The best of frerard smut

A very valuable resource

All credit goes to zerophile (deleted account) on livejournal

The show that night had been great. Frank couldn't even remember a time that the band had played better than they'd played tonight. Everything, he thought, had literally gone perfectly.

He grinned at his misty reflection in the bathroom mirror. A perfect show, and it was a hotel night. Not that he'd be getting much sleep – even after getting to the hotel, semi-unpacking his things, sharing a cigarette with Gerard and showering, he could still feel the adrenaline zipping through his veins. After a show like that, everything felt electric, and it wasn't something he knew how to turn off.

But even without the prospect of a restful night's sleep ahead, Frank was looking forward to spending the night rooming with Gerard. Being alone with Gerard was nice. It was easy. On tour, you were stuck with critical mass of people from sunrise to sunset. Gerard was weird, introverted and often hard to read, but he was Gerard. Frank didn't know anyone else whom he was more comfortable around.

And, of course, Frank could think of a couple other possible reasons why being stuck in a hotel room overnight, by themselves, was an appealing prospect.

Turning away from the mirror and opening the bathroom door into the hotel room, Frank pushed that errant thought out of his mind. It wasn't good to think about things like that. No matter how Frank secretly felt about it, what he and Gerard did for stage purposes was just that – for stage purposes only. Gerard had made that clear over and over. This thing Frank had – this Gerard thing – was something he needed to get over, something that was best not to think about.

Frank pushed these thoughts quickly. He'd been at this long enough that he'd learned to block them out, at least while he was around Gerard. He dug through the drawer under the television where he'd deposited most of the contents of his suitcase, finally pulling out a pair of ratty pyjama bottoms and slipping into them quickly. Frank was always one to unpack his clothes in hotel rooms, whereas Gerard just left his in his bag, or, more often, scattered all over the floor, along with CD's, comics, loose papers, and various other strange belongings of his.

Gerard was laying on one of the room's two double beds with his laptop open, resting on his thighs. He was still wearing his stage clothes, although his tie and jacket had been discarded and were now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He'd taken off his shoes, and his socks were plain, worn white, ruining the effect of his outfit and making Gerard seem...Frank couldn't think of the word. Home-y? It made Gerard feel like home. Less like a rock star superhero and more like the normal dude that Frank knew on a personal level, outside of the band. The way Gerard looked, lying like that, made that buzzing inside him that he'd been feeling since the show flare up again, a soft heat rising to his cheeks.

It was only when Frank hopped up casually onto the bed beside Gerard that he noticed the expression on Gerard's face, and all emotional reflection brought upon by the singers choice of foot attire was forgotten. Still staring transfixed at his computer screen, Gerard's face was a mask of something between stark horror, mortification, and morbid interest. Drawing his eyes away from Gerard's face, Frank tried to lean over his friend's shoulder to see what he was looking at. "What's that?" Frank asked, his voice coming out satisfactorily casual.

Seeming only then to realize that Frank was even there, Gerard slammed the screen shut and held the laptop shut over his lap, leaning away from Frank. "Nothing," he said quickly, his eyes still carrying within them that glint of strong embarrassment. Frank noticed that he seemed even paler than usual, which was saying something. "How was your shower?" Gerard asked, directing his gaze somewhere below Frank's eyelevel and sitting up further on the bed.