Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The whole deal happens purely by accident. Whether the accident is happy or not remains to be seen.

When the call comes, Gerard is slumped in his chair in the very corner of a hotel lobby, pretending to work. He doesn’t know why he’s pretending. It’s not like he has a boss who could look over his shoulder and fire him for playing Patience instead of finalizing the deals. If, of course, there were any deals to finalize. There aren’t. Gerard may as well improve his card-playing skills while he waits for the world to kick his ass.

The thing is, he could get deals. Maybe not a lot of them, but enough to live in a semi-modest apartment in the semi-center of the city, pay the bills, and still have enough to spoil himself a few times a month with something extravagant. Those deals are there, waiting for him to get his hands on them. All he’d have to do is listen to his brother and move back to the States.

Gerard is not going to move back to the States.

There is hardly anything for an architect to do in Grenada. There is no saying what prompted him to move here. The flight winked at him flirtatiously when Gerard was considering moving across his home country to actually find more prospects than New Jersey could give him, and he bought it before he could consider whether it was a smart choice. 

It clearly wasn’t. He gets asked to do some remodeling now and then, primarily by one of the local hotels, and only because the word gets around fast. He fixed up that one vacation house for a French politician a few years back, and he earned himself what could be considered a bit of a reputation. Even with that, though, there are simply not enough people around for Gerard to have a steady line of work.

Thank God for rich French politicians. In truth, the mansion he’s designed for the guy still pays for his food today. What little other income he gets is from looking after Mathilda’s front desk when she takes one of her countless breaks. Gerard isn’t in a position to complain. She pays him a lot more than she should for picking up a few calls a day and gives him not only an apartment suite to stay in but also a desk in the main hall that serves as his office.

Thank God for rich French politicians and cranky but generous hotel owners.

He leans over his desk and stares at the reception. Mathilda isn’t there, probably having gone to smoke, eat, or do whatever it is she does when she isn’t here. The phone keeps ringing, and Gerard really, really doesn’t feel like getting up to answer it. He reasons with himself that before he gets there, whoever it is will definitely hang up, anyway, so he shouldn’t bother.

The silence falls the moment Gerard stands up from his chair, and he nods to himself. Figured.

The phone starts ringing again.

Damn it.

He considers yelling for Mathilda to come back but then remembers the bills that he still needs to pay. Grenada and its damn taxes. Since he’s already standing, he decides to give the annoying person a break and strolls through the hall, throwing himself over the reception desk to grab the phone. It’s the old type, one with a coil cord, and it gets all tangled in Gerard’s hair. He’s sure he pulls some out when he yanks it away.

“Tarragon Apartments, how can I help you?”

“You aren’t Mathilda.”

No, clearly, he isn’t. Gerard is usually not a fan of phone conversations and an even smaller fan of internet communication, but he has to admit, it’s nice to be able to roll his eyes at people without them judging him for it.

“This is Gerard, her… associate,” Gerard says. Is he an associate? Probably not. He’s not even legally hired. “Mathilda is currently away from the desk. I can pass the message if you’d like, sir.”

“No need,” the man on the other end of the line says. He sounds impatient, and Gerard immediately dislikes him. He chose architecture partially because he liked to work at his own pace without someone breathing down his neck. “Can you tell me if Pierre Couëlle is there yet?”

Who? Gerard’s mind supplies. He doesn’t think he could even repeat the name, not to mention finding it in Mathilda’s books. As already established, he likes the French (especially if they’re politicians), but sometimes - just sometimes! - he really fucking hates the French.

“Just a moment, sir,” he forces out. He leans further over Mathilda’s desk, trying to reach her keyboard while simultaneously turning her computer screen toward himself. His hair is getting in the way, and he’s getting his hoodie all twisted underneath his body. Could he walk around the desk like a normal person? Of course. Would he still be himself if he did, though? Hmm.

He holds the phone in place with his shoulder and does his absolute best to try and decipher the names of the guests. He doesn’t find anyone named Pierre - or Peter, for that matter - and is already opening his mouth to reply before he remembers that he probably shouldn’t give Mathilda’s guests’ sensitive information to strangers over the phone. He’s not sure if someone’s absence is sensitive information, though. It’s not like he’s giving away someone’s whereabouts. Or is he?

“Well?”

“Oh,” Gerard gasps. He lets himself slide back to the ground, pulling the phone’s cord along as he goes. “No, I’m sorry, sir. It appears we don’t have anyone registered under that name.”

“Bastard,” the man on the phone says. He doesn’t sound impatient anymore. Now he sounds downright angry. “Okay. Listen, Gerald–”

“Gerard.”

“Listen, Gerald. This is a matter of life and death,” sure it is. Gerard rolls his eyes again. “As soon as Pierre Couëlle gets there, you call this number. He was supposed to be there this morning,” Gerard hums, looking at the watch on his wrist. Two in the afternoon. “And if he doesn’t arrive today, me, you, and everyone we know will be in trouble.”

Yeah, right.

“Absolutely, sir,” Gerard says steadily. He actually does walk around the desk this time and opens a browser. “Could you spell the name out for me, please?”

“You don’t know how to spell Pierre Couëlle?”

Why the fuck would I, Gerard thinks. What he says is: “I would like to avoid any misunderstandings.”

So the guy does spell out the name for him, and this is totally not how Gerard would pronounce Pierre Couëlle. What the fuck does he know, though? The only French he picked up when working for that politician was Oui and Bonjour, and even that made no sense to him. He writes it all down, double-checks with the man, and then realizes that he should probably know who he’ll be calling back if Pierre does decide to show up.

“And your name, sir?”

“Raymond Toro. Do I need to spell it out for you, too?”

Rude. Gerard writes it down, too, and draws a pair of devil horns over the surname.

“I got it, Mr. Toro.”

“I’ll be there in three hours. I better have a missed call from you by the time I land, or so help us God.”

Who is he doing business with, Vito Corleone himself? Gerard rolls his eyes once more - just in time to see the door at the end of the hall opening, letting Mathilda through. He has never been more relieved to see that woman.

“Well, sir, thank you for calling, and I will do my best to provide happy news,” he says. “Have a pleasant flight.”

He hangs up before Raymond can respond because he now feels like a flight attendant on top of the secretary, too. Mathilda gives him a strange look. She always does when she sees him actually doing stuff for her as if she’s not away from her desk more often than she’s there. Gerard gives her his best smile - which is hardly a smile, really, it’s more of a scowl - and moves away from the desk to give her space.

“Who was that?”

“Some guy named Toro,” Gerard shrugs. “Wanted to know if a dude named Pierre has already checked in.”

“We don’t have any reservations in that name,” Mathilda tells him. “Did you tell him that?”

“I didn’t know that, to begin with. But he’ll be here in three hours. You can tell him yourself.”

Raymond Toro does, in fact, show up at the hotel precisely three hours later and is everything Gerard did not expect to see. When talking to him, he had a mental image of the Harry Potter movies character (and, yes, Gerard would like to officially say: screw JKR, but he does enjoy the movies), that short, round one that could turn into a rat. Raymond is anything but short and round. First of all, he’s tall. Second of all, there are muscles under his suit shirt that make Gerard a little weak in the knees. Third of all, his face looks like he is already done with everyone’s bullshit and will, undoubtedly, break in half the poor soul that tells him Pierre Whatever still hasn’t checked in.

So, obviously, Mathilda is taking another one of her smoke breaks when he shows up. Gerard considers hiding under his desk, but he’s not fast enough. Raymond Toro takes one look around the hall, and his eyes settle on Gerard’s face.

“Did he check in?”

Once again - rude. He could at least say hello.

“Nope.”

“Fuck.”

Gerard feels for the guy. He really does.

“We don’t have any reservations under that name.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Wish I was, sir,” Gerard shrugs. Is that a weird thing to say? It’s a weird thing to say. Damn it, Gerard. “I can check the canceled ones if you’d like?”

“He didn’t cancel.”

“He might’ve.”

“He did not cancel.”

Gerard glares at the guy. Raymond glares back for a few seconds - and, okay, some weird alpha male thing is happening here that Gerard wants no part in, he’s a beta at most - then lets his shoulders slump.

“Fine. Check the canceled ones.”

Gerard does, although it takes him a moment. Mathilda’s system is very outdated, and he doesn’t use it enough to operate it swiftly. He doesn’t really understand why they even have access to the canceled reservations, but as soon as he manages to find the tab, there it is - Monsieur Pierre Couëlle was supposed to check in today, but the reservation was canceled three days ago.

“Yep, here it is,” Gerard turns the screen so Raymond can see it with his own two eyes. “Canceled.”

“Fuck. Did he say why?”

There is, in fact, a comment attached to the cancellation. It says: Allez vous faire foutre, les Américains. Gerard copies it into a Google Translate and immediately snorts.

Bad choice. Raymond’s eyelid twitches.

“Umm… bad news, then?”

“Horrible news,” he agrees. He looks like he’s going to be sick, so Gerard nudges Mathilda’s trashcan an inch closer to him, just in case.

“Can I help in any other way?” Gerard asks. He would very much like for Raymond to leave now because he’s sure that if the man does, in fact, throw up, it will be him cleaning it up.

“I doubt it unless you know an interior designer who’s in dire need of a job.”

Gerard is not a beta. He’s an omega, and he’s definitely blushing like one. He breaks eye contact and pretends to be interested in his bitten-down nails, but Raymond clearly doesn’t buy it. He squints - Gerard can see it from the corner of his eye - and is already opening his mouth to say something when what Gerard believes to be a savior appears.

Mathilda takes one look at Raymond and breaks into a grin.

“Gerard is an interior designer.”

Traitor, then. Not a savior. Fuck.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m, uhh– an architect? Maybe. Sometimes! Not currently, though.”

“Are you?”

“No!”

“Gerard,” Mathilda sighs. She points at his desk, and Raymond’s eyes follow her hand until he sees the poster that Gerard has single-handedly painted and hung on that wall. It’s a nice poster. It has a house sort of cut in half, showing the interior, and on the side of it, there is a sign that says “Gerard Way - Interior Design, St. George’s, Grenada.”

“Um…”

“I will pay you,” Raymond says so quickly that Gerard doesn’t even have a chance to defend himself. “A lot, actually. What’s your usual rate?”

“I, uh, that depends on–”

“Forget it. I’ll triple it.”

Triple? Triple? Gerard has already gone overboard with the French politician, and that was just a little over double what he usually takes. He can feel his jaw dropping to the ground.

“Triple.”

“Man, I just need… listen, okay? Just hear me out.”

That much Gerard can do. Especially since Mathilda has departed again - seriously, he needs to talk to her about how much she smokes. It can’t be healthy at her age.

“Alright.”

“My employer bought the house near River Road. Pierre Couëlle is a very renowned Parisian designer who was booked to come and redesign it for him, given his unique talent. I’m guessing he’s not coming,” Raymond takes a quick look at Mathilda’s screen, where the French message is still displayed. “But I made a promise that I would get Pierre.”

“Well, that’s bad news for you.”

“You don’t say?” Raymond squints. Shut up, Gerard . “So here’s the deal now. I understand that this is an unusual request,” yeah, obviously. “But, like, you can imitate Pierre’s designs, right?”

“I guess? Depends on what he specializes in.”

“Very minimalist, modern villas.”

“Well, yeah, that… may be a problem. You see, I’m more into traditional–”

“We were supposed to pay Pierre two hundred thousand.”

“Oh.”

Two hundred thousand. Holy shit.

“I’ll add fifty to cover all the acting you’ll have to endure.”

Wait, what? “Acting?”

Raymond stares at him for a moment.

“I promised him Pierre,” he says, and, God, it sounds pathetic even to Gerard. Maybe Raymond isn’t an alpha male, either. Maybe his employer is the only alpha male in this scenario. “And I am going to give him Pierre.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Gerard. I will pay you three hundred thousand.”

“I– no. What?” Gerard blinks. He must be dreaming, right? This isn’t happening. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“Did you leave your glasses at home?” Gerard blinks faster. “Look at me. Do I look like a renowned Parisian designer to you?”

“No. You look like a creature that crawled out of some dungeon, but we can fix that.”

“Okay, man, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you are really fucking rude. Are you aware of that? ’Cause if you continue like this–”

“Fine, fine. You have… an artistic touch,” Raymond says, and Gerard nearly snorts again. Honestly, the creature that crawled out of a dungeon was a better description than this. Gerard gazes down at himself - his loose pants, a t-shirt that has totally been washed at some point, but he doesn’t exactly remember when, a jacket splashed with paint. He runs a hand through his long, unkempt hair, then touches his unshaven face. 

Yeah, alright. Dungeon creature it is. He’ll own that.

“I do have an artistic touch, but I am still not gonna pretend to be some stuck-up French douchebag to save your ass. I don’t even know you.”

“You do. Raymond Toro, personal agent slash bodyguard. You can call me Ray.”

Oh, for the love of–

“Buddy.”

“They never met,” Ray’s voice turns pleading. “Seriously, you’ll only meet my employer once, and then you can never see him again. You don’t have to look like a Parisian designer. We can say you’re, like, I don’t know. In a creative space, or something.”

“In a creative space.”

“I don’t know! But my offer still stands. Three hundred thousand.”

God, Gerard needs three hundred thousand. Or, well, he doesn’t, but it would be really fucking nice to move out of Mathilda’s apartment suite and actually purchase his own place.

“I– fuck. Can I think about it, at least?”

Ray’s smile is as disarming as his frown, but in a different way.

“Absolutely. Yes. Alright, fuck yes, okay. Can I borrow this?” he snatches the pen from the desk before Gerard can reply and scribbles something on the first piece of paper he can find. Gerard is pretty sure it’s someone’s reservation that he will now have to reprint. “Here. This is the address. If you decide to help, just come on over tomorrow at midday, alright? God, dude, I owe you.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

But Ray is clearly not listening to him anymore. He runs out of the hotel like the devil himself is chasing him, leaving Gerard with a piece of paper and a completely scrambled brain.

“You will say yes, though, right?” Mathilda shows up behind him just as Gerard manages to regain his composure. He flinches. “You should say yes.”

“You don’t even know what he asked me to do.”

“No, but I saw the size of his biceps.”

Gerard groans, hiding the piece of paper in his pocket.

“This doesn’t affect me,” he says steadily as he beelines back to his desk. He sits down, stretches, and looks at his Patience game still open on his screen. “And, for the record? I am not going to say yes.”

Chapter Text

Gerard is going to say yes.

Obviously.

At exactly midday, he is in front of a very nice-looking modern villa located on the side of the hill, and he is prepared to ring the doorbell. He wasn’t going to do that, but then, three hundred thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money, and Gerard reasoned with himself that it’s not all that bad. The house already looks like it’s a modern mansion lover’s dream come true, so he figures he will only need to do some minor redecorating. And since Ray said he only needs to meet the owner once, he can make it work. He was Peter Pan in a school play once. He can act.

He went all out - as in, he showered and combed his hair. There is nothing he can do about his clothing style, so Ray’s employer, whoever he is, will just have to deal with it. Honestly, Gerard thinks it matches the whole island vibe. He’s not wearing shorts - he’s not insane - but he dug out his tightest jeans and a shirt that has a print of tiny bananas on it. He doesn’t know where he got it from. Probably one of Mathilda’s Christmas gifts.

He thinks he looks alright.

Ray’s face says otherwise when he shows up to let him in.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Gerard frowns. “Bananas?”

“ You’re fucking bananas if you think– okay. Rude,” Ray stops himself. Gerard nods. He’s proud of him. “This will be a disaster.”

“It was your idea,” Gerard reminds him.

“I know. Okay. Let’s just get it out of the way. What can you say in French?”

“Nothing?”

“Gerard.”

“I mean, I know some basic hello and shit.”

“Let’s stick to that. If he asks, your mother is American, and that’s why you have a perfect Jersey accent. Fuck, he’s gonna kill me.”

“No, don’t worry,” Gerard waves him off. He’s still feeling confident, even though now that he looks down, he sees a stain on the very bottom of his banana shirt. “I know what I’m doing.”

Driven by some unusual wave of confidence, he bypasses Ray and walks up to the house. It’s a damn long walk, but he has to admit, his designer instincts are waking up. There is no distinct path from the gate to the main door, and Gerard can imagine flat marble platforms spread across the lawn, marking it. They’d be white as snow and would lead to a tall, natural wood door - something that needs to be changed, too. The white that’s currently there blurs in with the walls.

The door opens when Gerard is still a few steps away from it, and all confidence is gone like the wind.

Oh.

Ray appears behind his back like a shadow, and once again, his face says it all. He looks like his cat just died when he gazes up at the man standing in the doorway.

“Pierre,” he says, his French accent immaculate. “Meet Frank Iero.”

The man - Frank, apparently - raises one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows. Gerard swallows hard.

“Pierre Couëlle?”

Is it too late to run away? Fuck, it is. Fuck. 

“Bonjour.”

“Bonjour,” the corner of Frank’s lips twitches. He doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but Gerard’s got to give it to Ray, he’s doing an excellent job in pretending that everything is alright. Gerard can’t wrap his head around it. His mind is currently leaking out through his ears.

See, he expected a lot of things. Mostly another version of that French politician, only less French. He imagined Ray’s employer to be a guy in his sixties, dressed the way older men dress when they visit islands, potentially with a thirty years younger wife hanging from his arm. He expected some bald spots on the man’s head and a lot of botox-concealed wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He expected saggy skin and too-tight shirts, exposing a prominent belly.

Frank Iero is neither of these things.

First of all, he’s not in his sixties. If Gerard had to guess, he’d say late thirties, early forties at most. Second of all, he’s not bald. His hair is perfectly styled, held back with just enough hair gel to hold it in place but not enough to make it look wet. His polka dot shirt is tight - very tight, in fact - but there is no prominent belly. He’s attractive, and when Gerard lets his gaze slide down to his legs, he realizes that Frank definitely works out to keep himself fit. He’s also wearing a lot of rings on his fingers. And tailored shorts. And loafers. And he has tattoos pretty much everywhere Gerard can see.

Someone moves inside the house, and - yeah. It doesn’t appear that Frank has a thirty years younger wife, either. He does, however, seem to have a fifteen years younger husband.

Which, honestly? Gerard should’ve seen it coming. His gay radar has been ringing from the moment he laid his eyes on Frank. Never in his life has he seen a guy who’d look more like a stereotypical homosexual man.

Holy shit.

“I can show him around,” Ray offers as Frank steps to the side to let them inside. Grasping at straws, which Gerard appreciates.

Frank waves his hand, and the gesture is fluid. Practiced. God, and Gerard thought he was being obvious.

“You’ve gone out of your way for me already, my friend. It’ll be my pleasure to walk Mr. Pierre around the house.”

“Really, it’s not a problem. I can–”

“No.”

Ray shuts up like he’s been slapped, and Gerard has to suppress a whine. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

“Of course, sir.”

“Go on, sit down, relax. Andre will fix you a cocktail,” Frank says. Ray doesn’t seem convinced, but they all seem to be moving toward the kitchen area, anyway. Being inside, Gerard can’t really tell what Frank would need to be changed about the house. It’s very white, very minimalist, and very open. Gerard would maybe put a few plants around, but that’s pretty much it.

He would also remove the guy leaning against the counter in the kitchen if that was up to him. He’s messing with his vibe like no other. Gerard thinks it would probably be insulting to ask about legality here, but he has to admit that Andre - because it has to be him - looks young. He also makes Frank’s shorts look long with how tiny his booty shorts are, and yeah, okay. Gerard could live without seeing his naked chest, but apparently, that’s not part of the program.

“Hi, Ray-o,” Andre purrs. God, Gerard has to admit, he’s a walking wet dream (if he ignores that he may not be legal. He has to be, right? Right.) He’s muscular in all the right places, Michelangelo himself must have carved his face out of marble, he’s tall, and he’s slim. He’s perfect. “Mai Tai, sweetie?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink on the job.”

“Voudriez-vous que nous échangions en français?” Frank says, and Christ almighty, Gerard is about to have a stroke. “Or is English alright?”

“Ma mère–” Ha! Thank you, some minimal French knowledge that Gerard doesn’t know how he gained. “I mean, my mother. She’s American. English is perfectly alright.”

“Perfect,” Frank says. Gerard tries to avert his gaze when he goes over to Andre, grabbing his waist in a way that could only be described as possessive, but he’s not entirely successful. Frank has tattoos on his fingers. The contrast between them and Andre’s naked skin is striking. “Will you be alright on your own for a moment, baby?”

Andre giggles. “I don’t know, Daddy, do you think I will be?”

Daddy. Gerard will throw up on Frank’s immaculate floor. He’s also pretty sure his eyelid is twitching the way it always does when he’s trying very hard not to scream into the void. Daddy. Jesus.

“You look after Ray for me,” Frank plants a loud, wet kiss right in the center of Andre’s cheek. His fingers squeeze his side again - once, hard, like a warning - before he directs his attention back to Gerard. Gerard suddenly really doesn’t fucking want it. Especially when Frank strolls back over to him (he even walks in a way that makes Gerard want to rip his hair out. God, those hips) and extends his hand. “I would love to be on a first-name basis with you if you are comfortable with that. It would make things a lot easier.”

Gerard freezes for a moment. Blinks. Studies Frank’s (pretty) face for signs of sarcasm. When he doesn’t find any, he does his best (worst) to imitate a bored French designer and shakes his hand. It’s big and warm, enveloping Gerard’s from all sides.

He wants to say “sure”. What he says is: “Of course. Frank, then?”

“Frank or Francis are both acceptable,” Frank nods. He is still holding onto Gerard’s hand when he adds. “Call me Frankie, and we will have a problem.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Only I get to call him that,” Andre announces. He definitely is legal, but damn, he sure doesn’t act like it. “Right, Daddy?”

Stop it, Gerard thinks. One more “daddy,” and he’s out of here so fast even Ray, with his long-ass legs, won’t be able to catch him.

“Of course, sweetie. Well, Pierre is alright for you, then?”

“Actually,” Gerard starts. It’s a stupid fucking idea. He really should not be doing this. “If we are to be acquaintances, I believe you should be allowed to call me the same way my friends do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Gee. You see, my father insisted on French names. God bless his soul. Pierre Gédéon Couëlle is my full name. Only those closest to me are allowed to know my middle name.”

What a pile of stinking bullshit. Gerard cannot believe he’s coming up with all this on the spot. When this entire thing ends up being a disaster, and his reputation as a designer is ruined, he must try writing novels.

“Gee,” Frank says. He looks like he’s considering it, tasting the name on his tongue. He makes it sound dirty, somehow, and Gerard’s insides do a jump. “Sure. Well, Gee. Would you like to see the house?”

“Please.”

Please, let him out of here, is what he’s thinking. He’s not sure anymore if three hundred thousand is worth it. No, Gerard is not homophobic - that would be hilarious, given the fact that he’s bisexual himself - but there are people he just simply can’t stand, and both Frank and Andre seem to be exactly that type of people. Obnoxiously rich, obnoxiously gay, and obnoxiously annoying. They’re flaunting their sexuality everywhere like they’re animals trying to spread their hormones, and Gerard fucking hates it.

It’s a damn pity because they are both stunning people, too, and if only they didn’t behave the way they do, Gerard would totally ask them if they weren’t looking for a third in their relationship.

“So, I was thinking,” Frank says as he leads Gerard away from the kitchen and into a living room that is perhaps bigger than Mathilda’s entire estate. “I like the layout as is, but I cannot stand the color scheme. It’s atrocious, don’t you think?”

No, actually. Gerard really doesn’t think so. There are splashes of color everywhere throughout the house, yellow and green, with occasional blue, and it looks fantastic with the view he can see through the ceiling-to-floor windows. He is a little envious of that. From where they’re standing, the whole bay is visible, and Gerard has to admit - it’s breathtaking.

“Atrocious,” he repeats, clicking his tongue. He did actually do some research yesterday about what Pierre Couëlle’s designs usually look like, so he purses his lips and frowns. “Black ceiling, I think. All the furniture needs to go. I cannot even look at it. A golden piece on the wall here and there. Big. The bigger, the better.”

“I have a few of my photographs I would like to print out. They are black and white.”

“Must see them first,” Gerard replies flippantly. Damn, he’s getting good at this. He doesn’t think Frank is stupid, but so far, he seems to be bullshitting him just right.

“I can show you when we get upstairs to my studio.”

“Oui, oui, studio,” Gerard says. Damn, he’s good. “Kitchen needs to be… what’s the word, umm… gutted, oui? The cupboards don’t match the floor. Disastrous.”

“Thought so, too.”

“Honestly, mon chéri, so far, everything I’ve seen must go.”

Too far? Potentially, but Frank doesn’t seem offended, and Gerard is totally selling that stuck-up French designer thing to him. He flings his hair over his shoulder and does that thing they taught him back in art school - measuring with his fingers. It never worked for him, either, but Frank doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s what I’m paying you a lot of money for,” Frank agrees.

“I will need plans of the house. Measurements.”

“Also in my studio. Follow me, please. You can see the rest of the house on the way.”

Gerard does - from a few other rooms that look like additional living rooms to a massive dining space to bathrooms and bedrooms. He doesn’t comment on anything he sees, but there are definitely areas he does not need to go to. Like the master bedroom, directly above the living room, with yet another tall wall of windows overlooking the bay and a bed so big he could easily fit in there with Frank and Andre (if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t). The bedroom is stunning, if he’s honest. He just didn’t necessarily need to witness the contents of the bedside tables. If he had any doubts about the sexuality of his new employer, what he sees there efficiently eliminates them.

Gay. Definitely gay. So, so gay and - apparently - not vanilla at all. God, why him?

The studio isn’t much better. It is potentially worse. Gerard walks in with his mind already filled with images he doesn’t want or need and finds himself face-to-face with a dick.

A photograph of a dick, to be precise. The dick is attached to a body, too, and it’s a body Gerard has seen before. It feels like he’s been slapped, and Frank nearly crashes into his back when Gerard stops abruptly in the doorway. Is it normal that he’s staring at Andre’s dick? No, it can’t be. The photograph isn’t even that big - barely twenty-four by thirty if he’s not wrong - but given that it’s of Andre, and Andre is naked in it, and his goddamn dick is staring back at Gerard, he feels a little unsteady about the whole ordeal.

Frank doesn’t seem to mind. He brushes past him like it’s the most natural thing to have people staring at his naked boyfriend’s genitals and starts organizing a mess that’s on his desk. For someone who has just moved in, he sure managed to make the space his exceptionally quickly. Wherever he looks, Gerard sees photos, cameras, different types of lenses, tripods, speedlights, and reflectors.

That explains the money. And Andre.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Frank’s voice rings through the room. When Gerard looks up, he finds his head tilted, eyes glued to the photograph. “That boy’s really got some talent for modeling. And that body, mm.”

Mm, indeed. Gerard will call the Vatican and claim he’s witnessing a miracle if it turns out he’s not bright red in the face right now.

“He is… interesting.”

“Wildly talented. I hardly ever have to tell him what to do. He just does it,” Frank nods. He comes closer and shoves a few pieces of slick photo paper into Gerard’s hands. “These are some of the photographs Andre wants in the living room. I don’t know if we can fit them all in there, but I’m sure you’ll be able to choose the best ones.”

Gerard gazes down at the pictures and, again - dicks. But also balls. Occasionally an ass (spread, may he add. Like, there is nothing left for the imagination). Biceps. Chest. Nipples.

“You want a dick pic on your wall?”

There goes his cover. He sees Frank’s eyebrows raising again, clearly as shocked by the statement as Gerard is, and panic settles deep in his chest. Will Ray murder him? Most likely.

“Excuse me?”

“Softcore pornography is very passé,” he says. Frank’s frown diminishes a little. Gerard cannot believe that it worked. “So very twenty-twenty-one. Guess-work is the new black, Francis. Haven’t you heard?”

Frank leans back against his desk and actually smiles. It’s a pleasant smile, one that somehow doesn’t match his face. It’s too bright as if he forgot that he was supposed to keep himself in check. Gerard immediately loves it.

“Is there anything here that you can use, then?”

Gerard browses through the photos again. He has a solid handful of them, and he thinks some of them could actually work without giving him a brain aneurysm. Like the one of Andre kneeling, leaning forward on his forearms, with the perfect view of his ass cheek but - thank the Heavens - nothing more. Or the one where Andre is covered from head to toe in gold paint but has a piece of black fabric curling around his hips. Or the close-up of his face with his fingers in his mouth.

Or the one where he’s sitting, fully naked, in fully-dressed Frank’s lap, and it’s Frank’s hands covering his dick.

Gerard nearly drops all the photos onto the ground at that.

“Yes,” he says. He hopes Frank can’t hear his voice shaking. “I will need to take these hom– to the hotel with me.”

“You can work here if you’d like. I can’t imagine designing anything in the local hotel rooms.”

No. No, no, no, absolutely not. Anywhere but here.

“Merci, but I will be just fine. You don’t reach my level unless you can work in tough conditions, after all.”

Frank shrugs. “Whatever you say, sugar.”

Gerard crosses the distance between him and another set of massive windows and looks outside. Frank’s studio is in the side wing of the villa and overlooks the enormous backyard. He can’t force his eyes to focus on the bay visible in the distance and, instead, stares at the fully naked body in the pool two stories down. In the sun, Andre’s wet, tanned body looks even better than it did in the kitchen.

When Gerard focuses, he catches his own reflection in the glass and immediately feels stupid for his heart skipping a beat at the nickname. So, so stupid. Cinderella’s story can only happen once, and it already did. He wasn’t a part of it.

“I would like to begin immediately,” he says after a moment. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain the facade, and he just wants to leave. “Please, have Raymond show me out.”

“Certainly,” Frank hums. Gerard turns to face him, and that sweet smile is still there. It still doesn’t match the rest of Frank’s demeanor. “Well, Pierre. Gee. It was my utmost pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“And I hope to see more of you.”

Hopefully not.

“I’m sure we will see each other all the time,” Gerard utters. “Now, please. I am leaving. Inspiration calls.”

Frank nods and presses the button on the phone he has on his desk. Ray’s voice comes through almost immediately, and Gerard has never been as happy to hear him as he is now. He flees the studio before Frank can walk him to the door.

This is a bigger disaster than he anticipated. Merde.

Chapter Text

Three days in, Gerard has a rough draft of what he wants the house to look like and a massive case of an unrequited crush.

Yes, he is exactly that dumb, but he honestly expected to end up crushing on Andre, given that he’s been surrounded by pictures of that guy pretty much all the time. Don’t get him wrong - Andre is a stunning man, and after Gerard Googled Frank’s name and found Andre, he had more pictures than he could count. He also found out that Andre is currently in the top twenty most sought-after models in California and is, in fact, legal. Barely. Gerard is confused about the whole age thing. His face looks like he could easily be sixteen, while his body would put him a few years further than twenty-three. The point is that Andre is very, very legal and very, very beautiful.

And yet, Gerard keeps staring at Frank.

He doesn’t know what it is about him that draws him in. Sure, Frank is handsome. Frank has tattoos, which Gerard usually finds attractive, but they’re not the style he would ever think of if he had to get one himself. Frank has a nice body, but he’s short, and Gerard was always into men who were taller than him. Frank is also taken and a douchebag photographer, as far as Gerard can tell, so he truly doesn’t understand.

His smile was nice, though, and so wrong compared to the rest of him that Gerard can’t stop thinking about it. It makes him do stupid things, like covering Andre’s body in that one photograph of them together so he can only see Frank or agreeing to meet Frank in town a week later so they can go over the samples of counters and paints.

In general, sure, he needs to do that, anyway, and it would be a lot smarter to meet Frank somewhere other than his house, but Gerard forgot about one crucial detail - everyone in that goddamn town knows him. As soon as he’s out of Mathilda’s hotel and on the streets, people smile and wave when they see him, and he doesn’t want to be an asshole, so he waves back. He doesn’t even realize that it may be problematic until he’s at the harbor, having a discussion with Jack - a local cruise captain - and catches a glimpse of Frank from the corner of his eye.

A very surprised Frank, who is staring at Gerard like he grew a pair of horns.

Fuck, though, he looks good. Better than. So much so that Gerard forgets he is supposed to be making excuses as to why he and Jack are so friendly while talking about the blooming business. He simply stares because - seriously, fuck. Frank still has tailored shorts on (a different pair this time, pastel blue), but his polka-dot shirt has been replaced with a flimsier one with a cornflower pattern, and it’s partially unbuttoned. At least halfway down, really, exposing his throat (tattooed), his collarbones (tattooed), his sternum (tattooed), and a bit of his pecs (also - surprisingly - tattooed).

He’s also barefoot. His fucking feet are tattooed, and Gerard should not, under any circumstances, be finding feet attractive. And yet.

“Bonjour,” Frank says when he gets close enough to them. “You two know each other?”

“Of course, sir,” Jack sends him a grin. “We–”

“We found out we have a lot in common while I was waiting for you,” Gerard interjects. Jack’s eyebrows raise, and Gerard sends him a look that he hopes translates to - please, run with it.

“You were waiting?”

“For a while. Do you mind?” he points at the bag that’s hanging from his shoulder. “These samples are terribly heavy.”

What he means is that he wants to go to wherever Frank wants to take him. What Frank understands is that Gerard is asking him to carry the bag for him, and lord, he reaches over and takes it. His hand is warm against Gerard’s shoulder, and he doesn’t even flinch when he hooks his fingers under the strap and pulls. The samples really are pretty heavy. Frank carries them around like they’re a disease, for some reason, holding the bag away from his body where it hangs from two of his fingers.

Douchebag photographer, for sure. Gerard needs to reevaluate his life choices.

“Follow me, please.”

“Where are we going?”

“Oh, to the yacht, of course,” Frank smiles. There it is, then - that smile that Gerard has been dreaming about. “Ray’s keeping the engine running. We’re ready to sail out.”

He has a yacht - because, of course. Blood drains out of Gerard’s face at the mere thought of stepping onto a ship, but he figures Pierre probably doesn’t suffer from sea sickness. He’s pretty certain he can do this as long as he doesn’t focus too much on the fact that there is a massive body of water surrounding him, then quickly loses that conviction when Frank leads him onto the main deck of a pretty spectacular yacht (Sweet Pea is the name. Adorable). Given that Frank is absolutely loaded, the deck is about as big as the villa’s living room was, and right in the center of it, there is a pool.

And, obviously, right by that pool is a naked man.

Gerard doesn’t know why it still surprises him. Andre is more often naked than he’s dressed, it would seem. Winter must suck for that guy.

“Pierre, how absolutely lovely to see you!” Andre’s voice is oversweet as if he doesn’t actually mean anything about what he’s saying. The feeling is mutual. It’s hard to feel excited when the thing greeting you is not someone’s face but their bare ass instead. “Pardon me, I won’t stand up. You see, the sun is perfect this time of day, and this tan needs looking after.”

“Sure,” Gerard says. “Please, do stay where you are.”

Because honestly, seeing Andre’s ass is enough. He doesn’t need to see his dick (again), too. He’s not aware that his voice sounds strained, but it makes Frank laugh as he deposits Gerard’s bag onto the table.

“Big contract coming up, right, baby?” he smiles fondly. He stares at Andre for a moment like he’s admiring an artwork in a museum, then gazes at Gerard. “He’s managed to score a session with one of the most prestigious photographers in LA. He needs to be perfect for it.”

“I thought you were one of the most prestigious photographers in LA.”

Frank’s smile brightens. God, he’s pretty.

“Far from it.”

“He’s too modest to admit it,” Andre chips in. From the corner of his eye, Gerard can see him turning onto his side. He busies himself with emptying his bag, spreading the samples on the table as Frank comes over to his boyfriend. He doesn’t have to see it - he hears it just fine. The kiss is loud, and Andre’s theatrical moan is even louder. It makes Gerard’s shoulders tense up, even when Andre pulls back and breaks into giggles. “Stop it. We have a guest.”

“You better learn how to behave, then.”

“You like it when I misbehave.”

White marble countertops, pitch black cupboard fronts. Delicate golden drawer handles. Some fabric for the living room couch and wood for the coffee table. Gerard stares at the samples so hard that it gives him a headache, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand covers one of them. He gazes up, and Ray’s face is an open book. Maybe that’s what Gerard can gain from all this madness. If he can’t get in on the relationship and end up having a mindblowing threesome, perhaps he can at least gain a friend.

“We’re ready to sail out,” Ray’s voice is booming. “Is there anything else you need, Frank, or can I get her going?”

Another loud kiss, another moan. Gerard rolls his eyes, and the corner of Ray’s lips twitches when he suppresses a smile.

“No, no, let’s go. Baby needs more sunshine,” Frank says. Gerard sees him straighten up and stretch before he moves over to him. His fingers run over the edge of the table. “These look promising. I’ll get us a bottle of champagne, and then we can discuss them.”

“No champagne for me, thanks.”

“No?” Frank’s eyebrows raise. “No need to be humble. I’ve read up about you, you know? I know you are a connoisseur of sparking wines.”

Yeah, well. Gerard bites his lip before he can go on a rant about alcoholism and being sober for years.

“I enjoy sparking wines when the time is right, and never when I work.”

“Suit yourself,” Frank shrugs, then looks back at Andre. “Hey, kitty cat, you want a glass?”

“Oh, you know me, Daddy. I never say no to drinking.”

Again with the Daddy. Jesus, it wasn’t even funny the first time, and now it’s straight-up giving Gerard second-hand embarrassment. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, with Frank gone to retrieve the champagne and Ray gone to steer the yacht (which is a lot less exciting than Gerard thought, and thank God for that. The possibility of being sick has significantly decreased). He has a strange suspicion that his day plans have just been altered without him fully agreeing to it. It’s still relatively early, but if he knows anything about yachts, it’s that people usually don’t take them out into the sea for just an hour or two. He’s not cool with that. He doesn’t want to spend hours on this thing with Frank and Andre making out right next to him. He, in general, doesn’t want to spend time with Frank and Andre.

Even less when Frank comes back, and it turns out that he lost his shirt somewhere along the way. Gerard tries not to stare - he really does - but he’s apparently not as subtle as he thinks he is because Andre giggles again.

“You like what you see, Pierre?”

“Andre,” Frank’s voice has a hidden warning in it. Gerard blushes, nonetheless, and averts his eyes when Frank hands a champagne glass to his partner.

“What? It could be fun,” Andre says. He stands up and, thankfully, wraps a towel around his hips. It’s a very short towel, but Gerard will count his blessings. “If you can ignore the whole… you know.”

“Andre. Quiet.”

“You’re no fun. I’m gonna go hang out with Ray,” Andre’s voice is inching close to annoyed. Gerard grips the nearest sample of the countertops so hard his knuckles turn white. He feels more than sees Andre strolling over to him and doesn’t manage to stop a flinch when he feels a hand low on his back. He knows what Andre will say even before he says it. “With a body like yours, you can only dream.”

Gerard really fucking hates his guts.

“He gets moody sometimes,” Frank explains just as the door to the captain’s cabin shut after Andre. “Especially if he has a big project coming up.”

“Hormones,” Gerard grits out. He doesn’t know why he’s angry at Frank, too, other than maybe because he exists. “That’s the downside of fucking spoiled teenagers.”

Frank squints. “Watch your mouth.”

“I don’t have to watch my mouth,” Gerard meets his gaze and holds it. “If you’d like, I can ask Ray to take me back to the shore. You can even keep the samples.”

Frank stares at him for a moment like he is actually considering it, then lets his shoulders relax. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Gerard would bet that he isn’t used to losing or not getting what he wants.

“Are these the countertops?”

Gerard sighs. Straight to business, then. Sure. He can work with that.

“These are,” he touches a few of the samples, one after another. “The ones over there are the fronts.”

“Hmm,” Frank’s eyes run over the table. “Andre would like this one, I think.”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“You employ me, not Andre,” Gerard points out. He snatches the sample away from Frank’s hands and hides it behind his back. “If that one wasn’t here, which one would you choose?”

Frank’s fingers touch a sample Gerard would never consider for the house. It’s still black - because everything in that house will either be black or white, kind of boring in his personal opinion - but this one has a pattern. It’s very delicate, barely visible, and Gerard loves it. He put it in with the rest out of spite, really, because that’s what he would choose.

He looks up and finds Frank already looking at him.

“That one.”

“Excellent choice.”

“Very unlike you,” Frank points out. “I have never seen any of your interior designs have patterns like this.”

“I know how to read my customers.”

“Do you, now?” Frank’s eyes narrow. He leans in, sliding his hands over the table until they rest inches away from Gerard’s. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Beauty.

“Arrogance,” Gerard says, and, ignoring Frank’s frown, continues. “A desperate need to fit in even though you know you don’t. An exaggeration of everything that you think people want to see in you, to the point of it being comical. And pathetic.”

Frank’s nostrils flare. “You have some nerve.”

“And you have a human puppy trailing next to your leg who you spoil so he can make you feel something. What’s worse, I wonder?”

“Shut up.”

“Or what?” Gerard cocks his eyebrow. “You’ll fire me? Andre will come over and tell me that I’m fat again? Believe me, Francis, I’ve heard worse before.”

“He didn’t–”

“You choose your samples,” Gerard pushes away from the table with a sign. He’s tired of Frank’s voice and seeing his face, and the last thing he wants to hear is Frank trying to defend his asshole of a boyfriend. “I will also go hang out with Ray now. At least he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not.”

He likes Ray. Ray, now that they know each other and share a pretty big secret, has that calming energy that Gerard desperately needs. He’s glad he doesn’t even have to say anything to Andre - he’s out of the captain’s cabin the second he sees him come in, and when Gerard looks back, he sees him strolling through the deck directly to Frank. Needy little fucker. He drags his eyes away and settles on the chair next to Ray.

His sigh must be loud because Ray smiles immediately.

“They’re a lot, huh?”

“They’re fucking annoying,” Gerard grunts out. It makes Ray laugh. “Seriously, I don’t know how you deal with this on a daily basis. You promised me I’d only have to meet Frank once. This is already the second time, and the more I see him, the more I can’t stand him.”

“Frank’s not that bad.”

“His boyfriend is fucking insufferable.”

To prove his point, Gerard looks through the little window again. Frank and Andre are by the pool now. Frank’s on his back, turning the samples above his head, and Andre is doing things Gerard really doesn’t need to be witnessing. Still, for a few seconds, he can’t turn his gaze away from it. He’s fascinated by the tattoos that Andre is currently uncovering while trying to drag Frank’s shorts down his hips.

Frank puts one of the samples down and buries his hand in the hair on the back of Andre’s head, pushing him lower. Gerard flinches, turning back toward Ray.

“Andre is young,” Ray explains. They both flinch (Gerard for the second time) when the sound of loud, drawled-out moan filters into the cabin, then look at each other and laugh. This is ridiculous. “Very young.”

“Very skilled with his mouth, apparently.”

“I don’t wanna know,” Ray grins. He shakes his head, beckoning Gerard over with a gesture of his hand. He points at the vast ocean spreading in front of them. “I get this, and that’s what I’m here for. Frank’s shenanigans are Frank’s business. Thankfully, I work for him, not that little bastard, and he doesn’t tell me much.”

“Don’t you need to know everything as his… what are you, even? His agent?”

“I like to think I’m a friend first, agent second.”

“Friend, huh?”

“Frank and I go way back,” Ray explains. He frowns as they listen to another series of loud grunts, then reaches over and turns the radio on. Gerard gives him a grateful smile. “We’ve known each other when we were still both living in Jersey.”

“I thought I recognized the accent.”

“Jersey born and raised,” Ray nods. “So is Frank. We only moved to LA about five years ago. Or he moved, and he took me with him.”

“As a friend?” Gerard squints.

“Yes, buddy. Someone’s gotta be straight around here,” Ray gives him a pointed look. Gerard responds with a grin. There is no point pretending, is there? “We went to NYFA together. He did photography, I did film. That’s how we met, actually, but we were always only friends. When his career took off, and mine was still in shambles, he offered that I could be his agent. It was between this and McDonald’s, so.”

“So you went with him.”

Ray shrugs, and Gerard doesn’t question it. He would probably do the same, even though he can’t imagine the disappointment and self-hatred he’d go through if he saw himself fail that spectacularly. Ray seems to have made his peace with it.

“Yeah. He thought it’d be just one contract, maybe two. But then Andre found him.”

“Andre found him?”

“Mhm,” Ray nods.

“But he was only…” Gerard frowns again. Admittedly, he’s terrible at math, but he’s not that bad.

“Eighteen? Yeah, he was. Pretty old for models in LA, to be honest.”

“And Frank was…?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Stop the boat. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Frank didn’t like him at first,” Ray laughs, shaking his head. “He came from a different background, I guess. Always hiding, always repressed. He couldn’t fucking stand Andre when they first worked together.”

“Can’t say I blame him, but then what the fuck is this?” Gerard reaches over, turning the volume of the radio down for a moment. He instantly regrets it, and judging by Ray’s scowl, so does he. A part of him really wants to turn around and see what’s happening down on the deck, but his imagination tells him everything he needs to know. He turns the volume back up. “How did they end up here?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Ray shrugs. “They worked together a few times, and before I knew it, Frank had his dick shoved–”

“Ray. Spare me the details, please.”

“Sorry,” Ray laughs. “I think Frank felt like he owed Andre at first. That boy elevated him to a world-class photographer in under half a year. He was already insanely famous, and he wouldn’t work with anyone else. Straight-up refused unless they gave him Frank.”

“Nice. So he basically tied Frank to himself.”

“Yes and no. Andre was good for him at first,” Ray hums. “He convinced Frank to come out to his dad, which Frank was always terrified of doing. He convinced him to drop everything and pursue his dream of being a photographer. He did him a lot of favors.”

“Including sucking his dick.”

“Clearly,” Ray snorts. “But that’s a side effect of everything they’ve been through together. I must admit, I was surprised when Frank said he’d be bringing Andre here to live with him. I didn’t see that coming.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. He definitely finds Andre attractive, and judging by what I hear sometimes, their sex life is definitely not lacking anything. But I don’t think Frank’s in love with him.”

“If he’s capable of being in love,” Gerard rolls his eyes. He gazes out through the window - at the island in front of them, the palm trees, the tiny deserted beach that’s squeezed between two hills. He suddenly has the urge to go there. Get away from Ray, Frank, Andre, the posh lifestyle, all the pretending.

“He is,” Ray says quietly. “I think I’ll stop us here. Is the coast clear?”

Gerard cringes but looks over his shoulder. Frank is still on his back, looking blissed out. Andre is already in the pool.

“Looks like it.”

“Cool. I’ll let them know we’re stopping,” Ray nods at him. “Feel free to hang in here for as long as you want.”

Gerard nods, but he knows he won’t be accepting that offer. He needs to get off that boat immediately, or he’s going to go insane.

Frank Iero loving someone. Ha. What a joke.

Chapter Text

It’s a very, very stupid idea to jump off a yacht. Gerard is aware of it. He’s just glad that Ray isn’t anywhere near to see him do it because he’s pretty much the only person he cares for on that stupid boat. He couldn’t care less about Andre’s nonchalant comment (“Is he finally drowning himself?”) or Frank’s voice screaming “Gee!”. All he cares about is getting off the yacht and back onto solid ground, at least for an hour or two. They’ve been parked for at least two hours already, and Gerard has run out of places to hide from Andre and Frank. He would have been fine in the captain’s cabin, honestly, but then around three, Ray announced that they were going to have lunch soon, and Gerard just couldn’t stand the thought of eating with those other assholes.

Especially given that Andre is already more than tipsy and, apparently, tipsy Andre means handsy Andre. Gerard has survived hearing one blowjob, but he has absolutely no interest in seeing or hearing more.

Therefore - he does the stupid thing. He gets to the ledge, still in his clothes, looks down at the clear, azure water, and jumps.

The water is cold, and it shocks him immediately. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He gets a mouthful of it for good measure, too, but his muscles remember what to do before his brain can catch up with them. It’s not the easiest thing to swim with his clothes on, but Gerard manages. The island is also a lot further than he anticipated, but he’s determined. It’s already so calming that he feels like crying.

As he submerges, he can’t hear anything other than his heartbeat, and it’s perfect. He isn’t sure if he ever wants to get out of here.

His arms and legs burn by the time he gets to the water that’s shallow enough for him to stand. His thighs are shaking. His shoulders feel like dead weight. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, and his t-shirt, overshirt, and pants cling to his body in all the uncomfortable places. His shoes, when he gets to the beach, expel the excess of water. He looks and feels ridiculous.

He takes a few more steps and collapses in the sand with a wide grin on his face, leaning back on his elbows. The yacht is still relatively close, but he can’t quite discern the words spoken between Frank and Andre, even though he can see their figures still on deck. Peace and quiet at last, he thinks. Perfection.

Then Frank gets close to the ledge, looks down, and jumps.

Fuck.

The splash is loud, and Gerard’s heart does a funny little flip when Frank’s head breaks the water surface a moment later. He’s a better swimmer than Gerard is, and given that he’s still only wearing his shorts, he’s faster, too. Gerard can’t see Andre well enough, but he can interpret the roll of his shoulders and the strut away from the ledge just fine. Frank just pissed him off.

Despite all, it makes Gerard smile wider. At least until Frank actually nears the beach and gets back on his feet, pushing through the water as he walks up to him. Gerard didn’t consider the fact that he’d not only be nearly naked but wet, too. He has to drag his eyes away from the shorts clinging to Frank’s thighs and the darkness of the tattoos beneath his skin.

“You crazy motherfucker,” Frank’s voice is strained and tired. Maybe he didn’t anticipate the distance to the island, either. “What have you done that for?”

Gerard leans fully back, turning his gaze toward the sky. When Frank comes to stand above him, he lets his eyelids fall.

“For fun.”

“We thought you fell.”

“Andre thought I fell,” Gerard corrects him. “Or hoped.”

“I thought you fell,” Frank says. Gerard doesn’t dare open his eyes, but he hears Frank getting down to sit next to him. “That’d be one hell of a story. A famous interior designer dies when falling from a famous photographer’s and famous model’s yacht.”

“Kinda like Natalie Wood.”

“She was pushed.”

“You think so?”

“Mm,” Frank hums. “And I have my guess as to who pushed her.”

Gerard can’t help smiling. “I wouldn’t peg you as a true crime fan.”

“There is a lot you don’t know about me.”

“You’re like an open book.”

“Hardly,” Frank’s voice makes Gerard open his eyes. He’s not looking at him but at the yacht in the distance, and his face is stern. “You aren’t who I imagined, either.”

Gerard scoffs. “Not skinny enough?”

“Not conceited enough.”

“Look who’s talking.”

For a moment, Frank looks like he wants to counter it again. He opens his mouth, but it closes before any sound leaves it. It’s fascinating to watch a man struggle with himself so much, so Gerard rolls onto his side and shields his eyes from the sound, admiring it. Frank doesn’t seem like a guy who’d have issues letting you know exactly what he thinks of you. It’s very satisfying to witness him actually consider what to say next.

And then it’s not satisfying at all anymore because his lips twitch, and he shakes his head like he’s criticizing not Gerard but himself.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says, and wow. Gerard didn’t see this coming, not in a million years.

“Huh?”

“Come on,” Frank points at him as he pushes himself back to his feet. “I wanna show you something.”

Gerard’s shoes still splash as he walks, but at least he is wearing shoes. Frank is barefoot, and Gerard is sincerely concerned for his feet when Frank walks up the beach and in between the trees. It’s hardly a tropical forest, but it is dense, and walking in there with no shoes on sounds like a horrible idea. Not that Gerard is an expert on wildlife, but - snakes. Lizards. Various kinds of insects and arachnids. He shivers at the mere thought of it and speeds up his step to get closer to Frank’s tattooed back moving through the wilderness. Just in case, of course. He had some first-aid training back in elementary school. He’s totally qualified to help in case something bites Frank.

But nothing does. Frank seems to know exactly where he’s going and where he’s putting his feet, and after a few yards - when the ocean is nothing more than the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and the yacht is nothing more than a gleam of the sun reflecting off its windows - Gerard stops paying attention to him and starts paying attention to nature.

He knows Grenada, more or less. He has walked St. George’s streets and has ventured into its more rural parts, but he has never really gone to places like this. Places where, seemingly, no human has ever been before. Gerard knows nothing about trees and plants, but he finds himself surrounded by nothing but green. Just leaves, and trees, and bushes, and a distant chirping of birds. Actual peace and quiet - something he sought before and didn’t find on that narrow, tiny beach.

They stop only when they reach a small lake with a waterfall above. The view is spectacular. It’s none of the other, bigger waterfalls Gerard has previously seen on the island, but it’s its undisturbed nature - no tourists, no official pathways, no railing - that makes Gerard’s jaw drop.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Frank’s voice is quiet. Gerard follows him to the edge of the lake and doesn’t wait for the invitation to sit down. The rocks are just low enough that Frank can dip his feet in the crystal-clear water.

“How do you know about this place?”

“I’ve been here before. It’s my secret hideout,” Frank looks over at him and sends him a smile. It’s the smile. Gerard’s heart skips a beat. “You talked to Ray about me.”

Fuck.

“I like to know who I work w–”

“Stop bullshitting me,” Frank shakes his head. “Not here. Don’t lie to me here.”

Gerard sighs. “Alright. I did talk to Ray about you.”

“You made assumptions about me out there,” Frank points at the dense forest surrounding them. “And you were mostly right. But clearly, you know nothing about my background.”

“I know some.”

“Not enough.”

“Well, did you bring me out here to criticize me?” Gerard holds Frank’s gaze when they look at each other. “Or are you going to tell me something I don’t know?”

“I brought you here because I thought you may understand,” Frank shrugs. He breaks eye contact, focusing back on the waterfall. “I hired you because Andre’s friend recommended you. Jean-Paul, you designed his house in LA a few years back. He said you were a fantastic designer and a total asshole.”

Of course. Gerard winces.

“But you don’t seem like an asshole,” Frank continues. “Not the type I expected, at least.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Gerard mutters. If only Frank knew just how many.

“I’m sure you are,” there is that smile again. “You accused me of being an arrogant dick and then jumped off my yacht. I can’t fucking read you,” Frank grunts. He sounds frustrated for a split second, then goes back to smiling. “So, yeah. When I noticed where we were and when you made it abundantly clear that you wanted to be away from us, I figured I had to show you this place. It’s peaceful.”

“It is,” Gerard agrees. He tries to remember how Andre’s voice sounded when he kept yapping about some fashion show he was supposed to do and how the clattering of plates Ray was preparing annoyed him, and he can’t. The memories are there, but Gerard can’t seem to access them. The only thing he hears is the waterfall and Frank’s words.

“You’re from Jersey,” Frank says after a moment. “Or your mother is, right? You have a strong accent.”

“She is, yeah.”

“And you’re around my age.”

“A few years older,” Gerard nods. “Not many, though. Three or four.”

“Mm,” Frank hums. “I don’t know where your family lived, and I don’t know if you remember how things were back when we were kids. But I don’t come from a wealthy lineage. When I was little, we were poor,” Frank’s shoulders shake when he laughs. It must be mind-blowing to think about after being on his own private yacht merely minutes ago. “Like, actually piss-poor. I remember months when my dad was off work, and it was a case of, do they feed me, or do they pay the bills? It was rough.”

Gerard doesn’t remember that. Sure, his family was never wealthy, but it was never this bad. He has a sudden urge to reach over and take Frank’s hand, which he stifles immediately.

“Sounds horrible.”

“It was, especially after my dad got sick,” Frank sighs. “But that’s not why I’m telling you this. I don’t know where they got the money from, but one year, when I was about six or seven, they told me we would go on vacation. We never went anywhere. I was so little, but I remember how fucking happy I was, you know? And I still thought it would be, like, a weekend in New York or something, but no.”

“Where did you go?” Gerard asks quietly.

“Here. We came here.”

“Grenada?”

“Grenada,” Frank confirms. “We stayed miles away from any major towns, of course. Money. The further away, the cheaper. But I was too young to understand it. To me, it was all magical,” Frank’s smile turns nostalgic. He leans in and runs his hand through the water around his feet. “I remember thinking - when I grow up, I’ll move here with my wife and my kids, and I’ll be a forest ranger.”

“Wife and kids, huh?” Gerard smiles. Frank looks over at him, and he shrugs. “I mean, hey. At least you got the kid part right.”

“I’m gonna ignore that,” Frank squints. He doesn’t seem overly angry about it, surprisingly. Gerard expected him to defend Andre immediately. “I found this place,” he points at the waterfall instead. “A few days in. To me, it was a funny adventure. I didn’t know that my parents believed I was lost.”

“You got lost?”

Frank’s smile turns into a grin. That’s the first - Gerard has never seen him smile that brightly before. There is a playful note to it, a glimmer in his eyes, mischief written all over his face. He leans to the side, closer to him, his shoulder brushing over Gerard’s.

“I followed a monkey.”

Gerard can’t help it - he laughs. Frank joins him, breaking into a fit of giggles.

“You what?”

“I know, I know, but it was a mona monkey. Have you ever seen one? They’re so deranged-looking. We were at that beach right there, just chilling, and I was playing, and I spotted it between the trees. It looked at me like it wanted me to follow, and I remember thinking I could be like Tarzan.”

“Like Tarzan, huh?”

“Seriously!” Frank laughs. He leans back on his elbows, sighing. “God, I was lost for hours. I found this place,” he nods toward the waterfall. “And I liked it so much that I didn’t want to go back. I was sure the monkeys would come and take me at any given moment. I was just waiting.”

“Well, did the monkeys find you?”

“My dad did,” Frank snorts. “He wasn’t happy. He yelled a lot about how I was irresponsible and how I would be the death of my mother.”

“Must’ve been fun.”

“You have no idea,” Frank rolls his eyes. “But the best thing is that the monkey did come as soon as we were supposed to go back. It sat right there,” he points at the top of the waterfall. “Just staring at us. I showed it to my dad, and he was no longer angry at me. He asked me why I followed it.”

“Did you tell him about Tarzan?”

“No. I asked him if he brought the camera from the beach because I wanted to take a photo of it. That was the first time I realized this was what I wanted to do for a living. Photography.”

Gerard snorts. “Must’ve been a really hot monkey.”

“With all due respect to your designing skills - fuck you, man.”

“Just saying. Mona monkeys are a far cry from underage models who suck your dick.”

“He’s twenty-three,” Frank says steadily. “And for your information, this type of photography isn’t my dream, but it pays well. Really fucking well,” Frank nods his head toward where the yacht probably is. “And I like money.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“No, it’s not, but it feels really fucking good to know that my mom’s house has central heating now. Or that she can go shopping and doesn’t have to worry about choosing between bread and painkillers. Or that my father doesn’t cough his lungs out every other moment because he can afford treatment,” Frank shakes his head again and avoids his gaze when Gerard looks at him. “It’s worth sacrificing my dreams. I took the job because of my parents, not because I wanted to own a fucking yacht.”

“But you do, in fact, own a yacht.”

“Yeah, I benefit from it. Andre wanted a yacht, I could afford it, so we own a yacht. I don’t see why I shouldn’t do it if I can.”

“Sure. What do you do for yourself, though?”

“What?”

Gerard sighs. It’s hard to ignore the pattern in Frank’s behavior. It’s a damn good quality to have - wanting to make others happy - but there is one person he’s missing from everything Frank is telling him.

“You took the job for your parents,” he says slowly. “You took Ray with you to LA to help him out. You bought the yacht for Andre, and you’re designing the house for Andre. What do you do for yourself?”

Frank shrugs.

“I came here for myself.”

“Not to ensure your interior designer didn’t drown?” Gerard jokes, but the joke doesn’t land. Frank glances at him with so much intensity that it makes Gerard’s skin crawl.

“No.”

“Okay.”

“And now my interior designer can sit here with me and enjoy the peace for a while, or he can fuck off. Your choice.”

“Or he can go get your boyfriend.”

“No, Gee,” Frank says quietly. “I like Andre, but this is my place. So - are you staying, or are you going?”

Gerard knows what the smart thing to do would be. Everything about this feels wrong, and he’s already sporting a crush so big it’s bound to break his heart sooner rather than later. Frank is looking at him like he wants him to stay, though, and Gerard is nothing if not a sucker for making men happy. Besides, that feels special. This feels like an honor. This is something Frank wants to share with him that he doesn’t want to share with anyone else - not even the man he sleeps with.

Gerard’s heart skips another beat. And then another. And another. Frank’s expression turns uncertain, and the words are out of Gerard’s mouth before he can stop them.

“I’m staying.”

“Good,” Frank says. He lies back on the rock, his feet still in the water, and smiles. “If we’re lucky, we may get kidnapped by monkeys.”

“Sure, Tarzan,” Gerard grins, following him down.

He has to admit - Frank was right. Being here with him is a lot better than being alone on the beach.

Chapter Text

Gerard is lying on his back in the middle of his living room when Mathilda finds him.

He’s not screaming, he’s not crying. At least not anymore. It’s sort of pathetic now that he has a witness to his breakdown standing over him and staring at him, but he can’t help it. Maybe it’s his artistic soul, being too in touch with his emotions, or maybe he’s just stupid. Either way, he’s there - on the ground, staring at the ceiling, and still feeling the burn in the corner of his eyes.

“Tell me,” Mathilda demands. She’s only a few years older than him, in her mid-fifties maybe, but she’s always been sort of a mother figure to him. Gerard can’t lie to her any more than he can to his actual mom. “What happened?”

“The usual,” he says. “I fell in love.”

Mathilda’s face softens. “But you’re crying.”

“Because I fell in love with the wrong person.”

Gerard doesn’t know how it happened. Gradually, for sure, and then all at once, although he can’t pinpoint the moment he realized it. He first felt his heart seize when he and Frank realized they had lost track of time and the sun was already setting when they left Frank’s secret lake. Gerard was shivering at that point, his still-moist clothes giving him chills, and Frank’s entire body was covered in goosebumps. With the sun setting, painting the sky orange and red, the air was cold, and the water was colder. The yacht’s lights were on, and as they gasped and yelped when trying to force themselves to swim back, Ray’s figure was nothing more than a menacing shadow on deck.

He pulled them both out of the water when they finally got there, and Gerard’s teeth were chattering by the time Ray wrapped a towel around his shoulders. Frank’s were, too, but he winked at him before disappearing inside the cabin to change. When he got back, he had Andre hanging from his neck but also a handful of clothes that he pushed against Gerard’s chest, telling him to change.

They were his. Not Andre’s, not Ray’s. Frank’s. They smelled like him and made Gerard look ridiculous when he crawled out of the cabin a few minutes later, the sweatpants too short and the t-shirt too broad in the shoulders.

Andre scoffed. Ray rolled his eyes at him. Frank smiled.

The clothes never got back to him, either. Gerard meant to take them every time he went to the villa, but he always forgot. With the house design officially approved by Frank, there was a crew working throughout the villa now, tearing down walls and carrying out furniture, painting walls, and making noise, and Gerard was always there. He wasn’t needed - there was a manager who had his plans, but Gerard liked being up there. Especially when Andre, three days into the whole villa being a mess, decided that the dust dried out his skin and had Frank drive him to the airport to fly back to LA.

Gerard expected Frank to join him and found himself surprised when, not even two hours later, Frank’s hand pushed a glass of juice over to him on the only still-remaining countertop in the kitchen. Gerard asked him if he had finally abandoned the plan to give him sparkling wines, but Frank didn’t answer. He just shrugged, smiled again, and told Gerard he’d be in the studio if he needed him.

It took everything Gerard had not to follow him there.

The upstairs got finished first, and Gerard - even though it didn’t resemble any of the projects he’d ever done - was exceptionally proud of it. The house was stunning. He forced a few plants inside Frank’s studio and the master bedroom and convinced Frank that the bed needed a splash of color. Frank agreed with him, and Gerard had to send Ray to the store before he took Frank there, just to establish that Nina - a girl he had bought bed sheets from multiple times before - knew to pretend she didn’t know him. It went well, honestly. She did an excellent job, and Frank ended up having turquoise linens.

Gerard, like a proper masochist, helped dress the bed himself. He wasn’t entirely surprised to find out that Andre was coming back that very night, but he sort of forgot about it when he got into a frenzy of backyard work. He lost track of time again, and before he knew it, it was night, and he was the only one left. The view of the bay was lovely, the breeze reaching the pool was warm, and he felt good. He felt really damn good when he sat on the edge of Frank’s pool and looked out at Grenada spreading below with all the city lights and the distant flickering of yachts.

He wanted to show it to Frank. He turned, opened his mouth to call for him, and closed it so hard his teeth rattled.

Ray was the one who eventually dragged him out of the backyard before Gerard’s heart could break any further than it was already broken. The things he saw through the uncovered bedroom windows were forever etched into his brain. The kissing. Frank’s hands dragging a shirt over Andre’s head. His mouth running over Andre’s neck. The expression of bliss on Andre’s face when Frank gripped his hips. The bounce of the mattress when Andre fell back on it, pushed by Frank’s hand.

“Let’s go,” Ray’s voice was quiet. Not pitiful, exactly, but definitely sad. Gerard could relate.

He offered to drive him home, but Gerard refused. He walked back that night, alone, and the breeze didn’t seem warm anymore. He was fucking cold.

He couldn’t look Frank in the eye the next day. And the next, and the next. Even when Andre left again, scoffing at the mess downstairs and absently rubbing the hickey Gerard could see on his neck, Gerard still couldn’t look at Frank without having that scene replay in his mind. Frank didn’t question it. He acted the way he always did, joking that Gerard (Pierre) probably couldn’t wait to go back to Paris and never have to deal with his whims again.

Gerard realized that day that he would have to either move or hide forever. He wanted to tell Ray about it but didn’t. He just went back home in the evening and spent the night staring out the tiny window in his tiny apartment.

He actually left the work to the crew for a few days simply because he couldn’t stand the thought of Frank being so close to him. He found out from Ray that Andre would soon be back permanently - he was wrapping up the details of that important session with the LA photographer, would need to be there for it in a few days, and then he would be back with Frank. He found out from Frank that Andre’s birthday was coming up, and he wanted the house ready in the next two weeks so he could throw a party for him. Gerard assured him over a text that it would be, then threw the phone across the room.

It didn’t break. He wished it had.

He’s three days away from that deadline now, and the house is almost ready. The outside is done, the inside is done. All that’s left is telling Frank about a place Gerard found a few towns over that can print Frank’s photos on canvases big enough to match the interior. He promised him he’d take care of it, and he did, but he doesn’t want to see those photos printed. He doesn’t want to go to the house to supervise where they end up hanging. He doesn’t want to see Andre’s flirty face that seems to be laughing at him.

“That wrong person,” Mathilda says quietly when she sits down next to him. She reaches for his hand to hold it, and he lets her. “Is it that photographer? Ray’s employer?”

“Mm,” Gerard hums. “Frank.”

“Is there no chance–?”

“No. No, there isn’t,” Gerard snorts. “His partner is a walking perfection. Famous, beautiful, young, skinny.”

“You’re getting skinny,” Mathilda points out. She pokes him in the ribs, and her finger hurts more than it used to when she did it to him two months ago. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gerard. You look like a ghost,” she clicks her tongue. “You’re pale, you’ve lost weight, there are bags under your eyes. You don’t eat. Do you sleep?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes isn’t enough,” she sighs. “You need to get up.”

“I don’t need to do shit.”

“Shall I tell Frank that you won’t be joining him for dinner, then?”

Gerard’s mind short-circuits. “What?”

“He’s downstairs. You’re lucky Ray is with him. Otherwise, I would have told him there was no Pierre Couëlle here. What are you doing, Gee?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard shakes his head. “Fuck, I have no idea. And he’s downstairs?”

Mathilda nods. “He’s downstairs. He asked if I could let you know that he’d like to have dinner with you.”

“Jesus,” Gerard whispers. “Can I say no?”

“You can do whatever you want, honey. But do you want to say no?”

He doesn’t. The house is done. Andre’s birthday party is three days away. As far as Gerard knows, this is the last time he will ever have a chance to talk to Frank without anyone interrupting, or maybe the last chance in general. It hurts him as much as he needs it. He won’t cry again over him, but his chest aches when he sits up, giving Mathilda a doubtful look.

“Can you do something for me?” he asks, to which she nods. “Can you tell him that I need a few? I can’t just– look at me. I need to get myself sorted out before I see him.”

“He seems like a smart boy,” Mathilda says. “He’ll know something’s up.”

“Yeah, he will, but as long as he can’t prove it,” Gerard shrugs. “If he’s willing to wait, offer him a drink or something. I need fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, he’ll wait. Don’t do anything that you’ll regret.”

Since he is sort of going through a breakdown, though, the things Gerard does next are definitely regrettable and take a lot longer than fifteen minutes. He doesn’t have an explanation for any of them. The plan is to take a shower and hope that the hot water will make his puffy eyes less obvious, so Gerard doesn’t really know how he ends up in front of a mirror with a razor and a pair of scissors. He experiences a kind of last-chance motivation feeling that he last felt when he tried to cram all the knowledge for a high-school exam into his head over one night. It’s happening tonight - he’s swooping Frank off his feet - or it’s not happening at all.

And it’s not happening. Period. He gets downstairs nearly half an hour later, still scratching the back of his neck where the hair he hastily cut makes his skin itch, he takes one look at Frank - sprawled on the couch next to Mathilda’s desk with a drink in his hand - and he knows he will never stand a chance with this man.

It doesn’t matter how bright Frank’s smile is. It doesn’t matter how fast he stands up to greet him. It doesn’t matter that Ray sends him a meaningful glance.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?”

That doesn’t matter, either. Gerard feels his cheeks warm up and is very grateful that Mathilda isn’t at her desk.

“My stylist’s still in Paris,” he lies through his teeth. Ray, standing behind Frank’s back, rolls his eyes. “So I had to improvise. That bad, huh?”

He looks down at himself. He looked worse in his life. Sure, the haircut has been done in front of a mirror with his own two hands, so he’s sure it’s not even the way it would be if he actually did know Parisian hairstylists, but at least his hair isn’t all tangled up anymore. Yes, his shaven face makes him look younger - baby-like, his mind supplies - but at least he got rid of the grey hair on his chin. And he tried, he really fucking did, with the head-to-toe black outfit. Thank God it’s evening already, or he would boil alive.

“It’s not bad,” Frank shakes his head. He, in turn, looks fucking incredible. The leather jacket will undoubtedly give Gerard a stroke. “You look really pretty.”

Pretty. Gerard’s stomach drops.

“Merci?” he whispers. Frank smiles at him. “Sorry that I made you wait. You surprised me.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was kind of a last-minute decision,” Frank waves him off. “I figured we shouldn’t be doing this at Andre’s party. There will be a lot of people around, so we won’t have a lot of time to talk, and I want to do this properly.”

“This?” Gerard cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Say goodbye to you.”

Jesus. The ache in Gerard’s belly turns into a full-blown stomachache, and his eyes begin to burn again. He knew it was coming - he knew it - but it doesn’t hurt any less to hear Frank say it. He clears his throat, willing the tears away, and forces himself to smile.

“I didn’t know I was coming to Andre’s party.”

“Shh, I have the actual printed invitation for you back in the car,” Frank grins at him. “Pretend you didn’t hear me say it so I can officially invite you at dinner.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Gerard grunts. He doesn’t want to be invited. He doesn’t want to go. “Dinner, though?”

“If you say yes. Please, say yes,” Frank bites his lower lip, squinting.

“Yeah,” Gerard runs a hand through his hair. “Sure. Ray’s coming with us?”

“Oh no, sir, I’m only a chauffeur tonight,” it’s Ray’s turn to smile, and - oh, is he blushing? “I, uh. I met someone.”

For a split moment, Gerard forgets all about his own heartbreak. “Oh my God.”

“Her name is Nina. She works in the linen shop in town,” he explains, more to Frank than Gerard, even though it looks like Frank has already heard that story. He’s still smiling and looking so damn happy for Ray that Gerard can’t help but grin, too. Nina. Fuck yeah, Nina. He knew sending Ray to that store was a fantastic idea. “She asked for my number in case we needed more orders, and we were sort of chatting, and… yeah. We’re going out tonight.”

“My friend, all grown-up,” Frank coos, reaching over to squeeze Ray’s cheek. Ray bats his hand away, but he doesn’t look angry. “Me and Pierre can walk, dude. We’re in the center already.”

“I mean… if that’s fine? You are quite late, Pierre. I was hoping to already be on my way.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Go.”

“I owe you both.”

And just like that, he’s running out. Gerard tries not to blush at Frank yelling after him to use protection, then at the way he gazes back at him. Frank’s eyes are captivating. Always has been, but the more Gerard looks into them, the more he thinks that Frank can see into his soul.

“So,” Frank extends his arm to him. “Pierre Gédéon Couëlle, would you do me a pleasure and join me for dinner tonight?”

Gerard can’t talk for Pierre, but he would love to join Frank for dinner, even if it’s the very last time he ever will.

“Yeah,” he says quietly and lets his hand slide over Frank’s forearm. “Let’s go.”

He expects Frank to take him back to his house, and ends up surprised when, instead, he is led toward the center of the town. The news about him wanting to stay anonymous must’ve spread across the community because people don’t greet him as enthusiastically as they did before, but he still gets some smiles. Very pointed smiles - the corners of lips curling when Frank crowds closer to him, talking excitedly about how beautiful Grenada is. Gerard doesn’t have it in him to pull his hand back. He doesn’t have it in him to move away from Frank, either. He’s warm and looks so happy to be taking a walk down the narrow streets with him. Gerard doesn’t want to take his happiness away.

Being in love sucks.

Even more so when Frank finally chooses a place. It’s a small restaurant, one Gerard has seen but never been to, and it’s directly by the sea. Frank is still smiling when he asks the waitress for a table for two, and still smiling when he leads Gerard to the table by the water with a hand on the small of his back.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” he says. Being the gentleman he is, he waits for Gerard to sit down before he does, too. “Do you hear it?”

Gerard does hear it: the waves crashing softly against the stilts the restaurant is built on, and absolutely no other sound, not even music from the restaurant. Peace and quiet.

“It’s great.”

“I found this place with Andre a few weeks ago,” Frank says, and his eyelids twitch. Gerard thinks his do, too. He bites his tongue before he can say something inappropriate.

“That should be a good thing, no?”

“Should be,” Frank’s smile turns bitter, but it only lasts a second. He hides it well and pushes the menu toward Gerard. “What are you having? Not working anymore, so - sparkling wine?”

Gerard shakes his head. “Orange juice.”

“You’re one stubborn man.”

“Just trust me on this,” since you can’t trust me on anything else. “Orange juice will be just fine.”

Frank doesn’t push. They choose their food - pan-roasted chicken breast for Gerard, stuffed melongene for Frank - and eat in relative silence. Frank tries to keep the small talk going, pointing out the boats, yachts, and ships he sees in the bay or talking about mona monkeys again. Gerard mostly listens, letting himself drown in the sound of Frank’s voice. Even when he tells him about mona monkeys carrying food in cheek pouches, Gerard finds it endearing. Frank has the type of voice that would do great on the radio back in the day if he could eliminate all the times he says, “You know.” 

It makes Gerard smile. Frank asks him what’s funny. Gerard shakes his head and points at Frank’s plate, urging him to continue. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.

He tries to eat slowly to postpone the inevitable, but eventually, it happens. Their plates are empty, and so are their glasses. Frank had requested the check, paid, and batted Gerard’s hands away when he tried to see the price. Gerard’s heart does a little jump in his chest. He’ll have to say goodbye to him now.

“Come take a walk on the beach with me?” Frank asks softly, touching the top of his hand across the table. Gerard catches his gaze, and it’s open and vulnerable, like Frank is afraid he will say no. Gerard forces another smile and jeopardizes himself by asking.

“Thought you wanted to have a goodbye dinner?”

Frank shakes his head. “I wanted to say goodbye to you properly. Dinner was only part of the plan.”

What is Gerard supposed to reply to that? He nods and follows Frank down the narrow steps to the sandy beach surrounding the restaurant. The lights from the building are still bright, but Frank looks determined to get them as far away from it as possible. Gerard wants to ask him what he’s trying to hide from but doesn’t. He just follows until the restaurant is but a tiny flickering light in the distance and they are surrounded by nothing but darkness, sand, and the sound of the water. He joins Frank when he stands at the edge of the sea and has to suppress the desire to wrap an arm around him. With his defenses down and all his wealth stripped away, Frank looks small and lost.

“Frank,” Gerard whispers. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t get a reply. Frank simply shakes his head again and stubbornly stares out at the sea.

“Francis?” Gerard tries again. He bites his lip, sighs, and takes a minuscule step closer to him. Their shoulders are touching. “Frankie?”

“I didn’t want to talk about him tonight,” Frank sighs. Something twists in Gerard’s gut when he doesn’t react in the slightest to the nickname. “I brought you out here to have a good time and invite you to the party. You’re coming, right?”

“Andre’s birthday?”

“Mhm.”

“I doubt he’d want me to be there.”

“I want you there,” Frank shrugs. “We wouldn’t have such a beautiful house if it wasn’t for you. You deserve to be there.”

Christ. Gerard wasn’t going to go. He wasn’t.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Frank nods. He shifts, and it puts him a step in front of Gerard, with his shoulder blade brushing against Gerard’s chest. Gerard wants to wrap his arms around him. He wants to hold him. “He called me today. Said he had a big surprise for me.”

“That’s… sweet?”

“I hate surprises,” Frank laughs. He runs a hand down his face. “God, I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of him proposing to me.”

“Oh.”

The shiver that runs through Gerard’s body must be strong enough for Frank to feel it. He can’t stop himself from taking a step back, either, and Frank definitely notices it. He looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise, but Gerard doesn’t have an answer for him.

Proposing. Marriage. It makes sense that Andre would want this, now that Frank has given him so much and they’re moving in together. It makes sense to make it legal and put a ring on Frank. Gerard would do it himself if he were given a chance. It makes him want to scream, though, and the long-forgotten tears come back, stinging the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to Frank. Congratulate him, probably, but how is he supposed to do that when his heart is breaking in half, and the only real thing he wants to say is - “ please, don’t”?

Gerard doesn’t want to know. Fuck, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Are you going to say yes if he does?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“Surprising, huh?” Frank’s smile isn’t his smile. It lacks its usual brightness. “I really don’t know. I like Andre, and I am almost thirty-nine. It makes sense to get settled, I guess. But… I don’t know. Fuck, Gee, I really don’t know.”

“Maybe that’s not what the surprise is about.”

“Maybe not, but he sounded excited. It’s something big, and that’s the only thing I can think about. Fuck, seriously. Marriage?”

“Marriage,” Gerard mumbles. It hurts even to say the word, and suddenly, he doesn’t have it in him to lie to Frank any more than he already did. A Parisian designer would probably tell Frank to go for it, but Gerard isn’t a Parisian designer. He’s an insignificant Grenada designer. “If you don’t know, you shouldn’t say yes.”

“Probably,” Frank agrees. “Shit, sorry. I really wasn’t going to talk about him tonight.”

“It’s fine.”

It isn’t.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Frankie–”

“Can you do me a favor?” Frank reaches for him, and Gerard goes like a moth to a flame. He takes Frank’s hand and lets himself be pulled closer again until they’re shoulder to shoulder again. His fingers twitch, but Frank doesn’t let go of his hand. He grabs it tighter. “Just be here with me for a few minutes, okay? Everything will be hectic as soon as we leave, and then you’ll be flying back to Paris, and I– ha, I’ll be married, apparently. I just want to exist for a moment.”

“Exist,” Gerard repeats. He squeezes around Frank’s fingers. “I can do existing.”

Now the smile is back, and Gerard smiles back before he knows it. Frank nods and looks away, setting his eyes on the flickering lights on the other side of the bay.

It takes a lot longer than just a few minutes, and Gerard never lets go of Frank’s hand.

Chapter Text

It feels wrong to show up at someone’s birthday party empty-handed, even if Gerard hates the guy. He settles for the safe option - the most expensive wine he can find because he just doesn’t think there is anything else Andre really needs. The kid has everything (and more), and Gerard doesn’t want to make his ego even bigger than it already is. Insufferable little fucker. Gerard can’t stand him so much that it’s nearly nauseating. He’s just grateful that Ray is the one picking him up. He can’t imagine walking into that house and facing Andre all on his own.

The party is in full swing by the time they get there, and even if Gerard wasn’t invited, he’d know about the party happening. It’s bright, and it’s loud. All the glass slide doors (the ones he made sure the crew meticulously installed) are open, and everywhere he looks, he sees people. His stomach ties itself into a knot. He doesn’t like crowds, especially rich crowds. One look at the guests makes him feel small and poor. His fingers close tighter around the bottle of wine he’s holding just as Ray parks in front of the main gate.

Now that he thinks about it, the price of the wine will probably seem insignificant to Andre and Frank. It seemed like a lot to him, but he doesn’t own a yacht. He doesn’t have famous Los Angeles friends. He doesn’t live in a villa.

“You okay?”

“No,” Gerard says slowly. He isn’t entirely sure if he won’t be sick if he speaks too fast. “Jesus. Have I died? Is this hell?”

Ray sighs. “I know. But I’ll be there, and so will Frank. You can always come talk to either of us if things are too much.”

“Frank will be busy,” Gerard rolls his eyes. “But you can absolutely count on me hiding behind your broad shoulders, buddy.”

That makes Ray laugh. He pushes him in the shoulder.

“Get out of here,” he says. “I have one more asshole to pick up from the airport, and then I’ll be with you.”

“You’re not coming in now?”

“I’ll be back in twenty. Promise,” Ray nods. “Go on, Gee. It’s not like you’re here for Andre, are you?”

No, he isn’t. He’s here because he hates himself, and he wants to see Frank. He wants to be around Frank, hear Frank’s voice, and see his smile. He wants to hold his hand again.

“No,” he admits. He sighs. “Well, wish me luck. I’m walking into the lion’s den.”

“He’s a Scorpio.”

“Huh?”

“Frank,” Ray winks. “Scorpio, not Leo.”

“Sure, then this will sting,” Gerard scoffs. He pushes the door open, gets out, and sends Ray one more hopeful look. Ray doesn’t buy it. He leans over to get the door closed and responds with what Gerard thinks is a reassuring smile before he drives off, leaving him alone in the driveway with nothing but a bottle of wine as his shield. He has to bite his tongue to the point of pain before his mind gets the wrong idea. Stress makes him want to drink almost as much as unrequited love does.

One good thing about Hollywood-like parties is that they’re loud. Very, very loud. Gerard walks into the house with his heart in his throat, and no one - not one person - pays attention to him as he does. He could very well be a ghost slithering in through a crack in the window. The immaculate interior is filled with women and men who look like they walked out of a fashion magazine cover a minute ago, and even though he still tried his best, he looks like a churchmouse compared to them. He has a thought that they must think he’s hired help who came over to pour more wine to the people who actually matter. It makes him feel sick.

A part of him thinks that he could probably escape upstairs, and no one would bat an eye. He could lock himself in Frank’s bedroom and watch the party through his huge windows. Frank could notice him looking and climb up to meet him there. He could look at him the same way he did at the beach three days ago, and Gerard could hold his gaze instead of averting his eyes like he did then. Frank could smile and push him back onto his turquoise sheets. They could show the entire world–

“Pierre!”

Right. They can’t do any of those things because Andre exists. It’s Andre’s birthday party. Gerard is here, suffering through this hell, because Andre is turning twenty-four.

He does his best to smile when he sees Andre’s lithe body pushing through the crowd. He does it with grace Gerard wouldn’t possess even if he tried to learn, and the fluidity of his moves is so precise that it makes Gerard’s head spin. He looks fucking good - of course. Gerard can’t quite describe what it is that he’s wearing, but it’s black and see-through, and exposes more than it covers. There is makeup on his face, making his lips appear fuller and his eyes darker, and honestly, if Gerard didn’t hate his guts, he would gasp at how stunning Andre is. He still cringes when Andre gets to him and leans in, his lips pressing softly to his left and then his right cheek.

“Pierre, honey, it’s so good to see you!” Andre purrs. He pulls back with his hands still on Gerard’s shoulders and greets him with a closed-lipped smile. Vicious lying asshole. “I thought you weren’t coming, but my God, you stand out like a sore thumb here, don’t you? It’s a fascinating shirt,” Andre’s nimble fingers run over the buttons of Gerard’s shirt. “Simply fascinating. You must tell me where you got it. A friend of mine will be having an antique-themed shoot in a few weeks. He could really use something like this.”

Gerard grits his teeth so hard it’s downright painful. He holds Andre’s confident gaze for as long as he can, trying to explain to himself that he is older, he is more mature, and he shouldn’t let a kid throw him off balance. Andre’s eyebrows raise when he takes in the rest of him, and Gerard breaks eye contact so fast it makes him dizzy.

“Hi, Andre,” he says. His voice is way too quiet. Too small. He thrusts the bottle into Andre’s hands. “Happy birthday.”

“Aww, thank you! Let’s see here,” he turns the bottle in his hands, trying to read the label. “Chateau Margaux. Mm. Bordeaux. France.”

“Indeed.”

“Aren’t you cute?” Andre coos. Fuck, he’s annoying. “We won’t be forgetting you anytime soon, don’t you worry. You didn’t have to bring French wine.”

“I–”

“Gee, hey!”

This is worse. This is so much worse. Gerard’s already high anxiety skyrockets and his smile is more of a grimace when Frank appears next to Andre. He looks stunning, his smile is bright, and he seems happy. Gerard wonders if the proposal has already happened, but he doesn’t dare take a closer look at Frank’s fingers. He wouldn’t survive seeing a new ring there.

“Hi, Frank.”

“Thought I saw you guys talking,” Frank looks between Andre and Gerard. “Everything alright?”

“Totally alright, Daddy,” Andre smiles. He looks over at Gerard and hands him back the wine. “Hold it for me a moment, would you?”

Gerard does. He clutches the bottle so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t break, just as Andre’s hands come to rest on Frank - one on his chest, the other under his chin. He tilts his head and kisses him hard, moaning as their lips meet. Gerard’s knees wobble. He watches hopelessly how Frank goes from being surprised to reciprocating the kiss, albeit a little hesitantly, wrapping an arm around Andre’s waist. Despite being painfully aware that Andre is just trying to get on his nerves, Gerard can’t help feeling faint. No one should kiss like that in public. No one.

“Baby,” Frank mumbles when he pushes Andre gently away. “Maybe we shouldn’t–”

“Oh,” Andre has the audacity to gasp. He glances at Gerard. “Oops! I’m so sorry, how rude of me. He is just so irresistible,” his fingers rub Frank’s jawline, then travel up to his lips. Gerard can feel his nose twitching in contempt when Andre runs his thumb over the bottom one. “It’s so hard to resist kissing a man when you know exactly what he’ll do to you in the bedroom later, right, Pierre?”

“Andre,” Frank sighs. He turns his head away when Andre tries to go for another kiss. It makes the little asshole pout. Good. “Camila was looking for you.”

“Oh, Camila has priority,” Andre gasps. It’s all so theatrical that Gerard sort of feels like he’s watching a poorly written comedy. “Sorry, Frankie, you know that she works with Richard. I desperately need to find her.”

Whoever Camila is, Gerard owes her a drink. He lets out the air he wasn’t aware he was holding as soon as Andre disappears in the crowd - not without leaving another hard, messy kiss on Frank’s lips, though - and realizes a second too late that he’s still holding the wine bottle. Of course. He has no idea why Andre would remember to take it with him. It’s not like he cares what Gerard brought him.

“Sorry for that,” Frank says quietly. He looks down and gently eases the bottle from Gerard’s hands. “He’s excited tonight. It cancels out all the filters he normally has.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you alright?” Frank tilts his head. “You’re pale.”

No, Gerard isn’t alright, not in the slightest. He wants to have a drink, he wants to throw up, he wants to drown himself in Frank’s expensive pool. He wants to leave so he doesn’t have to look at the public displays of affection between him and his partner, who will most likely become his fiancee by the time the night ends. He regrets ever agreeing to help Ray, he regrets taking the job, he even goes as far as to regret moving to Grenada in the first place.

“I’m fine.”

“You want a drink?” Frank offers. He cranes his neck to look over people’s heads at where the bar has been set up in the kitchen. When Gerard follows his gaze, his attention falls on the photographs hanging from Frank’s walls. Andre. Andre. More Andre. He looks down, focusing on the tips of his shoes. Frank nudges him on the shoulder. “Come on. I have orange juice.”

“You should go back to your guests,” Gerard waves his hand. “I’ll manage by myself.”

“They’re not my guests. They’re Andre’s,” Frank shrugs. “There is no one in this house who’s here for me. They won’t mind.”

I’m here for you, Gerard thinks. He rolls his eyes at how fucking dumb he is but follows Frank further inside the house, nonetheless. He looks good tonight - he always does, but he’s outdone himself this time, and Gerard can’t tear his eyes away from how the shirt clings to his back. He wonders if Frank will let it slide down onto the floor when he takes Andre to the bedroom later or if Andre will rip it off of him. He wonders how long it would take to undo the belt he sees curling around Frank’s hips.

He wonders how his skin would taste. How he’d smell. How warm he’d be.

“Orange juice, yeah?” Frank asks when they get to the bar. Whoever the bartender is supposed to be, they’re not there, so Frank gets behind the counter himself. Gerard nods and receives a smile in return. “Awesome.”

Gerard tries not to think about how Frank places his bottle of wine in the very center of the alcohol display on the wall. He makes sure the label faces the living room before he goes onto pouring him a glass of juice. He looks around, squinting, and winks at Gerard a moment later.

“What?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he smiles. Gerard hears a quiet hiss somewhere under the counter, and when he leans over, there is a can in Frank’s hand.

“Beer?”

“Not very high-class,” Frank shrugs. “But I like it.”

“You could pour it into a glass and pretend it’s apple juice.”

“I could,” Frank nods. “But I can also drink it somewhere no one sees me. Come on, I’m getting you out of here. You look overwhelmed.”

That he is, and although it’s not the brightest idea to go anywhere with Frank, Gerard doesn’t see other options for himself. Frank hugs the can close to his chest, covering it with both hands and winking at Gerard again, then storms from behind the counter like his life depends on it. Gerard has to run to catch up with him, crashing into multiple people who are definitely unhappy that someone dared to nudge them. He throws apologies over his shoulder, both in English and in French, desperately trying not to lose Frank in the crowd.

He catches up with him outside. There are people next to the pool - more models in expensive-looking clothes, more models in swimwear, more naked models - and Gerard wonders if that’s Frank’s idea of escaping.

“Not here,” Frank whispers to him. There is mischief in his eyes. “Remember that little gate you installed for me at the back of the garden?”

Gerard’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s go there.”

The gate is a secret. As far as Gerard knows, even Ray is unaware of its existence. Gerard put it in there himself, without the help of the renovating crew, and only told Frank about it because it was Frank’s house, after all. It leads to the side of the hill. Gerard found a few massive rocks there at some point, and they reminded him of Frank’s secret hideout in the forest. He told him then that it could be his runaway place if he ever needed one close to home. He just didn’t imagine he’d be the one running away there.

The sounds of the party are still audible, but they’re more muffled by all the palm trees growing around them. Frank is careful, stepping over the rocks slowly in the darkness, but they manage not to fall to their deaths. For the first time since he showed up, Gerard feels like he can breathe.

Frank takes his hand between his. Gerard doesn’t try to stop him.

“When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says quietly. Frank’s hands are still as warm as he remembers. “Maybe never.”

“Grenada has its charm, huh?”

“It does,” Gerard nods. He can’t force himself to look away from Frank’s face. “I could stay. Change my name so no one knows it’s me. Be a designer here.”

“Change your name?” Frank laughs. “Now that I need to hear. What would you go with?”

Gerard takes a prolonged, deep breath. “Gerard.”

“Gerard.”

It sounds so good in Frank’s voice that Gerard nearly whimpers and finally looks away. He should not be doing this. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it. He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be holding Frank’s hand at his partner’s birthday party, he shouldn’t want to kiss him. He tries to pull back, but Frank’s hold on his wrist tightens.

“Frank–”

“Gee,” Frank says. It sounds breathy, and Gerard can see him leaning in from the corner of his eye. He can feel it, too, the increasing pressure against his side. His mind starts screaming at him - taken, he’s taken, he’s taken - but he turns to face Frank, nonetheless, and finds Frank looking at his mouth. “Gee.”

Gerard’s stomach leaps. He lets Frank pull him an inch closer and lets himself be led. His eyes close. The next time Frank exhales, he feels the warmth of it on his lips.

“Frankie! Frankie, where are you?!”

Frank jumps. He pulls back roughly, and his eyes are enormous and scared when Gerard looks at him. He drops Gerard’s hand like he’s been burned.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I– Fuck. I need to go.”

“Frank, no, you don’t,” Gerard says. He’s fully aware of the fact that he’s begging, but he doesn’t care. He saw it, and he felt it. He had it. He had him. For a split second, he had Frank wanting the same thing Gerard had been praying for. “He doesn’t know we’re here, he–”

“Frankie!”

“I’m sorry,” Frank whispers. He looks absolutely terrified. “I– Be careful getting back. I’m so sorry.”

He springs back to his feet, and the look in his eyes hurts Gerard more than Andre’s words ever could. He gets up, too, ready to do… he doesn’t know what. Grab Frank’s shoulders, stop him from leaving, actually kiss him like he knows Frank wants him to. Scream at Andre to leave them alone, maybe, or grab Frank’s hand and pull him away from here forever. Run away with him. Steal him. Wipe away the look of utter regret from his face with his lips.

“Ah, here you are,” Andre chirps. When Gerard looks up, he finds Andre leaning against the gate with an oversweet smile. He extends a hand, and Frank avoids Gerard’s gaze when he goes up to him and takes it. “It’s time for your surprise, honey. Pierre, you must come, too. It won’t be the same without you there.”

At this point, Gerard is so numb that all he can do is nod.

“Splendid!” Andre breaks into a wide grin. “Come on, then. We’re opening the champagne for it.”

Gerard follows them like a shadow. His head is spinning. He has to fight the urge to touch his lips all the fucking time. It was there. They didn’t kiss, but Gerard knows that they would have if they had a minute more. A second more. He feels jittery and he feels unstable. He wants Frank to look over his shoulder at him, show him something - anything - but Frank doesn’t. He has his arm around his boyfriend, and they are walking into their shared house that Gerard designed for them, and they will be engaged in the next five minutes.

Frank almost kissed him, and he will be engaged to someone else. Frank wants him, and he will marry someone who isn’t Gerard.

Gerard wasn’t even aware that a heart could break this severely. It was supposed to be a crush. He wasn’t supposed to fall for him. He wasn’t supposed to love him.

“Everyone!” Andre yells as soon as they walk inside. His voice makes Gerard’s skin crawl. “Hey, babies! Can I have your attention, please?”

Babies. Gerard wants to leave. He wants to go. Andre climbs on top of a very expensive coffee table that Gerard chose for the house. Someone hands him a glass of champagne. Someone turns the music down, a few people laugh. Andre’s face is a definition of happiness.

“First of all, let me say - holy fuck, what a party, huh?” Andre grins. The people gathered around him cheer loudly, and the attention seems to spur him on. He does a little dance on top of that table, all hips and sultry looks. Like a slut. “I hope you’re all having fun, getting drunk and fucking in the corners.”

“Your bedroom’s closed!” Someone yells. “We tried!”

Andre bats his eyelashes, bites his lip, and giggles.

“The bedroom is where Frankie fucks me,” he says. Gerard gags audibly, but no one seems to notice. “But you are welcome to fuck everywhere else. Before you do, though, I have some big news I wanted you all to hear about. Exciting news.”

“You’re pregnant?” Someone else yells.

“No. Not for the lack of trying, though,” Andre pouts, then laughs. “No, we have a very special guest here today whom I would like to properly introduce to those of you who don’t know him. Some of you do, though, so be sure to give the warmest of welcomes to your old friend.”

His eyes find Gerard in the crowd and stay on him.

Gerard’s body goes cold.

His stomach drops.

“No,” he whispers. His hands start shaking. “No.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, right there, hiding in the corner, pretending to be shy. A person who helped shape our house into what it is now. A world-class interior designer, Pierre Couëlle.”

Gerard stops breathing.

Everyone’s heads turn toward him. Someone starts clapping but doesn’t go further than three claps before someone else stops them. Gerard feels the blood draining from his face.

“That’s not Pierre Couëlle.”

He reels back until his back hits the nearest wall. He doesn’t think he can stand anymore. At any moment, he will fall to his knees.

“What?”

“That’s not Pierre Couëlle,” a voice repeats. Gerard locates the guy after a moment. He’s standing close to Andre with his arms crossed on his chest and is staring straight at Gerard with a smile that shouldn’t be there. He looks like a predator. Andre’s face matches his. “Hi, everyone. Jean-Paul, Andre’s friend. Pierre designed my house in Los Angeles three years ago, and we worked closely together for weeks. This isn’t Pierre.”

The room falls quiet. Gerard’s blood is pounding in his ears, and he feels weak. He thinks he’s going to pass out.

“Oops,” Andre giggles. “Surprise.”

The crowd parts when someone pushes through it, and now Gerard has to close his eyes. He can’t look at him. Frank’s face is shocked, and before Gerard shuts his eyes, he notices his hands curled tightly around his can of beer. He doesn’t seem to care much about people seeing him with it anymore.

“What are they talking about?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but with the absolute silence in the living room, it sounds like a scream. “Gee? What are they talking about?”

Gerard opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks up at Frank and shakes his hand, his hands flailing helplessly in front of his body.

“His name is Gerard Way,” Andre says from somewhere miles away. “He’s a poor, local designer and a disgusting gross liar, but - honestly - I don’t know why we’d expect anything more from someone who looks like this.”

“No, that’s–” Frank takes a deep breath. “That’s not true. Pierre, it isn’t, is it? Gee?”

“I–” Gerard can’t do this. He can’t lie. He averts his gaze, swallows, and tries to will the nausea away. It doesn’t go anywhere, the bile rising in his throat. He can feel it. He’s going to go into a panic attack. He needs to leave.

“Gee,” Frank says once more and this time, he sounds different. Not surprised anymore, or shocked, or disbelieving. Now he sounds devastated.

Gerard meets his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

And then he does the only thing he can - he runs.

The sound of laughter still rings in his ears when he escapes Frank’s house.

Chapter Text

“Gerard!”

“Go away.”

“Gerard, open the door!”

Gerard turns onto his other side and presses one of the cushions over his head. Every time a knock on the door comes, it feels like his entire body jolts with it. He just wants it to go away. He has a headache, and his stomach feels like he’s swallowed a handful of rocks. He wants to be alone.

Silence falls for a few minutes, so sudden that it makes Gerard push the cushion away. He doesn’t trust it, and rightfully so. He hears steps in the hallway next - two people this time, not one - and then his lock rattles when a key is inserted into it. He groans and falls back against the sofa again when Mathilda opens the door.

He knew he should’ve changed the locks.

“Thank you,” Ray says quietly. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Make sure he eats something.”

“I will, ma’am. Thank you.”

The door shuts again. Gerard hides his face under a blanket and doesn’t come out even when he feels a hand on his back. Ray doesn’t press and doesn’t try to turn him around.

“What do you have in your fridge?”

“Nothing,” Gerard grumbles. “Coke. Water. That’s it.”

“Alright. Coke or water, then?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Gerard. Coke or water?”

Gerard shuts his eyes. His headache is getting worse. It’s like someone’s behind his eyes, stabbing him repeatedly in the eyeballs with thousands of tiny needles. He hasn’t slept in so long that he can’t even be surprised.

“Coke.”

“Coke it is. Sit up.”

Gerard sits up. He hears Ray rummage through his kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers - checking for food, for sure, since Mathilda asked him to - and Gerard doesn’t tell him that the search won’t yield any results. There is no food in his apartment. When the hunger becomes too hard to ignore, he gets a pack of chips from a vending machine at the end of the hallway outside. He hasn’t had a solid meal in… six days now.

It’s been six days since the party. It’s been six days since he last saw Frank. It’s been five since Ray texted him that Frank left, and Ray didn’t know if he would be coming back.

Gerard doesn’t expect him to come back. A part of him is relieved - he stopped packing when he heard the news and hasn’t resumed the process since. At least he doesn’t have to run back to the States and beg his parents to take him in after so royally screwing things up for himself. He wonders if they saw the news. He wonders if his brother did. He wonders if Frank did.

He didn’t make front pages, but the story is there when he Googles his name. It’s mainly circulating in private circles on social media - he’s seen only one niche Los Angeles magazine pick it up - and thankfully, there are no comments from the actual Pierre Couëlle. Gerard doesn’t want to get sued, although it does have an appeal. Maybe if he went to prison for impersonating a famous interior designer, someone would finally kill him.

“Stop it,” Ray kicks his foot when he comes back. He hands him a can of Coke, which is already opened. He chose water for himself.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re brooding,” Ray rolls his eyes. “Stop brooding.”

“Ha,” Gerard laughs without any humor. “Easy to say.”

“The entire situation is messed up,” Ray agrees after a moment. “I actually came here to apologize.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Ray sighs. He sits down next to him, placing a hand on Gerard’s knee. He squeezes. “I got you into it, and I’m sorry. I never wanted it to end like this.”

“Well, I agreed to it, so it’s equally as much on me as it is on you,” Gerard shrugs. “Shit happens.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“It wasn’t exactly my plan to fall in love,” Gerard says. He’s done denying it, at least in front of Ray and Mathilda. If anyone else asks, he’ll tell them a bunch of lies - God knows he’s an expert in that now - but Ray is his friend. Gerard doesn’t want to hide his feelings for Frank. He doesn’t want them to be yet another secret, even if it doesn’t matter anymore if they are or not. “Sorry. You must not want to hear about it. Is your job safe?”

“He was disappointed,” Ray shrugs. “But he didn’t fire me, so I guess that’s it. He’s just hurt.”

“He’ll get over it soon.”

“Alright, I’ll be honest with you,” Ray sighs. “I actually came over because I need you to come with me.”

“No,” Gerard says immediately. He pulls one of the cushions onto his lap, then hugs it to his chest. “No. I am not leaving this place.”

“Can you trust me?” Ray sighs. He’s fully aware that Gerard, most likely, should not trust him again. Regardless of what Gerard says, Ray is partially correct. It is his fault. It was his idea, and, sure, Gerard did agree to play along, but Ray was the one who got him into this mess. The fact that Gerard is a laughing stock amongst half of the Los Angeles elite is on him. The fact that Gerard lost the minimal chances he had with a guy he fell in love with is on him.

“I don’t know,” Gerard says. “Can I?”

“One last time. Please. I am trying to mend things. Besides, you look fucking horrible. God, when was the last time you showered?”

“Six days ago,” Gerard deadpans.

“Jesus, Gee.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“Well, I do,” Ray takes a sip from his water glass, then puts it loudly down on the table. “Seriously, man. You’re gonna thank me. Give me that,” he wrestles the cushion and the Coke can from Gerard’s hands. “Shower. Now. And then we’re leaving.”

“Ray–”

“Go take a fucking shower.”

Gerard doesn’t want to take a shower, but Ray’s physical appearance hasn’t changed much. He looks exhausted, but he could still easily kick Gerard’s ass, and Gerard is not risking having bruises on top of everything else he has going on. He drags himself up from the sofa, waits for his head to stop spinning - not enough food, his brain supplies, but he pushes it away - and then shuffles toward the bathroom like he’s walking to the gallows.

He has to give it to Ray that hot water does help a little. It’s pleasant, and he feels a little more like a human being after he’s washed his hair. A heartbroken human being, but it’s better than feeling like a zombie. He even goes as far as brushing his teeth, but he fully intends to put on the same pair of pajamas he’s had on for the past week. He doesn’t give a shit what Ray thinks of it and where he wants to go. If he wants Gerard to leave his apartment, he will have to deal with sweatpants.

Or not.

“Ray!”

“Put the shorts on!” Ray screams from outside the bathroom door. Gerard’s pajamas are gone from where he left them on the floor, and the only clothes he can find are swimming shorts and a t-shirt. Gerard doesn’t recognize the shorts. He doesn’t think he even owns a pair.

He drags them up his thighs anyway and yanks the door open.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You look lovely,” Ray grins at him. Gerard sends him a skeptical look, then gazes down at his body. He’s wearing pink fucking shorts, for God’s sake.

“What the fuck,” Gerard says slowly. “Are you doing?”

“Shoes,” Ray ignores him completely, throwing a pair of sneakers on the floor right before Gerard. “Put them on. We’re going.”

“Ray, if you don’t tell me what’s going on–”

“I will soon, I promise. Just– come on.”

Gerard expected to be led either into town or to Frank’s house. He did not, in his wildest dreams, expect to be led to the harbor and then to the yacht. He keeps asking Ray what his deal is, but Ray just waves him off and continues walking, not giving him any answers. All he says is that Frank isn’t on the yacht after Gerard straight-up refuses to get on that fucking boat, and, okay. Maybe it’s not the worst idea to get away for a while. Gerard does request to check three times if the yacht really is empty, and when he makes damn sure there is no one there but Ray, he reluctantly agrees to sail out.

The ocean is peaceful. It’s quiet, and it doesn’t judge. Ray takes his phone away as soon as he sees Gerard Googling his name again and promises to give it back to him eventually. Eventually is a very broad term, but Gerard is forced to accept it and just focus on the water and the island. He’s fucking uncomfortable in the pink shorts, and he still feels weak (even after the protein bars Ray made him eat and half the bottle of water he made him drink), but his head is clearer. His eyes are heavy from all the crying he did over the past few days, but the breeze makes them feel better.

He likes the yacht. He’s going to miss the fucking yacht.

“Okay, buddy,” Ray says after what feels like hours. Gerard noticed that they were slowing down a few minutes ago. They are stopped entirely now, and something heavy and unpleasant settles low in his stomach. “We’re here.”

“Why?” Gerard manages to croak out. He would like to take everything back. He doesn’t like the yacht, and he wants to be back home. “What is this supposed to be, a cruel joke?”

“No,” Ray shakes his head. “This is me fixing things for the both of us.”

A grimace of pain crosses Gerard’s face. Another headache, another nausea. He lets Ray drag him out onto the deck but turns his head away when Ray points at the beach they can see. Gerard knows it. He’s been there before.

“Take me home,” he asks. He sounds fucking pathetic. “Please, Ray, just– I don’t want to do this, seriously.”

“I need you to swim over there and go to the lake.”

“No.”

“Gee, he wants to see you.”

Jesus. Gerard hides his face in his hands and tells himself to breathe. He doesn’t have to do this. No one, not even Ray with his muscles, can force him to do this. He feels played and betrayed, but he can’t really be angry at Ray for that. He played and betrayed Frank, too, after all. It’s only fair that he would get the same in return, but he can’t stand the thought of seeing him again. He’s already in pain. He’s already suffering. Seeing Frank’s disappointment and hearing his accusations and his anger will only make things worse.

But he owes him that much. He knows he does.

“I thought you were on my side,” he tells Ray when he moves to the edge of the deck. The water looks deeper than it did last time, and now Gerard knows how far the island really is. He knows how exhausting the swim is, and he isn’t sure if he has enough strength.

“I am,” Ray shrugs. “Just go.”

Gerard hates him. He hates this, too, but at least that explains the shorts. With a strange feeling of pettiness, he yanks his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the deck. If Frank wants to talk to him, he may as well talk to the real Gerard this time. No more masks, no more pretending. If he has to see disgust make its way to Frank’s face upon seeing his body, maybe that’ll at least help him get over him sooner.

He jumps down. The water is colder than he remembers it being. He shivers, and his muscles feel too heavy to move. When he starts swimming, he actually wonders if he will drown this time, and wouldn’t that be the best version of the happy ending for Andre?

But he doesn’t drown. He makes it to the beach relatively unharmed, even though he’s exhausted. The gravity is too much, and when he looks over his shoulder, he wonders what he’d do if Ray sailed away. The beach is on the other side of the island, after all, and Gerard knows the only way to get to it is to sail. Could it be an elaborate plan to get rid of him? Christ. He doesn’t even have his cellphone.

He walks in between the trees because he doesn’t see any other option, and the closer to the lake and the waterfall he is, the harder his heart is pounding. He has no idea what he’ll do if Frank isn’t there. He has no idea what he’ll do if he is. He said everything he had to say to Frank already when he told him he was sorry. There isn’t anything else because how is he supposed to explain all this? Sorry that I pretended to be someone I’m not, I just wanted three hundred thousand? Sorry that I didn’t tell you before, but I thought I could win you over with a lie?

Nothing - absolutely nothing - could have prepared him for the moment he sees him, though. Nothing. A part of him really hoped Frank wouldn’t be there, but he is. He’s sitting in the same spot as the last time they were here, he’s hugging his knees to his chest, and although it’s clear he heard him, he doesn’t turn around.

Gerard’s heart stops completely.

God.

He is pathetically in love with him.

“Why here?”

Frank flinches at the sound of his voice. His shoulders drop, then lift when he shrugs. He keeps his eyes trained on the water of the waterfall when Gerard comes closer.

“It’s the only place where you’ve never lied to me.”

Gerard sits down next to him. He keeps his distance and follows Frank’s lead, staring at the water. His throat feels tight, and his eyes burn. He has never felt more guilty in his entire fucking life.

“Where did you go?” he finds himself asking after Frank doesn’t say anything else. He gets a sideways glance, Frank’s face unreadable. “Ray said you left.”

“I went to LA.”

“Right.”

“I followed my partner,” Frank adds after a moment, and damn, he really is a Scorpio. When he wants to sting, he knows exactly how to do it. Gerard refrains from being angry about it. He refrains from telling Frank how his partner acted like a total asshole exposing him like this in the crowd. He refrains from telling Frank how he made them both hurt a lot more than they needed to.

“Ray also said that he wasn’t sure if you’d be back.”

“Well, I am,” Frank snorts. “Yay.”

“And your… partner?”

“He’s in LA. And he’ll be staying in LA.”

Gerard closes his eyes. He thought he had his goodbye before, and it was a much better one than the one he’s getting now. Seeing Frank sit there, so vulnerable and broken, makes him want to scream.

“Will you be joining–?”

“I’m here now,” Frank interrupts him. He gives him a look that makes Gerard’s chest hurt with how intense it is. “And I want you to tell me the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Everything. Ray explained the situation to me, but I want to hear it from you.”

This is punishment, then. Fair. Gerard deserves it. The humiliation he’ll have to go through is how Frank will get back at him.

“Well, then you know the basics,” he shrugs. His shoes are wet again - he’s fucking stupid, is what he is - so he dips his feet in the lake without taking them off. “He offered me a lot of money to pretend to be Pierre. I accepted.”

“And you just fucking ran with it,” Frank shakes his head. “Just like that?”

“It was funny at first,” Gerard says, immediately wincing when he sees Frank curl in on himself even more than he did before. God, he didn’t think that it would hurt him, too. “I mean, it was like playing a game. How French can I be? Ray promised me I’d only see you once, so I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that it wouldn’t harm anyone since it was only once.”

“But it wasn’t only once.”

“No,” Gerard sighs. “You took me here, and I realized it got further than I had ever anticipated, but it was too late to stop it.”

“It was never too late to stop it,” Frank mutters. “As long as it was you stopping it, not my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You just needed to come to me and tell me the truth. But, shit, maybe you’re not capable of being honest.”

“Frank, it’s still me,” Gerard says quietly. “Don’t say that. You know me.”

“I have no fucking idea who you are.”

Gerard swallows. “I’m Gerard.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a stranger to me,” Frank shrugs. “I don’t know who Gerard is. I knew who Pierre was - the guy who sat here and understood my story about stupid monkeys. The guy who held my hand on the beach at night. The guy I was going to–” he stops abruptly, but Gerard hears the words nonetheless. The guy I was going to kiss.

“It was never Pierre. It was always me.”

“Do you have any idea how much it messes with my head?” Frank asks, and this time, he does look at him. He’s not crying - Gerard doesn’t know why he expected him to - but he seems tired. He looks worse than Gerard did when he looked in the mirror this morning. “You let me… Fuck, Gerard, you let all this happen after accusing me of pretending to fit in.”

“I know. I told you I was sorry. There is literally nothing else I can do but say I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I really am sorry.”

Frank’s hands fly up to his head. His fingers sink in his short hair and he pulls, groaning. His eyes are shut, and Gerard can almost see the pain coming off of him in waves. It feels like a punch to his stomach.

“Don’t lie to me,” he whispers. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Fuck, can you all just stop fucking lying to me for once?!”

Gerard opens his mouth to apologize again, but the realization of what Frank said stops him.

“You all?”

Frank doesn’t reply. He stands up, though, and when Gerard follows him, he pushes a phone into his chest. He looks furious now, and the shove hurts, but Gerard doesn’t dare to move away from it. The phone, when he gazes down, is unlocked, and when his hand curls around it, Frank opens the texts for him.

“Fuck you,” he spits out. It sounds vicious. “Fuck the both of you.”

And then he’s gone, stumbling through the forest back toward the beach, and Gerard doesn’t have a clue what he’s supposed to be doing. He tries to keep up with him because he doesn’t want to leave him alone - Frank doesn’t look stable enough to be alone, and God knows that Gerard is the last person who could help him in this situation, but still - but he also tries to read what Frank was trying to show him.

There are a lot of words there, but he’s running too fast to read them properly. He sees a name a few times - Richard - and Frank begging Andre to explain. He sees a lot of swear words exchanged between them. He sees a few pictures that tell a better story than words ever could. He’d seen Andre naked before, but he had never seen him in bed with someone. Not like this - fully on display, flaunting it like it’s something to be proud of. He also saw enough of Frank to know that the man Andre was with wasn’t him.

It makes him fucking sick.

Frank gets to the beach just fine but trips the second his feet touch the sand. Gerard stops like he’s walked into a wall when Frank falls to his knees with a muffled yelp, then feels chills running down his spine when the sound gets replaced with a rage-filled scream. Frank’s fist hits the sand - once, twice, three times, then stays buried in it when his strength leaves him.

Gerard approaches him like he’s a wild animal. He’s scared to touch him, but Frank doesn’t hit him when he touches his back.

“There’s a boat there,” he says in a quiet voice. “A canoe, I used it to get here. I want to leave.”

“Frank,” Gerard whispers. “I’m so sorry that he broke your heart.”

“Oh, no,” Frank laughs bitterly. “He just cheated on me. He didn’t break my heart. You did.”

It would hurt less if Frank slapped him. Gerard has to stop himself from physically recoiling.

“I–”

“Take me away from here,” Frank repeats sternly. He gets himself back to his feet, slowly, unsteadily, and lets Gerard hold him up for the first few seconds before he regains his balance. He looks devastated. “Take me back to the yacht, Gee. I want to leave.”

Gerard gives himself a moment to breathe - in, out, in, out, calm down, don’t have a breakdown, he needs you. He needs you.

“Okay,” he says softly. He catches Frank’s gaze and holds it for a moment. “Okay, Frankie. We’re leaving.”

Chapter Text

He thinks Frank will lock himself in the cabin as soon as they are back on the yacht, but he doesn’t. Much to Gerard’s surprise, after he grunts some pretty passive-aggressive greetings to Ray, he heads to the bow and gestures at Gerard to follow. It may be an even dumber idea than swimming to the island has been, but Gerard does just that. He walks when Frank walks, sits down when Frank sits down and watches when Frank hugs his knees to his chest again. Like a child, his mind supplies, and he doesn’t disagree. It’s equally as endearing as it is unsettling.

He doesn’t dare to talk first. After someone tells him to fuck off, Gerard doesn’t generally tend to start another conversation anytime soon. It’s already a win that Frank hasn’t pushed him overboard or left him on the island. He assumes that they will spend the time sailing back to the harbor with no sounds other than the boat cutting through the ocean, but Frank has more to say. It takes as little as Ray turning the yacht around for him to speak up again.

“I know I fucked things up, too.”

His voice sounds small. Gerard’s hand twitches and Frank must see it from the corner of his eye because he extends his. It looks like an invitation. Gerard’s stomach does a little flip as he grabs Frank’s palm, curling his fingers gently over his.

“Sort of,” he says because - well. He agrees.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Frank shrugs. “I knew it was wrong. I knew that if anything happened between us, I would’ve been the one cheating on him.”

“Nothing did happen, though.”

“Almost did,” Frank reminds him. He frowns, avoiding Gerard’s gaze. “If he didn’t show up, I would have kissed you that night.”

Gerard squeezes his hand a little harder. His own begins to sweat when he considers all the lost possibilities. The kiss, the way Frank would have touched him, where the first press of their lips would have led to.

“I wanted you to.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? I was in a relationship. You were pretending to be a Parisian designer.”

“I thought about it, actually,” Gerard scoffs. That makes Frank look over at him, and he can feel himself blushing. “Like, you know. Where I’d hide after all of this was over, and you lived up on that hill. What I’d do if we stumbled upon each other in town. How I’d explain.”

“And what solution did you come up with?”

“That I had to move back.”

“Back where?”

It’s Gerard’s turn to shrug. “Back to Jersey at first, I guess,” he admits. “Then maybe to LA.”

“Seriously.”

“Well, okay, no. I think I hate LA now.”

Frank sighs. “You and me both.”

That makes Gerard realize that he still has questions that haven’t been answered. It makes him realize that he still has Frank’s phone in his pocket, that the phone consists of the photos he didn’t need to see, and that Frank hasn’t told him anything about them. He doesn’t know if he should ask, but he thinks Frank wants him to. There is something in his eyes - a quiet request for Gerard to take the decision from his hands and make it for him, force him to unburden. It makes him wonder how often Frank had a chance to really talk about his feelings when he was with Andre.

“Tell me,” he asks. “What happened?”

The expression on Frank’s face is nothing but pain.

“We fought after the party,” he starts slowly. He reaches over as if to grab his own hand and twist his wrists, then seems to remember Gerard is still holding onto it. He lets his arm drop. “It wasn’t a huge fight, really. We’ve had worse. I wanted to know why he didn’t just tell me about you in private if he knew, and he kept screaming that I needed a shock factor because I was too obsessed with you to see the truth.”

“You were obsessed with me?”

“Yes and no. I was obsessed with the idea of you leaving,” Frank explains. “The closer to the deadline we got, the more I wanted you to stay. Andre saw it.”

“You told him?”

“No, but he’s been with me long enough to notice it. That day we fought, he accused me of not loving him anymore.”

“Did you?” Gerard asks, words heavy on his tongue. “Do you?”

“I never did. I mean, God, it was fun. He was great. But I didn’t want to marry him, and I didn’t really want him to move in with me. It terrified me to realize that I would be stuck with him forever.”

“Am I a rebound?”

It hurts. Fuck, the thought hurts. Gerard hasn’t even considered that it may be the case. Maybe Frank was getting bored of his boyfriend and needed someone fresh and new to hook up with to remember what fun was. Maybe he never wanted him for longer than a night or two, which worked great with the fact that he thought Gerard would leave. It makes him sick again, and he must shiver, or tremble, or gasp, because Frank turns their hands until he’s the one holding his.

“No,” he says simply. “But I think he was.”

“But you–”

“He told me he was leaving. Jean-Paul was still in the house after I kicked everyone else out, and Andre told me he was flying back to California with him. I didn’t even try to stop him, but I had a whole night on my own to really think about things.”

“That’s why you left.”

“Honestly? I don’t know why I left,” Frank sighs. “I flew out there the next day, and I was already in front of the door to his apartment, and I still didn’t know if I was there to beg him to come back or to break up with him. We were screwed,” he points between himself and Gerard with a breathy laugh. “And I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Neither did he?”

“You have no idea.”

Gerard has an idea. He saw the photos.

“Right.”

“He was there when I walked in. They didn’t even stop.”

“What?”

“Remember that photographer Andre was supposed to do a session with? The dick’s name is Richard, and he didn’t even stop when he saw me standing there. He asked me if I wanted to join them,” Frank rolls his eyes. “And Andre smiled.”

The truth is that Gerard has more than one reason to be happy that Andre is gone. Firstly because he genuinely couldn’t stand that asshole, but secondly, because he would be risking going to jail for strangling a twenty-four-year-old with his own bare hands.

“Jesus, Frank.”

“They were done before I could pack all of my things. I didn’t have much there, but there were some clothes and some cameras. The way Andre looked at me from the doorway,” Frank shakes his head, wincing. “Standing there fully naked, grinning like he was proud of himself.”

“Frank–”

“He said things about you,” Frank continues like he doesn’t hear him. “Vile, disgusting, gross things. And then he said worse things about us.”

“There were no us then.”

“He knew there were, but hey - he made things really easy for me. I didn’t need to worry about what decision was the right one.”

Gerard looks away from him for a moment. “Did you defend my honor?”

“Shockingly, I did,” Frank laughs again. “You lied to me and made a fucking idiot out of me in front of everyone, and I still defended you. Pathetic, really.”

“Thanks.”

“Will you tell me about you?”

“Huh?”

“You,” Frank’s finger rubs over his knuckles a few times - softly, delicately, like he’s holding a precious jewel. “I know your name is Gerard now, and Ray told me what he knew, but I want more.”

Gerard doesn’t know if Frank is pathetic, but he sure is. His heart skips a beat again.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“I want to know everything.”

So Gerard tells him everything. One thing he’s good at is rambling, as soon as someone lets him do it, so he goes on to tell Frank his entire life story - about being born in Jersey and knowing he needed to get out of there as soon as he could. About his parents, his brother, the comics he wanted to write, and the music he enjoyed. He finds out that he and Frank have probably met before at one of the Jersey shows, and they smile at each other, reminiscing about the tiny bars, the eardrum-shattering volume, and the scent of alcohol. That prompts Gerard to tell Frank about that, too. 

He tells him that he did enjoy sparkling wine back in the day, as much as he enjoyed any other alcohol, and it ended with addiction and being thrown into rehab. Frank squeezes his hand harder and apologizes for offering him the wine so often. Gerard squeezes back and tells him that it’s okay - he couldn’t have known.

He tells him about moving to Grenada instead of LA. He tells him about the job he did for the French politician, about the houses he decorated around the island, about his little apartment at Mathilda’s hotel, about the friends he lost and the ones he gained.

“Can I see it?” Frank asks when Gerard stops to take a breath. He gives him a questioning look. “The apartment, I mean. Can I see it?”

Boiling shame settles in Gerard’s stomach.

“I, uhh–”

“Please?”

“I don’t know, Frank. It’s really nothing, you know… fancy, or anything.”

“You still think I’m a stuck-up asshole, don’t you?” Frank shakes his head with a smile. It’s the smile, and the shame turns into desire so strong Gerard nearly chokes on it. “I don’t care if it’s a five-hundred square foot house or a one-room apartment. I wanna see where you live.”

Gerard lets out a nervous sort of giggle. “Eager to see my bedroom?”

“Not yet.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, no, trust me,” Frank shakes his head. “I want that, too. I really do.”

“But?”

“You fucked it up once,” he says, making Gerard wince. “And so did I. I wanna do this right.”

“And what’s the right thing to do?” Gerard asks. “I wanna fix this. I just–”

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

Gerard stares. “Really?”

“Really,” Frank nods. “I have no food in the house, but we can grab some takeout on our way there, and you can help me figure out what to put on my fucking walls now that I need to get rid of the canvases.”

“Takeout, huh?” Gerard smiles. “Aren’t you a romantic?”

“Nothing more romantic than a fast food takeout.”

“Alright,” Gerard nods. He has a new idea growing in his mind, and he likes it so much there is no way he’s refusing. “I’ll have dinner with you, but we will actually stop at my apartment for a moment. We’ll skip the bedroom.”

“Pity.”

“Stop it.”

Frank smiles at him again. Fuck, Gerard missed that smile. He didn’t think he’d ever see it again, yet here it is, bright as ever, and maybe even a little relieved. One thing it’s full of is hope, though, and Gerard feels the knot in his stomach releasing slowly, giving him a feeling of complete bliss. They can see the harbor now, and the sun is setting, and Gerard loves it.

And him. He loves him.

He tries not to be disappointed when they stop holding hands as soon as Ray docks the yacht in the harbor. If it wasn’t for the fact that Frank stays close to him, he would definitely feel sick. The bodily contact is there, though - Frank’s hand is on his lower back when he guides him to the exit, and that same hand is on his wrist when he helps him jump down onto the ground. It doesn’t disappear when Ray offers to grab the food for them while they go to the apartment and only shifts from his wrist back to his shoulder.

Gerard wants to ask Frank if he can embrace him, but he doesn’t. He feels like that would be too much, too fast, too soon.

That may be what he needs, though. His heart is pounding now, and the closer they get to the hotel, the worse his hands are sweating. He’s so scared of judgment that it’s not even funny anymore, and yes, maybe Frank was right - perhaps he still does see him as a stuck-up asshole, but how could he not? Frank has everything, and Gerard has nothing. He simply doesn’t understand why Frank would settle for him.

“Huh,” Frank’s voice does not sound like one of an asshole when Gerard opens the door to the hotel for him, blushing. “That was pretty obvious, actually, wasn’t it?”

“What was?”

Frank grins, pointing at Gerard’s small desk. “That.”

“Oh..”

“I’ve been here before, and I haven’t realized,” Frank shakes his head. He squints at the poster. “Gerard Way, interior design.”

“Oops.”

“How have you managed to lie to me for so long?” Frank runs a hand up his hair with a laugh. “Holy shit, you’re good.”

“It was the French,” Gerard deadpans.

“Sorry to break it to you, but your French fucking sucks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Gerard’s heart does a little jump in his chest.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Frank winks at him. “So, why are we here?”

“Well, you wanted to see where I live, and I need to grab a few things. Change, too. I’m getting sick of those shorts,” he winces, trying to unglue the semi-wet fabric from his thigh. Frank’s gaze moves down to watch it, and Gerard feels his cheeks warm up. “My eyes are up here.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Frank lifts his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

“Do you actually mean it, though?” Gerard finds himself asking, gesturing at Frank to follow him up the stairs. “I mean… look at me.”

“I am, Gee,” Frank sighs. “I’m looking. I have been looking.”

“And you find that… what? Attractive?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“What else do you want me to say?” Frank asks. The shrug Gerard gives him apparently isn’t enough because he grabs his shoulder and stops him before Gerard can run down the hallway to his apartment. He turns him around and grips his chin when Gerard tries to avoid his eyes. “No, nope, we’re not doing that. Now you look at me.”

“Frank–”

“Seriously, look up,” Gerard manages to catch his gaze for a split moment, but holding it is hard. “Okay, listen to me, I’ll make it quick.”

“Okay?”

“I am in love with you,” Frank says. Gerard’s stomach drops. “I think I have been in love with you for a while. I just didn’t know that it was with, well, you. When I found out about everything, I was pissed off at you, but even that didn’t change how I felt. So, yeah, I mean it. I find you beautiful. Deal with it.”

Gerard can only stare at him for a moment.

“You’re in love with me.”

“Obviously.”

“I– hold on,” he shakes his head. The earnest expression on Frank’s face is suddenly too much to handle, so he turns around and busies himself by opening his apartment door. If he keeps looking at him for even a second longer, he will dissolve. “You said you had no idea who I was. How can you be in love with a stranger?”

“Beats me, man, but I am.”

Gerard frowns as he pushes the door open. “But–”

He doesn’t expect more physical contact and ends up gasping when Frank’s hands land on his waist and squeeze. He turns back, ready to do… he doesn’t know what. Scream at him? Try wiggling out of his grip? Melt into him? But before he can make up his mind, Frank has a hand pressed to the side of his face, he’s crowding close to him, and Gerard’s transported back in time to when they hid from everyone at that party.

It’s the same breath washing over his lips. It’s the same shiver running down his spine.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Frank whispers. He’s so close Gerard can’t even fully see his face anymore. “And then you’ll go change, and we’ll go have dinner. Yes?”

Gerard can’t do much more other than whisper. “Yeah.”

Frank leans in, his hand tilting Gerard’s head how he wants it, and Gerard lets it happen. The touch of Frank’s lips on his is soft and fleeting, but it’s enough to make his head spin and his heart want more. He clutches Frank’s shoulders when his knees wobble, feeling his fingers tightening on his waist. He’s the one who pushes harder into it - he can’t wait, he can’t, he doesn’t give a fuck about dinners - and Frank laughs into his mouth.

“Eager?” he murmurs. Gerard shudders when he feels him leave a quick lick on his bottom lip.

“Can we skip dinner?”

“No,” Frank’s thumb rubs his cheek. “There’ll be time for more of this later.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No,” Frank repeats. Gerard groans when he takes a step back but lets his arms fall from his shoulders. Fine, he deserves this. He did lie to him for almost three months, after all, and besides, it kind of gets him going to have Frank be stern. “Shit, we’re in your living room.”

“We are. Sorry for,” Gerard waves his hands around, pointing at the mess. “All this.”

“I love it,” Frank smiles. He climbs to his toes and leaves another, shorter kiss on his lips. Gerard’s stomach tightens again. Fuck, they can kiss now. “Now I’m gonna completely disrespect your privacy and check every corner of your apartment, and you go change. Deal?”

“Sure,” Gerard nods. Fuck, he wants him, and he wants him bad. Now. Immediately. “Yes. Changing. Sure.”

Frank giggles, and Gerard ends up yelping when, as soon as he turns around, he feels a slap on his ass. He cranes his neck, and he can feel his jaw dropping at the look on Frank’s face.

“Change,” Frank’s eyes are dark. He’s looking down, directly at Gerard’s ass. “Then dinner, and then fun stuff. Yes?”

Fun stuff. Fuck.

“Yes,” he agrees - and then he runs.

He’s sure he has never changed this quickly in his entire life.

Chapter Text

“What’s your favorite color?”

They’re standing in the middle of Frank’s backyard, where the canvases are spread on the grass. Frank wanted to do it all inside but Gerard knows how messy it’ll get, and he thinks the grass will suffer a little less than Frank’s floors would. He shifts the buckets in his arms and tilts his head, staring at the photographs. Andre’s body stares back at him.

“Brown, I think.”

“Brown,” Gerard repeats slowly. He looks over at Frank and gets a shrug in response. “Fucking brown? Really?”

“I– well. I can go with blue?”

“Better,” Gerard nods. He looks down, finds the can of baby blue paint amongst the others, and hands it to Frank. “Here. Blue. Now, choose another one.”

“If I say brown…”

“No.”

“Fine,” Frank laughs. He bites his lip as he thinks. “Okay, do you have, like, neon green?”

“Oh, now you want neon colors,” Gerard rolls his eyes. “No, but I have yellow, and I have green. Feel free to mix a little green with the yellow. It’ll give you that very bright green then.”

“Rad,” Frank grins. “You lose the yellow this way, though. Don’t you need yellow?”

“I did need yellow, but I can compromise as long as it’s not fucking brown,” he groans. Sure, he had a plan - primary colors and whatnot - but he will not have brown on the walls. Absolutely not. He’d rather die. “I have another blue, and red. We’ll make purple.”

“Purple?”

“Yes, purple. I’m the interior designer here. Trust me.”

“Neon yellow, baby blue, and purple,” Frank squints, looking down at the canvases. “Fuck, sure. Whatever.”

“Or we can leave them as they are. Your choice,” Gerard shrugs. “I’m sure seeing that body won’t give you any PTSD.”

“You’re kind of an asshole, actually,” Frank smiles. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Oh, only everyone I know.”

“And they were right.”

“You can leave if you don’t like it.”

“It’s my house,” Frank laughs. He leans in and Gerard feels his mouth curling into a smile when he feels a kiss on his cheek - gentle but lingering, Frank’s mouth warm against his skin. “But - nah. I’ll have to bear it somehow.”

“Okay, now shut up and open the cans,” Gerard instructs. “I think we’re gonna go with purple first, give them a solid base, and then splatter with blue and green.”

“You’re also bossy,” Frank points out. He gets down to his knees and forces the can of yellow paint open, wrinkling his nose. Cute. “Alright, I just. Pour one into another?”

“And mix, yeah. You can be fancy and grab, like, a spoon or something, or you can use your hands.”

“Oh, baby, I am absolutely using my hands,” Frank chuckles. Gerard tries not to think about how much he must be blushing when Frank holds his gaze as he dips his entire hand into the can, letting his mouth fall open in a moan. “Ah, so wet.”

“And I’m the asshole?” Gerard scoffs. Frank’s shit-eating grin is contagious, though, so he finds himself smiling in no time. He thought he’d have more time to get used to the idea of being in Frank’s house with Frank and everything that was waiting just around the corner, but they skipped dinner. Or, well, they didn’t. Gerard is sure that there are oily fingertips all over the canvases when they wrestled them off the walls while stuffing their mouths with french fries and hamburgers, but he can live with that. He likes it a lot more than if he was forced to have a proper dinner with wine glasses and too much cutlery.

“What do you want me to say?” Frank looks up at him. He pulls his hand out of the can and now it’s more greenish than yellow, probably precisely the color Frank intended. It’s a pretty one, but Gerard’s more focused on how the paint drips over Frank’s wrist and down to his forearms when he wriggles his fingers in the air. “This is giving me ideas.”

“And they’re horrible ideas,” Gerard shakes his head. “For your safety, I feel like I need to put a disclaimer and say that acrylic paint cannot be used as lube.”

Frank shrugs. “Sucks. Your ass would look lovely in green.”

“You did not just say this to me.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“Mix the fucking paint, would you?” Gerard groans. He has to turn around and break eye contact for a moment to remember how to breathe. Yes, he knows where they’re headed - Frank made it very obvious when he kissed him again as soon as they got to his house, rough and fierce, biting his lower lip until Gerard squealed - but still. He shakes his head when he hears Frank giggling again and focuses on mixing his own colors until the coolness coating his fingers is that dark, heavy purple he was going for. “Alright. Thoughts?”

Frank looks at his hand, squinting. “It’s lovely.”

“Wouldn’t want you to think it’s atrocious.”

“I said that once, and I already told you that I was wrong about the whole design,” Frank rolls his eyes. “I was under the influence of a total dickhead, sorry!”

“That you were,” Gerard agrees. It makes him feel warm all over to hear Frank admit it. “Okay, I think this one’s ready. Move, give me some space to work here.”

“Bossy,” Frank murmurs under his breath. He steps to the side, though, and Gerard grunts when he lifts the can in his arms. It makes Frank snort. “You need help with that, doll?”

“Fuck off.”

He nearly drops the can, too, but by some miracle - maybe it’s divine intervention, in which case, thank you, God - he manages to grab the edge just as he takes a swing. The paint falls on the canvases with a wet splash, and Gerard feels the first inkling of adrenaline. He loves this process, and the fact that he didn’t have a place to try it for literal years makes this one so much more significant. His hand is covered in paint, and so are his legs after the droplets bounced off the canvases and hit his skin. It’s amazing.

“Holy shit.”

“Quickly, Frankie, get down,” Gerard huffs when he throws the empty can to the side, not caring where it lands. “Hands, use your hands. Spread it out.”

“You’re crazy,” Frank laughs when he lands on his knees next to Gerard. His eyes are wide and bright, and Gerard wonders if he sees the same looking at him - pure, unadulterated, joyous madness. “Are there rules, or–?”

“No, just spread it. Go on. Get rid of him.”

Frank’s eyelid twitches. “God, you’re right. That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

“I mean… if you want it to be?” Gerard shrugs. He puts his palm flat on the canvas and smudges the paint over a little. With where it landed, Andre’s face is nearly completely covered. “It’s a little too late to change your mind now, but if you want, we can try to wash it off–”

“No,” Frank says firmly. He shuffles closer, and his hand is warm and steady when he places it on top of Gerard’s. “No, I want him gone. Let’s do this.”

It would take a significantly shorter time if each of them worked on one of the canvases, but Gerard likes it more when their hands knock against each other with each stroke. They spread the purple all around the canvases until it’s all he can see, the image of Andre disappearing completely, and it makes his heart feel light. He knows he’s gone - he knows he is - but it’s like he needed the visual representation of it to believe it fully. Frank’s soft smile when he watches him makes it even better, and when Gerard wipes his hands on his shorts and reaches for the blue paint, Frank’s right there with him with the green one. If he wasn’t so close to vibrating out of his skin, he would risk a statement that being here with him, covered in paint, is almost better than sex. 

He leaves a smear of remaining purple on Frank’s jaw when he cups his face, and Frank dips a finger in the blue and touches the tip of his nose, giggling, and it’s perfect. Gerard has potentially never been happier.

“Now what, Picasso?” Frank asks, nuzzling his palm.

“More like Pollock,” Gerard hums. His hands itch from the paint now, and the scruff on Frank’s cheek adds to the sensation. “Now we dribble the green and the blue all over the purple.”

“However we want?”

“Art is supposed to be fun,” Gerard shrugs. He pulls back and looks at the canvases. “So, basically. Do whatever you want. Go wild,” he says as he puts the can down and gets both of his hands wet - the right one is blue, the left one is green. He gathers as much paint as he can onto them and sends Frank a smile when he flings them toward the canvases, making the droplets fall all over them. “See? Easy.”

“You make it look effortless.”

“That’s ‘cause it is. Just... here,” he grabs Frank’s wrist and carefully guides his hand into the green can. It’s positively dripping when he pulls it out. “Just flick it.”

Frank does. He gets most of it on the canvas and some on his face when he yanks his hand back too soon. He snorts and makes a face when some of it lands on his lips.

“Ugh.”

“Tangy, isn’t it?” Gerard grins at him. “Go on, Frankie. Give it a taste.”

He splashes more paint all over the purple when Frank spits behind him, trying to get the paint out of his mouth. The canvases look stunning when he stands back up. So, so much better than what they were before, and Gerard can totally imagine how good they’ll look hanging on the walls in the sterile, white interior of Frank’s villa.

He flinches when he feels Frank move, but he’s not fast enough to turn. A yelp falls from his lips when Frank presses himself close to his back, his body warm and solid, and sneaks a hand under the hem of Gerard’s shorts. It’s wet and cold, but Gerard can’t help the moan when Frank grabs a handful of his ass cheek and squeezes.

“You know what I wanna taste?” Frank mumbles against the fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers tighten again, and Gerard’s legs turn weak. “Yeah, that. Exactly that.”

“Jesus, Frank.”

“I mean, if you’d like to continue painting…”

“No,” Gerard says immediately. He turns in Frank’s arms and gasps again when it gives Frank easier access, both of his hands grabbing his ass and pulling him in. His mouth opens. Frank’s cock is heavy in his pants, hard and pressed to the top of Gerard’s thigh. “Oh, fuck the paintings.”

“Mmm,” Frank hums. “I was thinking something more in terms of fucking you.”

Gerard may be a little bit of a whore. He’ll own that. He rocks against him, rolling his hips until Frank hisses, then bites back another moan and leans in to lick the side of Frank’s neck. It tastes like paint, and Gerard’s head starts to spin.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, mouthing over Frank’s jaw to get to his lips. “Kiss me, Frank, please–”

Frank doesn’t just kiss him. He turns his head and catches Gerard’s lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to pull a cry out of his throat. He pulls him in again, his thigh slotting between Gerard’s and knocking his legs apart. Gerard’s blood rushes down so fast he gets dizzy with it.

“Bedroom,” Frank mumbles. He nibbles his already aching lip, then dives back in to kiss him properly - all warm lips and wet tongue, licking into his mouth. “Gee, bedroom, now, or I’m gonna fuck you on top of the canvases.”

Gerard doesn’t know how his muscles remember to move, but they do. Somehow, he has a fistful of Frank’s shirt in his hand, and he pulls him back inside, throwing a longing look at the couch. If he didn’t want to get to the bedroom that he saw so many times before, he would totally let Frank push him on the couch and fuck him there.

It’s better in the bedroom, though. So much better. And the turquoise bed sheets are still there.

Frank pushes him back with a hand on his chest. He never stops kissing him, not even when Gerard’s calves hit the edge of the bed, not even when Frank’s hands wrestle his t-shirt over his head.

“Wait, fuck, wait,” Gerard gasps. Frank’s eyes look black when he looks up at him. “Fuck, you washed these, right?”

“What?”

“The sheets. You washed them since…”

“They’re new ones,” Frank groans. When Gerard arches his eyebrow, Frank’s cheeks go deliciously pink. “I had Ray buy me another set.”

“You have two identical sets of the same bedsheets.”

“Fuck you, I like them,” Frank rolls his eyes. He runs his hand down Gerard’s now naked chest, his eyes following. “Can we talk about it later, though? Because–”

“I saw you, you know?” Gerard says. “I saw you standing exactly where you’re standing now. You took his shirt off, and then you… you pushed him, and you climbed on top of him, and…”

“Gee.”

“I want that,” Gerard decides. He shakes his head, forcing the memories away, and puts his hand on top of Frank’s. “I want the same thing.”

“It will never be the same,” Frank says softly. “It’ll be better with you.”

“You’re a sap.”

“No, I’m just in love with you,” Frank shrugs, then grins. “But I can also do this.”

The shove hurts, and for a split moment, Gerard is sure that he’s going to end up hitting the ground. He stumbles and loses his balance, but what he hits is not the floor - it’s the bed, and his body bounces softly when he lands squarely in the middle of it. When he looks up, surprised, he finds Frank standing between his knees, staring at him and slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Gerard’s cock gets hard faster than it has in years.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, scrambling to climb higher up the bed. “Fuck, Frank, get down here, get–”

“Patience,” Frank hums. “Lose the shorts, sweetheart.”

Gerard shivers. “What?”

“Get yourself naked,” Frank asks patiently. “I wanna see something.”

The unbuttoning of his shirt ceases. Gerard wants to tell him that he’s a fucking tease, but the throbbing between his legs is getting hard to ignore. He fights - and wins - with the need to cover himself, hooking his fingers in his shorts and easing them down his hips, and Frank watches it all happen with steady, hungry eyes. There is an initial shock of being bare - the breeze from the open window washing over his dick, the tension in his arms when he resists putting his hands over it - and then it all goes away when Frank’s hand falls from his chest down to his cock and squeezes.

Gerard’s mind short-circuits when he sees the outline through Frank’s pants. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed,” Frank says. He sounds like he’s in awe. “Jesus, Gee. You’re stunning.”

The warmth of the blush spreads down to Gerard’s neck and chest. A groan rumbles in his chest when Frank manages to pop the last few buttons of his shirt with his other hand, and it falls to the sides, exposing the tattoos on his chest and the softness of his belly.

“Could say the same about you,” Gerard whispers. His cock seems to agree. It curls toward his lower belly, hard and begging to be touched. It takes Gerard every last ounce of self-control not to wrap his hand around it and stroke.

“Turn over for me,” Frank asks, twirling his finger in the air as he says it. Gerard rolls awkwardly onto his front and can’t stop the smile when Frank groans. “Fuck, I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

A hand lands on his ass, heavy and firm. Frank squeezes exactly where he did before.

“Your ass looks great in green,” he whispers. Gerard snorts and is grateful that Frank can’t see the roll of his eyes. Frank’s hand roams over his ass for a moment longer, kneading and pressing - never where Gerard wants it most - before he flips him forcefully back around. His eyes are even darker than they were before. “Not to be dramatic, but if I don’t get my dick inside you in the next five minutes, I think it’ll shrivel up and fall off.”

Laughter bubbles out of Gerard’s mouth. “Oh, wow. That’s detailed.”

“Shut up. Have you seen yourself? Fuck.”

“How do you want me?” Gerard asks, letting a lazy smile spread on his face. Frank’s lucky - he wants him inside just as much as Frank wants to be there. “Should I roll back over?”

“No, no,” Frank shakes his head. “You said you wanted… no, I want you just like this. Scoot up, though.”

Gerard does, feet and hands sliding over the turquoise bed sheets. His cock twitches when Frank kneels on the bed, following him, and his legs fall open before he can stop them. It seems to do the trick, though, because Frank’s hand lands on his clothed dick again like he can’t help it. Gerard really, really wants him to undress already, but he has no time to voice his demands. Frank gets between his legs and digs his fingers into his thighs, holding them apart. He’s not looking at Gerard’s face - he’s staring at his cock.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, licking his lips. “Fuck, I wanna do so many things to you.”

Gerard’s stomach swoops. “Like what?”

“You want me to spoil the surprise?” Frank grins.

“We’ve had enough surprises between the both of us, don’t you think?”

“Point,” Frank hums. He lightly slides his fingers over his inner thighs, and Gerard’s skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Well, first, I think I’m gonna blow you.”

“Okay,” Gerard says breathlessly. He’s very on board with that. Frank’s mouth looks like it was made for sucking dick.

“But only for a moment,” Frank smiles. “Then I really wanna get my mouth on your ass and my fingers in your ass. And later, preferably, my dick.”

“Frankie,” Gerard whines. His own dick twitches and Frank hasn’t even touched it yet. “Less talking, more fucking?”

“But I still haven’t told you the best part,” Frank wiggles his eyebrows, but he’s already moving. Gerard once again thinks he should be raising concerns about how Frank is still very much dressed, but he forgets all about it when Frank leaves a kiss on his belly. With how he’s bent, the scruff on his chin scrapes against the head of Gerard’s cock, making him shiver. He forces his brain to work for a moment later to ask:

“Which is?”

“After we’re done here,” Frank murmurs, giving his words a dramatic pause so he can dip the tip of his tongue in Gerard’s belly button. It tickles and, for some fucking reason, sends a spark of heat straight to Gerard’s cock. He groans. “We’re gonna rest for like an hour, and then you’re gonna fuck me.”

“Fuck, Frank.”

“Is that a yes?” Frank gazes up, eyes bright and laughing. Smug fucker. Gerard nods weakly, and Frank smiles. “Rad.”

His fingers finally curl around the base of Gerard’s dick. Gerard lets out a relieved sigh - even a touch that light feels fantastic, and Frank hovering inches above his cock is a sight he could never imagine. Gerard watches hopelessly how he runs his tongue around his mouth, then lets it fall open. A string of drool falls from his lips, landing on the head of Gerard’s dick. He shivers and twitches in Frank’s hold. His fists close around the bed sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Oh, it– yeah,” he nods. There is a string of saliva between his dick and Frank’s mouth, and Gerard’s mind is no longer working.

“Grab my hair,” Frank mumbles. He has to guide Gerard’s hand to it when Gerard finds himself too shocked to move, and his fingers grip and pull on instinct. Frank moans. Gerard does, too. “Yeah, yeah. Just like that.”

“Frank, please–”

“I’ve got you.”

He lowers his head, holding Gerard’s gaze the entire time, and God - it’s been so long since the last time anyone has blown him, and the warm, tight, wet slide of his dick inside Frank’s mouth is enough to nearly make him lose it completely. His hips roll before he can stop them, and Frank hums around him when he goes lower, swallowing him down.

He’s fucking good at it, too. Gerard tries not to think about how he got to that level of skill. His hand strokes along with his head bobbing over him, he sucks hard when he goes up, and his tongue is doing things to the underside of Gerard’s dick that Gerard didn’t know were possible. He drools, too - so, so much. When he inhales sharply and goes down all the way, the head of Gerard’s dick slipping into his throat and his nose pressed to the coarse hair, the spit bubbles out from the corners of his mouth and fuck.

“Frank, Frank, wait–” Gerard trembles, eyes rolling back. Frank doesn’t stop. He holds the position, inhaling shallowly through his nose. When Gerard looks down, he sees his eyes closed, eyebrows knitted when he tries to hold his gag reflex back, and his hips rolling against the bed. “Fuck, you– you’re gonna– Frank!”

He can’t. He simply can’t do it. He sharply yanks Frank’s hair and pulls him off of his cock. Frank whines.

“What? Why–”

“I was gonna cum,” Gerard shakes his head. He’s panting now, and the room is spinning. He shivers when he feels Frank’s spit slide lower, to his balls and further.

“Isn’t that the point?” Frank asks. His face looks wet, and his hand ends up covered in spit, too, when he wipes his mouth with it.

“Not like this.”

“Okay?”

“Would you fucking,” Gerard gestures with his hands, then lets them fall against the bed. He gazes into Frank’s eyes and hopes he looks as stern as he thinks. “Take your fucking clothes off and fuck me already.”

Frank breaks into a grin when he leans back to sit on his feet. He licks his lips. “Told you. Bossy.”

Gerard swats his thigh. “Get your dick in me, fucker.”

“What about eating your ass?” Frank asks. He shrugs the shirt off, though, and goes to unbuckle his belt. He does it all one-handed, the other stroking idly over Gerard’s knee. “I really wanted to eat your ass, sweetheart.”

“You can do that later.”

“You’re fucking me later, remember?” Frank tilts his head. “I’ll be damned if I don’t get this thing inside me.”

He reaches for Gerard’s cock again and squeezes. Gerard’s eyes roll back again, and his hips jump. It makes Frank laugh. Gerard wants to tell him to fuck off, but it’s the exact moment when Frank finally opens the button of his pants and pulls them down his hips, and he no longer remembers what he was angry about.

He scrambles to help, desperate now. He moans a little when they finally manage to get Frank’s pants and underwear down to his thighs, and Gerard finds himself face-to-face with Frank’s cock. A nice cock. A lovely, beautiful cock. He can’t stop himself from licking the head where the precum is already gathering, and Frank shivers.

“Okay,” he grunts through clenched teeth. “Okay, I see your point. Lube. Condoms. Bedside table.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I know. I designed and decorated your house, remember?”

He rolls to his side to retrieve the items and can’t help but notice how the rest of the sex dungeon equipment seems to be gone. The toys, the handcuffs, they have all disappeared. He wants to ask Frank if they belonged to Andre, but he doesn’t get to do it. His body bounces when Frank falls on the bed behind him, and Gerard gasps when he presses himself to his back.

“Smartass,” Frank murmurs. He presses his lips to Gerard’s shoulder, kissing him slowly, and hooks one of his legs up the mattress, opening him up. “Open the lube.”

“You–?”

“Just like this,” Frank nods. He extends his hand, and Gerard’s own shakes when he pours lube over it. He appreciates that Frank blows on it to warm it up before pressing his fingers to the cleft of his ass, but it still makes him shiver. “Is that okay?”

“Please,” Gerard whispers. He grabs his leg, pulling it even closer to his chest. The shame and the reservations are gone now that he feels Frank’s cock heavy against his thigh. “Please, need you.”

“I’m right here,” Frank mumbles, kissing Gerard’s shoulder once more. His fingers find his hole, rubbing first, then finally pressing in. Gerard moans, forcing himself to relax when he feels the drag of Frank’s finger inside him. He doesn’t play slow anymore, crooking it immediately to press it to Gerard’s prostate, and Gerard’s body jolts. “Here we go. Beautiful.”

The prep is sleazy and too fast, but Gerard’s done waiting. He finds himself rocking back against Frank’s finger in no time, then against two when he stretches him further. He manages to turn back enough to slide his arm under Frank’s neck and pull him into a kiss, and their teeth clink together when Frank throws himself into it, moaning, licking into his mouth, biting his lips. It’s when he starts actually fucking him with his fingers that Gerard realizes he’s not only ready but pathetically desperate for more.

“Enough, enough, Frank,” he pulls away from the kiss, panting. “I’m good, I’m fucking good, get inside me.”

Frank groans. Gerard feels empty and cold when he retrieves his hand. “Are you sure? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

He’s so fucking sweet. “You’re not gonna hurt me,” he assures him. “Please, I want you.”

Frank leans back for just long enough to tear the condom wrapper with his teeth and roll it onto his dick. Then he’s back, towering over Gerard when he twists him even further, his hand firm on his thigh when he lines himself up. His gaze jumps up to Gerard’s face, and he smiles, bright and loving, guiding Gerard’s arm back to his neck. It puts a strain on Gerard’s shoulder blades, and he has a fleeting thought that maybe he’s too old to be fucked like that - with his upper back on the bed and his legs twisted the other way - but then Frank presses forward, and his worries are out like they were never there.

“Relax,” Frank whispers, tightening his hold on Gerard’s thigh. Gerard forces himself to exhale slowly, and Frank’s cock sinks a little further into him. It’s a stretch, and the burn is just on the right side of painful. He keens, nonetheless, and Frank shushes him. “Shh, baby. You’re doing so well. So good for me.”

“Frank,” he gasps, latching onto the short hair on the back of Frank’s head. Frank turns, pressing a fleeting kiss to his forearm. “Oh, God.”

“Almost there,” Frank reassures him. He keeps pressing in, never stopping, and Gerard’s mouth falls open when he finally sinks all the way in. It’s so fucking much that he tears up.

“Hngh,” he whines. “Frankie–”

“You’re so tight,” Frank whispers, awe making it into his voice again. He leans further over him, and Gerard moans when it makes his cock slide an inch deeper. “Look at me, sweetheart. Gee, look at me.”

Gerard forces his eyes to open, catching Frank’s gaze. Frank smiles, and it makes Gerard feel giddy. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Frank replies. The angle is uncomfortable, but he manages to catch Gerard’s lips, kissing him softly. “Gonna fuck you now, yeah?”

“Please,” Gerard nods, then gives himself a moment to think about it, decides there won’t be a better time for it, and adds. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Frank squeezes around his thigh once more. “I know.”

It’s slow when he first starts moving, but he picks up the speed soon enough. The drag of his dick inside him makes Gerard see stars, and he’s clutching onto his neck and the bedsheets with all he has, letting out a series of ah ah ah every time Frank plunges inside him. When he gains confidence that Gerard can’t actually be broken, he raises onto his knees, throwing himself over him, and Gerard keens, twisting his body even further.

“Fuck,” he gasps, desperately grabbing his straining cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

“So good,” Frank moans. He thrusts harder, and Gerard cries out, his cock twitching in his hand. “Hold onto me, baby, gonna– fuck, gonna make you cum–”

He’s sweating now. Gerard can feel the droplets falling from his hair onto his chest, mixing with his own sweat. He groans, finds Frank’s hip, and grips it tight when he pushes. Frank seems surprised by it at first - straight up worried - then lands on his back with a soft oomph.

Gerard doesn’t wait for him to regain his composure. His muscles are tired, but he manages to climb up on top of him, find his dick with his hand, and guide it back inside himself when he sits down on it with a groan.

“Yeah,” he sighs, letting his eyelids flutter. “Oh fuck yeah.”

“Jesus,” Frank gasps. Gerard’s hands slide over his chest, wet from sweat, when he tries to find his balance. He catches Frank’s gaze and smiles at him, and Frank’s eyes are vacant like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He recovers when Gerard lifts himself, only to slam back down and bare his teeth in a growl. “Baby, you look–”

“How do I look?” Gerard teases.

Frank’s hands run up his tense thighs, up to his hips, his belly, his chest, only to drop to his lap again. “So fucking good sitting on my cock.”

“Yeah?” Gerard bites his lip. He has no idea where he’s getting all that confidence from, but it feels amazing to see so much adoration on Frank’s face. He rolls his hips again, slower this time, watching Frank’s eyes roll back. “Fuck me, Frankie,” he whispers. Frank’s knees twitch when he bends his legs. “Yeah, just like that. Fuck me.”

Frank laughs, gripping his hips to lift him just enough to fuck up into him. “Bossy,” he murmurs, and Gerard gasps, curling forward from the pure force of it. “I love you, Gee.”

Gerard’s heart swells. He smiles down at him. “I know.”

He loves it like that. He loves it every other way, too, but he loves seeing all the feelings crossing Frank’s face when he goes back to fucking him. It’s less coordinated now, faster, harder, both of them close to letting go, and it’s stunning. Gerard tries to rock back to meet Frank’s thrusts, but it isn’t easy. It’s even more complicated when one of Frank’s hands slides further back to grip his ass, opening him up, while the other curls around his cock. 

He jerks him off along with his thrusts, and the pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until Gerard’s so full of it that he feels like he’s going to combust. He moans, digging his fingernails into the skin above Frank’s nipples. Frank hisses.

“Are you close?” he pants out. Frank answers him with a thrust so hard it nearly knocks Gerard off of his lap, and he counters it by rocking back. It forces Frank’s cock deeper inside him, and fuck, it’s good, it’s so good . “God, me too. Please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop– keep going, fuck–”

“Not gonna stop,” Frank says. “Feels so amazing, baby, you’re so tight, fucking– I’m gonna– oh my God–”

The pleasure skyrockets. Gerard feels every single muscle in his body tightening, every tendon going taut, his hands clasping down around Frank’s pecs. Frank buries his cock inside him once more, twice, hand twisting on the upstroke, and Gerard lets out a noise like he’s dying, spasms on top of his lap, and throws his head back as he cums all over Frank’s fingers. It makes him shiver with how powerful it is. 

He hears Frank moaning when he clenches around him, and his thrusts are more shallow now. Gerard lets himself fall to the side, pulling Frank along. He looks wild when he kneels between Gerard’s legs, and Gerard’s stomach gives one more weak kick.

“C’mon,” he whispers. He reaches for Frank, petting his thighs and hips just as Frank tears the condom from his cock and gets a hand around himself. “C’mon, cum on me.”

“Jesus,” Frank whines. His hand is working furiously, pulling, twisting, his stomach tensing with each stroke. Gerard pulls him closer until he can reach behind him, grab Frank’s ass, and spread it.

“Cover me in it,” he whispers. He sneaks a hand between Frank’s cheeks and finds his hole, pressing in. “Cum, Frankie.”

The way Frank does it seems almost violent. He curls forward, miraculously managing to brace himself with a hand next to Gerard’s head, and his mouth opens in a silent scream as he spills between their bodies, right on Gerard’s belly. His softening cock gives a warning twitch, but he doesn’t get to touch himself again. Frank’s weight presses him into the bed after his arm shakes, and he collapses on top of him with a pained gasp.

They lie there for a few moments, panting heavily, before Gerard remembers that he is allowed to touch. He finds the back of Frank’s head and sneaks his fingers into the short hair, rubbing as gently as he can. Frank arches into him, and - fuck, was that a purr?

“You are… absolutely incredible,” Frank mumbles. Ignorant of the mess gathered between them, he crawls a few inches forward until he can rest his head in the center of Gerard’s chest. Not without kissing it first, though, and kissing his lips, too, while he’s at it. Gerard kisses him back eagerly. “Fuck, I knew it’d be good, but…”

“But?” Gerard laughs. He feels light and happy like he hasn’t in ages. He lets himself smile and gaze to his right, where the bay can be visible through Frank’s massive bedroom windows, but he looks back almost immediately. The bay could never be as pretty as Frank is.

Frank shrugs lightly, then sighs. “I forgot that it can feel like this.”

“What can?” Gerard asks. “Sex?”

“Sex with someone you actually care about,” Frank clarifies. Gerard squeezes him a little tighter. There is nothing he can say, but he hopes Frank will understand that he agrees. “I forgot what it meant to be in love.”

“Well,” Gerard smiles. He cranes his neck and kisses Frank’s temple. “Remind me to send a thank you letter to Pierre Couëlle.”

Frank laughs and kisses him back. “Je le ferais, mon amour.”

Chapter Text

There are three things Gerard notices when he wakes up in the morning.

The first is that he’s hot and sticky. It must be late because the room is bright, and late mornings in Grenada are already too warm for his liking. His skin feels clammy when he kicks the bedsheets away from his body, and when he absently runs a hand down his stomach, it feels rough under his fingertips. He wrinkles his nose, then decides that he actually doesn’t care that much. They were too tired to take a shower yesterday, and if Gerard has to live with dried cum on his body in order to cuddle with Frank before falling asleep, then so be it. He’s had worse.

The second thing is that Frank is nowhere to be seen. Gerard slides his hand over the bed just to check. The covers are no longer warm and if it wasn’t for the third thing he notices, he would maybe panic. Instead, he stretches on the mattress and assesses the damage. His shoulders ache, there is a distant hum of muscle sores in his thighs, and his ass still hurts a little, but it’s nothing drastic. When he blinks and rubs the sleep away from his eyes, he sees the bruises on his thigh. They make him smile.

And, yes, there is also the third thing - the very distant clattering in the kitchen downstairs, something Gerard probably wouldn’t hear if the door to the bedroom wasn’t open. He smiles wider, letting himself relax back into the pillows. He could fall asleep again if he tried hard enough, but he doesn’t get a chance. He hears the steps on the stairs a few moments later, and when he lifts his head, Frank is standing in the doorway, wearing only his boxer briefs and holding two cups of coffee in his hands. Gerard’s dick, after getting a whole night of rest, twitches.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

Gerard smiles, then yawns. “Hi.”

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Frank notices. He walks over to the bed and carefully puts the cups down before leaning in to kiss him. Gerard kisses him back eagerly but frowns all the same.

“You brushed your teeth.”

“Yeah,” Frank smiles when he pulls back. “I also showered.”

“Not fair.”

“Not everyone can sleep until after ten, princess.”

“You could’ve woken me up, though,” Gerard pouts. He swats Frank’s arm, faking anger, and Frank rolls his eyes at him. “I had big plans for the morning.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. They involved your hands, and my hands, and your tongue, and my tongue. Also, my ass. And your dick.”

Frank smiles again, but there is an edge to it that immediately makes Gerard worried. He frowns further and wonders if the hand Frank puts on top of his naked thigh is supposed to be reassuring. It would be if Frank didn’t then turn around and walk over to the windows to look out at the bay. Gerard doesn’t like not seeing his face.

“We should talk,” Frank says.

“Right,” Gerard nods. The anxiety spreads further, and he instinctively grabs the bed sheets to cover himself again. Being naked doesn’t feel safe anymore. “I– Should I get dressed?”

“If you want to,” Frank cranes his neck to look at him. There must be something on his face - fear, perhaps - because his features soften. “Hey, no. We’re good, Gee.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah,” Frank nods firmly. “Unless you regret what happened, then we are.”

“I don’t.”

“Then,” Frank shrugs. “We’re good.”

“But you wanna talk.”

“I want to talk about what happens next. I didn’t actually plan any further than last night,” Frank chuckles, shaking his head at himself. He looks out the window again after that, bringing a cup of coffee to his lips. He looks deep in his thoughts. “It doesn’t have to be a long conversation, though. I just have questions, and I don’t– God. I don’t know.”

“Ask your questions, Frank.”

“Do you wanna be with me?”

“Yes.”

Frank looks at him again. “That easy?”

“I mean,” it’s Gerard’s turn to shrug. The words feel heavy in his throat when he says them. “I am in love with you. I want everything you’re willing to give me.”

“I wanna give you everything I can,” Frank counters. “But I don’t know how much that is. I– I don’t know what I’m gonna do now. I don’t think I can go back to LA. Fuck, no, I know I can’t. I don’t want to photograph Andre or his friends again. I don’t want to share studios with Richard.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Gerard says quietly. He pushes aside the worries and throws the bedsheets back again, climbing out of bed. He does take a sip of coffee - just to get rid of the stale taste in his mouth - then comes over to Frank. He worries for an entire second about whether embracing his waist is a good idea, but Frank melts into him immediately.

“I don’t really have a plan B, though,” he says. “All I know is photography. If I’m not doing that, then I don’t know what else I can do. And if I’m not doing anything, then this,” he arches, putting his cup away on the table, then waves his hand. “This may have to go.”

“So it goes.”

“You make it sound effortless.”

“That’s ’cause it is, Frankie,” Gerard leans closer, pressing a kiss to the side of Frank’s neck. “There are other types of photography that you can do. It doesn’t have to be models, and sure, it may pay less, and maybe you’ll have to sell the yacht and move into a different house, but if that’s what it comes down to, then we’ll just pack and move.”

“We,” Frank repeats slowly. Gerard freezes - he went too far again, fuck - but Frank’s hands find his, resting on his stomach, and squeeze. “That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I–”

“It’s a big fucking house,” Gerard can hear the smile in Frank’s voice. “And I don’t want to live here alone, so I’m thinking about getting a dog.”

Gerard’s heart sinks. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning. Of course, a dog. He assumes things too fucking fast.

“Yeah,” he says, unable to think about anything else. He really hoped…

“You’re not allergic, are you?”

“What?”

“To dogs,” Frank clarifies. “Andre was, which is why I don’t have one now, but I really want a pet. So I need to know if you’re allergic to dogs because I don’t want you sneezing every minute of every day at your own house.”

Gerard stares above Frank’s shoulder for a moment, considering if pushing the love of his life out the window is socially acceptable. He decides that it probably isn’t, and tending to Frank’s broken bones would be a pain in the ass - and not one he enjoys - so he grips him tighter and turns him roughly around instead. Frank is laughing full-on when Gerard pushes him against the glass.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses. Frank gives him a wink but shudders all the same when Gerard slots a thigh between his legs, pushing up. “Oh, you are… such an asshole.”

“Sorry,” Frank gasps. He’s still giggling, but his hands find Gerard’s forearms and squeeze when he tilts his head to kiss his jawline. “So, you’re not allergic, then? You’ll move in with me?”

“I want a cat,” Gerard decides. “Just because you’re a dick.”

“We can have a cat,” Frank nods. “But we’ll also have a dog.”

“Two cats and one dog.”

“If I agree, will you let me eat you out now?” Frank grins. Gerard’s hands fall to his hips, squeezing hard.

“No,” he says. “But if you agree, I’ll do this.”

He’s definitely too old for this shit. His knees protest loudly when he falls to the ground, but the look on Frank’s face is worth the pain. His boxer briefs are already straining, and when Gerard rolls the fabric down, he’s met with Frank’s already half-hard cock. He smirks, looking up to meet Frank’s gaze, and grabs it gently to flick his tongue over the slit.

Frank’s head falls back against the window with a loud bang. “Fuck. Sure. Two cats.”

“Not any thoroughbred bullshit cats, either. I want strays,” Gerard says. He lowers his head and guides Frank’s dick between his lips, sucking lightly. Frank’s hand finds his hair, and his knees wobble. “Alright?”

“Sure,” he nods, but Gerard doesn’t think he’s listening to him. “Whatever you want.”

He smiles to himself, mentally congratulating himself for a job well done, then curls a hand around Frank’s thigh and grips.

“Awesome,” he says cheerfully. “Put your foot on my shoulder, then.”

“What?”

“Your– oh, seriously, here,” he guides Frank’s legs himself, too fucking impatient to wait. Frank’s shoulder blades rest heavily against the window when Gerard angles his hips forward, opening him up. He catches the exact moment when Frank realizes what he’s going for because the leg that’s still on the ground shakes dangerously close to giving out.

“Oh, fuck.”

“See, if you woke me up to shower, it could be the other way around,” Gerard hums. He’s managed to get his hands between Frank’s legs, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, and now he has him spread and open, ready for the taking. His mouth waters. “But since you decided to be selfish and shower on your own, then, well. My treat, I guess.”

“Ger– ah!”

Gerard smiles to himself when Frank’s hand tightens in his hair. He leans back in and licks across Frank’s hole again, delicate and gentle, a feather-like touch that he knows drives him insane and clearly has the same effect on Frank. It’s doing things to him, too - the taste of skin, the faint scent of shower gel mixed with the heady smell of just Frank. He presses a moan right into the meaty part of Frank’s ass, then goes back to lick him again. Frank’s foot slides from his shoulder, trapping him between his legs.

Not that Gerard’s going to complain about it. He presses harder in and through the pounding of blood in his ears, hears Frank’s moan when he blindly finds his cock somewhere above him and squeezes.

“Fuck, turn around,” he groans when he pulls back. Frank looks blissed out when he gazes down at him, eyes wide and empty. It doesn’t seem like the request registered, so Gerard laughs and helps Frank’s foot back onto the ground before grabbing his hips. He’s tempted to get his mouth on his cock, too, fully hard in front of his face, but he decides he can do that later. “Turn around, Frankie.”

He has to do it for him. Frank’s palms hit the window, and he arches his back, pushing his ass back.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps when Gerard’s hands land on his cheeks, spreading them roughly apart. Yes, that’s what he wanted. He smiles when Frank’s hole clenches around nothing, sliding his hand to gently press his thumb to it. The muscles flicker around his touch.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking Frank’s skin.

“More than,” Frank says somewhere above him. He pushes his hips back when Gerard leans in. “Oh, God. Fuck, you are– please.”

Gerard gathers all the saliva he can and licks him slowly, from his balls up to his crack. Frank inhales sharply, then moans when Gerard focuses on his hole again - short, sharp licks at first, then longer ones, putting more pressure on it. He has Frank wiggling against the window in no time, one of his hands now buried in Gerard’s hair, trying to pull him closer. He’s responding to it so eagerly that Gerard’s cock is a hard, leaking ache between his legs in no time.

Frank’s a babbling mess by the time Gerard adds a scrape of teeth to it. He has a finger hooked into Frank’s hole now, fingering him slowly, pushing as much of his spit into him as he can, his tongue still working tirelessly to get inside. He doesn’t have to move much. Frank is already rolling his hips back and forth, and when Gerard finally presses two fingers into him and his tongue between them, he slams his hand against the window so hard that Gerard’s worried it’ll break.

“Yes, yes, like that,” his words are slurred, his voice cracking. “Deeper, Gee, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, oh God, so good–”

“Glad you like it,” Gerard says smugly when he pulls back. Frank’s ass is glistening from his spit, and he’s sure his chin doesn’t look any better. He doesn’t take his fingers out, though, only pushes them deeper into Frank, making him groan. When he tilts his head, he notices that Frank’s cock is hard. “Jesus. You really like it, huh?”

“You have– ugh, yes, there– no idea how long it’s been.”

“How long?” Gerard asks. He scissors his fingers, gets them deeper, then leans in to lick Frank again - just a tease. Frank shudders.

“Long,” he gasps. “Like, a year before Andre. I don’t know, fuck, does it matter?”

“No one ate your ass for six years?” Gerard cocks his eyebrow.

“My life sucks.”

“When was the last time someone fucked you, Frankie?”

Frank looks over his shoulder at him, and fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is sticking to his forehead, wet from the shower and the sweat, his cheeks are red, his mouth is open. His chin is as wet as Gerard’s, and Gerard realizes that he must’ve been drooling. It feels like a kick to his stomach.

“You just said it,” he says impatiently. “Six or so years.”

“Oh, wow. Your life really does suck.”

“I’m not complaining,” Frank grunts. He slumps against the window when Gerard drags himself back to his feet, his hand already stroking his cock. He’s so hard it aches, and Frank’s ass looks very fucking inviting. “Fucking you was the highlight of the decade.”

“You’re gonna have three highlights, then,” Gerard smiles. He swats Frank’s ass and has to suppress a groan when it jiggles. “Stay right here. Don’t you dare move.”

He crosses the room in record time, thankful that he knows where everything is. The lube is still on the bedside table from last night, and he’s rolling a condom down his length as soon as he gets his hands on it. Frank is watching him do it all from behind his half-hooded eyes, his cheek pressed to the window, his ass pushed back. He’s balancing on his tiptoes, and Gerard’s stomach swoops. Fuck, he wants to ruin him.

“Highlight number one,” he says when he’s back behind Frank, hands spreading his ass. Frank’s hole twitches again, and Gerard’s dick responds with the same. “You fucked me.”

“Agreed,” Frank nods, his forehead hitting the window. “Two?”

“Highlight number two,” Gerard continues when he lines himself up, fingers curled around the base of his cock. He presses the head to Frank’s entrance and shivers when he feels the muscles move, trying to pull him in. God. Fuck. “I ate your ass.”

“I wanted to eat your ass,” Frank complains, but he pushes back at the same time like he can’t wait even a second longer. “But yeah, that was– fuck, that was nice.”

“You’ll eat my ass later,” Gerard says. “Now it’s time for highlight number three.”

“You fucking me.”

“Yep,” Gerard agrees happily. He drags Frank back with a hand on his hip, and they both moan when the head of his cock pops in. He’s so fucking tight. “Me fucking you until you can’t walk.”

He should go slow, he knows he should, but he just– can’t. Frank is clenching around him so tightly, and when Gerard pours lube all over his ass, everything turns so fucking wet and slick, and the sounds Frank lets out are so fucking loud that he just can’t stop himself. He guides his cock further in and doesn’t stop even for a moment when he slides him. Frank’s whine is long and desperate, then breaks when Gerard sneaks a hand around him and pulls him roughly up until they’re chest to back, and Gerard’s hip bones are digging into Frank’s ass.

Gerard groans. Frank whines. “Jesus, that’s– deep. God, you’re so fucking deep.”

“Good?” Gerard mutters.

“I– yeah?” Frank breathes out. “I mean, fuck, you’re big. It hurts,” he shudders when Gerard rolls his hips, creating more friction. His eyebrows knit together, and his eyes squeeze shut. “But fuck if I didn’t miss it.”

“I can give you a moment.”

“No, no,” Frank shakes his head. “Just– fuck me.”

Gerard shrugs. “Alright.”

He bends his knees, pulling out almost all the way, then snaps his hips up as hard as he can. Frank’s voice breaks in a cry, and he falls against the window.

“Fuck!”

“You said to fuck you,” Gerard laughs. He would be concerned if he didn’t see how hard Frank is, how his thighs tremble, how he’s panting. “Changed your mind?”

“I swear if you don’t stop fucking talking,” Frank barks at him. He braces his hands back on the window and pushes his hips back. It’s Gerard’s turn to be surprised when Frank doesn’t even think before he starts rocking back and forth, fucking himself on his cock. “Move, motherfucker, God, move.”

“I thought you had a thing,” he points out. He’s not cruel, though, so he crowds closer to Frank, getting a solid hold of him as he starts thrusting inside him in a steady rhythm. Frank whines with each push, exhaling shakily when Gerard pulls back. “I saw it yesterday. The hair-pulling? I thought– pain, huh?”

He feels Frank relaxing more around him, so he snaps his hips harder, getting deeper. It’s been a while since he did this, too, and it’s fucking amazing. He could cum just from how Frank clenches around him.

“Yes,” Frank nods. He reaches back, finds Gerard’s hip, and digs his nails in so hard that Gerard hisses. It fucking hurts. “Receiving and giving.”

“Oh, we’re gonna have fun,” Gerard laughs. He tilts Frank’s head the best he can and tries to kiss him - the angle is wrong, his mouth too far, but he moans all the same at the wet, messy slide of their tongues. Frank’s elbow knocks into his hand when he starts jerking off along with Gerard’s thrusts, and hell, if this isn’t the hottest thing Gerard has ever seen.

“We– God, we can have all the fun you want, just please, please fuck me harder, I can’t–”

“I saw it all,” Gerard whispers into his ear. He bites his earlobe, bends him further down, and slams into him so hard that Frank hits the window again with a broken moan. “The toys, the handcuffs, the plugs.”

“Not mine,” Frank shakes his head. “They–”

“We’ll get ours,” he promises. “And then you can get a fourth highlight when you cuff me to the bed and eat me out.”

Frank shakes in his hold, clenches, and spills all over his fist and the window with a soft groan. Gerard’s moves falter for a moment, but he’s close himself. He lets them collapse - Frank’s knees finally giving out, his own legs folding under him, but he can’t wait to give Frank time to breathe. He adjusts his stance on his knees, drags Frank’s hips up when Frank leans his forehead against the floor, spreads his cheeks, and fucks into him again - fast, faster, deeper, yes.

“Frankie,” he moans when the heat starts spreading between his legs, so close, so close. “Frankie, fuck, love your ass, love your cock, love you, oh my God–”

Then he cums, and it hits him like a speeding train. He’s aware that Frank mumbles something - love you, he thinks, but he can’t be too sure, and he sends them both sprawling on the ground when he falls on top of Frank’s back.

He’s still lying there, breathing heavily, basking in the electric bliss in his veins when Frank starts laughing.

“Ow, fucker,” he giggles, his hand finding Gerard’s thigh and pushing. “Ow, Gee, get off me, my fucking hip– ow.”

“What?” Gerard asks. He’s gentle when he pulls out, then immediately rolls off of Frank and onto the ground. The floor is cold under his back. “Frankie?”

Frank plops onto his side with a grin. “Fucking– God, what floor is that?”

Gerard frowns. “Oak. Why?”

Frank laughs again. “It’s fucking horrible when it digs into my hips,” he shakes his head, then leans in and kisses Gerard - hard, bruising. “Fuck, I love you, but next time, we’re fucking on the bed.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Gerard rolls his eyes. “You love getting fucked against the window. You’re an exhibitionist.”

“Am I?”

“You never close the fucking blinds. Never,” Gerard jabs a finger into Frank’s chest. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I chose them for you if you’re not gonna use them.”

“You know what?” Frank hums. “You’re right. I am an exhibitionist, and I can’t wait to find all the places in the house - and outside of it - where I can fuck you.”

“Don’t let our two cats see us, though. Wouldn’t want to traumatize them.”

“Cats don’t like water, do they?” Frank asks. He searches for Gerard’s hand on the ground and interlaces their fingers.

“No,” Gerard says. He smiles and lets his eyes close. He doesn’t have to worry about anything at the moment other than the color of the cats he wants to get and the touch of Frank’s hand in his, and it’s perfect. 

“Great. Dibs on fucking your brains out in the pool, then.”

Yes, he thinks everything is perfect. Cinderella’s story can, after all, happen twice - and he’s living in it.