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"miiikey," frank whines, draping himself over mikey's skinny frame. he gets an elbow to the stomach but takes it like a man because mikey's worth it.
"whaaaaat," mikey whines back. he shifts around on the couch so frank is more comfortable. (that's why he's frank's best friend. he gets it.)
"where's your brother? i wanna see if he finished the drawing of pete's skull getting crushed by my guitar."
mikey looks mildly amused. "you know, you don't have to fantasize about pete dying all the time. it's not strictly necessary."
frank shrugs. "where is he though?"
"in the back, i think."
"thanks, mikeyway," frank tells him, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek and rolling off him.
"geraaaaard," sings frank obnoxiously as he bangs the door to the back studio open.
gerard is standing in front of the mirror shirtless, staring at himself.
"gee?" this is really unusual. (gerard never takes his shirt off, not even if frank begs. which he has.)
he doesn't answer, just continues to look in the mirror.
his face is twisted in some expression frank can't describe and doesn't want to. all he knows is that he has to change it immediately; gerard should never, ever look like that.
"hey, whatcha doin'?" he says softly.
gerard's eyes flick down to his stomach for a moment and he scowls.
"hey, hey, what's with you? don't look at yourself like that." he steps closer. "you're beautiful."
gerard laughs bitterly. "don't lie to me, frank."
"i'm not," frank says, touching his shoulder tentatively. he hopes gerard won't brush him off. "i know you don't like the way you look, but your body is a fucking work of art, 'kay?"
gerard remains silent, but his gaze meets frank's in the mirror.
"like, i hate being short, right, but it's something about myself that i can't change, so i'm embracing it. it's like, who gives a shit if you're a little chubby? it's still you, and you still look good, so why worry? it makes you who you are, and it's beautiful, just like you."
he nods slowly as frank wraps his arms around him. "and listen, thousands of people, including me, love you, tummy or no. okay?"
* * *
frank decides gerard's skeleton pajamas cover entirely too much skin, and tells him so.
"well, that's kinda the point, frankie," gerard says, laughing a little.
he still looks a little nervous, though, so frank says, "fuck the point, man. you got a nice body, show it off once in awhile."
he doesn't actually expect gerard to listen to him. the next night, though, he surprises frank when he comes into the front lounge for their movie marathon (the alien series, tonight). his sweats and long sleeved shirt are not really an improvement, but frank praises him anyway.
frank's already settled in and ready to watch (wedged perfectly in between mikey and the couch cushion), but it takes gerard forever to finish making coffee and do whatever it is he's doing before he comes over and sits next to frank.
about fifteen minutes in, frank crawls into gerard's lap and whispers, "i still get nightmares from this fucker."
gerard chuckles softly and lets him get situated.
(frank makes sure that in all his wiggling around to get comfortable, gerard's shirt gets pushed up a little. he likes seeing the pale skin of his exposed tummy, it reminds him of how soft gerard is. sue him, okay?)
eventually he decides he wants to lie down, and stretches out over mikey without warning him.
mikey, because he's awesome, only grumbles a little bit. frank pokes at his thigh with his foot affectionately as he rests his head in gerard's lap.
"gee, your thighs are awesome. very good pillow. love 'em."
gerard makes a soft noise of dissent. "if you say so." he shifts under frank's head, clearly uncomfortable.
"i do say so. they're squishy and soft and fucking lovely, just like you. now shut up and watch."
* * *
"holy shit, gerard, are your fucking arms exposed?" frank teases.
it's a hotel night, and he's sharing with gerard. frank's sprawled on the bed, reading and reveling in being fucking clean for once.
gerard just got out of the shower and is toweling his hair dry, but what interests frank is the fact that he's wearing a loose t-shirt with– get this– short sleeves.
he throws the towel at frank and misses.
"look at your aaaaaarms, gee," frank cackles. "didn't know you had those."
gerard blushes a little and flops onto the bed beside frank, burrowing under the blanket. "don't be a dick, frankie."
"i'm just giving you shit, gee. you know I think you're beautiful," frank says, lifting up the comforter and looking at gerard.
"mmph," he complains.
frank crawls in with him and worms his head under gerard's arm. "you are beautiful, in every single waaaaaaay," he sings softly, trying to get a smile out of him.
when that doesn't work, he starts kissing every inch of gerard's arms that he can get at.
"god, frank, don't," gerard protests, but he's laughing, so frank doesn't.
"your body is beautifuuuuuuul," continues frank. "i love it, and i love you, and-"
"frank, oh my god," gerard interrupts. "shut up."
"fucking make me, gee," says frank, suddenly serious. "you're fucking perfection, 'kay? and i'm gonna tell you all the time."
"if you're just doing this 'cause you want to make me feel better-"
"oh, fuck that. i'm not trying to improve your self-esteem or anything. i'm just telling you what i think. i love your body the way it is, and if that means it comes with a little baby fat here and there, awesome. it's great."
gerard opens his mouth as if to argue, but frank kisses him quickly before he can.
"listen, gee, i don't give a shit what you think about yourself, that's the truth. you're a fucking masterpiece, okay, completely original and entirely unique. that's what matters about you, not whatever body image issues you have. so shut up and let me love you."