Work Text:
"You'll be back home later, yeah?" Mikey asks, already halfway out the side door of the garage. Who the garage belongs to, Gerard doesn't really know. All he was told was that it was secured by Mikey from one of his many associates in the scene as a location to paint the set for their first music video. It's a stuffy room with a broken door; there's a side entryway that allows them to enter and exit, but the large main door doesn't roll up anymore. It's kind of perfect because it prevents a car from being parked inside, so there's room for the large wooden panels they're spray painting black and stenciling white window shapes onto. Simultaneously, it allows for very little ventilation. Someone suggested they do this outside, but apparently not ruining any plants and grass outside took higher priority. The side door is propped open with a cinderblock, but that hasn't stopped the slow buildup of paint fumes from permeating the air as they work.
They had started late, so the rest of the band was already heading out, but Gerard and Frank had opted to continue working. Gerard wasn't sure what Frank’s reasons for his decision were, but he knew his own motives weren't exactly all pure and friendly. Gerard hadn't spent a lot of time with his bandmate on their own, as they were always practicing and partying and playing shows, almost always with other people nearby, but he felt an urge to be closer to him, to become better friends. It didn't hurt that he was one of the most attractive people Gerard had ever laid eyes on. He’s got these puppylike deep-set eyes colored with striking hazel, perfectly arched eyebrows, and naturally flushed lips. He would complain about the dreads that stink like weed, but he doesn't particularly have a leg to stand on when it comes to body odor, so that's something he can get past. From what Frank was like in a group setting, his personality was far from unattractive too. Funny, outgoing, and all that Gerard tries to be, but feels like he fails in comparison when not putting on a performance. It's not as though they'd never been alone together, but Gerard was maybe trying to convince himself that through repeated exposure he would start to feel less awkward around this beautiful and talented guy. He would have to, considering they were in the same fucking band.
"Gee?" Mikey repeated.
"Yeah, sorry, I'll probably be home late," Gerard answers, distracted. He gently sets down his can of spray paint and jumps to his feet to give Mikey a hug.
"Alright, goodnight."
"You too."
"Night, Mikey!" Frank calls from the floor, waving his can and dripping paint across the floor.
Mikey rolls his eyes and walks out without another word as Gerard returns to his place on the floor next to Frank.
"Christ Frank, you're getting paint everywhere," he complains.
"Yeah, well, I'm still getting paint where it's supposed to go," Frank playfully shoots back, gesturing towards the prop with a smirk. "If it ends up on the floor too, I guess that's the way it's gonna be. Sorry I don't know how they do it at SVA."
"Oh, shut up," Gerard replies with a laugh. He picks back up his can of black spray paint, continuing to apply it to the wood in sweeping motions.
Frank picks up their conversation again after a beat. The way he talks is so earnest and passionate and seemingly unashamed, something Gerard struggles to do himself without any second-guessing—just baring himself while assuming Gerard won't judge him. It's admirable in a way, though Gerard can't help but wonder if this blind faith in him will end up hurting Frank. Gerard can barely trust himself to shower and to not get sloppy drunk on a regular basis. It's a bit overwhelming to have someone so dedicated to his ideas from the jump. Still, Frank's ridiculous pot giggle is infectious and it's difficult not to enjoy talking and cracking jokes about their shared interests, which Gerard is reminded are plentiful.
Whatever they're discussing devolves into something sillier and more nonsensical, and at some point Gerard realizes he isn't even sure what they're even talking about. He vocalizes his agreement with short noises of assent and giggles at hopefully the right intersections of conversation while his bandmate continues rambling anyway, until Frank ends his sentence with, "Is it like that for you too?"
Gerard has to wrack his brain for an adequate response, extract some sort of point to whatever Frank was saying. The problem is, he really doesn't know.
"I really don't know. Do you feel kinda funny?"
Frank stops mid-stroke of paint, as if he has to halt his body's movement in order to decipher how he's feeling. He turns to Gerard, eyes just a touch out of focus.
"Yeah, I was kinda waiting for you to say that. I think it's the fucking paint fumes. It's making me all lightheaded. Man, I don't really know what I was even talking about."
Huh. Well, that makes the two of them, then.
Gerard lets out another obnoxious laugh, but his brain is a bit too sluggish to give a proper response. Frank doesn't seem to mind, beaming back at him. Gerard is again struck by just how pretty that face is, how blinding his smile is. The paint can in Frank's hand starts moving again as he turns back to the wooden panel, covering an area previously untouched. The motion of Frank's arm captures his attention—the way his muscles shift under sparse hair and soft skin. Gerard wonders if it feels as soft as it looks and how strong his muscles really are. He catches himself before Frank can see him staring and wrenches his eyes back to the task at hand. It's not like he hasn't found himself staring at Frank before, but he feels like he's being more obvious about it now that his head feels like it's been put in a microwave.
As they lapse into silence, Gerard assesses how he's feeling and the accuracy of Frank's statement about the paint fumes. Come to think of it, he is also feeling lightheaded and slow, like his thought-processing power has diminished. The slowness is probably why he pretty much forgot all about the paint fumes as soon as Mikey left. That and being exposed to the smell for so long has dulled his senses to it. He knew that huffing paint could get a person inebriated, but he thought it'd require a higher concentration than this. Maybe they should've gotten a fan or something to circulate the air, or really just insisted they do it outdoors, not that he's really up to problem-solving right now.
After a few minutes, Frank suddenly drops his can of paint. It clatters to the ground with a loud metallic clang and more paint splatters on the concrete floor. Before Gerard can even open his mouth to bitch about the mess again, Frank mutters, "Shit," and quickly stumbles upright. He does it so quickly it looks like he can barely get his feet under his legs without tripping. Gerard's eyes are on him the entire time, eyebrows drawn up in confusion, as Frank darts out the side door.
Gerard just stares at the door for a moment, unsure of what the fuck happened, it happened so fast, before figuring he should follow him to see. Much slower than Frank, he stands up. He doesn't know how Frank even did that so urgently without nearly passing out from the lightheadedness.
When Gerard gets outside, Frank is visible in the floodlights stationed on the garage. He's bent over at the middle, hands on his knees, drool pooling out of his mouth and into the grass. While Gerard is dimly aware he must've gotten nauseous from inhaling whatever chemicals are in the paint, the majority of his brain feels as though it's stuttering through a reboot at how insanely hot it is to see Frank with spit just pouring out of his mouth. It’s so wrong to even think, Frank definitely feels awful, but he can’t help getting a semi from the sight.
“Sorry,” Frank says, the sound so wet it just makes everything worse. Fucking hell.
Nevertheless, Gerard feels obligated to be there for his friend, so he steps up behind him, placing a hand on his back and rubbing. He pulls Frank’s dirty dreads back with his other hand.
“Hey, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. If I had known,” Gerard starts, only to be interrupted by Frank retching and puking. The grass was doomed regardless, evidently. It makes a horrible wet sound as it hits the ground and he can feel the guy sweating through his shirt.
Oh God. He’s a fucking degenerate. This really shouldn’t be doing it for him, but it is. Just something about watching Frank gasping for air and losing control—he’s got to stop that train of thought, now, it really isn’t helping. He tries to focus on how bad it smells, but he can't get away from the feeling of Frank's overheated body shaking under his hands that generates completely inappropriate mental images without backing away and looking like a terrible friend.
The last few shuddery inhales wrack through Frank’s body as he spits the remnants of vomit onto the ground.
"Jesus," he exhales.
"You okay?" Gerard asks.
Frank nods slowly, pulling Gerard's hand that's still threaded through his hair. "Yeah, sorry, I've got—"
He abruptly stops talking as he stumbles a step back, pressing his backside directly into Gerard's erection, and straightens up a fraction in surprise.
Gerard freezes, hand slipping out of Frank's hair. Fuck, now he's really done it. He's gonna have to apologize profusely to Frank, beg for forgiveness. He's gonna have to deal with Frank's subsequent freakout and never see his face again. He's gonna have to run away, be forever known as the frontman who had to quit his band and disappeared because he got a boner watching his rhythm guitarist spill his guts everywhere.
Frank's head swivels around to face Gerard, and his eyes look clearer now. There's a weird lazy smile on his face, almost a smirk but with less control. It almost halts Gerard's spiraling, because what the fuck, his hard dick is pressed against Frank's ass right after he finished yakking and now he's smiling at him, suggestively? It has to be a joke, because no way; he's definitely being made fun of.
"Can you get me some water?" Frank asks.
Gerard raises his hands up placatingly and backs up a few steps. "Dude, I'm so sorry," he starts, flushed with embarrassment.
"No, no, just get me a water," Frank insists, talking over Gerard. Gerard turns around quickly and rushes back into the garage, because what else can he do? He just mortified himself in front of the guy, the least he can do is listen to whatever he says and get him water so he can feel a little better. He grabs a plastic water bottle from the mini-fridge in the corner, and walks it back to Frank.
Frank cracks it open and begins taking greedy chugs, eyeing Gerard with an open curiosity. The path of Frank's eyes trail up and down his body, making him feel exposed and the urge to hide behind something. Gerard still feels like he should be apologizing, but something about Frank's body language says he isn't mad or even upset. The last few sips are swished in Frank's mouth and spat out on the ground.
Suddenly, Frank tosses the bottle to the side and starts pushing Gerard up against the side of the garage. Shit, maybe he isn't as good at reading body language as he thought, and now he's really gonna get hit. He places his hands on Frank's shoulders, preparing to push him away in case he starts swinging. "Please, I'm sorry," he tries again. Then Frank drops to his knees.
Oh.
The sight of Frank looking up at him from his position on the ground immediately sends all the blood that had left in his embarrassment right back to his cock. "Sorry, I would've done this right away, but I didn't wanna get puke on your dick," Frank explains in that same earnest manner he says everything. "You probably wouldn't have minded though."
Gerard doesn't even know right now. He just nods dumbly. Everything happened so quickly he's having trouble processing it, but no, he can't say he minds the direction this is all going in as Frank begins unzipping his jeans. His palm comes up to cup Gerard's erection through his ratty boxers, and wow, he would've worn a better pair of underwear if he knew this would end up more than working on music video props. Frank seems not to care anyway, as he presses his face right into Gerard's crotch, rubbing his cheek right up against his hard cock for a moment before sucking the head through the fabric and swirling his tongue.
Frank's making eye contact nearly the whole way through, and Gerard tries, he really does, to maintain it, but the sensation feels too good, and he lets his head fall back against the wall with a thunk and his hands clench on Frank's shoulders where they've been. "Christ," he breathes out. He can feel the fabric getting wetter as Frank keeps his mouth suctioned on Gerard's erection and his tongue tracing underneath the tip. He feels the fabric getting lifted away and pushed down, his pants and boxers pooling at his ankles. He pulls his gaze back down to Frank who's still looking back up at him, gripping the base of his cock and licking up and down the sides of his shaft, seemingly gauging his reaction more than trying to be overly erotic.
Even though Gerard is having trouble holding himself together, he tries for the sake of whoever's house they're behind even as late at night as it is. Apparently, Frank doesn't have the same worries, moaning in an almost pornographic way as he takes Gerard's cock into his mouth fully and sinks down without any qualms about a gag reflex. He’s completely enthusiastic and unashamed about it, much like he is with most things, but the excess spit and sloppiness just make it better. That pretty much melts away the last of Gerard's resolve, and he lets out a strangled sound of pleasure and his hands fly up to Frank's head. As much as he kind of hates the dreads, he can admit they make a pretty good grip while Frank is bobbing his head up and down the length of his cock. Gerard can't manage to keep his moans in any longer at the feel of those beautiful lips around him, and that seems to satisfy Frank, eyes finally fluttering closed as he speeds up.
Gerard can just barely keep from driving his hips into the tight heat of his mouth, fingers flexing in Frank's hair and sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of holding himself up against the wall. It sends him barrelling towards the peak of pleasure all too quickly, as if Gerard didn't have enough to be embarrassed about tonight.
"Frank, I can't, your mouth," he gasps, his hips twitching forward at the sensation of spit gathering around Frank’s lips, trailing down to the hand gripping him and dripping around his balls. Frank is undeterred, perhaps even spurred on, by Gerard's words, moving his hand lower and ducking down to take him into his throat, and that's fucking it. Gerard tries a second too late to tug on his hair, but all Frank does is move back a little so he doesn't choke on Gerard's load.
Every muscle in Gerard's body becomes rigid for a moment as utter bliss overwhelms him and he jerks into Frank's mouth, spilling directly onto his tongue. He can feel the rumble of a groan in his chest, but he can't hear anything anymore, not even the noise of crickets chirping in the night, the only discernable sound being his blood rushing through his ears. Gerard only faintly feels Frank pulling off before he’s sliding down the wall of the garage and landing right on his bare ass.
He blinks open his tightly shut eyes to see Frank still on his knees in front of him, a dopey smile plastered on his face. This view only lasts for a second before Frank is crowding into his space again, planting a kiss that tastes like his own musk directly on his lips.
"Mmph," Gerard mumbles against his lips in surprise. He momentarily ponders that they're doing this all backwards, the blowjob before the kiss, but then considers none of it was conventional at all, with the throwing up and getting high from paint fumes and everything. He opens up for Frank easily, and it's predictable how good of a kisser he is when accounting for how he gave head. Gerard grasps at the back of Frank's neck and waist, before his brain slowly comes back online and he realizes he should be reciprocating, and begins sliding his hands lower, fumbling for the button of Frank's pants.
Managing to get both the button and zipper open without breaking their heated kiss, he unceremoniously yanks his pants down just enough to reach his cock and shoves his hand into Frank's loose boxers. Gerard starts stroking at a steady pace, spreading the almost obscene amount of precum. Frank whines directly against his lips before breaking the kiss and leaning his head on Gerard's shoulder, panting open-mouthed onto his neck.
"Fuck," Frank gasps, the puff of air against Gerard's skin making him shiver. Frank's touch seems unable to keep from roaming, hands scrabbling up Gerard's sides, ribs, waist, chest, neck. Gerard has obviously seen him play guitar with reckless abandon and constant motion, but that seems to translate to sex as well.
"Please," he begs, and Gerard can't really figure out what he's asking for, so he just tightens the grip of his hand and speeds up a little, concentrating on twisting the upstroke around the head of his cock. This causes Frank to bury his face into the muscle where Gerard's neck meets his shoulder and let out a drawn-out, high-pitched, almost pained moan, and wow, it's kind of crazy wonderful how responsive he is from just a handjob. He reaches his other hand down to fondle his balls just to see how he'll react.
That elicits a sharp, nearly incomprehensible, "I'm gonna," before he bites into the flesh he was nuzzling his face into a second before. Gerard startles a little from the feeling of teeth digging into his skin—though he can't really blame Frank, it's more of a warning than he gave—but continues jerking him off as he comes all over his fist, some of it shooting onto his shirt. Well, it had paint on it already, Gerard supposes.
Frank unclenches his jaw but continues breathing heavily against his friend's chest. Gerard pulls his hand loose and glances down at it for a second, unsure of what to do with the mess that's rapidly cooling in the summer night air, before wiping it on the grass. Well, it had puke on it already, Gerard supposes.
After catching his breath, Frank sits up and gives Gerard a short, almost comically chaste kiss after what they just did. He figures that's about as post-coital as it’s gonna get when you’re outside a near-stranger's garage as a puddle of vomit a couple yards away is slowly drying on the lawn. As Frank leans back and starts shoving himself back into his pants, Gerard remembers, oh yeah, he's sitting bare-assed on the ground, so he fixes his clothing too, then pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lights up. Frank gestures to give him one, so he hands over the cigarette that's already lit and sparks another.
For a moment they're both just leaning against the garage wall and smoking, and the lack of chatter is enough to make Gerard nervous that they just fucked up the dynamic of their friendship and therefore the band forever, but then Frank comments, ”This night has been really nice."
Gerard snorts and replies sarcastically, "Yeah, with all the puke and cum on the ground, it's just beautiful outside," which makes Frank burst out with laughter and collapse against Gerard's side, protesting that's not what he meant, and shattering any notion that they weren't able to go back to their dumb little quips and retorts. He even thinks that Frank will just move on from the whole getting turned on from him puking thing, but then that notion is quickly shattered too.
"You know," Frank begins, and Gerard internally groans, anticipating the post-nut clarity that must be making him realize what an utter freak Gerard is. "I was about to apologize earlier for having such a sensitive stomach and getting sick easily because most people make fun of me for it. But I’ve never really had that reaction before." He turns to Gerard with a soft smile on his face, the relaxation of just having an orgasm evident, and Gerard can't help but return it, the tension seeping out of his body at Frank's easy-going tendency to just roll with something as bizarre as this.
"Yeah, me neither, to be honest."
“Well, good to know it’s not a problem with you.”
After smoking and quietly talking for awhile, something involving too much nicotine in addition to whatever the hell was in that paint makes Gerard's stomach roll. Not good, he thinks, wondering if this is how Frank felt, before quickly finding out that yes, it was, as he flings himself forward onto his hands and knees while gagging. Frank is just howling with laughter that Gerard is suffering the same bodily reaction, the asshole. As far as unusual reactions to a friend vomiting goes through, he has to admit it's not that bad.