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Frank stretches out on the lumpy sofa, turns his face to the sunlight fighting its way through the grime-smeared window, and heaves a satisfied sigh. For the next forty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, the bus--bus! Not a van, an actual fucking bus--is his. He takes a full precious minute to bask in it before groping for the book beside him. The spine cracks invitingly as he opens it and quickly flips to the first page, ready to get sucked in to the mystery, the intrigue--
The blood-curdling shriek that almost shatters his fucking eardrums.
"Motherfucker!" he yells, flinging the book aside. "My bus time! Mine!"
A muffled, "Oh fuck," comes from the bunks, then a clattering noise and, "Oh fuck, oh fuck," again.
"You fucking betcha oh fuck," Frank mutters, stalking through the hall. "Nowhere to hide now, motherfucker. You're gonna be so fucking sorry." He stops outside the closed bathroom door and braces both hands on the frame, leaning menacingly close. "I know you're in there, Gee."
A distressed noise ekes through the flimsy plastic.
Frank grins viciously. "You're gonna wish you-- Gee?" Frowning, he leans closer. Those half-choked noises don't sound like giggles. He knocks carefully on the door. "Gerard?"
There's a long, worrisome pause from inside, then Gerard's voice, steady and clear and obviously freaked the fuck out, "I'm bleeding."
"The fuck," Frank says, and shoulders open the door. Stomach churning, he looks around quickly for blood spray and severed body parts. He drops to his knees when he spots Gerard hunched over on the floor, the same t-shirt he was wearing last night all twisted around his stomach, and both hands jammed between his bare thighs, rocking back and forth and filling the tiny space with a high, hitching whine.
Frank grabs him by the shoulders to get his attention. "You asshole, what the fuck?"
Gerard lifts his head, eyes wild behind wilder hair. "Oh fuck, it hurts. I can't look. I can't."
"Look at what," Frank demands, and gives him a sharp shake.
"My balls," Gerard moans. "I think I cut off my balls."
Frank freezes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Gerard chants, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them again, his lashes are clumped with tears. "You gotta do it, Frankie."
"What d'you mean, I gotta do it? What the fuck were you even--" Frank's gaze bounces around the room again, taking in Gerard's pants in a tangle on the floor, the sink full of water and the Gillette beside it, the towel slung over the closed toilet lid. "No way," he says. "No fucking way."
"But you're the only one here," Gerard warbles reasonably.
"Why the fuck were you shaving your fucking balls?" Gerard opens his mouth to answer. "No, no," Frank says, as soon as he does. "Don't. No, I don't want to know. Just." Gerard's balls with a chunk sliced out of them really isn't the kind of shit he wants to see, either.
He lets out a slow breath. "Move your hands."
Gingerly, Gerard inches his hands away. When he spots a smear of red on his palm, he lets out a ragged croak.
"That's fucking nothing." Frank makes a hurry up motion with one hand. "C'mon, get your dick out of the way."
Gerard's got his head tipped back, breathing in and out really, really slowly. He spreads his knees a little.
"This is fucking bizarre, man," Frank says, squinting at the shadowy space between Gerard's thighs. "No blood pool, you're good."
Gerard levels a skeptical glance his way. "You didn't even look."
"Oh, I looked," Frank says. "Trust me, I looked. Your balls are still attached."
"You," says Gerard, slow and suspicious, "are afraid to touch my dick."
Since Frank's currently staring straight at it, that seems a bit of a leap. "Maybe if you ever fucking washed, man. But as is, you're lucky I'm this close."
"Hey, I wash!" Gerard jabs a finger at the sink. "Right there!"
Frank lifts an eyebrow.
"It's clean and it smells fucking great, fucker."
"I bet."
"Just, fucking." Gerard drags both hands through his hair and drops his chin to his chest. "Just make sure, okay?"
"Y'know," Frank says, considering, "if this is an elaborate scheme to get it on, injuring your junk is counter-productive." Gerard makes a sharp, negative noise that sounds suspiciously like motherfucker, and Frank pauses, his hand hovering a few inches above the soft slump of Gerard's cock. "This is weird."
Gerard's shoulders twitch a shrug.
"Good point," Frank says, and tucks his knuckles under Gerard's cock to lift it out of the way. The light's at a crappy angle, but if he squints, he's pretty sure that's a teeny tiny dark smudge of blood on Gerard's balls. He licks his thumb, says, "Hang on," and wipes it off.
"Shit," Gerard hisses, flinching.
A speck of blood slowly wells up. The cut's barely a nick, already clotting. "I think you're good."
"But," Gerard says, lifting his head slightly, "now what am I gonna do?"
"Pretend this never happened?"
Gerard holds out a trembling hand.
"Oh," Frank says. "Right." He glances down at Gerard's half-shaven balls. "Dude, you're on your own."
"But I could cut them off for real!"
"Not with-- Hey." Dropping Gerard's dick, Frank snatches up the razor. "This is mine!"
Gerard's gaze darts guiltily sideways. "I, uh. Couldn't find mine."
"I use this on my face."
"I was gonna wash it!"
"Your balls!" Frank shouts. "Your sweaty balls! On my face!"
"Fuck your face!"
Frank's mouth snaps shut. Gerard stares at him for a beat, furiously wide-eyed, and then Gerard's face kinda screws up to one side. He bites his lip so hard it turns white.
"Aw, fuck. Shit." Frank gestures lamely with the razor, rubbing at the back of his neck with his other hand. "Gee, look, I-"
"I'm sorry," Gerard squeaks, "I just," and Frank's heart clenches. Stupid shit like this has been happening for years. It's not like it's a big deal. Maybe kinda gross, but he's pretty sure Gerard's gotten worse than a few pubes on him before. So not worth making the dude cry when his balls are bleeding.
"Sorry," Gerard gasps, and bursts out giggling.
"Oh fuck you," Frank grumbles, and tosses the razor into the sink. "You made me touch your dick."
"I did," Gerard says, giggling harder, "you did, fuck, Frankie."
"Seriously," Frank says, scowling as Gerard gasps and turns red and just laughs even harder, how is that even fucking possible, "fuck you," and he snatches up a handful of Gerard's junk again, all aha, take that, fuckface.
Too busy braying like a donkey, Gerard doesn't even notice.
"Fucking fine," Frank growls, and squeezes.
"Shit," Gerard hiccups.
"Ha," Frank says, triumphant. "Laugh at me now, motherfucker."
On his thighs, Gerard's hands curl into fists. "Nope," he pants out around the edges of a suspicious, choked-off noise. "Nope, not laughing."
The fucker's totally laughing. Frank sets his jaw and squeezes harder.
"Oh shit, oh shit," Gerard wheezes, hunching over and grabbing haphazardly at Frank's arm. "I said I'm sorry, ow, fuck, fuck, ow."
"Too late now," Frank says, determinedly holding on. "You wanted me to touch it."
"Yeah, 'cause I thought I-- Fuck!"
"Yep," Frank says, easing up only slightly, "thought so."
Cracking one eye open, Gerard looks up at Frank, then down at their hands covering his junk. He wets his lips and breathes out, "Oops."
Since Frank's currently got a sloppy handful of Gerard's hard-and-getting-harder cock, oops kinda seems like an understatement. But Frank's a practical kinda guy, and shit can always get weirder. Like the urge to inch his fingers out from under Gerard's balls to get a better grip. That one probably counts as weirder. "You want me to do something about it?"
Gerard gnaws on the inside of his lip. On Frank's wrist, his fingers clench, release. "Sure?"
Frank shrugs and goes back to squeezing.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Gerard says, "Shit. Shit, I meant, like-"
"Let go?" Frank asks, starting to uncurl his fingers.
Gerard drags in a couple deep breaths, then lifts his head, shaking his hair out of his face. A few strands get stuck on his cheeks, tangled in his eyelashes. "Like, you could. Y'know," he says, and moves his hips a little, slow and dirty.
"I dunno," Frank says, closing his hand into a tight fist again, and yeah, this is definitely getting weirder, but not exactly the kind of weird where he's gonna stop unless somebody tells him, "sorta looks like this is doing it for you."
Gerard grunts like he's not so sure. Frank's pretty sure. He's the one with the fist Gerard is trying to not-so-subtly fuck.
"Fuckin' figures, y'know?" Frank says, 'cause he's got this nervous twist in his gut kinda like the moment before his feet hit the stage, and all Gerard's filling the silence with is quick, rasping breaths. He resettles his grip, thumb tucked under the ridge, and holds on tight. There's slick at the head of Gerard's dick but not enough, and Gerard's hips stutter, thigh muscles flexing. "You're gonna owe me one."
"'Kay," Gerard says, like it's no big deal. "Sure, just. Fuck."
It feels like this should be one of those times where Frank's not thinking. Like, really not thinking, the determined sort of blankness that happens when he's up to serious shit he knows he shouldn't be up to. Or like popping a boner in the middle of a fucking funeral or something; don't think about it, it'll go away. But the stiffy he's got in his jeans isn't going anywhere, 'cause he's thinking pretty thoroughly about what it feels like to have Gerard's cock in his hand, the width and texture and all that shit, and the way Gerard's thighs quiver when he tightens his grip.
"Fuck," Gerard spits, and grabs onto Frank's wrist. His fingers dig in but he doesn't try to pry Frank off this time, so Frank squeezes a little harder, just to see what he'll do.
Gerard gasps, "You're really fuckin' bad at this," trembling all over, his jaw clenching and knuckles turning white and pulse throbbing in his dick, but none of that sounds like stop.
It doesn't sound much like an invitation, either, but Frank figures he's got some room for interpretation. He snarls his fingers tight in Gerard's hair and yanks him close. A nuclear blast of stale coffee breath hits Frank square in the face but it doesn't even slow him down. Gerard's cheek catches sweat-sticky against his as he drags his palm over the head of Gerard's dick, making it nice and slick for the slow drag down, like he's actually got something to prove here.
"Better," Gerard grunts. "Yeah, like-- Fuck."
Frank bares his teeth in a grin. Both of them on their knees on a bathroom floor, Gerard half-dressed and stinking like last night's show, Frank should be all caught up in the adrenaline. It should be fast and filthy and totally unapologetic. Frank's got that last one down pat, but he feels really fucking solid in his skin. Centred, full-on zen while Gerard pants and squirms in his hold. He keeps it slow and steady, letting the heel of his hand drag over the head of Gerard's cock every couple strokes, his fist tight in Gerard's hair to keep him close when he bucks.
Evenly, not so much as a hitch, Frank says, "Told you you'd be sorry," and he's shocked as shit to hear his voice like that while at the same time he's fucking revelling in it. He's got two seconds to wonder what the fuck that says about him before Gerard grits out, "Not sorry," and he's right back into it again, cool as shit while Gerard burns up against him.
When it's good, really fucking good, it's always over before Frank's ready. He loses bits and pieces of time like if he could remember it all perfectly clearly, he'd lose his mind. With Gerard, fucking Gerard, every single shuddering breath, every noise and twitch and broken curse is stamped into Frank's brain, and it is making him crazy. It's not like any kind of crazy he's ever fucking imagined.
It only gets worse when Gerard groans, "Frankie," between all the noises he's making, and Frank says, "Yeah," smooth and easy. Gerard's not gonna last much longer. He's flushed all over and so wet Frank's fingers are dripping, his balls tight and full and his cock so hard Frank's aches in sympathy. But Frank feels like he could keep this up for hours. He even slows down a little more, like that'll help Gerard back off the edge, but it's too late. Gerard lets out a noise like it hurts, actually hurts, and just gets louder when Frank starts jacking him off for real.
And maybe Frank should talk to him, try to calm his frantic breaths, but it sounds too good and it feels too good so all Frank does it let it fill all the spaces between them and around them until he's drowning in it. He barely notices when Gerard goes off because it's just more of the same, noise and sweat and come.
"Motherfucker," Gerard spits, shaking so hard his teeth clack. He shoves at Frank, fumbling but focused, face dragging against Frank's shirt as he hunches over awkwardly, back heaving, and tears his way into Frank's jeans to shove Frank's dick in his mouth. Frank's hips snap up so fast it jolts up his spine, a sharp, searing pain that turns so sweet Frank almost chokes on it like Gerard's choking on his dick.
Shoulders bunching, Gerard just hunches closer, his jaw wide and his tongue flat as he takes it. Everything that's been churning under the surface slams into Frank all at once, knocking the breath from his lungs and dumping pure fucking fire into his veins. There's no time to savour the pleasure before it rips through him but it's still so good, so fucking good. If all that's left of him after this is ashes, it'll be worth it.
When he manages to open his eyes again, Gerard's collapsed half in his lap, half on the floor, legs a shameless sprawl with his cock slumped sticky against his thigh. Frank's cock is still a bit thick and nestled snugly against Gerard's open mouth, twitching a little every time Gerard breathes. Even that little bit of contact is way too much, but Frank can't move.
"Please stop breathing," Frank croaks.
"You first," Gerard croaks back.
Frank groans and twists awkwardly away. He doesn't get far, nowhere to go in the tiny bathroom and his spine still melted. He ends up crammed between the open door and cupboard, one foot jammed under him.
Gerard blinks slowly up at him. "Maybe," he says, his voice heavy and slow, "maybe I," then he closes his eyes, breathing deep. It takes him a couple seconds to get started again, and he doesn't bother to reopen his eyes. "Maybe I should be a little sorry, but I'm not."
"You made me look at your balls," Frank says. He's looking at them right now, too, soft and come-shiny in the weak light. That little speck of blood is still there.
"Sucked you off," Gerard mumbles. He licks at the corner of his mouth. He's staring straight at Frank's crotch. "Might do it again."
Frank glances at his watch. They've got maybe twenty minutes before the guys come back. When he glances back, Gerard's smirking at him. "Shut the fuck up," he mutters.
"Still gotta shave," Gerard grunts, struggling up on one elbow. He grins, sharp and wicked behind the stringy tangle of his hair. "But now you owe me one."
Frank's gaze slides down the white bump of Gerard's belly to his cock. He thinks about putting his mouth on it now, how it'd taste like skin and soap, sweat and come, how Gerard might make that noise again, the one that sounds like too-much, don't-stop. He thinks about the skin of Gerard's balls, freshly-shaved and vulnerable, caught in the soft grip of his teeth, while Gerard stares down at him wide-eyed and desperate.
He holds out a hand. "Gimme that fucking razor."