Work Text:
Frank’s sitting under the lone palm tree, a little ways off from the rest of the shoot, trying to work out a way to shield the screen of his phone from the glare of the sun. It works best with the phone almost at ground level, in the shade between his knees, but actually reading the screen requires so much hunching and squinting that by the time he realizes someone’s coming, Gerard’s ridiculous blue socks and bare knees are right in front of his face.
Frank offers him his cigarette pack but Gerard takes out his own – though where he keeps it, Frank doesn't know – and flops in the dirt next to Frank.
“Slimy lips, huh?” he says, poking Frank in the side with his elbow. “You little fucker.”
Frank giggles. “What can I say? They are! Can’t lie in an interview,” he says, and Gerard snorts.
They smoke in comfortable silence for a while. Frank wonders how Jamia’s doing with the girls. They had an appointment at the pediatrician’s in the morning. Gerard picks at threads from his shorts.
“Haven’t done that in a while,” Frank says suddenly. He's just realized.
“What?” Gerard asks absently.
“You know, the kissing thing,” Frank clarifies. “You didn’t even try in Europe.”
“I guess.” Gerard's produced his iPhone from his apparently magical pockets and is scrolling through his messages.
“Why is that?” Frank continues, because now that he’s asked the question, he’s actually interested in the answer. “Our days of challenging heteronormativity are over?”
“What?” Gerard says again.
“Oh, is it because of our girls?” Frank goes on. “Because I hate to tell you, man, but that shit’s out there forever. They’ll find it eventually, whether we want it or not.” Gerard groans.
“We’re not escaping those questions no matter what we do now,” Frank continues. "Although we probably have a few years to prepare our answers before they figure out YouTube.”
“Don’t know about that,” Gerard says. “Wasn't it you who sent me that link with the kid and the iPad?”
Frank shakes his head. “I doubt it, man. You know I haven’t seen anything that’s not a guitar or a diaper in a while.”
“I remember how that feels,” Gerard laughs. Then he says, “Anyway, I don’t care about that. Why would I?” He keeps prodding at his iPhone, cigarette in hand, smearing ash all over the screen. “It’s just, I don’t know. We got married.”
Frank frowns. He can see Mikey getting his individual shots taken by the pool. “It was never about that, though,” he counters. “Like, we had girlfriends; that never stopped you.”
“Guess not,” Gerard says.
“So what is it?” Frank continues. “You just don't feel the need to shove your hand down my shirt anymore?” He giggles.
“Um, yeah.” Gerard says. “Pretty much.”
Frank stares.
*
“But you’re straight!” Frank squeaks.
“I never said I wasn’t!” Gerard answers, voice just as high.
“You just said you wondered! You fucking wondered, Gerard!” Frank knows he's losing his shit a little, but he thinks he's got an excuse. It turns out that what he's always classified as harmless adrenaline-fueled fucking-with-the-audience was actually more, at least for Gerard. He's allowed a small freak-out.
It's like his whole world-view just shifted ever so slightly and he's getting all these flashbacks of little moments of intimacy, and all the stuff Gee’s said over the years and all the times Frank has stroked Gerard's hair or pushed against his shoulder or fallen asleep on the couch, all pressed up against him. He's trying to figure out which of those happened during Gerard's sexual identity crisis, if there's a way to tell which moments might have meant more to Gerard. He used to rub his face in Gerard's crotch, Jesus Christ.
Gerard clears his throat and Frank realizes he's been freaking out silently for a while. When he lifts his head, Gerard is looking at him quietly, lips pursed. Frank's getting a feeling that he’s being an asshole about this.
“You're kind of being an asshole about this,” Gerard says. “I said it crossed my mind, okay? It's not like I was pining for you, you motherfucker. This doesn't change anything.”
Frank takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His cigarette has burnt to the filter. He lights another one. “Of course it doesn't change anything; fuck, sorry.” He wishes he could have been all cool about this, but, Gerard. Wow. “I don't even, I mean, it's not that I wouldn't, maybe, like, in a parallel universe, you know? But like, Jamia.” He's not making much sense right now, probably, but Gerard nods like he understands.
“No, no, totally,” he says. “And I would never have tried anything, man, you've gotta know that.”
Franks thinks about it for a while longer. He looks out to the empty pool where Ray is getting ready for his shoot, tries to wrap his head around the implications. He's not even sure there are any. So Gerard had a mancrush. He got over it and Frank never knew. It's like nothing's changed at all. And still...
“I wouldn't have thought I was your type,” he says when he's done thinking.
Gerard rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, no,” Gerard says. “Dark, tattooed and artistic; there's just nothing there," he intones.
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“Sorry, man, that ship has sailed,” Gerard smirks, and Frank punches him in the shoulder. They keep smoking in silence for a while.
Frank takes Gerard in, his crazy hair and his earnest eyes, and thinks that maybe if it hadn't been Jamia for as long as he can remember, maybe then he would have wondered, too. Maybe there is an alternate reality where Jamia dumped his ass when she still had the chance and he and Gerard are totally boning each other. Probably they make love and Gerard writes poetry.
He wonders how Gerard kisses, when it's for real.
“Hey, come here,” he says, and Gerard gives him a confused look for a second but then he seems to get it and shuffles closer.
It’s weird, doing this without the adrenaline of the shows. Frank almost expects a thousand kids to start screaming, but he hears nothing but the distant noise of the photo shoot wrapping up. Gerard’s lips feel strange – which is weird, because they’ve done variations of this a dozen times. He's had Gerard's tongue shoved down his throat, even. It was never quite like this, though. The taste of cigarettes, the dryness of Gerard’s lips, the way his mouth feels too big for Frank’s. It’s a nice kiss, sort of tender. It's not like any of the times they've kissed before. Frank's not getting hot or anything, but he can feel himself start to blush.
Gerard pulls away eventually and the moment's over.
“Yeah, no, definitely straight,” Gerard says after a few seconds.
“Yup, pretty much,” Frank agrees. He licks his lips.
“You’re a good kisser, though,” Gerard says.
“I know,” Frank replies. “You too.”
Gerard gets ups, dusts his ass a little. Frank averts his eyes a little, tries to avoid getting an eyeful. Those fucking shorts. He watches as Gerard starts walking towards the photographer.
“Hey Gerard!” he calls suddenly. Gerard turns. “If you wanna start pushing things again,” he says. “Always happy to kiss your slimy lips!”
Gerard gives him the finger, his back still to Frank. Frank laughs, watching him walk to the photographer's tent. He should really check up on Jamia.
*
Coda:
"Did you feel that?" Gerard says and props himself up on his elbows suddenly, dislodging Frank's head from his shoulder.
"Feel what?" Frank blinks up at him, still lethargic. "If you're fishing for compliments about your big dick, it's not your most subtle attempt."
"Fuck you," Gerard shoots back, but he's distracted, Frank can tell. He's frowning and squinting and looking around their room like he's expecting something to happen. "You didn't feel anything weird?" Gerard asks again, and Franks shakes his head no.
"Well, I felt something awesome," he amends, "but I don't think that's what you mean."
"Crazy," Gerard says and leans back onto his pillow. Frank takes his rightful place again, reaching a hand to stroke up and down Gerard's chest. Gerard's heart is beating kind of fast. "It was like, a tingle or a shiver, or something," Gerard starts again. "I don't know; I just felt really strange all over for a second."
Frank's toes are tingling, now that he thinks about it, but it's nothing out of the usual. "It's called the afterglow, dumbass," he mumbles into Gerard's skin, "and you're totally ruining it."
"Yeah, probably," Gerard answers in the voice that means he's not convinced but he's letting it go for Frank's sake. Frank's starting to drift into that half-conscious post-orgasm, pre-sleep space when Gerard starts speaking again.
"You ever wonder if there's a parallel universe where we're not together?" he asks. "Like, where you married your high school girlfriend and had a couple of kids?"
"Don't be stupid," Frank replies. He resettles more comfortably against Gerard's side. "This is not a comic book," he says. "There's no such thing as parallel universes."
"Yeah, probably not," Gerard says, and Frank closes his eyes and lets Gerard's breathing lull him to sleep.