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The road was rumbling beneath them in the dark, and Frank was in the very back seat of the van, with Gerard leaning sort of heavily against his shoulder. Matt was driving, Ray was sacked out in the middle seat, and Mikey had called shotgun for the last six times running and didn't seem inclined to give it up anytime soon. Frank shifted a little, and swallowed. He was not getting sick. His throat didn't hurt, not really, it was just aching from the show. That was all, because he was not getting sick, because he'd just been sick, and it wouldn't make any fucking sense at all for him to be getting sick again.
He nudged at Gerard, trying to shift him away so he could reach the bag at his feet. Gerard slowly lifted his head from where it was laying half against the back of the seat and half against Frank's shoulder. Frank nudged at him again, and Gerard pushed himself into a sitting position, only a little unsteady, his hand braced on Frank's thigh. "I'm up," he said loudly, his eyes still closed.
"Shut the fuck up," said Frank, nodding towards the front. "Toro's out." He leaned forward, rummaging through the bag till he found the pill bottle. There was a bottle of water in there, too, warm, but whatever, it'd do. He sat back up.
Gerard was blinking at him now, his eyes huge in the darkness. "Ray's asleep," he explained to Frank, like Frank hadn't been the one who had, you know, just said that. "So we have to be quiet."
"Got it." Frank poured four aspirin into his hand. "Thank you." He dug out one of the big green vitamin pills he carried with him everywhere and always forgot to take. Couldn't hurt to be on the safe side, right? He wasn't getting sick, but you could never be too careful. He palmed the whole handful into his mouth, and swallowed it with two big gulps of water. The pills hurt his throat going down, and the warm water made him feel sort of sick.
Gerard was still staring at him, sitting sideways, but his head had sunk back against the seat. His hair was tangled, dirty, in his face. "Are you okay?"
"I'm good." Frank was good. He was fine. Gerard was watching him, but his eyes were only half-focused, and Frank was pretty sure he'd be out again in a couple of minutes. It was funny, how Gerard could drink a whole bunch of beers at a party, and take a couple of Xanax, and be rowdy as hell, stumbling all over the place, knocking Frank to his knees, and making a spectacle of himself. But if he sat and drank a whole bunch of beers while sitting by himself in the back of the van after the show, scribbling messy cartoons in his sketchpad and ignoring the rest of them coming to see where the hell he was and was he going to come hang with them, then he'd just be - still drunk, sure, especially since Frank was pretty sure the Xanax-popping was part of his routine no matter the venue, but not falling down -babbling-unable-to-remember-things drunk. He was quiet-drunk - sincere as ever, and finding basically everything profound, with this reserve – like he was being thoughtful, but Frank was pretty sure it was just that it took his brain longer to catch up than when he was sober.
Like, say, now, when about thirty seconds had gone by, and Frank half-expected Gerard's eyes to be closed when he looked over, but instead he found Gerard reaching out his hand and pressing it to Frank's forehead. "You're a little warm," he said, earnestly concerned, if a little slurred.
"I'm not." Gerard's hand was cold and Frank leaned into it. He wasn't running a fever, because he refused to, but Gerard's cool hand felt really good against his skin.
"Yeah, but you are." Gerard pushed himself forward on the seat unsteadily, pulling his hand away from Frank's face.
"And you're drunk." Frank poked at him and sighed. His throat was a little scratchy, that was all.
"Well, yes." Gerard sounded confused, like, why wouldn't he be drunk? Frank grinned in the dark of the van, reaching over to pull Gerard a little bit more upright. Gerard didn't seem to really notice. "Come here for a second, though," Gerard said.
"Why?" Frank closed his eyes, tired all of a sudden. At that moment, the idea of even leaning across the seat felt like Gerard was asking him to cross the tundra. His limbs ached even thinking about it. "I'm right here, you can go back to sleep."
"Yeah, but." The van changed lanes and Gerard lost his tentative grasp on balance and slipped backwards, hitting his head against the window. "Ow."
"You okay?" Frank peered over at him.
Gerard rubbed at his head with one hand, screwing up his crazy hair even more. "Yeah, no, I'm just – look, here," and he leaned forward – pitched forward, really, with the movement of the van, and Frank caught him with both hands, steadied him on the seat. "I'm just –" Gerard's eyes were huge, and blurry with alcohol, and Frank frowned, just as Gerard leaned forward and kissed him. On the lips. Well. Near the lips, or close enough, and then hummed distractedly to himself and slid just enough to the left to really be – you know, kissing Frank. Frank maybe squeaked a little bit.
"Oh." Gerard pulled back, and Frank just blinked up at him in the darkness, confused out of his mind. "I meant to kiss your forehead." Gerard gestured upwards with one hand, then squinted, and dragged that same hand through his tangled hair. "I mean, to check for fever." He looked at Frank. "Like my mom used to."
"Uh-huh," said Frank faintly. "I'm good, though."
"Yeah," said Gerard, giving Frank one of his brilliant, lopsided smiles. "Yeah, me too." And then he leaned forward, kissing Frank again. Like, kissed-kissed him – there was intent there or something. Intent with tongue. And okay, maybe Frank did have a fever, because he was going to push Gerard away, but instead he slid one of his hands into Gerard's messy hair, and then they weren't just kissing, they were making out on the back seat, with everyone in the fucking van with them. Frank was half turned on and half cringing inside, because even if Ray and maybe Mikey were asleep, Matt was driving the van and maybe bored and, like, listening or something. And sure, maybe no one was paying attention or could prove to a jury beyond any reasonable doubt that anything was going on there in the dark of the back of the van, but still.
"Gee," Frank said, because, well, Gee. Who was drunk and who was pretty handsy at his most sober, but this was such a bad idea right now. He tried to push Gerard away from him, but Gerard was at that clumsy - but not sloppy - point of drunk, where his hands didn't go where you thought they would, and he was constantly slipping away from you, impossible to get a grasp on. "Gee, stop, you'll – I’m getting sick, you'll catch it." Because yes, of fucking course he was getting sick. Again. Everything hurt, he couldn't swallow without it feeling like knives, and his head felt like it was made of lead. He couldn’t even enjoy the kiss, even though he'd maybe thought about it happening, like, more than once in the past few months. His life was so fucking unfair.
"Alcohol kills germs," Gerard mumbled against Frank's lips, and he was sliding his hand across the front of Frank's jeans as he said it.
"Ah," Frank grabbed a hold of his hand, freezing it in place. Of course, "in place" meant "on Frank's dick," with just the layer of denim between them. And Frank was not getting hard. (The same way he was not getting sick.) "It also kills brain cells, you fucking moron."
Gerard lifted his head then, and smiled sweetly down at Frank. "I'm good," he said.
"Right." Frank took a deep breath, or tried, because it caught in his lungs and he started coughing. Once he started, he couldn't stop, and it came out wet and gross, hacking, and it took him almost a full minute to catch his breath. Fuck his fucking life.
Gerard sighed, and leaned in, managing to press his lips against Frank's actual forehead this time. He breathed out warm, smelling of beer and sleep and unwashed hair - all things Gerard. "You're sick," he said, firmly, and let his head fall heavily to Frank's shoulder.
"Fuck," said Frank, and rested his cheek against Gerard's hair, closing his eyes. Fuck, Gerard. He put his arm around Gerard's shoulders and Gerard made a happy noise, moving closer. His eyes were shut now, and Frank was pretty sure he was out for the night. "Fuck," he murmured one more time for good measure, turning to press his face against Gerard's hair for a second.
Gerard muttered something sleepy and incoherent to himself, one hand resting heavily on Frank's thigh, palm up. His face was resting against the front of Frank's shirt, and Frank was going to get drooled on for sure. Gerard was warm, and Frank pulled him closer, settling them both a little. He closed his aching eyes, letting the rhythmic shudder of the van lull him to sleep.
the end