My Chemical Romance Fanfiction

Whatever Gets You Through the Night

Frerard, Smut, 5,386 words
By: endlessnighttimesky

Australia is so fucking hot.

Gerard doesn’t know what it is – well, the sun, obviously, but he never thought anything would be worse than Pro Rev. And Pro Rev was hot. (Fuckin’ flamethrowers.)

Australia, though – Australia is fucking hell. How half the audience isn’t falling over from sunstroke is beyond Gerard. How his band isn’t doing it is beyond him too, because the stage is fucking burning and Gerard feels a little like he’s going to pass out.

He’s the only one who seems to feel that way, though, because Frank is still jumping around (like a fucking bunny, Gerard might add – like, what the fuck) and writhing on the floor, in a cardigan, and gloves, ugh, Gerard feels sweaty just by looking at him. Mikey seems just as okay, calmly strumming away on his bass like he’s not half-Scottish and from Jersey. Ray’s hair looks a little flatter than usual, but that’s about it.

They’re halfway through the set when Gerard just can’t take it anymore, and unbuttons his shirt, much to the joy of the girls at the barrier. He doesn’t do it all the way down – he’s still half-Scottish, and from Jersey, and a natural basement-dweller, he’s not crazy. But it’s warm, so fucking warm, so the two or three top buttons have to go or he might just suffocate.

Frank notices it immediately, giving Gerard the once-over with a sly grin on his lips, before he’s off to annoy Mikey some more and steal another one Ray’s beers.

§ § §

Once they get backstage, Gerard is soaked, black fabric of his shirt tacky and damp, sticking to his skin. His hair is wet from when he upturned a water bottle over his head, although it was probably just as wet before, only with sweat.

“Fuck,” Gerard pants, grabbing the nearest water bottle and chugging half of it in one go, not really caring that some of it is dribbling down his chin. It’s cold, icy, and he’d pour it all over him if it wasn’t for how they’re supposed to go to the hotel now and how it’s probably considered rude to jump into a cab soaking wet.

“How’s it going, old man?” Frank sidles up next to him, grinning and throwing an arm around Gerard’s shoulders, placing a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek. The proximity makes Gerard feel like he’s burning up again, but it’s Frank, so he doesn’t really care. Frank isn’t really a stranger to a sweaty, panting Gerard, anyway.

“Fuck you,” Gerard says, but he’s smiling, like he always does when Frank teases him about his age, or kisses his cheek, or, y’know, exists. “Fuckin’ boytoy.”

“Hell yeah,” Frank says, giving Gerard another open-mouthed kiss, this time on his jaw, damp and wide. “I like the sound of that.”

“Stop being gross and get in the car,” Medhi says from behind them, shoving them towards the exit and the parking lot. “I’m not waiting for you to fuck in the showers.”

“That was one time!” Frank defends, laughing, but he does as Mehdi says, knowing there will be hell to pay otherwise.

§ § §

The cab ride is torture. Gerard might’ve cooled off, but now he’s got a lap full of Frank instead, all sweaty and warm and high on adrenaline, hands all over Gerard as if he just can’t wait until they get to the hotel.

“Stop defiling my brother,” Mikey says from the seat in front of them, having been wise enough to let Frank and Gerard have the backseat. He can still hear them, though.

“Stop listening to me defiling him,” Frank says, but it’s muffled, since he doesn’t bother detaching his mouth from Gerard’s neck long enough to speak clearly.