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The call came early enough to wake Frank up. He reached over to the phone beside his bed and brought it to his face too quickly with an arm still asleep. Frank rubbed his head as he tried to decipher the voice. It was Petey, the lead singer of Frank's band, Labiba True.
"Yo, Frank, bad news."
"Hey, what? Petey? What is it? What news? What time is it?"
"It's like 7:10. But hey, you know our flight today?"
"Yeah, the private jet."
"No, no, no. No jet. They cancelled it."
"They cancelled it?"
"That's why I'm calling, dude. Casper just called me. He said they can only afford one, so the Damn Presidents are taking it."
"The Presidents? Are you kidding me? Dude, come on! That was our jet!"
"I know, dude, apparently they’re starting this big tour or something, but don't worry, okay? I'm gonna figure something out. You just meet us at the airport as planned."
"Have you told Danny yet?"
"No, I'll handle that too. You should probably get up and ready now, just in case plans change."
"Damn it, Petey."
Kill Every Damn President, the so-called punk band who were top of the label's books. They sold ten times as many records as Labiba True and yet they were still direct rivals, that's how good Labiba was. At least, that's how Frank saw it. There was no reason they couldn't outsell the Presidents just based on the music alone, but they had one thing Labiba True didn't: Gerard Way.
Gerard had come over from the metal scene and brought his glam rock aesthetics with him. Big hair, heavy makeup, neon jumpsuits. Sequins. Frank hated what it did to Labiba True's image by association. They were both with Mukha Records, so people expected similar things. Similar financials. There was pressure, especially from the suits, who never asked about the lyrics, the melodies, the meanings behind it all. The bands were treated as siblings, so the rivalry was natural, but if they couldn't stick to their roots, the core of the band before they signed, then he'd rather blow it all up than change for them.
When Frank arrived at the airport, he met with Petey, who explained the new arrangement. Casper Fly, the head of the label, had handled this one himself. Petey had convinced him to let Labiba True share the private jet with Kill Every Damn President. For the whole 14-hour flight from LA to London. Frank didn't like the idea, but Danny handled the news worse. He was Labiba's drummer and he hated the Presidents more than any of them. They were involved in a charity concert together once and Danny's drums had been loosened before their show. Danny was sure it was one of them who did it, but he never got any proof.
"I don't trust any one of those snakes," Danny said as the band walked towards the tarmac. "They're no good for music and they're no good for us."
"Well it's not like we'll need to deal with them for long," Petey said. "It's one flight, then we go our separate ways after we land. We're not even performing in the same cities. It won't be like last time."
"Hey," Frank interjected, "At least we'll still get to fly in a private jet."
"Frank, you know we're better than those posers. We should be getting private jets as standard, just like they do." Danny stomped as he walked, his wheeled case rattling behind him. "This is actually a downgrade for them, which means they'll be even more resentful and hostile towards us."
"Hey, here they are now," said Petey. "This is our plane. Let's just give it a chance, okay? We'll be flying overnight, we'll sleep through most of it, it'll be fine."
As they approached the private jet, they looked over the other band taking their last smokes before boarding. Russell, David, Wayne and Gerard, all in a row. All just standing there, comfortable, like they weren't about to spend a whole uncomfortable day with their worst enemies before setting off on a grand tour of Europe. Like this was all just another work day for them.
Before now, Frank had only really ever seen Gerard in the outfits he wears for performances, but here he was, dressed in what could charitably be called pajamas, like a normal person. So normal. He almost looked exposed and vulnerable compared to the bombastic stage persona. The sight put a twinge in Frank’s nerves, a ruffle in his feathers. It was a feeling which skipped across his mind like a stone across a lake. Brief but impossible to let slip past unnoticed.
"Well if it isn't Labiba True. More like I Need A Poo." Russell held his bass guitar tight as Labiba True walked past him up the steps onto the plane.
"No funny business, boys," Wayne muttered to them, but they didn't take any notice. Frank was trying to enjoy the experience. He didn't want the posers to ruin his taste of the good life. The life he deserved. They'd worked hard and they’d earned this.
The interior was bigger than it looked from the outside. The flight attendant was professional while she showed them the spacious main cabin, but became flustered by the boys' reactions to the sleeping arrangements.
"Four rooms?" Danny said loudly.
"There are-" The flight attendant was interrupted.
"You know there are seven of us, right?" continued Danny. "Seven passengers? How are we all supposed to fit into these?"
"Each room sleeps two passengers, sir," replied the flight attendant, trying to regain composure and control of the situation. "The four rooms will comfortably accommodate seven people. Of course, you're welcome to sleep in the cabin seats, but I assure you that the beds will be much more comfortable."
"Calm down, man." Petey put his arm around Danny, pulling him close. "I'll bunk with you. Keep an eye on you, eh?" He ruffled his hair playfully.
"I guess that means I get a room to myself," said Frank.
The plane was ready for take-off soon after Kill Every Damn President deigned to board. The main seating area in the cabin was mostly communal, with the chairs arranged in more or less a circle. They were plush airline seats but arranged in such a way that the passengers could socialize during their flight. Usually this wouldn't be a problem, but for the rival bands, this meant they would have to spend some time together. Russell tucked his bass underneath his seat and sat down sternly, looking at the members of Labiba True in their seats one by one.
"I'm watching you," Russell said. He spoke with a British accent but lacked the refinement you'd expect from it.
"Calm down, Russ," said Gerard as he plopped down with a Superman comic book in his lap. "They're not going anywhere." He flipped the pages open, but his eyes looked up through lashes at the other band.
No other words were shared until the plane was in the air. Just glares and stiff postures. Gerard was more relaxed than the others, his attention paid to his comic, but there was still tension in the way he loudly turned the pages. After some time had passed, the flight attendant brought them drinks and they were allowed to leave their seats, but nobody did. They just kept staring and muttering curses and crudities behind their drinks - Labiba True accepted the champagne when it was offered, but the Damn Presidents opted for beer.
David was the first to stand. He said he needed to pee, but the Labiba boys watched him close as he passed them, just in case. They knew sabotage wasn't beneath the bigger band, even in these circumstances. Eventually, though, the bands were able to relax a little. The tension wasn’t sustainable. They started to have conversations in hushed tones within their respective groups. Then, Wayne from the Damn Presidents spoke up.
"Hey, Ee-air-oh, what is that, Eye-talian?"
Frank looked over at the man across from him. He had a bushy beard and aviator glasses. "It's Eye-ear-oh. You know, like Eye-talian. Or eyes and ears. You know, the things you should use instead of opening that big ugly mouth of yours."
"Hey, this is our private jet," said David as he sat back down. "You think you can come here and take our stuff and insult us just because you're the new hotness?"
"New hotness?" said Danny.
"More like one-hit wonders," said Wayne. "Don't worry, your fifteen minutes will be up soon and you can go back to the hole you crawled out of."
Gerard looked up from his comic at Frank's clenched fist, then back down again.
"Look, we're all a little annoyed at the situation, but let's just ignore each other, okay?" Petey tried to offer this as a solution, but really he was just trying to restrain Frank. Calm him down a little.
"Easy for you to say," replied David. "You've commandeered our plane and now you want us to be cool about it?"
"It's just one flight," said Gerard quietly. "We'll be sleeping soon, anyway. We've got a big show tomorrow. One of many."
"Yeah," smirked David. "How many countries are you visiting, again, Ladildos? Two? We're working our way all across the continent. The Eastern Bloc's never seen anything like this before."
"Yeah, well, I hope you catch some STDs out there," said Danny under his breath, but the other group pretended not to notice. Nobody really wanted the fight to turn physical. It wasn't worth it. Frank knew that nobody on that plane wanted to anger Casper. So, they settled in, some seething, some just letting the resentment quietly fester. A few of them took to moving around the plane, just to stretch their legs.
A few hours into the flight, Frank was in the bathroom when the door opened, nearly knocking him over. It was Gerard Way, all frizzy hair and cigarette smell.
"Oh, sorry," said Frank, even though he was the one being disturbed. "I didn't lock the door because I was just brushing my teeth. It's a long flight, you know."
"So you don't mind if I come in," replied Gerard. His tone was calm and decisive. Confident. Frank acquiesced.
Gerard stepped in and closed the door. He looked at Frank, whose eyes followed Gerard's hand down his body to his waistband. He'd apparently changed into tight black jeans at some point in their journey, with a faux leather belt.
"You smoke?" Gerard asked as his black painted nails dived into his pocket to pull out the platonic ideal of a single cigarette, long and white with an orange filter.
"Um..." Frank didn't answer because he didn't know. He couldn't remember his own name right now. Gerard's aura had suddenly consumed him. The bathroom was plenty big for two people, but still they stood close enough to feel each other's warmth.
Frank watched as Gerard's lips rolled together, then gently parted to allow his tongue to reach out and slowly wet them, anticipating the long drag of the lone cigarette. Their eyes met as Gerard's delicate fingers casually brought the cigarette to his mouth, letting it dangle by the filter. Frank's eyes dutifully followed the hand back down again in time to watch Gerard's hips sway as a lighter was removed from Gerard's back pocket. It was a Zippo, and the click and clank of the hard metal almost made Frank jump in his intoxicated gaze. As Gerard savored the first deep smoky breath, so did his eyes savor the sight before him, looking Frank up and down.
"Here," he said finally, holding out his hand to offer the cigarette. "Take a puff. Otherwise there's no real reason for us both to be in here. Is there, Frankie?" Frank gulped as he took the smoke from Gerard, attempting to give no mind to the way their fingers touched as he did so.
Frank put the cigarette to his mouth and closed his eyes, imagining he could taste Gerard's saliva on the filter. His lips drew taut and he took a solid breath in, inhaling the borrowed vapors of the man standing before him, staring into his eyes. He held the breath for two long seconds, then released. Smoke covered Gerard's face and when it had cleared, he was noticeably closer. Gerard's hand reached out to touch Frank's arm, the contact sending electricity through him. The cigarette slipped from his fingers onto the tiled floor.
Frank broke into a goofy grin and Gerard couldn't keep a straight face any longer. He laughed the laugh Frank had only seen before in interviews. The laugh he let out just for himself before giving the appropriate answer to a question.
"You know, I've always respected you," said Gerard as he bent over to retrieve the cigarette. Frank let his eyes wander.
"Wait, what? Me?" Frank stepped back in confusion as Gerard rose again.
"Yeah, well, you and the rest of the Labiboys, especially after you hijacked our plane, but you in particular."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, man. You're not just in the band - you know the music. There aren't many people out there who do what you do."
"But what about the rivalry?"
"That old thing? Do you actually take that seriously? No, dude, that's all manufactured. Casper wants us fighting for the publicity. You didn't know that?"
"Well, I..."
"Of course, at first we thought you really did mess with Russell's bass at that charity thing, but then I found out that was all a lie too. But not before we sabotaged your drum kit. Sorry about that."
"Wait, that actually was you?"
"Ha, yeah, I did that one myself. Snuck around back, tweaked a few screws and stuff. Russell still won't accept it wasn't you guys who broke his bass. No hard feelings? I really do love your music."
"You actually listen to our stuff?"
"Of course! You know, I've actually been trying out some emo stuff myself. You have a great style."
"You're trying to copy us?" Frank remained confused. "Wait, I thought you were into all that glam metal stuff. But also trying to horn in on the punk scene with Kill Every Damn President."
"No, dude, that's not even it. You think I'm a poser? Just following trends? It's the complete opposite. They made me keep my old style when I joined up with the Presidents, but I'm not into that stuff anymore. It's just there because it sells records, apparently. It's time for a change, you know?"
Frank had never seen this side of Gerard. A side that resonated and connected with him so fully. "Oh, man, I know exactly what you mean. When I'm done with something, I'm done. I say what I have to say, then it's time to move on. Of course, Labiba True's the first time I've actually had something to lose."
"Oh, it's scary for sure. Being so high up and taking that risk. But you've gotta do it, you know? Like a shark, you've got to keep moving."
Frank's eyes twinkled as he watched Gerard talk. He was animated, open, saying things Frank didn't know he himself had felt all along.
"You know, I've talked to the boys about poaching you. We need a good guitarist. Think the fans could handle that? A rival band stealing the best riff player in the biz?"
Before Frank could even think about answering, there was a knock on the door. "Gee, you in there?" It was Russell. "Come on, mate, we've gotta talk about this room."
"See you later," Gerard said quietly before adding "handsome," and slipping out the bathroom carefully, making sure Russell didn't see who he was sharing it with. Frank stayed inside, trying to listen to see when the coast would be clear, but really just wrapping his mind around what just happened. What the hell was that?
Frank tried to casually step out of the bathroom a while later, still in a daze. He walked down the plane's hallway to find his room. Through an open door, he could see Petey and Danny wrestling each other for the best bed, so he figured his was the one opposite. They were nice rooms, two beds each, laid out like in a hotel. This plane must be really expensive, he thought. It was getting late, so he started getting ready for bed, but before he could even move, Gerard once again barged in, closing the door behind him.
"Hey, come on, man, what now?" Frank urged in hushed tones. "What if I wasn't decent?"
"Then I would have gotten a nice surprise," Gerard smirked. "Listen, Frankie, Russell won't share a room with me, or anyone. He's locked himself in, doesn't trust anyone with his bass after the incident before. Like I said, he still thinks that was Labiba True's doing."
"Well it wasn't."
"Yeah, I know. You hadn't even arrived at the venue by that point." Gerard stepped forward, his eyebrows curled. "My point is that I need a place to sleep."
"And?"
"And your room now has the only free bed."
"You can't sleep in one of those seats out there?"
"Dude, I have a concert in the morning. Maybe you don't need to move during your performances, but I like to give people a show, you know?"
"Yeah, I guess you do need your beauty sleep. Time to put on all your makeup." Frank smiled.
"Shut up," Gerard laughed as he pushed past Frank to get to his bed.
"Oh, wait. Damn, they actually did it." Gerard was puttering around the second bed. "You know, I tried to stop them. Dammit, guys."
"What happened? What is it now?"
"They wet the bed. Well, I don't think they actually peed in it, but they said they were going to pour water in your bed as revenge for the bass thing."
"Really? They won't let that one go, huh?"
"I really tried to stop them, but I guess they didn't listen. They're not really turned on to the whole fake rivalry idea. They've been with the label a long time. They have their loyalties."
"Well, my bed's dry. Why didn't they wet both of them?"
"Huh, that is odd."
"So what?"
"I guess I'll have to sleep on a chair, like you said. I can't sleep on a wet bed all night." Gerard took a step before Frank stopped him.
"Wait, maybe you could..."
"Yeah, Frankie?"
"Well, it's a big bed. And you do have that concert tomorrow. There's no reason we can't share."
"Well, I don't want to impose. And the guys can't find out we're sharing a bed. They'd go nuts."
"It's okay, we'll keep it a secret. Deal?"
"Okay, but I sleep naked," Gerard said casually.
"Wait, what?"
"Just kidding." He smiled, triggering another huge grin from Frank.
The boys stripped down to their underwear, Frank in boxers and Gerard in what looked to Frank like a thong when he snuck a peek.
"Hey, weren't you wearing pajamas when we boarded?" asked Frank as he climbed into bed, pretending not to look despite his question. "What happened to those?"
"Wayne poured beer all over me when I told him not to pour water on your bed, so I had to change."
"Oh, well, thank you for defending me."
"Any time," Gerard muttered matter-of-factly as he joined Frank under the sheets. The bed wasn't quite big enough for two people - this was a plane after all - but they made do. They lied side-by-side in silence, looking up at the notches and edges on the plane's ceiling. The dim lighting only let them make out vague outlines.
"Hey," said Frank quietly. "Did you really mean it? That you want me? I mean, you'd be in a band with me?"
"Yeah," said Gerard through a smile, his eyes closed now. "I want you."
Frank's breath skipped a beat. His heart did something entirely unfamiliar. "You want me?" Frank repeated, even quieter this time.
"Frankie." Frank heard a rustling and felt a warmth as Gerard's hand met his between their bodies. "I want you."
When Frank turned his head, he saw Gerard's face looking back at him. That was all he needed. No more words were spoken that night. They didn't need any. Frank moved closer, turning his body above Gerard's and pressing their lips together. It was magical. His mind went blank. All he felt were feelings and all of them were good. He pulled back just to breathe and then went in for more. Gerard pressed against him more forcefully now too, moving his tongue to explore Frank's mouth and pulling Frank's body down on top of him. They could feel how much they wanted each other. They felt each other's hearts beating in their chests.
Gerard reached down to the floor, waving his hand around for the pocket of his discarded jeans. He'd just happened to have brought supplies. He stuffed them into Frank's hand as he stripped the two of them naked. Frank, taken by adrenaline, flipped Gerard over onto his front and pressed his head down into the pillow as he entered. Gerard winced into a laugh which was muffled by the noises of the jet engines. There was no need for him to be quiet. He grunted at a second thrust, then moved his hips to find their joint rhythm. He added pressure to motion for Frank to speed up. He wanted more.
Frank gripped Gerard's hips as he drove himself deeper. He imagined a piston in his mind, but this was an understatement; at this point, he was more than a machine, taking all that he could claim from Gerard's sensitive, quivering body until he finally found his stratospheric climax.
Gerard's euphoric drooling gaze met Frank's as he was flipped over once more, but he didn’t have time to enjoy the sight, as Frank's jet black hair quickly disappeared beneath the covers. Frank wasn't done yet. He wanted to taste the prize he'd been waiting for.
At this point, Gerard was sure his moans of ecstasy could be heard outside the room, but at this point, he didn't care. As Frankie's tongue worked him every which way, he closed his eyes and remembered all the times he'd seen him play. Those magic fingers running across the frets, the smile that captured his heart. He froze that smile in his mind as Frank swallowed every last drop of his love.
Gerard snuck out early in the morning, leaving the sleeping Frank in bed with the very same smile. He'd kissed him one last time, but he didn't think of it as anything special. He knew he'd taste those lips again. Have those eyes so close to his that they're all he could see in his vision. Feel the heat of his body, everywhere, always.
As the plane landed, the other band members seemed to be none the wiser. The Damn Presidents assumed Gerard slept in the seats in the cabin and the Labiboys were cursing their rivals' names as they prepared to disembark. It was a secret Frank and Gerard planned to keep. For now, anyway. While the others were distracted by arguments, Gerard flashed a hand sign to Frank, "Call me." He got the biggest smile in return.