Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. Obviousy, as if I had I would not have spent my days writing about them, placing the poor souls in some rather compromizing situations. So please don't sue me. I mean no harm, and I don't profit from any of this. But please, do enjoy.

Email: ingunn_aro@hotmail.com

***

Frank doesn't want this to be just a one night stand; a singular happening in a storm of others. He has had them before. Late nights, early mornings, mid-days, whatever. Spurs of the moments they evolve from. Acts of desperation and loneliness. The moments are just that; moments. They never mean anything more, no matter how much they mean right then and there.

Frank doesn't want it to be just a one time thing. Yet he knows it will be. He knows this, because the man whose hands and lips are on him has told him so. It was, in fact, the first thing he told him once he had joined the band. The golden rule to survival, he called it; "Band members are not allowed to date, fuck, fight, or otherwise have any relationship other than friendship." Frank had laughed. He had a girlfriend, after all.

And now, Gerard is drunk, and obviously just as horny. Frank is quite drunk himself, but is pretty certain this event will be something he will remember the next day. Like an image stamped into his brain, the contours never-fading.

As Gerard fumble at his belt, struggles with the buttons, and his fingers shaking as he claws at Frank's exposed skin, Frank knows that Gerard will have forgotten. Forgotten every touch, every word, every connection. And Frank knows there is a connection. He can feel it. Not only now, but every time their paths would cross on stage, and Gerard would drag his hand over Frank's sweaty, clothed chest, and Frank would inevitably miss a chord.

Gerard would only grin in response, or sometimes purr into his ear, in blatant mockery. Frank never knew whether it was to be mean, or if it, as so many other things, was just a part of the show.

Yes, there was a connection. It was there, however unwanted, however unfitting. If only Gerard would take back his rule. Or rather, if only Gerard was going to remember this, and remember it with pleasure. If only.

The brick wall is tearing at his back as he is pressed up against it. His feet has left the ground, only to encircle Gerard's waist. Frank fears he will fall. Gerard isn't very strong, especially not so when his reactions are dulled, and his muscles weakened by vodka, beer, and god knows what else.

Frank falls, just like he thought he would, and Gerard follows him down, their lips never losing touch. Frank finds solace in the lips. Thin, dry lips on his own smooth ones. Two fingers slips under the elastic band of his boxers, and Frank gasps, arching his back against the asphalt, crushing his hips into Gerard's. Gerard finds his lips again, and they crush together. (Like when trains crash - only destruction can follow.)

They are chasing that last breath of air, that last touch, kiss, moan, whisper, their tongues intertwining and their teeth clashing. Frank can breathe nothing but Gerard, and all Gerard breathes is Frank. Frank is sure he will suffocate, but he thinks that if that'd be the case, at least the end will be pleasant, so he doesn't care.

Legs and bodies entangled, they rock together in the deserted alley, on rock hard asphalt, their breathing and speaking echoing from the bricked houses surrounding them.
Frank hasn't the faintest idea where they are, and even less of an idea of how they are going to get back to the bus, but as his world explodes, and his body closes around Gerard, everything else is very secondary, tedious, and just not important.

But when they have stumbled their way trough streets and backyards, hand in hand, giggling like schoolgirls, and have found the venue they remembered from earlier in the day, and thus also the van, it suddenly is important.
The awkwardness that was so marvellously gone for so long, returned when they saw a familiar face again. The real world was back, and the shame set in, hitting them full force with the bluntness of a sledgehammer.
Every touch still burned, but not with that pleasant tingle, and every time their eyes would meet, Frank would feel something, but not the right thing.
No matter how beyond smashed Gerard was, Frank thought that maybe, just maybe, he might remember something after all.

It was just, now Frank wasn't too sure if he wanted him to.