July 28, 2007: The Kiss

Author's note:

Made this for Jo, thanks for the inspiration. I have such a fucking blast writing this.

A massive thank you to all of my beta readers, Jo, Cher and Cory! I appreciate you more than you can possibly understand. I never would have had the confidence to post this without your support. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

As always, I am @pixie_revolver on twitter if you would like to come scream at me. Drink water take your meds luh yoo!

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Frank's adrenaline is pumping hard through his body, about as frantically as the soundwaves through his amps and the monitors on stage. Not that it isn't always pumping when it comes to a show, but this tour has been rough, and it's literally only been two performances. Both of them feel like they've taken so much more energy than usual, but it's not like he's been rolling over the stage any more than normal. Maybe it's the summer heat of late July in southern California.

At any rate, they've made it over half way through the set, and, in his humble opinion, Frank thinks it's going pretty fucking well. The crowd is into it, the pyro is going off without a hitch (for once), albeit damn near intolerably hot, which just makes his point all the more valid, actually. He's been doing his best to stay mostly at the front of the stage, though, in front of the monitors. The fans love it, and it gets him a little further away from the fire. (Which he may or may not be a little finicky about anyway ever since the Famous Last Words video shoot. He's not looking to be the next Bob.)

Granted, he's already tossed a guitar and split one of his fingers open on a string, but hey, rock and roll or whatever. It's fine, he wipes it off on Gerard's face (twice) and then makes sure to wipe the excess blood from the body of the guitar on his friend's pants for good measure. Just to be, y'know, clean and shit. He gives him a nice pretty smile for his troubles, too, and Gerard nearly loses composure. As the resident My Chemical Romance band menace, he's counting it as a job well done.

Gerard starts off Prison by telling the crowd he's feeling dirty, and Frank can't help but laugh. The audience is in a frenzy over it, and if he were part of the masses, he would be a bit hysterical himself. Honestly, just... Look at him. Gerard is a specimen. He's adorable off stage when he's ranting about random nerd shit. He's sexy in a suit. He's got an attitude and aggression about him when he's on stage, while being sweet and approachable off of it. The man is the full package. Not... That is, that Frank's like, actually thought about it all that much or anything.

The moaning during the intro doesn't exactly help anything either, but it's Gerard, so it's not exactly a novelty at this point.

They hit the breakdown, a nice break to get away from his mic for just a second between screams, to stretch his legs (as if he needs it). When he circles back from the drum riser, he's headed for the front of the stage, but there's an almost collision with his lead singer. Or, rather, it's not a collision so much as it is Gerard leaning in for a kiss, which Frank denies him with a smirk and a wrinkle of his nose so that he can get where he wants to be.

Just as he's finishing up, literally just the last few chords, that's when the snowball starts downhill. Gerard has circled back around the stage, and he's in front of Frank again, which is fine. Or it would be, normally. He's coming in for a second chance at a kiss. Frank is ready this time.

Wrong.

Gerard looks determined, something a bit more solid in his gaze than their usual peck on the cheek or head or even on the lips. It's almost always more in passing than anything, but he reaches for Frank this time, twisting his hand immediately into his long hair and pulls him in.