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Frank spits onto the pavement beneath his feet. He takes a drawl from his cigarette, breathing it in deep and savoring the burn beneath his teeth.
He's got his back up against the outside of some bar in town. He doesn't remember which one it is, but he knows it's shitty and full of people he can't recognize. Their faces blur together as he drinks and smokes and hums along to whatever song they have playing on the jukebox. The beer there leaves a bitter, hollow taste in his mouth, like the gunpowder that sits on his palate after he shoots a buck in between the eyes and watches it hit the dirt floor of the woods.
He's about to go back into the bar and pay his tab when he catches a flash of brown hair out the corner of his eye. He turns, face-to-face with Gerard. He feels his heart do that pistol shot jump in his chest and spits again, just to have something to do instead of grabbing Gerard's face and kissing him.
“Hey,” Gerard greets, the gun on his hip glinting in the sun. Frank remembers choking on the barrel of that gun. He swallows and tries not to think about the memory of him hard-pressed and begging for it at Gerard's feet, then Gerard giving him exactly what he needed.
Gerard takes a pull of his own cigarette, hands curled around it the same way his hands curl around Frank on those cold, quiet nights where neither of them can get out of bed and part ways. It's been months since they had one of those nights together. Frank feels the rays of the sun beating down on him through his flannel and wishes he wore something different. He wishes he was with Gerard someplace else, somewhere where he could grab his collar and haul him in like nobody is watching, feel the rough scrape of his stubble against his lips and the way he smiles into the kisses Frank gives him.
Frank nods in return, feeling a grin tugging at his lips. It's always been Gerard for him, with his dumb luck and his eyes too green. He's like the occasional white tail deer that Frank finds when hunting, too beautiful and sharp to shoot. He feels his resolve crumbling when he's around Gerard and smells the familiar scent of leather and blood. It's in his nature.
“Haven't seen y‘round here in'a while. Was starting to think that something happened. That y’got sick again, or, I don't know, left.”
Frank pretends he doesn't hear the hitch in Gerard's voice when he's whispers the end of his sentence, and acts like his gut isn't curled up in hurt at the thought of Gerard worried about him leaving without saying anything.
Gerard's eyes are wide and pulling, like he's trying to communicate to Frank how much he misses him. Frank wants to punch him so hard that it busts his lip, then clean him up with a cold rag and his body wrapped around Gerard's.
Frank coughs and throws his cigarette on the ground. He stubs the remnants of it out with the toe of his boot. He feels his pulse thumping under his skin at the thought of Gerard wondering about him. It makes him want to push and pull Gerard under his hands and ask him about what he's been thinking in regards to Frank. He wants to know every single thought that Gerard has about him when he's not with him.
“Y'know nothing ain't ever gonna happen to me. You coulda just wrote me a letter, or came and saw me. I would've told you I was doin’ just fine,” Frank hums, leaning back up against the bricks. He wishes he was still smoking his cigarette instead of avoiding Gerard's eyes under the blistering sun.
Gerard laughs, high-pitched and brayish, those eyes of his boring holes through him. He blinks, eyelashes curling in the way a girl's do. It's one of the things about Gerard that drives Frank damn near insane with desire. “Well, damn. Maybe I should've wrote you a letter.”
“Should have,” Frank echoes, nodding. He wants to reach out and fix Gerard's cowboy hat, where it's tipped too far back. He doesn't dare reach a hand out, but he thinks about it. He thinks his hands would shake if he tried.
Gerard looks Frank up and down, the same way he does when he's thinking something over. He bites his lip then runs his tongue over the bottom of his mouth. Frank wants to lunge forward and trace his tongue with his own, wants to feel that dusty, metal taste that sits in Gerard's mouth. Wants to bite down so hard he tastes Gerard's blood. He's always been a bit too violent with his desires when it comes to Gerard.
“Come home with me, Frankie,” Gerard whispers, his voice rough. He steps a little closer to Frank, close enough that Frank can smell the sweat on his skin. It makes him breathe deep through his nose, like he's trying to capture the scent of him and keep it inside of his chest forever. Lord knows he's tried it before.
“Okay,” Frank says, so quiet, even to his own ears. “Okay. Take me home.”
Gerard gives him a smile so wide it seems like it'll crack his face open if it gets any bigger. He reaches down and grazes his fingers along Frank's belt buckle, playing with the metal sting of it. They're both quiet for a second, enjoying the closeness they can have in the moment without the prying eyes of the people in town.
“C'mon, we'll get your truck later,” He says, his smile more tapered down but still full of warmth. Frank nods and grabs Gerard's hand that's still playing with his belt buckle, dragging his digits across his calloused palm. It's one of the things he used to do when they were new to this, skittish and young and not yet understanding of their feelings for each other.
It's the most that they can do when outside of their safe space, but Gerard appreciates the gesture as much as he does a soft kiss from Frank when they're going to sleep. He misses being able to freely touch Frank, drag his fingers over his tattoos and commit them to memory, tuck his overgrown mess of curls behind his ears and tell him he loves him. He loves him as much as a man can love another man, no matter what the Preacher or the people in town say.
Frank knows it, by the look in Gerard's eyes and the way he makes Frank's coffee, because he knows Frank has to have it a specific way or he's not drinking it.
“Okay,” Frank says again, happiness taking flight in his chest, it's wings thumping around and hitting his ribs.
They follow each other out of the alleyway and into Gerard's banged-up truck. Gerard drives them to his place, hand resting on Frank's thigh the entire way there. His thumb drags back and forth across the flayed denim crotch of his jeans, sending heat up Frank's spine.
Frank glances over to look at Gerard, taking in the way the light is shining through the open truck window. He's got a crease in-between his eyebrows, an unconscious thing he does when he's trying to concentrate. It's the same look he wears when he's painting, or when he's peeling Frank's boots and jeans up and off of his shaking body.
Gerard turns his head and catches Frank's eye, smirking like he already knows what Frank is thinking. He taps his thumb twice when it's sliding back up Frank's thigh, the same type of sign like Frank dragging his fingers across Gerard's palms.
When they reach Gerard's dirt driveway and pull in-front of the porch, Gerard leans over and kisses Frank, deep and grounding. It's exactly what Frank has been wanting since the last time they were together. The thing that had thought about for several weeks on end, dreaming of Gerard's rough stubble scraping against his chin and his tongue in Frank's mouth.
They sit and breathe into each other's mouths for some minutes after, Frank tasting the cigarette Gerard was smoking earlier. He leans in and pecks Gerard once more, softly.
“I love you, Gee,” Frank tells him, reverent and wholly. He means it, so much.
Gerard nudges his nose against Frank's and smiles, all of his little, jagged teeth on display for Frank to see. Frank laughs fondly, just because he can.
“I love y’too, sugar. Let's go inside, c'mon. I've missed you. Christ. I really have missed you.”
Frank giggles again. “Oh, how I know it.”