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Summary
It was stupid, how his heart rate picked up at the thought of that damn kiss. He tried to tell himself it was just the adrenaline, the rush of performing. But... It always started innocently enough. The memory of Frank pressed close on stage, the way his guitar strap cut across his chest, sweat dripping from his jawline. But once the door shut and Gerard was alone, the thoughts rotted into something hungrier.
Well, at least, today, Gerard did something about it.
That was enough for Gerard.
...not really.
or
Gerard masturbates thinking 'bout Frank.