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Sep. 4th, 2010 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applestitle: Fevered Love
pairing: Gerard/Frank/Ray/Bob/Mikey (no active Waycest)
rating: nc17
wordcount: 4619
disclaimer:This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
summary: Gerard believes in love, and he believes in pranks. Then things take a wrong turn.
warnings: AU for being set in 'Bob is their sound guy' times, but without Brian in the van. Dub-con, considering the love potion.
author's notes: based off the prompt 'love potion gone wrong' for h/c bingo.
Gerard isn’t silly enough to think it’ll work. He wants to believe, just like he wants to believe in vampires and worlds where people don’t always have to hurt each other. Sometimes he envies Mikey and his ability to actually believe in unicorns. But when he sees it, that want is enough to make him buy the tiny bottle.
It’s in a funky little thrift store. Whenever they have spare hours the van gets pulled over for thrift stores. It’s honestly easier to buy a new pair of jeans than to find a place to wash and to Frank and Ray especially a clean three dollar pair of jeans is more important than a hamburger. Mikey likes finding old see through with wear band shirts. Gerard just likes walking through the aisles of tchoktes. When every possible surface is covered in weird looking crap, he feels at home. He can’t ever buy anything, there’s not enough room in the van for them to all sleep, never mind for figurines. But when he sees a little black bottle with Fevered Love: A Potion hand written on the label he gathers up his change from all the various bottles of liquor and buys it.
He forgets about it until a few days later, digging through a heap of clothes crammed under the seat trying to find his wallet. Frank’s being a bastard and is somehow the only person in the van with beer, and is charging instead of sharing. Well, no one except Matt, but he wisely drained his mickey before passing out in the passenger seat. He can’t find his wallet, which doesn’t worry him, it’ll be somewhere in the mess of the floor. But he does find the vial, liquid bubbled at the top from the constant movement of the van.
When Frank makes Bob pull over so he can piss, Gerard’s first move is to steal a beer, obviously. It doesn’t matter if Frank wrestles him on the seat when he climbs back in. If the bottle is empty before that happens he’s won. But his second move is to dump the contents of the water into Frank’s bottles, pre-opened because he loses dexterity when he’s drunk and once scraped all skin off his knuckle trying to open a cap. It isn’t that Frank is a pussy, afraid of a bit of blood. It just makes it harder to play when you have a gory bandage around your fingers.
Gerard’s not worried about the safety of it. He smelled the ‘love potion’ before pouring it out, and watched it carefully before adding it to the beer. It smelled and looked like water. If it was something dangerous they wouldn’t be able to sell it in a thrift store. And it’ll be funny to see how Frank reacts to him saying he put a love potion in his drink.
After the expected grumbling and the practically mandatory tackle and sharp elbows in soft places fight, Frank does something unexpected. He gives a free drink to Ray and Mikey, saying that if Gerard gets a free one, they might as well, so thank him for being a greedy bastard. The joke has taken a lame turn now. There’s no way he can tell Ray or Mikey they drank love juice. It would be weird to say that to his brother, and he and Ray have a different dynamic than he and Frank.
With nothing better to do than wait until Frank has to pee again -he’s got the smallest bladder in the world when he’s drunk- so he can steal another, Gerard sits back against the canvas seat and watches his friends. Frank is a chugger like he is, a good three slurps and the bottle is done. Every time he watches Mikey he’s surprised by his brother’s mouth capacity. When they were younger it was the perfect marshmallow hording mouth, and somehow, when he was away at college and Mikey got his first experiences with the real world it changed to a beer bong mouth. It never ceases to make him laugh that Ray, the metalist looking of them all, sips his fuckin’ beer.
It’s about five minutes before Frank gets over his irritation and swings around so he’s kneeling, facing Gerard and Ray on the back bench. Gerard can’t remember when seat belts became a thing of the past, it was probably when they realised the only thing worse than being in a van for twenty two hours a day was being tied to the seat while in a van for twenty two hours. “You know what I love about beer?”
Gerard starts to laugh. This speech, or ramble really, is as classic as Mikey’s drunken urge to reminisce about sports he’s never played. There’s nothing funnier than his brother going on about curling, but Frank’s ‘I love beer’ speech is pretty awesome. He turns to Ray who should be laugh too, but is oddly silent. In a second Frank will continue, and they know it well enough that they can start to say it with him, in falsetto, or forced baritone, or with British accents, or whatever mood strikes them.
“I love how fucking horny you get.”
Gerard’s laughter stutters to a halt. That’s not what Frank usually says. And as he says it, he sees Ray’s hands flat on his thighs, heels pressed hard into the denim and leaving a wake of skin as his hands move down to his knees and back up.
“Like really really ridiculously fucking horny.”
And without any fucking warning Mikey is diving across the middle seat to grab Frank’s head and kiss him. No, scratch that, they’re making out, and it’s not like Gerard has a great view, he can’t see through the seat, but he can only see one of the four hands and so he suspects it’s quickly gone past first base.
“What the crap? Ray, you’re seeing this right? This isn’t-” he turns to Ray beseeching a sane reply. There’s none to be had, because one of his fists is balled up in denim, the other around his cock. It’s out of his fucking pants, and Mikey and Frank are going at it in the middle seat.
“What the crap, what the crap, what the crap!” And then it hits him. He totally just roofied his band mates. He opens his mouth to apologise, explain but there’s a tongue in it. Ray’s kissing him with abandon, one arm curled around Gerard’s side, the other still working his displayed cock.
It’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever made out with a guy. He went to an art school for fucksakes. Still, the situation seems fucked up. At least in art school he never drugged anyone before they wanted to kiss him. If they drugged themselves that was their choice, Gerard’s not looking down on anyone when he enjoyed a few different things himself. But half the van is drugged, and he’s not sure he wants any part of it. Especially when Mikey pulls away from Frank to leap over the seat and land in an ungainly heap, a third on Ray, a third on the seat, a third on the floor.
Mikey scoots off and back and up until his back is pressed against the edge of the unopenable window. He pulls Ray with him. The surface of the seat drags on Ray’s already opened jeans tugging them down further. By the time he’s nestled up against Mikey Ray’s pants are at his knees. Ray’s grinding backwards and his brother is grinding up and Gerard is NOT prepared to look and see Mikey’s got his jeans unzipped too.
“What? I’m not getting left out!” Frank sounds scarily insistent and Gerard’s not surprised in the least when his body comes flying over the seat. There’s hardly enough room for all four of them on the seat, Frank is half on Ray’s legs and half on Gerard. On the other hand, he provides a helpful buffer between him and whatever Ray and his brother are doing.
It’s Bob that surprises him nearly into a heart attack by saying “left out of what?”
Gerard’s mind reels. He doesn’t take the driving shift very often, he’s usually one of the ones left to get drunk in the back. And when he does drive, he doesn’t often look in the rear view mirror - or check the side mirrors, or put on the turn signal, or flash his lights before merging. Which, you know, might be another reason that he doesn’t often drive. The point being, he has no idea how much of them Bob can see from his position as driver. The explanations that would seem plausible hinge on whether or not Bob can see how they’re positioned in the back seat.
He decides to go for something basic. “Dunno. Frank’s just being a spaz.” Let Bob come up with his own reason. Gerard somehow bets none of them will involve two members of the band having sex in the back seat. Gerard winces as he looks back from staring at the back of Otter’s seat to the boys beside him. Correction, Bob won’t guess that three members of the band are having sex in the back seat. In the brief span of time that he was distracted, Ray’s curled his hand around Frank’s dick.
Bob doesn’t even snort in surprise, so Gerard considers himself off the hook. Except for how this is entirely his fault. But he can deal with that, as long as none of them get caught. Of course, the moment he thinks that Frank lets out a moan. A loud, completely unmistakable for any other sound, I Am Obviously Near Orgasm moan. Gerard sort of wants to shoot himself in the eye.
“Spaz, huh?” Bob calls back. It’s beyond clear that Bob thinks he’s full of shit.
How the fuck are they supposed to explain this? None of them seem to care though, none of them even acknowledge the question. So it’s really more how the fuck is he supposed to explain this. And he’s got nothing. He wishes he was drunk. He wouldn’t necessarily have a better, more inventive excuse. He just wouldn’t care as much about being completely fucked.
The van pulls to the side. Bob doesn’t swerve, but it’s always easy to tell what’s going on when the box of shit following them dovetails with each movement. Gerard almost wants to laugh. He can hear a stereotypical frowning father’s voice in his head, if you don’t stop we’re turning this car around and going right back home.
Gerard is torn between holding his breath and hyperventilating when he hears the driver door close and a moment later the handle on the sliding door being pulled. It always sticks at first, and he can hear Bob’s grunt as he tries to open it. Gerard hopes it will be permanently stuck. He can deal with being trapped in the van forever, if only Bob doesn’t come see what he’s done to his band. Techs have crazy magical powers, and all he needs is for Bob to look at him and glare until his head explodes like a balloon.
Unfortunately, he’s not as lucky to get to starve to death over a period of weeks. The door slides open and Gerard carefully looks past Bob into the dark night as Bob peers in.
“Fuck, really?” Gerard thinks frantically, but there’s not a chance that he could say anything that could fix this.
And then Bob does the inexplicable. He puts his left forearm against the opened door and leans his weight on it, the other hand expertly undoing his jeans. Gerard’s tried to open a button on jeans with one hand before, it’s nearly impossible. Clearly yet another example of tech superpowers.
The jeans are loose enough that after the zipper is rolled down they fall to the road. Bob’s wearing dark green underwear. Hell, they’re probably even his own. Not that Bob would have any taboo against grabbing the first somewhat clean pair, he did tour with The Used, he’s probably used to spitting into other people’s mouths and eating month old sandwiches. It’s just Bob’s bigger than the rest of them, he wouldn’t fit into Frank’s.
Gerard’s trying to look at the grassy field behind Bob. He really wants to be intrigued by the way the uncut grass looks lit only by the moon. But Bob pushes his underwear to mid-thigh, and if Gerard ever had a chance to get out of this alive, it is lost when Bob’s thick fingers curl around his cock. Still, he thinks he deserves some sort of points for keeping his gaze purely on Bob, instead of turning back to what his brother and two best friends are doing. He doesn’t even look back when he hears the stuttered groan that he’s heard a million times when he used to share a bedroom. He never looked across the room to see Mikey grab the kleenex then, and he’s not looking now.
“Hey Bob!”
“Yeah, Iero?”
“You should come over here and make out with Ray. He tastes really good.” If this were a normal conversation Gerard would point out that’s because Ray is the only one of them that brushes his teeth in gas station bathrooms. But the very fact that Frank knows how Ray’s mouth tastes, instead of just the lack of bad breath means that nothing is normal.
Bob takes his hand off his dick and puts it on the edge of the middle seat. He levers himself into the van, then eyes the backseat. There are already four guys sitting there, and even if Ray is basically on top of Mikey and Frank is inseparable from Ray, it’s still four guys on a three person seat. Bob shoves Frank until there’s a slice of room between him and Gerard. Frank immediately pulls away from Ray to crawl on top of Bob.
“Now you have to jerk me off. That’s what Ray was doing.” Bob grins and wraps his hand around both their cocks. He leans in for a kiss, but bites Frank’s lip instead, and Frank comes all over Bob’s fingers. Thank fuck. Now Gerard just has to wait for Ray and Bob, and this can be over.
Except Bob keeps stroking, and Gerard can’t really look away, even if this is a sort of rape he’s forced on them, because Bob and Frank are fucking hot. And from what he can tell, Frank’s still hard. And beyond them, Ray has come on his shirt, but he’s still grinding his ass against Mikey, Mikey’s hand snaked between the seat and Ray, fingers drawing circles on his balls.
Maybe it’s the wrong reaction the face of an orgy, but Gerard shimmies off the seat onto the floor. There’s enough room to cross his legs, put his elbows on his ankles and bury his face in his hands. It’s not like this will ever end anyway. He fed them something weird, and all three of them have already come once and it hasn’t stopped anything. He is doomed to be here for hours, until Otter wakes up and gets them all committed. If he needs a time out, or even a nap, they’ll still be going at it when he wakes up.
“Gee, that’s a really good idea.” Gerard sort of wants to hit Frank for the comment, as he’s pretty sure he’s had a total of no good ideas tonight. But Frank is clamouring off Bob to join him on the pile of clothes and notebooks and other crap that always winds up on the floor of the van.
“Scoot” he says, slapping Bob’s knee. Bob slaps Frank’s cheek lightly in retaliation, but moves to the edge of the seat. As it turns out, watching Frank lick long, open mouthed stripes down Bob’s dick is even hotter than the handjob. Gerard decides he can’t be blamed for giving in to the heat of the moment, he can feel guilty about it later, but for now he’s going to enjoy the hand he crams down the front of his jeans.
It’s difficult to jerk off when you can’t move your hand at all. It’s more fondling than jerking, really. Gerard’s hand stills completely when Ray sits up and Mikey crawls over him. He bends forward awkwardly to kiss Frank’s forehead before turning his attention to Bob. That at least Gerard isn’t horrified by, if he couldn’t handle Mikey making out with any guy he pleased they would have stopped talking to each other years ago. It’s not the first time he’s seen thick fingers weave into the mess that’s Mikey’s constantly hair-sprayed little washed hair.
Mikey almost swallows the moan when Bob comes. Almost, but there’s enough that escapes that his head snaps towards the front of the van. Otter doesn’t grunt, and Gerard is impressed with the brand of whiskey he imbibed. Otter falls asleep easily, but normally he’s not completely out cold. Gerard might worry about alcohol poisoning, if he didn’t have so much else on his plate already.
Frank pulls off Bob, licking his lips obscenely. He tilts to the side and rests his sweaty cheek on Gerard’s shoulder. He can feel the heat of Frank through the thin fabric of his unwashed shirt. Frank’s rested on him a thousand times, it shouldn’t be damned erotic as it seems. Bob uses his hold on the nape of Mikey’s neck to guide him towards Ray, past his face, past his chest. He doesn’t let go until Mikey’s mouth is hovering just over Ray’s cock. That too is far more erotic than it should be.
Gerard doesn’t really want to look at the cock disappearing into his brother’s mouth. Even if Mikey really seems to be enjoying it, there’s not a chance he’s supposed to be enjoying Mikey enjoy it. So instead he focuses on the lesser of two evils, the way Bob’s hand has snaked under Mikey. It’s probably the most awkward angled handjob Gerard’s ever witnessed, and he’s watched a lot of porn, and done a fair amount of stuff. Still, neither of them seem to be suffering for it. And Bob’s not hard again, which means that whatever’s going on, it’s not contagious.
His eyes on Bob’s arm between a body and the seat -it’s easier to stop the guilt if he can think of it as a body, not his brother- Gerard starts working his hand again. He’s been watching a live action porn for the last god know how long, and while it’s been equal amounts horrifying and arousing, he really just wants to get off and see if he can force himself to pass out. Coming usually helps him get sleepy.
There’s a lot to distract him though. He can’t really move his hand, but he doesn’t want to admit defeat and open his zipper. Frank’s arm is twitching beside him, occasionally elbowing him as he unabashedly jerks off beside him. The way he’s kneeling is causing the mysterious pointy objects on the floor to dig into his knees. He’s not gonna get off, and it’ll be his punishment for letting this happen. More than letting; causing.
“You want to fuck me?” Frank asks.
He should ask what or are you kidding or would you do this if you weren’t drunk on mystery substances. What comes out is “do you think there’s enough room?”
Frank scoffs. It’s this cute disgusted snarl, it makes Gerard want to kiss him and bite it off his lips. Before he has the chance Frank is crawling across the cluttered floor of the van. He crams himself between Ray’s splayed knees and waves impatiently at the minuscule space between his back and the back of the seat. Gerard eyes it warily. He’s not exactly Frank-size, and the last thing they need is to get stuck. They cannot afford to call the fire department, neither with publicity nor with actual funds. Frank shakes his ass at him, and that decides it.
Before Gerard wriggles in he reaches for the nearest pair of pants. Every pair of jeans in the van has a condom in it, they are a hopeful bunch. Thank Jesus, God and Merlin it’s a lubricated condom because that’s one of the things nobody thought to bring along. Like bandaids. The first time Mikey pulled a thumbnail they had to use scotch tape and a paper towel. They weren’t prepared for blood and apparently they didn’t prepare for ass fucking either.
Gerard knows enough about this to spit on his fingers before he strokes them up the crease of Frank’s ass. He’s never been the fucker, just the fuckee, and even then things only got that far twice, but he’s not an idiot. Fingers don’t go into places dry. As far as he knows, Frank’s never been either, but when Gerard only pushes to the first knuckle Frank rocks back until it’s third knuckle deep. The desperation is incredibly hot, and Gerard can forgive himself for rushing the other two fingers so he can finally rip open the condom, unroll it and sink into Frank.
“Fuck,” is the first word he’s said since calling Frank a spaz, and while it’s not intellectual it sums up everything from how his cock is being clenched, to how much he already needs to come, to the way Frank is biting Ray’s thigh. Gerard says it again as he pulls back and rocks back in, and after that it becomes his mantra. It’s all he can hear, it’s louder than Mikey’s moan reverberating around Ray’s cock when he comes a second time, it’s louder than the bag of chips that’s crunching under his knee, it’s louder than the squeaky sound of Frank trying to grab on to the pleather underside of the seat.
Gerard clenches Frank’s hips as the heat surging through him starts to make his legs numb. His words are getting louder, more expressive, but for a moment, as he’s biting Frank’s neck and coming, he doesn’t care if he wakes Otter up. He slumps back against the back of the middle seat, his eyes opening just in time to see Frank kiss Mikey. When they seperate Mikey’s lips are still wet and slightly white. And Ray’s still hard.
He can’t do this. Gerard slips out of Frank, shuffles to the side until he has more room to crawl. He grabs his hoodie so he won’t notice the air conditioning on his sweaty arms making him shiver, and his headphones. Once he’s out of the still open door he tosses the condom to the road, because really, littering? Not his biggest concern. He slams the van door shut and walks around the front of the car. The earbuds slide into their proper cavities after he climbs into the driver’s seat. Gerard turns the car back on -he didn’t notice Bob turning it off, but at least they didn’t waste gas for however long that took- picks a good playlist and cranks the volume. He keeps his eyes directly on the tiny lit up stretch of road in front of him. He doesn’t quite know where they’re going, but there’s a map taped to the dashboard, a route drawn out in green marker. He’s not going to look behind him. He doesn’t want to know.
Gerard drives until Bob throws a balled up sock at him. It bounces harmlessly off his head and falls into the abyss that is the space between the driver and passenger seat. He tugs at the wires until the headphones drop onto his lap. Otter is snoring, he snores like a demon after a night of drinking, which is to say almost every night.
“I just woke up.” They’ve been cooped up in the van for long enough that Gerard knows that means Bob needs to piss. “And turn down the volume asshole, I told you like five times already.”
Gerard starts to look for a gas station. He has no idea when they fell asleep, it feels like he hasn’t blinked in hours. His eyes are burning.
“Why’s everyone so quiet? You all are never quiet. Normally Gerard would be focused on that sentence and the implied you group vs me and how to once again try to convince Bob he is a part of the group but right now he’s pretty fucking distracted. He keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing.
After a minute Bob tries again. “Did we not stop for coffee yet? I know you can’t function without it, but there’s no need to be silent. Why can’t you be loud grumps?”
Normally Bob’s morning pep is aggravating enough. My Chemical Romance is not particularly a morning band. But there’s a huge tension in the air, and Bob’s crap isn’t cutting through it, it’s just rubbing against it, like kindling. It’s Frank that snaps, which doesn’t surprise Gerard at all. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because we all had big gay group sex last night?”
Mikey and Ray don’t say anything but looking in the rearview mirror Gerard can’t miss Ray’s panicked look at Matt.
“What?”
“We’re not talking because no one wants to talk about how apparently I like being fucked and Mikey likes sucking cock-” Gerard’s stomach lurches at the phrase “even though none of us are gay.”
“Who said anything about gay?” Mikey Way, voice of fucking reason, even when he’s entirely full of crap. His stomach protests the image of Mikey talking down a hundred scared emo boys in lieu of an afterglow. He’d like to think that Mikey’s a virgin, not a manipulator.
“I’d say the handjobs and blowjobs are pretty fucking gay dude.” And yeah, they’ve been around each other far too long for them to not see through each other. Gerard can only hope Frank doesn’t actually start a brawl in the back seat, which is what he tends to do when he’s pissed. Europe might have health care, but Brian will still kick their ass a second time. And he’ll want to know what the fight was about. In contrast, he can hear Ray hyperventilating. He’d offer him a paper bag, except he doesn’t think they have any that aren’t already full of fast food wrappers, and he’s never understood how breathing into a bag helps anyway.
“Mikey’s bisexual.” Bob offers.
“What, so I infected you?” Now Mikey’s pissed too, even if you can’t much hear it in his voice.
This would be the perfect time to say nobody’s anything, they just drank the wrong thing. But Gerard can’t do it. He can’t stand the idea of everyone being pissed at him. The moment passes with Bob explaining that no, it’s got nothing to do with that, it just can’t be bothering Mikey because he’s already into that kind of stuff, and for that matter Gerard too, and it doesn’t bother him at all, so it’s really up to Frank and Ray to calm down. Gerard wants to vomit. If there’s anything worse than a morning person, it’s a morning person who is also an optimist.
Instead he just keeps his eyes on the road, and turns at the first row of pumps he sees. They can all get something to eat, replenish lost liquids, and try to forget everything. He might not believe Bob that it’s no big deal, but they don’t have a choice but to keep on going. They’ve still got half a tour left.
pairing: Gerard/Frank/Ray/Bob/Mikey (no active Waycest)
rating: nc17
wordcount: 4619
disclaimer:This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
summary: Gerard believes in love, and he believes in pranks. Then things take a wrong turn.
warnings: AU for being set in 'Bob is their sound guy' times, but without Brian in the van. Dub-con, considering the love potion.
author's notes: based off the prompt 'love potion gone wrong' for h/c bingo.
Gerard isn’t silly enough to think it’ll work. He wants to believe, just like he wants to believe in vampires and worlds where people don’t always have to hurt each other. Sometimes he envies Mikey and his ability to actually believe in unicorns. But when he sees it, that want is enough to make him buy the tiny bottle.
It’s in a funky little thrift store. Whenever they have spare hours the van gets pulled over for thrift stores. It’s honestly easier to buy a new pair of jeans than to find a place to wash and to Frank and Ray especially a clean three dollar pair of jeans is more important than a hamburger. Mikey likes finding old see through with wear band shirts. Gerard just likes walking through the aisles of tchoktes. When every possible surface is covered in weird looking crap, he feels at home. He can’t ever buy anything, there’s not enough room in the van for them to all sleep, never mind for figurines. But when he sees a little black bottle with Fevered Love: A Potion hand written on the label he gathers up his change from all the various bottles of liquor and buys it.
He forgets about it until a few days later, digging through a heap of clothes crammed under the seat trying to find his wallet. Frank’s being a bastard and is somehow the only person in the van with beer, and is charging instead of sharing. Well, no one except Matt, but he wisely drained his mickey before passing out in the passenger seat. He can’t find his wallet, which doesn’t worry him, it’ll be somewhere in the mess of the floor. But he does find the vial, liquid bubbled at the top from the constant movement of the van.
When Frank makes Bob pull over so he can piss, Gerard’s first move is to steal a beer, obviously. It doesn’t matter if Frank wrestles him on the seat when he climbs back in. If the bottle is empty before that happens he’s won. But his second move is to dump the contents of the water into Frank’s bottles, pre-opened because he loses dexterity when he’s drunk and once scraped all skin off his knuckle trying to open a cap. It isn’t that Frank is a pussy, afraid of a bit of blood. It just makes it harder to play when you have a gory bandage around your fingers.
Gerard’s not worried about the safety of it. He smelled the ‘love potion’ before pouring it out, and watched it carefully before adding it to the beer. It smelled and looked like water. If it was something dangerous they wouldn’t be able to sell it in a thrift store. And it’ll be funny to see how Frank reacts to him saying he put a love potion in his drink.
After the expected grumbling and the practically mandatory tackle and sharp elbows in soft places fight, Frank does something unexpected. He gives a free drink to Ray and Mikey, saying that if Gerard gets a free one, they might as well, so thank him for being a greedy bastard. The joke has taken a lame turn now. There’s no way he can tell Ray or Mikey they drank love juice. It would be weird to say that to his brother, and he and Ray have a different dynamic than he and Frank.
With nothing better to do than wait until Frank has to pee again -he’s got the smallest bladder in the world when he’s drunk- so he can steal another, Gerard sits back against the canvas seat and watches his friends. Frank is a chugger like he is, a good three slurps and the bottle is done. Every time he watches Mikey he’s surprised by his brother’s mouth capacity. When they were younger it was the perfect marshmallow hording mouth, and somehow, when he was away at college and Mikey got his first experiences with the real world it changed to a beer bong mouth. It never ceases to make him laugh that Ray, the metalist looking of them all, sips his fuckin’ beer.
It’s about five minutes before Frank gets over his irritation and swings around so he’s kneeling, facing Gerard and Ray on the back bench. Gerard can’t remember when seat belts became a thing of the past, it was probably when they realised the only thing worse than being in a van for twenty two hours a day was being tied to the seat while in a van for twenty two hours. “You know what I love about beer?”
Gerard starts to laugh. This speech, or ramble really, is as classic as Mikey’s drunken urge to reminisce about sports he’s never played. There’s nothing funnier than his brother going on about curling, but Frank’s ‘I love beer’ speech is pretty awesome. He turns to Ray who should be laugh too, but is oddly silent. In a second Frank will continue, and they know it well enough that they can start to say it with him, in falsetto, or forced baritone, or with British accents, or whatever mood strikes them.
“I love how fucking horny you get.”
Gerard’s laughter stutters to a halt. That’s not what Frank usually says. And as he says it, he sees Ray’s hands flat on his thighs, heels pressed hard into the denim and leaving a wake of skin as his hands move down to his knees and back up.
“Like really really ridiculously fucking horny.”
And without any fucking warning Mikey is diving across the middle seat to grab Frank’s head and kiss him. No, scratch that, they’re making out, and it’s not like Gerard has a great view, he can’t see through the seat, but he can only see one of the four hands and so he suspects it’s quickly gone past first base.
“What the crap? Ray, you’re seeing this right? This isn’t-” he turns to Ray beseeching a sane reply. There’s none to be had, because one of his fists is balled up in denim, the other around his cock. It’s out of his fucking pants, and Mikey and Frank are going at it in the middle seat.
“What the crap, what the crap, what the crap!” And then it hits him. He totally just roofied his band mates. He opens his mouth to apologise, explain but there’s a tongue in it. Ray’s kissing him with abandon, one arm curled around Gerard’s side, the other still working his displayed cock.
It’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever made out with a guy. He went to an art school for fucksakes. Still, the situation seems fucked up. At least in art school he never drugged anyone before they wanted to kiss him. If they drugged themselves that was their choice, Gerard’s not looking down on anyone when he enjoyed a few different things himself. But half the van is drugged, and he’s not sure he wants any part of it. Especially when Mikey pulls away from Frank to leap over the seat and land in an ungainly heap, a third on Ray, a third on the seat, a third on the floor.
Mikey scoots off and back and up until his back is pressed against the edge of the unopenable window. He pulls Ray with him. The surface of the seat drags on Ray’s already opened jeans tugging them down further. By the time he’s nestled up against Mikey Ray’s pants are at his knees. Ray’s grinding backwards and his brother is grinding up and Gerard is NOT prepared to look and see Mikey’s got his jeans unzipped too.
“What? I’m not getting left out!” Frank sounds scarily insistent and Gerard’s not surprised in the least when his body comes flying over the seat. There’s hardly enough room for all four of them on the seat, Frank is half on Ray’s legs and half on Gerard. On the other hand, he provides a helpful buffer between him and whatever Ray and his brother are doing.
It’s Bob that surprises him nearly into a heart attack by saying “left out of what?”
Gerard’s mind reels. He doesn’t take the driving shift very often, he’s usually one of the ones left to get drunk in the back. And when he does drive, he doesn’t often look in the rear view mirror - or check the side mirrors, or put on the turn signal, or flash his lights before merging. Which, you know, might be another reason that he doesn’t often drive. The point being, he has no idea how much of them Bob can see from his position as driver. The explanations that would seem plausible hinge on whether or not Bob can see how they’re positioned in the back seat.
He decides to go for something basic. “Dunno. Frank’s just being a spaz.” Let Bob come up with his own reason. Gerard somehow bets none of them will involve two members of the band having sex in the back seat. Gerard winces as he looks back from staring at the back of Otter’s seat to the boys beside him. Correction, Bob won’t guess that three members of the band are having sex in the back seat. In the brief span of time that he was distracted, Ray’s curled his hand around Frank’s dick.
Bob doesn’t even snort in surprise, so Gerard considers himself off the hook. Except for how this is entirely his fault. But he can deal with that, as long as none of them get caught. Of course, the moment he thinks that Frank lets out a moan. A loud, completely unmistakable for any other sound, I Am Obviously Near Orgasm moan. Gerard sort of wants to shoot himself in the eye.
“Spaz, huh?” Bob calls back. It’s beyond clear that Bob thinks he’s full of shit.
How the fuck are they supposed to explain this? None of them seem to care though, none of them even acknowledge the question. So it’s really more how the fuck is he supposed to explain this. And he’s got nothing. He wishes he was drunk. He wouldn’t necessarily have a better, more inventive excuse. He just wouldn’t care as much about being completely fucked.
The van pulls to the side. Bob doesn’t swerve, but it’s always easy to tell what’s going on when the box of shit following them dovetails with each movement. Gerard almost wants to laugh. He can hear a stereotypical frowning father’s voice in his head, if you don’t stop we’re turning this car around and going right back home.
Gerard is torn between holding his breath and hyperventilating when he hears the driver door close and a moment later the handle on the sliding door being pulled. It always sticks at first, and he can hear Bob’s grunt as he tries to open it. Gerard hopes it will be permanently stuck. He can deal with being trapped in the van forever, if only Bob doesn’t come see what he’s done to his band. Techs have crazy magical powers, and all he needs is for Bob to look at him and glare until his head explodes like a balloon.
Unfortunately, he’s not as lucky to get to starve to death over a period of weeks. The door slides open and Gerard carefully looks past Bob into the dark night as Bob peers in.
“Fuck, really?” Gerard thinks frantically, but there’s not a chance that he could say anything that could fix this.
And then Bob does the inexplicable. He puts his left forearm against the opened door and leans his weight on it, the other hand expertly undoing his jeans. Gerard’s tried to open a button on jeans with one hand before, it’s nearly impossible. Clearly yet another example of tech superpowers.
The jeans are loose enough that after the zipper is rolled down they fall to the road. Bob’s wearing dark green underwear. Hell, they’re probably even his own. Not that Bob would have any taboo against grabbing the first somewhat clean pair, he did tour with The Used, he’s probably used to spitting into other people’s mouths and eating month old sandwiches. It’s just Bob’s bigger than the rest of them, he wouldn’t fit into Frank’s.
Gerard’s trying to look at the grassy field behind Bob. He really wants to be intrigued by the way the uncut grass looks lit only by the moon. But Bob pushes his underwear to mid-thigh, and if Gerard ever had a chance to get out of this alive, it is lost when Bob’s thick fingers curl around his cock. Still, he thinks he deserves some sort of points for keeping his gaze purely on Bob, instead of turning back to what his brother and two best friends are doing. He doesn’t even look back when he hears the stuttered groan that he’s heard a million times when he used to share a bedroom. He never looked across the room to see Mikey grab the kleenex then, and he’s not looking now.
“Hey Bob!”
“Yeah, Iero?”
“You should come over here and make out with Ray. He tastes really good.” If this were a normal conversation Gerard would point out that’s because Ray is the only one of them that brushes his teeth in gas station bathrooms. But the very fact that Frank knows how Ray’s mouth tastes, instead of just the lack of bad breath means that nothing is normal.
Bob takes his hand off his dick and puts it on the edge of the middle seat. He levers himself into the van, then eyes the backseat. There are already four guys sitting there, and even if Ray is basically on top of Mikey and Frank is inseparable from Ray, it’s still four guys on a three person seat. Bob shoves Frank until there’s a slice of room between him and Gerard. Frank immediately pulls away from Ray to crawl on top of Bob.
“Now you have to jerk me off. That’s what Ray was doing.” Bob grins and wraps his hand around both their cocks. He leans in for a kiss, but bites Frank’s lip instead, and Frank comes all over Bob’s fingers. Thank fuck. Now Gerard just has to wait for Ray and Bob, and this can be over.
Except Bob keeps stroking, and Gerard can’t really look away, even if this is a sort of rape he’s forced on them, because Bob and Frank are fucking hot. And from what he can tell, Frank’s still hard. And beyond them, Ray has come on his shirt, but he’s still grinding his ass against Mikey, Mikey’s hand snaked between the seat and Ray, fingers drawing circles on his balls.
Maybe it’s the wrong reaction the face of an orgy, but Gerard shimmies off the seat onto the floor. There’s enough room to cross his legs, put his elbows on his ankles and bury his face in his hands. It’s not like this will ever end anyway. He fed them something weird, and all three of them have already come once and it hasn’t stopped anything. He is doomed to be here for hours, until Otter wakes up and gets them all committed. If he needs a time out, or even a nap, they’ll still be going at it when he wakes up.
“Gee, that’s a really good idea.” Gerard sort of wants to hit Frank for the comment, as he’s pretty sure he’s had a total of no good ideas tonight. But Frank is clamouring off Bob to join him on the pile of clothes and notebooks and other crap that always winds up on the floor of the van.
“Scoot” he says, slapping Bob’s knee. Bob slaps Frank’s cheek lightly in retaliation, but moves to the edge of the seat. As it turns out, watching Frank lick long, open mouthed stripes down Bob’s dick is even hotter than the handjob. Gerard decides he can’t be blamed for giving in to the heat of the moment, he can feel guilty about it later, but for now he’s going to enjoy the hand he crams down the front of his jeans.
It’s difficult to jerk off when you can’t move your hand at all. It’s more fondling than jerking, really. Gerard’s hand stills completely when Ray sits up and Mikey crawls over him. He bends forward awkwardly to kiss Frank’s forehead before turning his attention to Bob. That at least Gerard isn’t horrified by, if he couldn’t handle Mikey making out with any guy he pleased they would have stopped talking to each other years ago. It’s not the first time he’s seen thick fingers weave into the mess that’s Mikey’s constantly hair-sprayed little washed hair.
Mikey almost swallows the moan when Bob comes. Almost, but there’s enough that escapes that his head snaps towards the front of the van. Otter doesn’t grunt, and Gerard is impressed with the brand of whiskey he imbibed. Otter falls asleep easily, but normally he’s not completely out cold. Gerard might worry about alcohol poisoning, if he didn’t have so much else on his plate already.
Frank pulls off Bob, licking his lips obscenely. He tilts to the side and rests his sweaty cheek on Gerard’s shoulder. He can feel the heat of Frank through the thin fabric of his unwashed shirt. Frank’s rested on him a thousand times, it shouldn’t be damned erotic as it seems. Bob uses his hold on the nape of Mikey’s neck to guide him towards Ray, past his face, past his chest. He doesn’t let go until Mikey’s mouth is hovering just over Ray’s cock. That too is far more erotic than it should be.
Gerard doesn’t really want to look at the cock disappearing into his brother’s mouth. Even if Mikey really seems to be enjoying it, there’s not a chance he’s supposed to be enjoying Mikey enjoy it. So instead he focuses on the lesser of two evils, the way Bob’s hand has snaked under Mikey. It’s probably the most awkward angled handjob Gerard’s ever witnessed, and he’s watched a lot of porn, and done a fair amount of stuff. Still, neither of them seem to be suffering for it. And Bob’s not hard again, which means that whatever’s going on, it’s not contagious.
His eyes on Bob’s arm between a body and the seat -it’s easier to stop the guilt if he can think of it as a body, not his brother- Gerard starts working his hand again. He’s been watching a live action porn for the last god know how long, and while it’s been equal amounts horrifying and arousing, he really just wants to get off and see if he can force himself to pass out. Coming usually helps him get sleepy.
There’s a lot to distract him though. He can’t really move his hand, but he doesn’t want to admit defeat and open his zipper. Frank’s arm is twitching beside him, occasionally elbowing him as he unabashedly jerks off beside him. The way he’s kneeling is causing the mysterious pointy objects on the floor to dig into his knees. He’s not gonna get off, and it’ll be his punishment for letting this happen. More than letting; causing.
“You want to fuck me?” Frank asks.
He should ask what or are you kidding or would you do this if you weren’t drunk on mystery substances. What comes out is “do you think there’s enough room?”
Frank scoffs. It’s this cute disgusted snarl, it makes Gerard want to kiss him and bite it off his lips. Before he has the chance Frank is crawling across the cluttered floor of the van. He crams himself between Ray’s splayed knees and waves impatiently at the minuscule space between his back and the back of the seat. Gerard eyes it warily. He’s not exactly Frank-size, and the last thing they need is to get stuck. They cannot afford to call the fire department, neither with publicity nor with actual funds. Frank shakes his ass at him, and that decides it.
Before Gerard wriggles in he reaches for the nearest pair of pants. Every pair of jeans in the van has a condom in it, they are a hopeful bunch. Thank Jesus, God and Merlin it’s a lubricated condom because that’s one of the things nobody thought to bring along. Like bandaids. The first time Mikey pulled a thumbnail they had to use scotch tape and a paper towel. They weren’t prepared for blood and apparently they didn’t prepare for ass fucking either.
Gerard knows enough about this to spit on his fingers before he strokes them up the crease of Frank’s ass. He’s never been the fucker, just the fuckee, and even then things only got that far twice, but he’s not an idiot. Fingers don’t go into places dry. As far as he knows, Frank’s never been either, but when Gerard only pushes to the first knuckle Frank rocks back until it’s third knuckle deep. The desperation is incredibly hot, and Gerard can forgive himself for rushing the other two fingers so he can finally rip open the condom, unroll it and sink into Frank.
“Fuck,” is the first word he’s said since calling Frank a spaz, and while it’s not intellectual it sums up everything from how his cock is being clenched, to how much he already needs to come, to the way Frank is biting Ray’s thigh. Gerard says it again as he pulls back and rocks back in, and after that it becomes his mantra. It’s all he can hear, it’s louder than Mikey’s moan reverberating around Ray’s cock when he comes a second time, it’s louder than the bag of chips that’s crunching under his knee, it’s louder than the squeaky sound of Frank trying to grab on to the pleather underside of the seat.
Gerard clenches Frank’s hips as the heat surging through him starts to make his legs numb. His words are getting louder, more expressive, but for a moment, as he’s biting Frank’s neck and coming, he doesn’t care if he wakes Otter up. He slumps back against the back of the middle seat, his eyes opening just in time to see Frank kiss Mikey. When they seperate Mikey’s lips are still wet and slightly white. And Ray’s still hard.
He can’t do this. Gerard slips out of Frank, shuffles to the side until he has more room to crawl. He grabs his hoodie so he won’t notice the air conditioning on his sweaty arms making him shiver, and his headphones. Once he’s out of the still open door he tosses the condom to the road, because really, littering? Not his biggest concern. He slams the van door shut and walks around the front of the car. The earbuds slide into their proper cavities after he climbs into the driver’s seat. Gerard turns the car back on -he didn’t notice Bob turning it off, but at least they didn’t waste gas for however long that took- picks a good playlist and cranks the volume. He keeps his eyes directly on the tiny lit up stretch of road in front of him. He doesn’t quite know where they’re going, but there’s a map taped to the dashboard, a route drawn out in green marker. He’s not going to look behind him. He doesn’t want to know.
Gerard drives until Bob throws a balled up sock at him. It bounces harmlessly off his head and falls into the abyss that is the space between the driver and passenger seat. He tugs at the wires until the headphones drop onto his lap. Otter is snoring, he snores like a demon after a night of drinking, which is to say almost every night.
“I just woke up.” They’ve been cooped up in the van for long enough that Gerard knows that means Bob needs to piss. “And turn down the volume asshole, I told you like five times already.”
Gerard starts to look for a gas station. He has no idea when they fell asleep, it feels like he hasn’t blinked in hours. His eyes are burning.
“Why’s everyone so quiet? You all are never quiet. Normally Gerard would be focused on that sentence and the implied you group vs me and how to once again try to convince Bob he is a part of the group but right now he’s pretty fucking distracted. He keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing.
After a minute Bob tries again. “Did we not stop for coffee yet? I know you can’t function without it, but there’s no need to be silent. Why can’t you be loud grumps?”
Normally Bob’s morning pep is aggravating enough. My Chemical Romance is not particularly a morning band. But there’s a huge tension in the air, and Bob’s crap isn’t cutting through it, it’s just rubbing against it, like kindling. It’s Frank that snaps, which doesn’t surprise Gerard at all. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because we all had big gay group sex last night?”
Mikey and Ray don’t say anything but looking in the rearview mirror Gerard can’t miss Ray’s panicked look at Matt.
“What?”
“We’re not talking because no one wants to talk about how apparently I like being fucked and Mikey likes sucking cock-” Gerard’s stomach lurches at the phrase “even though none of us are gay.”
“Who said anything about gay?” Mikey Way, voice of fucking reason, even when he’s entirely full of crap. His stomach protests the image of Mikey talking down a hundred scared emo boys in lieu of an afterglow. He’d like to think that Mikey’s a virgin, not a manipulator.
“I’d say the handjobs and blowjobs are pretty fucking gay dude.” And yeah, they’ve been around each other far too long for them to not see through each other. Gerard can only hope Frank doesn’t actually start a brawl in the back seat, which is what he tends to do when he’s pissed. Europe might have health care, but Brian will still kick their ass a second time. And he’ll want to know what the fight was about. In contrast, he can hear Ray hyperventilating. He’d offer him a paper bag, except he doesn’t think they have any that aren’t already full of fast food wrappers, and he’s never understood how breathing into a bag helps anyway.
“Mikey’s bisexual.” Bob offers.
“What, so I infected you?” Now Mikey’s pissed too, even if you can’t much hear it in his voice.
This would be the perfect time to say nobody’s anything, they just drank the wrong thing. But Gerard can’t do it. He can’t stand the idea of everyone being pissed at him. The moment passes with Bob explaining that no, it’s got nothing to do with that, it just can’t be bothering Mikey because he’s already into that kind of stuff, and for that matter Gerard too, and it doesn’t bother him at all, so it’s really up to Frank and Ray to calm down. Gerard wants to vomit. If there’s anything worse than a morning person, it’s a morning person who is also an optimist.
Instead he just keeps his eyes on the road, and turns at the first row of pumps he sees. They can all get something to eat, replenish lost liquids, and try to forget everything. He might not believe Bob that it’s no big deal, but they don’t have a choice but to keep on going. They’ve still got half a tour left.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-06 03:23 pm (UTC)But poor Gerard, I felt for him, and really liked this.
And then it hits him. He totally just roofied his band mates
Because I'm sick and wrong.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-06 11:20 pm (UTC)you might be sick and wrong, but i am too, because writing from the perspective of 'this is bad, oh god, i need to stop this but i can't look away' was so fun. i guess that's the downside of not writing angst, you don't get to write anguished characters.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-06 11:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-06 11:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-06 11:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-08 04:02 am (UTC)I'm thinking that eventually, it all becomes better again; even if they never speak of it again and Gerard has some guilt, it gets chalked up to just some touring weirdness, or that Bob manages to basically talk/joke Frank and Ray through it or something.
Anyway, I love your interpretation of the prompt, and thank you reccing it to me! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-09 12:39 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked it. It was pretty much the first MCR fic I wrote, but I reread it before reading this comment and I don't even hate it. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-09 01:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-09 11:24 pm (UTC)still love the line ‘we don’t do that [referring to orgies]? the used did it all the time.' but i could use it in a different fic.
So clearly I wanted Bob to be super chill about it, but cut it because I wanted to maintain the integrity of a gritty ending, instead of throwing in a joke. But in my head, Bob is totally relaxed about it.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-09 11:29 pm (UTC):D And I do love that line. That's like, a great prompt to start from, in fact.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-09 11:38 pm (UTC)He goes walking. Every time he’s in a crowd he can’t help but wonder how many are mutant and of them how many are known and have people that love them anyway. Kelly’s bill was outrageous, even he thought so in the end and backed off, but sometimes Patrick wonders if he had a point. Not because he wants to persecute them. More because if you are a minority you should be vocal and agressive about it. Like the Stonewall Riots back in the day. Patrick knows from Kitty that there’s a group of mutants fighting for their rights, called the Brotherhood, they have sneaky tactics and some of her teachers fighht them. Patrick thinks they probably have the right of it.
I ended up getting the point across without using that, but I still like the phrasing so I don't want to delete it permanently. So it languishes, until the next time I feel like writing a bandom/xmen crossover. Which, if I'm being honest, is this exact instant. But then I want to write ALL THE THINGS RIGHT RIGHT NOW, so that feeling doesn't really count. And it's hard to make the things you're currently writing use snippets that are clearly their own fic.
...that was a very long reply. Sorry. I get rambly.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-09 11:55 pm (UTC)