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There used to be a time when Gerard didn’t believe in ghosts.
To be fair, that was before he and Frank watched a door slam shut by itself a week ago. No draft or anything — they’d just been talking in the hallway when the house abruptly excused itself from the conversation, leaving them standing there in a dumbstruck silence.
Recording their next album in a “historically active” mansion had sounded poetic at the time. Very much on brand, the kind of pretentious decision that either wins you a Grammy or gets you murdered. Possibly both.
Not one of them complained when the idea was floated. Five grown men, collectively nodding their heads, like, yes, of course, let’s isolate ourselves in a 1920’s Mediterranean Revival with documented paranormal incidents while we write an album about death. Groundbreaking. What could possibly go wrong?
Within days of wrapping tour, they were dumped at the Paramour like goth foster kids with a Pro Tools rig and no adult supervision. They bury themselves in equipment worth more than a life insurance payout and pretend not to notice the cold spots that move when no one else does, always ten degrees colder than the rest of the house.
Two weeks in, Gerard is no longer ruling anything out. Especially not ghosts.
The weird shit starts on night one and only escalates the longer they occupy the mansion. Ray shuffles into the kitchen one morning pale as printer paper, swearing he watched someone walk straight through the studio wall the night before. Even Bob gets rattled when he comes back to his room one evening and finds his bathtub filled neatly to the brim. And Mikey…well. None of them talk about that. Least of all Gerard.
Following Mikey’s departure, the rest start dropping like flies. Bob escapes first, holing up with an old sound tech buddy for a few weeks to clear his head. Ray caves soon after, booking a motel down the road just to avoid being slowly strangled by creepy vibes alone.
After that, it’s just Gerard and Frank.
They move through the mansion in a fog, sleeping odd hours while recording in bursts and forgetting what day it is. Frank camps out in Gerard’s room most nights under the pretense of “working on parts,” both never acknowledging that neither wants to be alone.
The house, though, for all its drama, seems pleased by the result, and goes suspiciously dormant not long after.
Wandering into the kitchen and yawning wide enough to crack his jaw, Gerard scrubs a hand through his cropped blonde hair. He nods at Frank, already stationed at the long table with a mug of coffee, and pours his own before dropping into the chair across from him. Neither says anything for a long time. They’ve been doing that a lot lately.
“I dunno if I’ve got anything in me,” Gerard rasps, breaking the silence. “Slept like shit.”
Chewing idly on his lip ring, Frank doesn’t look up from his mug. “Yeah. Same.” Sitting there a little while longer, he eventually glances at Gerard and grins, eyes rimmed red. “You snore, by the way."
Gerard frowns. “No, I don’t.”
“You absolutely do,” Frank insists. “Like a pioneer orphan with consumption.”
A slow smile tugs at Gerard’s mouth. “That’s…wildly specific.”
Frank opens his mouth to fire back when something crashes somewhere deep in the house. The sound rolls down the hallway and into the kitchen, rattling glass and vibrating through the floorboards before cutting off entirely.
Silence follows.
Gerard’s pulse spikes hard enough to hurt. He stares toward the darkened corridor leading away from the kitchen, every muscle drawn tight, and beside him Frank has gone completely still.
After a second, Frank slowly turns to meet his eyes. “You’re cool pretending we never heard that, right?”
Before Gerard can respond, another wave of noise succeeds it — a heavy scrape and something wooden tipping over, then the thud of furniture being shoved where it shouldn’t be. They both freeze again, Gerard’s mind trying very hard to make it paranormal.
It fails.
“Shit,” he breathes, adrenaline hitting all at once. “I think someone broke in.”
Frank is already on his feet before the sentence finishes leaving his mouth, chair legs screeching against the tile. Gerard follows a second later, heart hammering so fast it feels like it might burst, both slipping into the hallway in a tense silence. Halfway down, Frank pauses to snatch a heavy brass candlestick off a narrow side table. He tests the weight of it in his palm and grips it like he absolutely intends to commit homicide.
“What are you gonna do with that?” Gerard hisses. “Clue them to death?"
Stopping, Frank shoots an impatient look over his shoulder. “You got a better idea?”
Glancing down at his own empty hands, Gerard frowns. “No.”
“Then shut the fuck up and stay behind me.”
Gerard rolls his eyes, offended on principle, but does exactly that.
They continue forward, candlestick raised, the noise ahead of them growing louder. Something heavy screeches before glass shatters, and suddenly the brass doesn’t feel nearly heavy enough. Trailing the racket to the studio, the door hangs ajar and something moves inside, fast enough to blur. Gerard can hear the uneven scuff of boots against hardwood as they linger at the threshold. Frank shifts his weight, candlestick raised, and eases the door open the rest of the way.
Through the widening gap, the first thing Gerard sees isn’t a face.
It’s color.
A violent streak of red slices through the studio’s dim, yellow light. Pale denim flashes between overturned chairs and coiled cables as the figure moves with controlled precision. This isn’t a trick of the light or some drifting shadow; whoever’s in the room is solid in a way that makes Gerard briefly nostalgic for ghosts again.
“Hey, asshole,” Frank boldly calls out. “If you don’t wanna get your skull smashed in —”
The figure stops and pivots. In one fast, smooth motion, they draw a bright yellow gun from the holster strapped to their thigh and level it straight at them. Gerard’s stomach drops so fast it feels like he might puke.
“Whoa, dude, okay,” Frank says, candlestick lowering slightly as he lifts both hands in surrender. “You win.”
The intruder doesn’t answer, and now that they’re stationary, Gerard gets a better look at them. They’re built lean and wiry, coiled like they’re permanently balanced on the balls of their feet. Not bulky or imposing in a traditional sense, but there’s something dangerous in the way they carry themselves. They don’t really look like a burglar; more like they missed their exit off whatever highway leads to this decade.
Their outfit is even more surreal the longer Gerard looks at it. Rectangular goggles obscure their eyes, reflective lenses catching the studio lights while a bandana hides the lower half of their face. An electric blue, quarter-sleeve leather jacket and faded white jeans hug their frame, black boots dusted as if they just walked in from the beach. The jacket would look undeniably badass under literally any other scenario; Gerard might even respect it a little…if he weren’t currently staring down the barrel of a gun.
“Okay,” the figure says calmly after a minute, as if moderating a house meeting instead of holding two people at gunpoint. “No one do anything stupid. I’m already having a strange day.”
Frank’s hands stay still, but his mouth absolutely doesn’t. “Just take what you want and fuck off. We’re not stupid enough to die for any of this shit. Go nuts.”
The gun doesn’t waver. “Relax,” they add. “If I wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Something in their cadence is unsettlingly familiar, like hearing a song you almost recognize but can’t name.
“Dude, whatever,” Gerard says, surprising himself with the steadiness in his voice. “If you’re gonna rob us, just fucking get it over with.”
The goggles tilt, and the stranger’s attention shifts off Frank to land squarely on him. It’s a small adjustment of stance, but now Gerard is the one at the center of the barrel, and he immediately regrets ever speaking.
“Alright,” they say after a minute. “I’m gonna need everybody to be really chill about this. Don’t freak out.”
The gun lowers first, then, slowly, the figure lifts a gloved hand to their face. They hook two fingers under the bandana and tug it down, fabric sliding to rest loosely around their neck. Next come the goggles, peeling off their face and tossing them to the floor, hitting the hardwood with a hollow clack.
And then Gerard is staring at his own face.
Not identical, though. This version is more defined, lines pulled taut into slightly sharper cheekbones. His skin is warmed by the sun, golden where Gerard’s has gone pale from spending weeks indoors. The hair is the biggest shock; a wild neon red Gerard would never have dreamt attempting. There’s also steadiness in the set of his mouth that Gerard doesn’t recognize in himself. He looks —
Gerard swallows.
He looks like the version of himself that only exists in other people’s heads. Gerard, meanwhile, is painfully aware of the oversized hoodie he’s been sleeping in for the last week, and the way his hair is doing something deeply unfortunate on the left side that he didn’t bother to pat down earlier. For one dizzy, humiliating second, his brain supplies an uninvited thought:
I could never pull that off.
“What the f…?” Frank starts to say, lowering the candlestick as his gaze bounces back and forth between Gerard and his redheaded double. He squints at both, then jerks the candlestick up in a defensive position. “Dude, what the fuck!”
The gun immediately snaps back into position.
“Jesus fu—” Gerard flails his arms in response, palms out. “Would you stop fucking pointing that thing?!”
His alternate self doesn’t even blink. “Stop freaking out,” he says calmly, hand rock steady. “You’re making it weird.”
“Making it —?” Frank splutters. “We’re making it weird?”
The other Gerard lowers his gun and tucks it in the holster. “New rule,” he orders firmly, “Nobody talks for thirty seconds.”
Frank opens his mouth.
“Especially you.”
Shutting it again, Frank’s jaw flexes and he glares. Gerard files away two deeply interesting facts at once: first, Frank apparently will listen to him under the right circumstances, and second, those circumstances apparently involve firearms.
Good to know.
“So, here’s the deal,” his double says diplomatically. “We’re all gonna be super cool and not turn this into a big thing.”
Staring at him, Frank looks at Gerard, then back at him again. He gestures vaguely with the candlestick. “There are two of you.”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of a big thing.”
“Debatable.”
Gerard finally finds his voice again. “You’re…” But he loses momentum, because there isn’t actually a word for this. Clone? Time traveler? Stress-induced hallucination? “Okay,” he says instead, “We can’t both be Gerard, that’s too confusing.”
The redheaded version of him shifts his weight and casually leans against the edge of the mixing desk, one boot hooking over the other at the ankle. “If it makes it easier,” he says, adjusting the gloves at his wrist, “you can just call me Party Poison.”
Making a scrunched face, Frank asks, “Party Poison?”
“Yeah.” A brief pause follows. “Or just Party,” he adds, like he’s offering a premium upgrade. “I’m not picky.”
Turning his head, Frank looks at Gerard over his shoulder, extremely amused by this information. “You would give yourself some dumb superhero name,” he ribs with a small grin.
Snorting, Party argues, “It’s not dumb.”
“It’s kinda dumb,” Frank says, turning back to him.
Party shrugs. “It tested pretty good.”
“Tested with who?” Gerard asks.
Smirking wider, Party just replies, “Don’t worry about it.” Holding their stares a little longer, he pushes off the desk with an easy roll of his shoulders. “Anyways,” he says, brushing nonexistent dust from the sleeve of his jacket, “You got any coffee?”
Gerard blinks slowly. “What?”
But Party is already moving toward the door, stepping around overturned furniture without breaking stride. “Kitchen’s down the hall, right?”
“How do you know that?” Frank demands, candlestick lifting again on reflex.
Pausing in the doorway, Party glances over his shoulder. “I’ve been here before, genius.”
Which is, in fact, the worst possible answer.
Standing there stupidly, Gerard watches the blue jacket disappear into the hallway. Abandoning his makeshift weapon on a nearby table, Frank follows Party out of the room with Gerard trailing right at his heels.
By the time they reach the kitchen, Party is already rifling through the cabinets, moving boxes aside and opening drawers as if conducting a routine inspection. Hovering in the doorway, Frank and Gerard watch him operate with unearned authority, rooting around like he actually pays the damn utility bill. Gerard tries to decide what’s more destabilizing: the existence of a second him, or the fact that this version has been here for ten minutes in total and already claimed jurisdiction over the kitchen.
Resolving on a box of cereal, Party unzips and shrugs out of his jacket, revealing a thin black shirt with the sleeves hacked off. The armholes dip well beyond any reasonable boundary of modesty, suggesting a level of confidence Gerard hasn’t personally unlocked yet. The jacket lands somewhere near the table, followed by his gloves and bandana, but Party doesn’t check.
Hopping up onto the counter, his boots knock lightly against the cabinets. Without any hesitation, Party tips the cereal box back and starts eating straight from it, his posture loose and entirely at home.
“Seriously?” Frank scoffs in disbelief.
Lowering the box just enough to look at him, Party asks, “Problem?”
“You break into our fucking house, hold us at gun point, and now you’re stealing our Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”
“If you think about it,” Party says, a slow grin creeping across his face. “It’s technically my Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
Opening his mouth to argue, Gerard closes it again, because he’s kind of got a point.
“Fine. New question.” Frank folds his arms in front of his chest. “Where are you from?”
Tipping the cereal back again, Party chews thoughtfully, then says with his mouth full, “Around.”
“That’s a stupid answer.”
Swallowing, Party says simply, “It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
“So, what, like, from another state?” Frank presses. “Another dimension?”
Party’s mouth twitches. “Sure.”
“Which one?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Okay? And?”
Huffing a quiet laugh, Party says, “Where I’m from, asking questions like that gets you killed.”
Frank’s expression tightens, and he shoots Gerard a look that asks if this dude is for real. Gerard wishes he knew, but he suspects Party might actually be serious.
Setting the cereal down, Party drops from the counter and moves toward the coffeemaker. He retrieves the largest mug in the cabinet, the one Gerard usually hoards, and pours himself a cup like this is a totally normal morning. Which, for him, evidently, it is. Taking a long drink, Party damn near polishes off the entire mug in one swig. His eyes slip shut, and the hard edges fall away from his face, shoulders loosening as he exhales a low, satiated sound.
“Motherfucker,” he breathes with bone-deep relief. “I forgot how good coffee is.”
It’s a little alarming how much that reaction feels like muscle memory for Gerard. The way Party’s head tips back slightly and his throat moves when he swallows is all too familiar, especially the small crease between his brows that smooths out as soon as the caffeine hits. Which would be uncanny if it weren’t…kind of attractive?
Gerard looks away.
Apparently hitting his quota for weirdness before nine a.m., Frank pushes off the doorway and ventures a few cautious steps closer, eyeing Party carefully.
“Is this really what you came here for?” he asks. “Just to bum around for a day and eat all our food?”
Lowering the mug, Party considers his question. Gerard watches the exchange with a faint sense of dread; historically, when Frank decides to poke at people, it rarely ends quietly. There’s something almost impressive about the audacity, though — staring down a sunbaked, gun-toting version of Gerard just to complain about him commandeering their cereal.
Something in Party’s demeanor changes. “You’re either really brave,” he says softly, “or really, really stupid.”
“Yeah?” Frank bristles. “What are you gonna do about it? Steal a box of Oreos?”
Party’s mouth curves again. “Actually,” he says, almost thoughtful, “it’s kind of working for me. Wanna make out?”
Recoiling, Frank submits, “You’re fucking weird.”
Grin tugging higher, Party replies, “You have no idea.”
Frank looks back at Gerard, a quick check-in that they’re both still on the same page. They’ve been exchanging the same look for years without thinking about it, their own private version of shorthand. Not registering Party watching at first, Gerard only notices when the redhead goes subtly still, his easy slouch against the counter suddenly more alert. His eyes flick from Gerard to Frank once, then again. The smugness at the corner of his mouth deepens just slightly.
Straightening on instinct, heat creeps up the back of Gerard’s neck. “What?” he asks, miffed by the scrutiny.
“Nothing.” Party takes another long pull of coffee, watching them over the rim of the mug. Then, as casually as inquiring about the weather, he asks bluntly, “You two fuck yet?”
The kitchen goes dead silent. Before he can stop himself, Gerard looks at Frank, who’s already looking at him. They mirror the same startled, awkward expression back at each other, the glance revealing far more than either of them intends.
They both look away too fast, and Frank asks defensively, “Why?”
Eyes narrowing to a squint, Party just shrugs, still smirking. “No reason.”
Gerard scowls. Is he this fucking cryptic and annoying?
Setting down the mug, Party pushes off the counter and crosses the room toward the hallway.
“The fuck are you going?” Frank barks after him.
“I gotta take a leak,” Party calls over his shoulder. “Didn’t think that required a group vote.” The bathroom door clicks shut behind him a moment later, and the kitchen falls into another uneasy quiet.
“Okay,” Frank exhales, running a hand through his hair. “What the actual fuck?”
“Yeah,” Gerard replies, totally bewildered.
They both stare down the hallway like it might burst into flames the second they stop paying attention. Trading another uneasy glance, they don’t say anything else for a while.
Eventually, though, because the day refuses to pause for existential crises, they head back toward the studio to deal with the minor demolition Party left behind. A mic stand lies toppled over on its side, cables scatter haphazardly across the floor, and a chair is overturned in the corner of the room. Gerard rights it with a small grunt while Frank gathers up the cables, muttering under his breath about “carbon copy assholes with guns.” Party watches from the doorway for a little bit before stepping inside to unhelpfully nudge a small trashcan back into place with the toe of his boot.
Finally settling in, Gerard chooses to focus on small, tangible tasks. For a little while it almost feels normal, just him and Frank shoulder to shoulder, working in that easy, wordless sync they’ve fallen into over the last several days. Gerard doesn’t have to look up to know when Frank is about to move; he feels it in the shift of air, the slight change in weight beside him. It’s steadying in a way he doesn’t let himself think about too hard.
After a while, Party returns and drifts back into the room, his neon hair a dark maroon from the shower he obviously helped himself to. He doesn’t ask what they’re working on; he just perches on the arm of the couch in the corner and observes with fixed interest. At first, Frank tries to ignore him, face pinched with concentration, shoulders tight as he tweaks a knob and then tweaks it back again.
“You were right the first time,” Party says coolly.
Frank doesn’t look up. “I didn’t ask.”
“I know.” Party shrugs one shoulder. “You keep second-guessing it, though.”
That makes Frank look up. “I’m not —”
“Yes, you are,” Party laughs, but there’s no malice to it. “Stop overthinking it so much. You know what you’re doing.”
Looking back at the controls, Frank gnaws on his lip ring, clearly deciding whether to argue or prove a point. Exhaling slowly, he turns the knob back to where it was before, undoing his own self-doubt. Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, he rolls his neck once, then digs in.
This time, it clicks. The chords sit right where they should, the tone biting just enough without getting muddy. Frank nods to himself as he finishes, shifting his stance with one foot braced against the pedalboard. He runs through the progression again — faster now, looser.
And fuck, it’s good. Gerard feels it in his ribs before he fully registers the difference. It’s fuller; more confident. Frank’s shoulders drop incrementally as he plays, the tension leaking out of him note by note. By the time he hits the chorus riff, there’s a flash of teeth in a grin he’s trying and failing to suppress.
When he stops, Party’s mouth crooks, small and satisfied. “See?”
Not answering right away, Frank’s grin stays put this time, reluctant but genuine. There’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and Gerard hates how clearly he recognizes it. Because he knows that look — he’s usually on the receiving end of it. Watching it bloom in real time for someone who looks just like him but stands up straighter, doesn’t take anybody’s shit and doesn’t hesitate for even a second…it twists heavy and bleak in Gerard’s chest.
And it’s fucking pathetic, because it’s him. Jealousy is supposed to involve a third party (ha-fucking-ha), not yourself in a better jacket. That’s not how jealousy works; that’s not how any of this works.
Yet the feeling doesn’t care about logic. Watching Party slant against the couch with that easy self-assurance, seeing Frank’s shoulders relax under his gaze, it hits wrong in a way Gerard can’t explain. What it feels like — ridiculously, irrationally — is someone stepping into a moment Gerard didn’t realize he’d been waiting for and handling it far better than he ever could.
That’s not fair, he scolds himself. He’s projecting. Overreacting. Sleep-deprived and strung out on too much coffee and not enough mental clarity for this level of sci-fi fuckery. But the thought keeps circling anyway, wordless and persistent: somehow, implausibly, this feels like someone else getting there first.
Over the next few hours, Gerard watches the distance between them shrink.
He notices when Party leans in to look at Frank’s pedal board instead of asking him to hold it up. He also notices that Frank doesn’t step back or shy away from the proximity, and the way Party’s grin holds when Frank laughs.
Gerard notices everything.
This is stupid. It’s not rational. Hell, it doesn’t even make sense. But it’s there, whether he likes it or not.
By late afternoon, the flirting isn’t even subtle anymore.
Party bumps Frank’s shoulder on his way past and doesn’t apologize, prompting Frank to snort and shove him back. Laughing, Party steadies himself with a hand at Frank’s waist, splaying his fingers like he forgot to remove them right away. Gerard feels his stomach drop. Neither Frank nor Party comment on it; they just maintain eye contact for a visibly charged moment before grinning and breaking apart.
You can’t fucking be jealous of yourself, Gerard thinks, pressing a pen to his notebook much harder than necessary. That’s not a real thing.
Across the room, Party says something low enough that Gerard can’t make out the words, voice dropping just shy of private. He tilts closer by a fraction, just so that Frank has to angle his head towards him to hear. Whatever Party says, it isn’t long. Frank’s answering grin is bright and a little sly, the kind he usually saves for inside jokes or particularly well-timed comebacks.
From this distance, Gerard can’t hear anything else they say, either, but he doesn’t miss the body language. Frank narrows his eyes playfully instead of defensively, chin tipping up slightly, as if rising to a dare. Party lets his eyes drag down and back up again, unembarrassed, a loaded grin hooking the corner of his mouth.
Something inside Gerard silently implodes watching the current arc of whatever the hell is escalating. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s already on his feet.
Frank says his name (he thinks) but Gerard ignores him, already halfway out the studio door. His face burns with a hot, humiliating flush that travels all the way from the back of his skull straight down to the bottom of his lower intestines.
This is insane — what exactly is Gerard upset about? His alternate self flirting with his best friend? His best friend flirting back? The fact that it’s actually working?
He didn’t have a specific destination in mind when he left, he just needed to not be in the same room anymore. His feet carry him to the backyard on autopilot. When he pushes through the double doors in the kitchen, the fresh blast of unfiltered, outside air feels like coming up for a breath Gerard didn’t know he was holding.
Digging in his hoodie for his cigarettes, he lights one with shaking hands and inhales hard, hoping nicotine might cauterize the ugly pit of shame taking up residence in his abdomen. Exhaling smoke up to the sky, he promises himself not to make this into a bigger deal than it needs to be, freaky Terminator-esque logistics aside. He smokes until his pack is noticeably lighter, each cigarette bleeding into the next, his lungs turning thick and sour with tar while the sky shifts overhead from a bruised purplish-pink to a deep, navy blue. When he crushes the last cigarette into the now overflowing ashtray, he sighs heavily and pushes to his feet.
Back inside, Gerard benevolently decides that Party and Frank can keep the studio. They can sit in there eye-fucking each other across the mixing console for the rest of the night for all he cares. Gerard, meanwhile, will be taking the high road and politely removing himself from the situation. Flipping up the hood of his jacket, Gerard avoids even breathing in the general direction of the studio as he passes. Beelining directly for his bedroom at the end of the hall, he puts as much space between him and The Problem as possible. The more he can wedge between him, Frank, and Party, the better.
Because the healthiest, most mature solution here is retreat and not open, honest communication. Clearly strategic relocation to sulk alone is what a rational adult would do. And even if it’s not, it’s the option Gerard is committing to, so “maturity” can go piss up a flagpole.
Finally reaching his room, Gerard pushes the door open, already midway into whatever private spiral he plans to indulge in, but then he abruptly realizes the lights are already on when he walks in.
And for one bewildering second, his brain refuses to process what it’s seeing.
Tucked against the far wall in a tangle of limbs, Party has Frank pinned with one hand cradling the nape of his neck while the other splays next to his head. Frank’s own hands are fisted in the front of Party’s black cutoff, body arching into the kiss as a soft, hungry sound escapes him. Gerard’s feet are frozen to the floor, a hot-and-cold sensation sweeping from his toes all the way up to the bleached roots of his hair.
Shit. Shit. Leave.
He should look away.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, something within him becomes oddly suspended. Watching Party’s hand slide from Frank’s collar to the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheek before tightening again at his hip, Gerard feels an electric pulse deep in his stomach.
That’s his face.
His mouth.
And for a fleeting, horrifying second, Gerard is kind of into it.
Managing a single, jerky step backwards, the floorboards noisily creak beneath his feet in a cruel betrayal.
The other two break apart instantly. Frank’s eyes go wide the second he sees Gerard standing there, mouth still parted and cheeks flushed an unmistakable pink that climbs all the way to his ears. His hand drops from the front of Party’s shirt like he’s been burned, guilt flickering across his face so fast it’s almost painful to watch.
Party, on the other hand, turns more slowly, with absolutely no rush in the movement. Not moving away from Frank, his gaze tracks over Gerard with an eerie calm, then his expression settles into a lazy, predatory smile.
“Gerard,” Party greets in a low rasp, grinning like this is all one big fucking joke. “See something you like, or just enjoying the show?”
“Sorry, I was —” Gerard’s tongue feels too thick for his mouth, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Forgot something. It’s fine. I’ll…um. Bye.” He spins on his heel to leave.
Frank finally speaks up. “Gee.”
Stopping despite himself, Gerard turns back around. Frank hasn’t moved from the wall, but whatever heat that was there a second ago is gone, replaced with something vulnerable and exposed. There’s deep remorse in his eyes, along with something tighter underneath that’s not just from getting caught. The look on his face has a fragile urgency that says he desperately wants Gerard to stay, but also that Frank knows he doesn’t deserve that.
From just beside Frank, Party snorts under his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, though not entirely unkind. “You two are so fucking dramatic.” He finally pushes off the wall, rolling his eyes. “Nobody died. We just made out.”
The words are casual and dismissive, but Gerard can feel the shift before he sees it. Party lets the silence stretch a little longer, giving Gerard the space to decide whether he’s staying or fleeing. Then something in Party’s posture changes, the easy detachment siphoning out of it and mutating into something more focused.
His attention settles, but not on Frank.
On Gerard.
His eyes roam over him, taking in the hoodie, the unkempt hair, and Gerard’s fingers still clenched at his sides. The teasing edge softens to intent curiosity, studying Gerard like he’s the real variable here.
“Nobody’s kicking you out of your own room,” Party says placidly, stepping forward with an unhurried smoothness Gerard couldn’t replicate if he tried. “And while I love the idea of you standing there watching me fuck Frank on your bed…” He trails off just long enough, eyes locked on Gerard’s with calm, lethal confidence. “…I’m a lot more into the idea of fucking you both.”
Gerard can feel the warmth of him now, close enough that the air between them feels thinner. Party doesn’t rush the space, erasing the distance inch by inch until the mattress presses against the back of Gerard’s legs before he even realizes he’s yielding ground.
“You don’t have to act like this is shocking,” Party says softly, lifting a hand to rest along Gerard’s jaw, thumb settling beneath his ear. Gerard’s breath hitches when Party leans closer, their foreheads nearly touching as his voice drops lower. “I know exactly how your brain works.”
The words are superheated against Gerard’s mouth, accompanied by a widening smirk that feels intimate in a way that borders on unfair. Gerard has just enough time to realize he’s right —
— and then Party kisses him.
The contact is jarring and Gerard goes rigid, eyes cinched shut as Party’s mouth begins to move. He takes his time gently coaxing Gerard into it, both hands lightly gripping either side of his jaw. When Gerard still doesn’t react, Party keeps going, a little firmer now, lips parting slightly for his tongue to trace the seam of Gerard’s mouth. A jolt of pure, undiluted heat shoots down to Gerard’s groin, and a small, helpless sound slips out when he feels his own mouth open and give in.
Party doesn’t waste the opportunity, kiss deepening as his tongue rushes into Gerard’s mouth, hot and sure. It’s Gerard’s own mouth but seasoned with experience and boldness he doesn’t have. Gerard feels one of his hands creep out of his pocket to find purchase on Party’s hip, the denim rough under his fingers. He’s kissing back now, a slow, building fervor, his other hand rising to tangle in the red strands at the nape of Party’s neck.
Making a throaty, approving noise, Party angles his head, taking the kiss dirtier and wetter. His hands slide from Gerard’s face to his shoulders, squeezing, then down his arms, mapping the shape of him through his hoodie before unzipping the front to push it off his shoulders to the floor. Gerard’s head is swimming, getting lost in the slick glide of their tongues and Party’s leaner, harder body pressing against his own.
“Holy shit.”
Breaking apart with soft, wet sound, they both turn their heads. Frank is still leaning against the wall, but he’s slid down a few inches, chest rising and falling rapidly under his threadbare shirt.
“Sorry,” Frank says in a heated breath, not sounding sorry at all. He drags a hand over his mouth. “Just…it’s really fucking hot watching you make out.”
A fresh wave of heat floods Gerard’s face, so consumed by indulging in the most literal case of narcissism known to man that he completely forgot they have an audience. The embarrassment is piercing but it mixes with a new, potent thread of arousal. Frank was watching. And he thinks it’s hot.
Snickering, Party keeps one arm around Gerard’s waist. “Think so?” he says in a velvety tone, eyes latched onto Frank’s hungry expression before turning to Gerard’s stunned one, grinning wickedly. “I think it’d be a lot hotter if you two make out.”
Stomach doing a somersault, Gerard dumbly blurts out, “What?”
Frank pushes off the wall, uneasy. “Party…”
“Come on, Frankie,” Party coaxes, voice lowering to a conspiratorial murmur as he gives Gerard another small squeeze. “You know you want to.”
The air in the room crackles as Frank hesitates only for a brief moment, visibly fighting an internal war of desire and uncertainty. Then, with a resolve that makes Gerard’s breath catch in his throat, Frank steps forward, closing the gap between them. Stopping mere inches away, he’s close enough for Gerard to see the tremors in his hands.
Paralyzed, all Gerard can do is stare. This is Frank, who he’s known for years. Frank, with his razor wit and cackly stoner laugh and all his tattoos Gerard has secretly been tracing with his eyes longer than he’d ever admit. This is the line, the boundary that’s always existed between them, and Frank looks ready to pole vault right over it.
Searching his face, Frank breathes, “Gee?”
Spell suddenly broken, Gerard gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, and the space between them disappears.
The first touch of Frank’s lips is nothing like Party’s. Where the redhead is implicit and seductive, Frank is more unpredictable and tentative. His lips are softer and slightly chapped, the kiss closed-mouthed and shy. Frank’s hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing his jawline, sparking Gerard to start moving his lips. As he parts them, Frank follows his cue with a small sigh, their tongues touching bashfully at first before deepening with more confidence.
Gerard rests a hand at Frank’s hip while the other slides into the soft, messy black hair at the base of his skull. Frank makes a muffled sound against his mouth and presses closer, his body fully aligning with Gerard’s. The kiss turns greedy, messy, all the shyness burning away by a mounting, mutual need. Hyper focused on Frank, Gerard gasps when a second presence suddenly molds against his back.
Party.
He presses flush from behind, wedging Gerard between their bodies while an arm snakes around his waist, hands splaying over his stomach. “That’s it,” Party murmurs into his ear, his voice hot and dark in a way that makes Gerard shiver. “Just like that.”
His mouth finds the side of his neck, and Gerard’s entire world fractures. The sensory overload of being kissed from both sides, front and back, is instantaneous. Frank claims his mouth, deep and fervid, while Party wields his own as a weapon of exquisite torture. He licks up the side of Gerard’s throat, tracing the tendon to nip at the sensitive spot just below his ear. It makes Gerard stagger on his feet and moan into Frank’s mouth.
Swallowing the sound, Frank kisses him harder, hands framing his face. Gerard is pinned, utterly surrounded by heat and want and wandering hands and fuck, fuck, fuck. Party’s fingers on his stomach begin to move, slipping up to palm his chest through his shirt, thumb rubbing deliberately over a nipple. The cotton becomes an agonizing friction and Gerard arches, first pushing his chest into Party’s hand and back against his hips.
That’s when Gerard feels it: the hard, unequivocal press of Party’s erection, along with a matching hardness growing against his own hip where Frank grinds into him. The dual evidence of their arousal and the fact that Gerard is the cause of it sends a palatable thrill through his veins. Party bites his earlobe hard enough for Gerard to loudly groan, the sound muffled against Frank’s lips. Rocking his hips forward in a slow, purposeful roll, Party shamelessly rubs his cock into Gerard’s ass.
“You like being in the middle, don’t you?” Party says in a vulgar whisper, his own breath coming out faster now. “I fucking know you do.”
Unable to speak, Gerard can only pant into Frank’s mouth, head falling back onto Party’s shoulder and offering his throat as a sacrifice. Party greedily accepts, sucking a bruising kiss into his exposed skin. The sharp sting-pull of it lights up every single nerve ending in Gerard’s body.
Frank breaks the kiss, lips swollen and wet as he stares at Gerard with glazed eyes, right at the place where Party’s lips work on his neck. “Fuck, Gee,” he exhales, voice ragged. Then he leans in again, but instead of capturing his mouth, Frank begins kissing and licking down Gerard’s jaw towards his throat.
The hand Party settles on Gerard’s chest moves down over the soft plane of his stomach, dipping below the waistband of his jeans to tease the line of coarse hair that leads further south. Gerard bucks into the touch with a desperate, involuntary thrust. The arms around Gerard’s waist shift from embracing to guidance, gently steering him toward the bed. Stumbling on watery legs, Gerard falls ungracefully onto the mattress, landing on his back as the duvet puffs up around him.
Party moves first, climbing on the bed with his knees bracketing either side of Gerard’s hips. Leaning down, he ensnares Gerard’s mouth in a filthy, ravenous kiss before the weight on the bed shifts and Party pulls back. Frank slides into the space he vacates, kissing eagerly and slightly off-center. Gerard moans into it, arching off the bed, desperate to get closer.
Just as he gets lost in the frantic glide of Frank’s mouth, Party is there again, turning Gerard’s face toward him and kissing him until he sees stars blazing behind his eyelids. Then Frank. Then Party. Back and forth in a dizzying relay that makes Gerard’s head spin, consumed from both sides with his mouth as the desired prize.
In a brief, gasping moment between exchanges, Gerard’s eyes flutter open in time to see Frank leaning past him and pull Party into a fierce, open-mouthed kiss right over his chest. A bolt of lust makes Gerard’s cock twitch painfully against the zipper, watching his counterpart absolutely devour the man they both clearly want.
Frank breaks the kiss with a gasp and Party’s attention swings back to Gerard, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You’re wearing too many damn clothes.”
The remark is a trigger, Frank grabbing the other side of Gerard’s shirt. In a coordinated, swift move, they both haul it up and over his head. The cool air hits Gerard’s skin and sends goosebumps up his arms as two sets of hands swiftly descend on him, Frank’s calloused fingers tracing over his pecs while Party’s slightly longer ones drift to the dip of his navel. The contrast of their paired touches is melting Gerard’s brain, Frank’s reverent and exploratory while Party is more deliberate, already knowing exactly where he likes being touched.
“Pants,” Party says in a strained voice, fingers popping the button of Gerard’s fly and dragging the zipper down.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband and boxers, and together, he and Frank pull. Gerard lifts his hips to help, kicking the tangled fabric off his ankles until he’s sprawled naked on the duvet, fully erect and leaking onto his stomach.
It’s a turbulently vulnerable moment to be completely on display like this. But the look on Frank and Party’s faces as they drink him in are far from judgmental — if anything, they’re hungry, and for the first time in a long time, Gerard feels wanted in a way he can’t remember ever experiencing.
“Now you,” Party orders.
Frank doesn’t need to be told twice. Pulling his own band T-shirt over his head in a quick motion, Gerard outlines the scattered spray of ink across his lean torso. Frank fumbles with his fly next, eyes never leaving Gerard’s as he finally lowers the zipper.
Party, on the other hand, isn’t in much of a hurry. Rising to his knees on the bed, he peels off his black cutoff with an intentional slowness that’s complete torture. His body is more slender than Gerard’s, the same pale canvas but with more defined lines and mapped with different life experiences. His eyes also meet Gerard’s in a heavy-eyed smirk, reaching down with his hands to unbuckle his belt with a click.
Shoving his jeans and boxers down, Frank kicks them aside. He’s fully hard, and Gerard can’t help but shamelessly stare, the reality of Frank naked so much better than all the times Gerard imagined it in his bunk while everyone was sleeping. Frank climbs back onto the bed, crawling over Gerard’s legs with a thirsty, direct gaze.
Finally pushing the denim down his hips, Party frees himself, and the visual sends a wave of pure, nervous heat straight to Gerard’s core. But he doesn’t have time to fully process the immense actuality of all three of them being naked before Frank abruptly ducks his head.
His shaggy dark hair brushes Gerard’s thigh as he licks Gerard’s cock from base to tip, the sensation a lightning bolt that destroys the last of Gerard’s coherency. Then Frank’s mouth is fully on him, taking Gerard into searing, wet heat and moaning around him as the girth stretches Frank’s lips.
Moving down the bed, Party settles between Gerard’s spread legs opposite Frank. He watches Frank blow him for a minute, eyes dark with lust, then leans in and licks a wide, flat stroke up the other side of Gerard’s shaft, meeting Frank’s mouth at the head.
“Fuck,” Gerard moans, hips jerking uncontrollably. The sensation of their mutual assault and the sight of two heads bowed over his dick is fucking annihilating. Frank takes Gerard deep into his throat while Party swirls his tongue at the crown, teasing the slit and lapping at the precome. They work in a disjointed, fatal cadence — Frank sucking him down to the root and Party lavishing the head, then switching, passing Gerard between their mouths like a shared delicacy.
Pulling off, Party pants heavily and lets Frank blow Gerard a little longer before gripping the back of Frank’s head and yanking him off Gerard’s cock with an obscene pop.
“C’mere,” Party growls through his teeth.
Gerard watches, hypnotized, as he kisses Frank sloppily, each taking turns passing the taste of Gerard between one another’s lips. It’s the most mind-alteringly erotic thing Gerard has ever seen. A low groan slips from his throat and Party’s hand snakes out to wrap around his dick, stroking slowly as they kiss over him.
When they part, Frank dives back down and takes Gerard into his mouth again with renewed fervor. This time, Party doesn’t return to Gerard’s cock, instead spreading his thighs open a little wider. Then Gerard feels a warm, damp breath against a part of him that’s never been touched like this.
Oh.
Party’s tongue, hot and pointed, licks a firm band from his entrance to his perineum. Gerard moans into the crook of his arm, his entire body seizing up in response. Frank swallows hard around his cock while Party relentlessly eats him out, the circling pressure at his rim completely whiting out Gerard’s vision. His hips rock helplessly into the warm, wet heat of Frank’s mouth one second before pushing back against Party’s seeking tongue the next.
“I can’t…” Gerard gasps, biting back a moan. “I’m gonna…”
Lifting his head, Party’s smirk is just as debauched as it is stunning to witness, chin glistening when he says hoarsely, “We’re just getting started, buttercup.” Gently pulling Frank off Gerard again, he firmly instructs, “Nightstand. Bottom drawer.”
A blush crawls up Gerard’s neck — Party would know where he keeps his stash. He honestly doesn’t know why this shit keeps surprising him at this point. Yanking the drawer open, Frank produces lube and condoms before slamming it shut. When he hands the bottle and one of the wrappers to Party, the redhead raises an eyebrow.
“Really?” he says. “We’re strapping on Jimmy caps for this?”
“What?” Frank asks, defensive. “We don’t want any of your freaky space diseases.”
Party deadpans. “I’m not from space, dumbass.”
Grimacing, Frank insists, “Still.”
Snorting, Party relents and tears the packet open. After taking care of himself, Frank carefully guides a condom down Gerard’s length, the contact making him flinch. Crawling up the bed and lying on his side next to Gerard, Frank kisses him once more, quickly dipping his tongue between their lips. He slides a hand down Gerard’s chest to fist his cock, leisurely beginning to pump him.
Reaching up to rake a hand through Frank’s hair, Gerard moans into it and kisses back. Just as Frank captures his tongue to lightly suck it between his teeth, Gerard feels a single finger, cool and slippery, press brusquely against his hole, serpentine and teasing.
Breaking the kiss with a gasp, Gerard’s eyes fly open.
“Breathe,” Party murmurs, other hand stroking his thigh. “You know how this goes.”
Gerard tries. He sucks in a sharp breath as the tension increases, and then, with a slow, meticulous push, Party’s finger slips inside. The foreign, burning fullness makes Gerard tense up all over, and Frank drops his head to soothe him with a softer, more urging kiss. Working his finger deeper, Party crooks it at an angle and Gerard clenches around it.
Then, suddenly, it brushes his prostate and a bright, shocking pleasure bursts behind Gerard’s eye sockets. The sound he cries into Frank’s mouth prompts an answering groan right back from Frank, Party moving his finger in and out, hitting that same spot with every inward stroke. The burning fades and gets replaced by a steady building thrum of need. Gerard’s hips gain a mind of their own and push back against the intrusion, involuntarily seeking more.
Soon after, Party adds a second finger, and the burn melts into a full sensation as he scissors them gently, loosening Gerard up. The coordinated, thrusting fuck of Party’s fingers combined with Frank’s mouth on his neck and tattooed fingers wrapped around his dick are all bordering on sensory overload, pushing Gerard towards a peak that feels dangerously close to toppling over.
Frank pants against mouth, breaking for air, and Party reaches up with his free hand to grab Frank’s wrist. Moving his hand away from Gerard’s cock, Party guides it down, and Gerard feels Frank’s fingers press right alongside Party’s, smaller and clumsier, already slick from the condom.
“Slow,” Party tells him before giving Gerard a knowing grin. “That’s how we like it.”
Heart hammering in his ribs, Gerard’s mouth drops open as four fingers breach him now, the stretch intense enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Party sets the pace and they work him in conjunction, spreading him even wider. The sound Gerard makes is a cross between choking and a moan, his hand flying to Frank’s bicep and digging his fingers into the skin. When he opens his eyes, they immediately lock onto Frank, mouth parting in a small gasp at the way Frank looks at him. For a second it’s like Party isn’t even there.
Stopping briefly, Party slowly adds a third finger, followed right after by a third from Frank, and Gerard feels himself slip into a sedated state that travels in warm waves down his entire body. His brain completely disintegrates from the sensory barrage of six fingers filling him beyond anything he could’ve fathomed on his own.
Abruptly removing all his fingers, Party’s voice cuts through the silence when he smirks at Gerard and rasps out, “Yeah, you’re fucking ready for it, huh?” All Gerard can manage is a sharp inhale, words completely escaping him. “You go first,” Party says to Frank, shifting to lie on his back next to Gerard. “I wanna watch the two of you fuck.”
Swallowing hard, Frank glances from Party back to Gerard. “You want to?” Frank asks, voice rough. The question isn’t for Party, though.
Reaching up with a slightly shaky hand, Gerard pulls Frank down into another kiss. Frank groans into his mouth, the last of his hesitation evaporating. As they kiss, Frank fumbles for the forgotten bottle of lube discarded on the rumpled sheets. Frank liberally coats himself and the condom before tossing the bottle aside and resettling between Gerard’s legs. Then the blunt, slick head of Frank’s dick nudges against him, and soon after he’s pushing forward.
The initial stretch is familiar now, but no less excruciating. Gasping, Gerard curls off the mattress as Frank’s cock easily sinks right into him. Trembling all over, Frank pushes up the hilt in a long, slow thrust that sucks the air out of Gerard’s lungs. He’s in, their bodies joined in a hot, perfect seal. For a second they stay still, breathing each other’s air and adjusting to the incredible, intimate pressure.
Frank begins to move.
It starts as uneven rocking but quickly builds into something more. Frank drives into him with a passionate, steady pace, each thrust pushing a grunt from his own throat and a soft, pleasured exhale from Gerard. Frank captures his mouth again, kissing the same way he fucks, with the same torrid heat that Gerard can’t help but melt into.
From beside them, Party lets out a low, appreciative sound. “God, look at you,” he breathes, groaning softly. “Frank fucks you so fucking good.”
Turning his head, Gerard meets Party’s hungry gaze. He watches them with rapt attention, one hand idly stroking his sheathed erection while he lightly grinds up into his own fist. The sight of Party touching himself, of being the object of such blistering, voyeuristic focus, sends another bolt of desire straight through Gerard’s system.
He completely loses track of time. It seems like it goes on forever, the feel of Frank’s lean body moving against his, the smooth, unrelenting drag of his cock hitting that bright spot inside with every other stroke. Gerard claws helplessly at Frank’s back, fingertips slipping over the sweat-soaked skin.
Just as Gerard starts to feel the tightening coil of his orgasm, Party moves again. “Alright,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument as he places a hand on Frank’s sweaty shoulder. “Edge of the bed, lie on your back.”
Reluctantly pulling out, Gerard whines at the loss, but Party is already guiding Frank to the end of the mattress with his legs hanging over. Obeying, Frank looks up at him in a daze, cock swollen and glistening against his stomach.
“You.” Turning his attention to Gerard, Party grins and offers a hand to haul him up. “On top; face me.”
His legs are jelly, but his own lust propels Gerard into movement. He straddles Frank’s lap facing away from him — reverse cowboy, just as Party orchestrates. Reaching behind himself, Gerard guides Frank’s cock to his entrance and sinks down slowly, taking him in again. The angle is different this time, a little deeper, Frank’s dick pressing right up against his prostate. Gerard tips his head back with a long groan.
“Yeah,” Frank moans, sucking in a harsh breath. His hands grip Gerard’s hips, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh. “You feel so fucking good, Gee.”
Spurned by the approval, Gerard begins rising and falling, setting an easy, grinding pace. Bracing his hands on his thighs, he arches his back, acutely aware of Frank’s gaze on him from behind and registering the awe in his touch. It burns Gerard from the inside out. Before he realizes it, Party is in front of him and dropping to his knees. Leaning forward without asking for permission, his red hair is a shock of color in Gerard’s vision as he sucks the head of Gerard’s cock into his mouth.
Throwing his head back, Gerard cries out. The filling stretch of Frank moving inside him from below and the wet, vacuum-like heat of Party’s expert mouth from the front is decimating what little remains of his frontal lobe. Bobbing his head in tandem with the grind of Gerard’s hips, Party blows him with engrossed, obscene skill, eyes fastened up to Gerard’s, so that he can witness every twitch and flinch of pleasure.
Doubling his efforts, Party reaches up to fondle his balls, the other hand stroking what he doesn’t take into his mouth. Gerard struggles to maintain sanity, pulled in two different directions of unbearable pressure. He’s so close to coming, or suffering a nuclear meltdown, or both.
And then, before he can stop it, the wire of restraint abruptly snaps.
Gerard’s back arches, eyes squeezing shut as his orgasm washes over him in a rippling tsunami. He cries out again, louder this time, voice cracking as he pulses hot and thick into the condom. The clench of his body draws an equally loud moan from Frank, his fingers tightening at Gerard’s hips. Party holds him through it, hands steadying Gerard’s trembling frame as he slumps forward.
Eventually pulling off with a lewd lick of his lips, Party rises and grips Gerard’s shoulders. “Lie back.”
Hazy and spent, Gerard lets Party maneuver him onto his back on top of Frank, lying back-to-chest. Gerard lets his head fall to Frank’s shoulder, who immediately wraps his arms around Gerard to encase him in a warm cage. Resting his chin on Gerard’s shoulder, Frank’s breath is tepid and shallow against his neck.
Grabbing the discarded lube, Party empties a generous pool onto his palm, slicking his erection with slow strokes. Then he reaches between Gerard’s legs and coats what he can of Frank’s cock, adding more to Gerard’s entrance, as well. Anxiety quickly begins to mount as the unmistakable sensation of another hot, blunt crown nudges against his hole, and reality comes crashing down on Gerard like a bucket of ice water.
“Wait,” he chokes out, vigorously shaking his head. “You can’t — I can’t —”
“Yes, you can,” Party says, voice low and alarmingly calm. “I know my limits.”
Panic rises like bile. The idea of that much flesh, that much invasion, is fucking terrifying, and Gerard is already starting to spiral.
“Look at me.” Gerard’s eyes, wild with fear, snap to attention, and Party holds his gaze. “Listen, I won’t lie to you: this is gonna burn like a motherfucker, but then it’s gonna be like nothing else you’ve ever had before. You can take this.”
Staring up at him for a long time, Gerard feels his breathing slowly evening out. Party’s words somehow cut through the panic, and eventually, Gerard just gives a tiny, shaky nod. Grinning, Party returns the nod.
He doesn’t wait.
As he begins to push, a white-hot, impossible expansion fries every brain cell still swimming around in Gerard’s skull. His mouth falls open with a soundless scream, the back of his throat shredded and raw even though nothing comes out. The pain is a solid, living entity, filling him beyond capacity, splitting him open.
And just as suddenly as it peaks, everything goes numb.
The pain is still there, but it’s more of a distant, clinical fact. He floats detached above it, his consciousness retreating to a small, quiet corner of his mind. He watches from far away as his body is encroached — as Party, with infinitely slow patience, feeds his cock into the objecting ring of muscle right alongside Frank’s. He can see the fierce concentration on Party’s face as sweat beads at his brow, and Frank’s arms quake with tremors around him, his bitten-off groan hot against Gerard’s ear. But it’s all happening to someone else. He’s just a vessel; an object. There’s a strange kind of peace in the complete abdication of control.
Gerard is empty.
But he’s full.
And he’s nothing.
There’s soft pressure on his shoulder. Lips. A voice, fuzzy and muffled, says something to him, but the words sound submerged underwater. The kiss on his shoulder becomes a series of them, soft insistent pecks along the line of his neck. The voice comes again, closer. More tangible.
“Gee. Gerard.”
Frank.
With immense effort, Gerard turns his head. Frank’s face is inches from his, eyes wide with desperate, tender urgency. “Hey,” he says in a relieved whisper, “Stay with me.”
He kisses Gerard softly, not devouring him but more as a pleading lifeline. Gerard’s lips part for him on instinct, the touch an anchor that drags him violently back into his body. Sensation rushes back in a tidal wave: the overwhelming, tearing fullness, the heat of two cocks buried inside him with a pressure so intense it feels like they’re all the way in his stomach.
A broken sound escapes him, but Gerard doesn’t pull away. He kisses Frank back, pouring every shred of fear, overwhelm, shock, and dawning awareness into it. Frank’s mouth is the only thing still tethering him to this planet, the last line of defense preventing him from shattering into a million pieces.
Party lets out a long, shuddering breath above them. “Welcome back,” he murmurs with a wrecked, amused grin, neon hair sticking to his face in clumps. “Now’s the fun part.”
Very, very carefully, he starts moving.
It’s the barest shift, a retreat of maybe half an inch, but the drag of both dicks against his oversensitive inner walls is blinding. Gerard cries out into Frank’s mouth, who eagerly swallows the sound, holding Gerard tighter. Party pushes back in just as slowly, then out again. In. Out. In. Out. Frank, following Party’s lead, also begins to move with him. Their thrusts are shallow at first, just rocking into Gerard with an imperfect synchronization. It creates a staggering, overlapping feeling — Frank pulls back as just Party pushes in, then they switch, leaving no part of Gerard untouched.
The numbness is gone and in its place is a hypersensitivity so acute that it’s agony. Every nerve is on fire, and Gerard clutches at Frank, fingers tangling in his dark hair. He holds on desperately for dear life, everything around him reducing to only the slide and push of flesh inside him.
“That’s it,” Party grunts, his composure fraying. “Take it. Just like that. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”
The words, filthy and approving, drip like syrup into Gerard’s ear. They mingle with the wet sounds of their conjoined bodies, the groan of the mattress springs and their individually ragged breaths. The pain is a constant backdrop, but something else is weaving its way through it. A deep, internal friction. A pressure that’s building right fucking there.
With every coinciding thrust, the dual thickness inside him brushes against Gerard’s prostate. There’s a spark — then another. Then a jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure shoots up his spine, so sudden and unexpected it rips a gasp from Gerard’s throat. Party takes the reaction as license to pick up the pace. Not by much, but the increments are still enough to be splintering. His thrusts become longer and deeper, the stretch melding with tag-team stimulation on his prostate. Pleasure and pain braid together into a single, inseparable cord. It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.
Babbling into Frank’s mouth, Gerard pours out a stream of meaningless syllables. “Ah — ah, God — fuck —”
An unexpected heat begins to spread across his lower stomach and pelvis, making his body tingle all over. A more centralized pressure begins to build right along with it, that hot-cold sensation returning and intensifying, almost inflating inside him. It’s not the same tightening coil in his guts as before — this is a supernova rapidly gathering mass in his core.
And then, suddenly, another orgasm erupts from that deep, filled space. It shreds through Gerard with turbulent, involuntary convulsions, wracking his entire body with a force that feels like it might break his bones. He cries out once more in a series of loud, strangled moans, his climax clenching viciously around Frank and Party as they mutually split him in half.
The furious clasping of Gerard’s body is too much for Frank. With a shattered moan against Gerard’s neck, he comes right after, and Gerard can feel every pulse of his cock as it floods the condom. Frank’s hips stutter, arms locking tighter around Gerard in a final embrace as he empties himself fully, gasping over and over into his skin.
Party lasts three more brutal, driving thrusts in the convulsing tightness before he gives guttural grunt and pulls out. Gerard feels the sudden, shocking emptiness just before Party tears off his condom, stroking himself fast and rough while taking in the wreckage below him. With two final, rough pulls, Party finally comes in thick jets standing over both. Some of it lands across Gerard’s stomach and chest while the rest coats Frank’s tattooed forearm where it lays across Gerard. The last of it spatters Gerard in the neck, Party finishing with a long groan as he falls forward onto his hands, chest heaving.
Silence.
But the room isn’t truly silent, three sets of lungs simultaneously hauling in air, filling the room with their shared exhaustion. Gerard still lays sprawled across Frank, utterly destroyed, Frank’s arms still around him but loose with fatigue now. After a while, Frank presses a soft, lingering kiss to Gerard’s sweat-soaked temple, huffing a small laugh.
Raising his head, Party breathes hard through parted lips, still catching his breath. After a minute, he lets out a low, breathless laugh of his own.
“Shit,” he says, panting. “You two still smoke, right?”
***
Gerard doesn’t know when they finally pass out, only that at some point the world fades away and takes him with it. He wakes slowly a little while later, pulled from a deep sleep, eyes blinking open to find Frank curled as close to him as he can get.
Lying there for a moment, Gerard watches the steady rise and fall of Frank’s chest. It’s a sight he’s grown used to over the past few weeks, ever since Frank started crashing in his room, but it feels different now. There’s something almost startling about how peaceful Frank looks, mouth relaxed and lashes resting softly against his cheeks. Part of Gerard never wants this moment to end.
After a minute, it dawns on him that he and Frank are alone in bed. Rolling slightly, he winces as muscles howl in places he didn’t know were possible, quickly confirming that Party is gone. Which shouldn’t matter, but his brain already starts compiling a list of questions he’s not really prepared to examine before caffeine.
He eases himself upright, which turns out to be overly ambitious, every shift pulling at somewhere tender. Gingerly, Gerard throws back the covers and dresses as quietly as he can, pulling on his jeans and having to brace a hand against the dresser halfway through.
Padding barefoot across the room, Gerard slips into the hallway. The house is silent in that deeply unsettling way it hasn’t been for the past two days, the air thick and watchful again. Normally that prickle at the back of his neck would be enough to put Gerard on edge, but right now the creepy haunted mansion spiel ranks somewhere below the fact that he’s very obviously limping.
When he finally reaches the kitchen, Gerard is vaguely surprised to find that it’s still dark outside, though the confusion doesn’t last very long. His sleep schedule has been so nuked lately that time feels more theoretical than real. For all he knows, it’s four in the morning. Or six. Shit, maybe even yesterday, who fucking knows?
He heads for the coffee maker purely on instinct, but movement beyond the double doors catches his eye. Party is stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, one arm hooked behind his head with a cigarette glowing between his lips.
Shuffling out into the backyard, Gerard lets the door click shut behind him. Party’s head tilts at the sound, cigarette poised lazily between his fingers as he looks up. His amusement is immediate, brightening in his eyes before it ever reaches his mouth. He tracks Gerard’s approach with open interest, gaze dipping briefly to the unevenness of his steps. The corner of his mouth twitches.
Gerard ignores him, or at least he tries to. The patio brickwork feels unnecessarily hostile under his bare feet as he makes his way to the lounge chair beside Party and lowers himself into it with extreme caution. The second he shifts his weight, Party’s grin spreads slowly.
“Morning,” he says mildly, taking another drag of the cigarette and smirking like this is the most entertainment he’s had all week. “First day with the new legs?”
Scowling, Gerard feels a sharp flare of irritation. “Is everyone an asshole where you come from?”
Party takes another unhurried drag of the cigarette — Gerard's cigarette — smoke curling lazily from his mouth as he exhales, grin never wavering.
“Occupational hazard,” he says simply. “You kind of have to be where I’m from.” He flicks ash into the tray with infuriating precision and adds, almost kindly, “It’s nothing personal.”
Gerard narrows his eyes. “It kind of feels personal.”
Party’s smile tilts. “That’s because you take everything personally.”
Fuming at the cheap shot, Gerard stubbornly shoots back, “So where are you from, anyway? Because if you’re what I have to look forward to, I might as well just walk into that pool right now and save us both the trouble.”
Mouth hooking sideways with a suppressed laugh, Party lets out a snort. Tapping the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, he crushes it out while sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the lounge chair. Facing Gerard fully, now, his posture is easy but attentive. Whatever he’s about to say, he’s apparently decided Gerard earned eye contact for it.
“Technically? Yeah, I’m from the future.” He pauses, grin shifting. Still there, just less smug. “But not necessarily your future, feel me?”
Squinting, Gerard can’t decide if that’s better or worse. “You mean like from another dimension?”
Making a so-so motion with his hand, Party explains, “Sort of. Time doesn’t really operate in a straight line. Our timelines are both happening at the same time, but so are a bunch of others. They all kind of sit on top of each other without ever intersecting.”
“What happens if they do?”
“No idea,” Party admits. “Safe to assume it’s nothing good, though.”
Taking a second to process, Gerard folds his arms over his stomach and leans into them. Wincing slightly, he asks next, “So is this butterfly effect rules or whatever? Like, if I step on a butterfly in Jersey, does the timeline split somewhere in Indonesia?”
This earns an actual laugh from Party. “Again, kind of. Big moves are what cause splits, not butterflies.” He lets that hang a second, his grin dimming just a notch. “To be perfectly honest, me being here probably spun off a bunch of new variants already. Whatever futures we had lined up might not even happen now.”
Gerard’s pulse jumps hard enough to make him lightheaded, a sour twist settling in his stomach. The casual way Party says it — like futures blinking out of existence are just a normal Tuesday — doesn’t make him feel any better. For a second, Gerard seriously considers abandoning the entire concept of time travel as a topic of discussion.
But there’s one question still burning under his ribs, louder than the nausea and twice as insistent, and he can’t quite swallow it back.
“Is Mikey, y’know…?” Gerard asks, the words catching awkwardly in his throat. He looks away toward the pool, jaw pulling tight. “Where you’re from, I mean.”
Party doesn’t answer immediately. Staring out at the dark water for a moment, Party’s thumb idly traces the rim of the ashtray, like he’s trying to figure out how much information is safe to give.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but something wavers in his face all the same. The smirk disappears entirely, and for the first time since he showed up, Party looks less like a threat and more like a friend. There’s relief there, as well as something guarded, too.
Exhaling slowly, the knot in Gerard’s chest loosens just enough to breathe around it. He didn’t realize how hard he’d been bracing for the opposite answer.
“Frank, too.”
Gerard’s head snaps up, and Party meets his eyes with a small, knowing smile. He always seems to be three steps ahead, answering questions Gerard hasn’t even thought to ask yet. It’s hard to tell if that’s just what happens when you’ve lived longer, or if Gerard is genuinely that predictable.
After a long beat, Party adds earnestly, “You know that dude is crazy about you, right?”
Letting out a sharp, humorless scoff, Gerard retorts, “Yeah? Sure doesn’t scream undying devotion watching you both flirt all day and walk in on you throat-fucking each other’s tonsils.”
Rolling his eyes, Party doesn’t flinch at the bite in his tone. “Because I’m you, idiot. It’s not like Frank just agreed to a three-way with Toro.”
Grimacing, Gerard doesn’t let that visual travel very far. Point taken, though, he looks away again. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
Leaning a little closer, Party says more evenly, “Look, I know these are pretty weird circumstances. But trust me, you and Frank have survived way crazier shit than this and still ended up okay.”
Gerard studies him for a minute, trying to reconcile the version of himself who held him at gunpoint with the man sitting here now. The idea that there’s a future where he and Frank actually make it through this — all of it — sounds ridiculous, yet Party says it like their future’s already happened. The certainty in his voice is what makes it hardest to dismiss.
“You’re welcome for the spoilers, by the way,” Party adds smugly, easing back onto the lounge chair and folding one arm behind his head. Draping the other over his stomach, Party’s mouth curls with satisfied amusement. “Man, Ghoul’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out."