the alarm, silencing the screeching just to provide another more annoying sound. "I'm heading to work. I do not want any more emails from school about your lateness."

"Yeah, yeah." Gerard rubs at his eyelids. She walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open to give Gerard another reason to get out of bed.

Gerard groggily rolls out of his bed to get ready, closing the door and throwing on his creased uniform that'd been sitting on the floor, all screwed up. He heads out of the house, not before grabbing a cup of steaming black coffee that Mikey had brewed in a large, disposable, paper cup.

The walk to his school isn't very lengthy which is nice, especially with his coffee in hand to keep his hands warm in the cool September breeze. Gerard was just enjoying the peace as he strided down the street, the nerves only creeping back as he got closer to the school gates.

Surviving the journey to his locker, he grabbed his gym clothes for his first period, gym class. He often kept his gym clothes in his locker without needing to clean them very often as they very rarely got worn as he wasn't much of a participant. Even when he did get changed and try to take part in the lesson, he stayed on the sidelines of whatever sport it was that his teacher had chosen.

As Gerard turns to walk with his head down, gathering his clothes into a bundle, he bumps into someone. His coffee spilling over them and miraculously avoiding Gerard's bundle of clothes.

It was Frank.

Could he ever go a day without trouble?

"Ow! For fucks sake watch where you walk with hot coffee! You never watch TV? This is so fuckin' cliche." He pauses when he meets Gerard's gaze. "Oh. It's you."

Somehow those words felt worse than if he'd been right hooked.

Gerard, unable to form a coherent sentence just mutters a feeble "Sorry".

Frank groans in displeasure. "Look I'd slam you into that locker for creeping on my girlfriend but I have other things to deal with... like the fact you soaked my whole shirt with coffee!"

As the words fell out of Frank's mouth, Gerard noticed his previously white shirt going transparent with the hot liquid dampening him. Not much was on sight through his shirt but Gerard caught a small glimpse of black ink on his chest. His eyes following Gerard's gaze, Frank huffed.

"I doubt I can even wear my gym kit because you soaked my fucking bag too." He buttoned up his blazer to temporarily hide his barely visible chest.

All Gerard could do was let out a string of apologies, still anticipating a physical blow of some sort.

In that moment, a nearby teacher's eyes caught the scene. She hurried over.

"Oh gosh! Is that coffee? You aren't burnt are you?" She sympathetically grabs Frank's soggy bag. This just made Gerard feel even more embarrassed about what he'd caused. "What class have you both got next?"

"Gym class." Frank glared at Gerard. If looks could kill, Gerard would be six feet under.

"Well, I suppose you'll have to borrow some kit unfortunately." Pulling out a soaked pair of shorts from Frank's unzipped backpack. "I'll have to take you to the nurse beforehand though to check you aren't burned." She patted Frank's back and turned her attention to me. "And you, come with me too."

-

Frank sat on the nurse's bed behind a cheap curtain as his torso was inspected for any injuries. Gerard sat on a chair next to the teacher who was towering over him.

"You know, hot drinks aren't allowed in the halls." She finally spoke up.

Gerard raised his head just enough. "I wasn't aware, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I'll let you off this time." The teacher offered a forgiving smile which would've cheered him up until she reminded him... "I'll take you both to lost property and you can help Frank find some borrowed kit as an apology. I'll explain to your teacher why you were absent for the first half of the lesson."

As if summoned, Frank came from behind the curtain, followed closely by the nurse.

"No burns, good to go." The nurse cheers.

Their eyes meet. Frank's harsh glare, still did not falter, as if he were insulting Gerard with his eyes.

"Lucky you," he spoke under his breath as he passed Gerard, following the teacher out into the unforgiving hallway once again. Shivers.

-

"Here's the box of shorts. I'll have to leave you to it as I have a lot of work to do. I'll leave a message with your teacher." And with that, they were left alone. Just Gerard and Frank in a dingy lost property room.

Suddenly that anticipation of being hit came back into sight as Frank lurched towards him. Grabbing Gerard by the collar, he spoke with spite, leaving just enough room between them to provide zero comfort to Gerard. "I'm not walking out into that gym wearing lost property clothes." He glanced down at Gerard's backpack.

"Give me yours."

"What?" Gerard stood there, dumbfounded, unsure if he had heard Frank correctly.

"I said give me yours and maybe I'll let you off the hook," still not loosening his punishing grip on Gerard's collar.

"What will I wear?" Gerard gulped, fighting his nerves as Frank finally released him, striding over to the boxes of lost property clothes.

"The lost property, obviously," he started pulling shorts out of the box, tossing no-good ones over his head. "You don't even do the lesson anyway."

"I would if you guys left me alone," Gerard mumbled beneath his breath, slightly hoping Frank might listen.

"This looks about right!" Frank pulled out a long pair of knee-length sports shorts with a ridiculous lime-green and navy-blue scheme.

"I'm not wearing that."

"Well then, I guess you'll have to deal with the other guys picking on you," Frank whistled, tilting his head teasingly. "I'll tell them to ease up on the insults if you let me use your gym clothes."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Fine," Gerard huffed, picking at his fingernails. "At least let me find a better pair of shorts, though."

"Deal."

After a couple of minutes searching through the boxes for clothes, Gerard finally had his very own stinky, borrowed gym kit to wear while Frank was in the locker room swapping into Gerard's semi-clean clothes.

Gerard hurried back down the hall hastily, not wanting to be any later than he already was. As he entered, Frank was already at the opposite end of the locker room, pulling Gerard's t-shirt over his head.

Frank's face contorted into a confusing expression after letting the fabric drape over his toned torso. "Do you not wash this? It reeks."

Gerard looked down and turned his back to Frank, unbuttoning his shirt. "I barely wear it, so I didn't think I needed to. Does it really smell?"

Frank knelt to tie his shoelaces. "I've smelled worse. Have you seriously not washed this?" He lifted his head, accidentally catching a glance at the skin of Gerard's pale back, and immediately lowered it again.

"Of course I've washed it before! I washed it before school started," Gerard protested, realising it didn't sound much better.

"Since last month, then, basically," Frank said with a teasing tone, tinged with slight disgust.

That's embarrassing.

"Well, when you put it that way—" Gerard was cut off by Frank's laugh. Surprisingly genuine? Even if it was at Gerard's own embarrassing washing habits, that was the first time Frank had laughed since they first spoke.

"I'm done here. I don't wanna waste any more time in the locker room," Frank said, standing up straight after tying his shoelaces, only to be unintentionally greeted by the sight of Gerard standing in front of him in nothing but his boxers. "Oh, shit. Uhm—my bad." He coughed awkwardly and hurried past a very flushed Gerard.

Frank paused, not looking back.

"Bye."

Gym class wasn't as dreadful as Gerard initially thought it would be. He had a few students point and laugh at his silly looking gym clothes but no one came up to him, thankfully. He sat on the lower seats of the bleachers as usual, already half an hour late to the lesson. The rest of the period passed quickly.

On his way back to the locker room, he could hear the murmur of students chatting behind the walls. Not wanting to know what they were saying (it was probably to do with his unfortunate outfit), he slipped through the locker room door quietly and moved to a more secluded corner.

Locker rooms were the worst part of gym class.

He hurriedly peeled off the dirty borrowed clothes, eager to get out of there. As the chatter from other students gradually grew louder, he realised they were moving closer.

Not wanting any unnecessary mockery or insults, Gerard grabbed the rest of his clothes and hurried into a toilet stall. The dim, flickering light in this corner of the locker room was clearly on its last legs. Gerard noticed a beam of light shining from the lighter side of the room, beaming in through what seemed to be a crack in the stall door.

The talk quieted, and Gerard wondered if it was clear enough to safely evacuate the toilet stall. As if a cartoon light bulb had lit up above his head, he moved closer to the crack in the door, squinting one eye and closing the other tightly.

It looked like everyone had left.

He picked up his blazer from the toilet seat, shrugged it on, and reached for the lock before hearing a noise.

The shower was turned on.

Great. How long will he have to stay in here before they leave? He peeked through again, trying to find a route to slip out of the locker room with his limited vision. His eyes landed just past a row of lockers, where he saw the door was and also a frighteningly good view of the showers...

Oh my God.

Right before his eyes stood Frank, naked, with his back to Gerard. The water ran down his tan, inked skin. Gerard knew it was wrong to watch but he just couldn't tear his eyes away. Frank raised his muscular arms to run fingers through his dripping hair, brushing the wet strands from his face.

Gerard felt a heat grow from within his trousers, his face reddening from the sight in front of him and from the guilt of doing something so filthy as watching Frank gently rub himself clean.

He whistled softly as he reached for a small bottle of shampoo, lathering it between his hands until it bubbled up. Smoothing his hands through his scalp as he massaged it with his fingertips.

God, Gerard wished he could leave and forget he saw any of this. The shame crept in... yet he was so fixated on the lines of muscle that decorated Frank's back.

His body was so perfect, Gerard thought. His stare dropped lower, towards Frank's ass. Jesus. Gerard needed to get out of there. The question was how? He couldn't quite formulate a solid plan with all of his thoughts going to his cock. If he stepped out now, Frank would question why Gerard was sitting in the toilet stall silently while he showered. He may even notice the crack with a perfect view.

Gerard's best bet would be to stay here until Frank left. Maybe he could give in to being a pervert for a few minutes until he left. It's not like Frank will find out.

Just then, Gerard heard a noise. A rough groan of pleasure came from Frank. The sound was accompanied by the clapping of Frank's fist colliding against his skin as he pumped himself.

Gerard's eyes went wide at the noise.

Frank was jerking off in front of Gerard.

And Gerard loved it.

He couldn't help but slide his hand into his trousers, letting the dirty thoughts get the best of him. His free hand slid up to cover his mouth to stifle any moans that could accidentally slip out as he palmed his own growing erection.

Frank continued sliding his hand over his length, throwing his head back in bliss. The water still running down his body made his stroking sound wetter and filthier.

Gerard picked up his pace, swapping out the palming for straight-up fucking his hand. He could tell Frank was getting closer as he reached out his spare, toned arm to stabilise himself against the wall.

Much to Gerard's disappointment, Frank's back remained facing Gerard. He wanted to see the way he came all over the shower wall. He pictured himself licking the come off the walls hungrily before the water ever got a chance to wash it away. He wanted to be there kneeling on the wet tiles in front of Frank while he finished all over his face.

Gerard could feel his thighs trembling as he neared his own release.

Frank slumped forward against the wall with his head hung low. A velvety moan escaped his lips and his body shook slightly as he shot a thick white load over the tiles. That tipped Gerard over the edge, he felt his whole body shudder as his boxers grew wetter with his come, unintentionally releasing a soft whimpering sound.

The shower turned off immediately.

"Who's there?"

—

author notes:

hi guys this is my first fic so im sorry if it's a bit amateurish. im not used to writing longer stuff so lmk how i did!! i also have barely written smut in the past so again its probably amateurish but i hope you still enjoyed this chapter!

this was inspired by "Locker Room Creep" on ao3 by ChemicalPunkSongwriter