it's like a swollen summer, what if I'm getting dumber?

[asimplechord]

The first session at the conference today? Not so pleasant. Needed coffee in a bad way. The funny thing was that the guy next to me (the room was crowded) gave up, put his head down on his arms, and slept through two of the lectures. I was tempted to follow suit.

I diligently stayed all morning, listened to a couple of Nobel laureates gave the keynote speeches at lunchtime, then bailed for a couple of hours to get a couple of lab chores done. Returned for the later afternoon lectures and evening poster sesssion. Happily, there was wine at the poster session. :)


I fail at fandom lately. I've got stuff half written, and have zero motivation to finish them.

And I forgot to mention when these things (all bandslash) were posted over at tabby_and_iris or my fic journal:

Home is through you. [MCR, Gerard/Frank, teen] After Gerard decides to get clean, he turns to Frank. He's afraid to lean on Mikey too much, because he is the older brother.

Two thousand miles seems pretty far. [MCR and PatD, Brendon/Frank, all-ages, part of the Epic universe] The tour has been finished three weeks.

Breakfast. [MCR and PatD, Brendon/Frank, PG, part of the Epic universe] All the same, I think I'd rather have Brendon with strawberries and whipped cream.

Plus, two drabbles: Brendon/Cash [Panic/The Cab, all-ages, ~190 words] and Jamia, Frank, Gerard [MCR, PG, ~180 words].


Meant to upload a mix of the most-played songs of January last week, then compile the Sam Winchester playlist this weekend, but that's clearly not going to be done any time soon. I've got to go to the last day of the conference tomorrow, then we've got to host the g'parents-in-law on Sunday. *sigh*

Comments

[fleurdeliser.livejournal.com]

JESUS. WHY DID I NOT FRIEND THAT JOURNAL?!?!

Clearly, I fail at being a friend.

[asimplechord.livejournal.com]

:) I don't think you were really into MCR that much when we first created that journal. And stuff's slow right now, in terms of production, because I'm unmotivated and Tabby's got no internet. Txting only gets so far.

(But really, txts are good. We had some really hot Brian/Frank going the other day. It made work so much happier.) Tabby indulges me. :)

[fleurdeliser.livejournal.com]

Dude. That would be made of fun. Txt porn! Whee!

Gerard wants to lick Frank's scorpion. Just saying.

[asimplechord.livejournal.com]

Frank got that scorpion just to tempt Gerard. He knows, okay? But that's alright, because he's pretty sure that Gerard is deliberately taunting him when he writes on himself with Sharpie or eyeliner, thick black letters gracing the cords of his neck or the soft, pale flesh of his inner arm, daring Frank to trace them. Frank thinks it's maybe a good thing that Gerard has issues with needles: if he actually had permanent ink there, Frank wouldn't be able to restrain himself.

[fleurdeliser.livejournal.com]

Gerard has never been very good at resisting temptation. Except when it really, really matters. Like when he didn't maim (have Bob maim, whatever) Pete Wentz when whatever it was that was going on between Mikey and him fizzled. And even when he was drunk all the time, he resisted the temptation of Frank. Which led to questionable choices in regards to certain members of The Used. Bert was like, the anti-Frank.

It took Gerard a while to realize that Frank was staring at the things he'd written on himself for more reasons than just to read them and figure out why the hell Gerard had written whatever it was there. And then, he was so used to resisting Frank, that he wasn't sure how to stop. So he just kept writing things there in hopes that Frank would be the one to cave, because, really, Gerard was too much of a chicken shit to make a move himself.

[asimplechord.livejournal.com]

Frank doesn't think anything of it when Gerard paints FAGGOT on his neck. It's a little more provocative than usual, but Gerard is always talking about pushing boundaries and making people re-examine their understanding of sexuality and personality, so Frank tells himself it's nothing to do with him. He's been trying not to be obvious with his ogling; he doesn't want to cause a problem. Gerard's handled the breakup with Eliza fairly well, but no one wants to see any backsliding.

He wonders if he maybe imagines Gee's sideways glance and hopeful, waiting air, but he doesn't say anything, just goes through his normal pre-show routine, so Frank laughs and jokes and goes along with the normal bumping, humping, and leaning they do, and nobody notices anything different.

Catholic. We're Still Alive. Gazelles. (Frank doesn't ask; he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know. Eventually Mikey'll rejoin them and he'll probably get Gerard to write - or draw - unicorns, and that's just. No.) Careful. 605. Fairy.

Then Gerard cycles back to FAGGOT. And this time, Frank knows he's fucking with him, because it isn't just the word. Gerard pairs it with the black on black and the tie, and that's just cruel. Gerard is well aware of Frank's kink for vests and ties.

Frank stays on his side of the stage all night, playing to Matt, yelling at the kids in the pit, jamming with Ray, ignoring the way Gerard is moving, pale skin flashing in the lights, the word branded on his neck. They've reached the end of their set, and Frank is thanking every god he knows that Linkin Park are up next and he can go find a shower, a bathroom stall, anywhere to be alone for a few minutes, when Gerard does this thing with the mic cord, and it's a really good thing that Frank could play his part of the intro to Famous Last Words in his sleep, because Holy. Shit.

Frank turns away, curves toward an amp and plays to it, tries to just get through the last of the set. He should know, though, that it's never ever ever a good idea to turn his back on the Way brothers. That's like an invitation to those fuckers. Or at least it is to Gerard, who prowls over and drapes himself over Frank's back and whisper-sings the vocals-only part of the song directly into Frank's ear and the microphone. And that is just. It. He's only got so much control.

The song ends and they take their bows. Frank throws his pick into the roaring crowd, Bob tosses his sticks, and they all wave at the kids, and then Frank's got his hand clamped around Gerard's wrist, tugging him off the stage and to the rear of the amphitheater. He hears Ray calling after them and growls something, he has no idea what. He doesn't stop until he's found an empty room backstage, just shoves Gerard in and slams the door behind him.

Now that they're here, Frank's uncertain. He knows what he wants to do. He also knows it's a bad BAD idea, and he's not at all clear what Gerard was expecting. But Gee leans back on the wall next to the door and reaches up to toy with his tie, tilting his head a little bit, and Frank realizes that if - when, because he's absolutely going to - he leans up and tastes the sweaty, smeared word on his skin, Gee will be getting exactly what he's been asking for all night.

[fleurdeliser.livejournal.com]

The first time Gerard wrote FAGGOT on his neck, he did it because he was pissed off. The venue they were at had some kind of county fair going on and he and Brian had been walking around and checking things out. Most of the kids who would have recognized him were currently occupied with seeing the other bands or stalking the buses, so they could wander around relatively unmolested (though Worm insisted on hovering a few paces off) and hang out.

They'd been having a good day. They'd been playing those stupid fair games and Gerard was holding the pink stuffed bear he'd won earlier (he'd decided to send it to Mikey) while Brian shot at the revolving tin cowboys (he was kind of scarily good at it). He'd been standing there quietly (because, "You're distracting me, shut up asshole!"), minding his own business when a couple of dudes walked past him. One of them fake-coughed "fagot" into his fist. Gerard felt Worm draw nearer, but the bastards just kept walking. His mood soured and they went back to the bus soon after. Brian hadn't asked what had happened, and Gerard was grateful. He wasn't entirely sure why this time had pissed him off like this. It wasn't like he didn't get that sort of thing all the time.

So when he did his makeup that night, he wrote FAGGOT in big, bold letters across his neck. And if he pranced around the stage and wiggled his ass at the crowd a bit more than usual, nobody said anything. He did notice Frank trying to avoid looking at his neck more than usual, which really, was all he needed as far as mood boosting goes.

Despite his complete and total cowardice, Gerard wasn't above being as provocative as possible. Sometimes he wrote total nonsense on himself, just to guarantee that Frank's eyes would stay where the belonged: on him. And with Frank's eyes on him, he upped the ante; he dirty danced, he kissed, he petted, he told the whole world he sucked more cock than David Fucking Cassidy. And still, all Frank did was stare at his fucking neck.

The second time he wrote FAGGOT on his neck hadn't really been planned. The things he wrote were usually pretty deliberate. But this time, he'd just had a really great day hanging out with Frank on the bus drinking coffee and talking and he'd forgotten to think about it. So when he was getting ready for the show, putting on his black shirt, then the vest, then flipping up the collar and tying his tie, Gerard grinned at himself. He knew this was one of Frank's favorite looks. Frank had said as much one time when they'd been relaxed and happy and Gerard's fingers didn't want to tie the tie, so Frank had done it for him. With the collar turned back down over the tie and his jacket on over everything, the only thing missing was the right word. And Gerard wanted to send a very clear message tonight. So once again, he wrote FAGGOT on his neck and then went on with his usual pre-show routine.

And then they're playing and it's turning out to be a pretty great show and Gerard does this thing with the mike cord and his mouth and now Frank is totally avoiding him which Gerard is definitely counting as a win. And then Frankie turns his back and plays into the amp, Gerard almost grins so hard he can't sing and he stalks towards a completely oblivious Frank. Gerard drapes himself over Frank's back and sings into his ear, his breath ruffling Frankie's hair and he really does feel awake and completely unafraid now.

And suddenly the show is ending and the kids are screaming and everything is frenetic and there are voices calling his name from every direction, but the only voice he's listening for is Frank's and Frank isn't saying anything. And suddenly a hand has closed around his wrist tightly and he's being dragged somewhere and he's got to bite his lip to keep from laughing like a madman. By the time they get to wherever Frank is taking them, Gerard's got himself mostly in control. He leans against the wall nonchalantly and reaches up to fiddle with his tie, tilting his head so the sweat-smeared black lettering on his neck is visible.

[asimplechord.livejournal.com]

Frank lets Gerard toy with his tie for a moment while he thinks about all the times he's wound the silk in a knot for Gerard, tightened it until it rested at the base of his throat and folded his collar down. Gerard's weirdly uncoordinated with anything other than pencils, pens, and paintbrushes, so it's not unusual for him to ask for help with his costume.

When he finally moves, it is to reach up and cover Gerard's hand, stilling fingers with the brush of his own. He makes some comment about Gerard strangling himself if he's not careful, and then his fingertips slide under the collar, under Gerard's fingers, to loosen the tie. He doesn't look away from Gerard's face -- years of Catholic school uniforms mean Frank can do this in his sleep -- as he drags the knot away from the notch of Gerard's throat, and he's fascinated and intrigued by the combination of confidence, daring, and pleading he sees on his face.

He shifts, pushing his weight onto his toes, and watches as Gerard's eyelids droop. He knows Gerard's expecting a kiss, maybe even thinking it'll be angry and harsh and demanding after all the unspoken goading that's been going on. But at the last minute, Frank turns his head and presses a kiss to Gerard's jaw at the point where ear and neck meet, just above the smeared ink. When he feels a rush of hot breath against his own neck, Frank smiles and slides his lips lower, taking in the chemical taste of ink and sweat, savoring it briefly before biting down ungently on the tensed muscle there. When he releases his grip (he doesn't bite quite hard enough to leave a mark, though he wants to), he settles back onto his heels, letting a sliver of space build between them. He winds Gerard's tie around his fist and pulls so that Gerard is the one bending, leaning ever so slightly into Frank's personal space.

"Be careful what you ask for. You might get it."

Then he's pushing forward and up so their lips can meet, and for all the times they've done this on stage, Frank isn't prepared for the spark of electricity it causes now.

[fleurdeliser.livejournal.com]

When Frank's hands touch his, Gerard kind of freezes. He's been wanting this so long, it's weird to think that it might actually be happening. And Frankie is loosening his tie, his fingers brushing Gerard's neck and throat through the fabric of his shirt, and it's nothing he hasn't done before, but for some reason this time is different. And different as it may be, it's different in pretty amazing ways and Gerard feels kind of awesome about that.

And then Frank is coming at him and and Gerard's eyes flutter closed, because that's usually what happens when somebody else's face is so close to yours. But then Gerard feels Frankie's familiar lips on his jaw and, if possible, that's even better. He breathes out a happy sigh. Gerard can feel Frank's lips curl in a smile against his neck and Gerard smiles too and then Frankie bites down lightly and Gerard bites his lip and holds in a moan.

Frank pulls back a bit and then pulls on Gerard's tie which is ridiculously sexy and then Frank says something about being careful about asking for things and Gerard tries to formulate a response but Frank's lips are on his. And it's nothing they haven't done before. But this time there's a jolt that Gerard feels from his lips to his toes and suddenly his hands are tangled in Frank's hair he's returning the kiss with no small amount of fervor.

[asimplechord.livejournal.com]

Frank means to keep the kiss light and teasing, he really does. For all intents and purposes, they're still in a semi-public place, and he has no intention of starting something they can't finish.

But then Gerard's palms brush against his cheeks, his fingers slipping into his hair (it's matted and sweaty and long, and Frank has never been so glad that he hasn't had time to get it cut), and maybe it's a cliche, but Frank loves the feeling of fingernails against his scalp and fingers tugging, directing him. And these are hands that Frank watches constantly: sketching on paper, drawing on skin, cradling a coffee cup, holding a cigarette to his lips, grasping a microphone. Somehow knowing that amplifies the thrill. When he tries to draw back to gasp a breath, Gerard doesn't let him go; instead his teeth hold on to Frank's lip, then suck it into his mouth briefly. Frank can't resist that invitation. He pushes his tongue against Gerard's and his body back to the wall.

The kiss gets messier, sloppier, and Frank goes with it. He's still got one hand anchored in G's tie, and the other ends up hooked into the waistband of his trousers. They're pressed together from lips to toes, and they're hot and sweaty and gross, but Frank doesn't care because he's kissing Gerard and Gerard is kissing him back, a firm grip in his hair.

Frank smiles against Gerard's lips when his thumb traces the side of his neck: he knows that's right over the scorpion. He surges forward, and Gerard responds with a growl deep in his throat. Frank pretty much decides that semi-public is semi-private, and that's good enough for him. But before he can act on his thoughts, the door opens, and he hears, "Hey, Rob--"

Frank turns so that he's in front of Gerard defensively. He thinks it'd probably be funny, him as the protector when he's smaller and younger, if he wasn't sure that he could handle whatever was coming with less emotional stress than Gerard. He's pretty sure that anyone can tell what they've been doing.

Obviously surprised, Chester grabs for the doorknob. "Um, sorry. I was--Yeah. You're not Rob. I'll just. Go." He backs away and is about to close the door again when he pauses, a mildly confused frown on his face. "I thought that was all for the stage." He waves vaguely at Frank and Gerard, then down the hallway toward the amphitheater's stage.

Gerard's hands squeeze Frank's shoulders.

"It was."