Late Nights and Hotel Rooms

"Hey, can I kiss you?" Gerard asks. It's dark in the room and the air is thick and heavy like a blanket around their shoulders. Frank scowls a little, scooting closer to his companion.

"Why?" Frank asks simply. His eyes are wide and probing, the vibrant green of them subdued in the darkness, but somehow not washed of their color. He doesn't look the least bit opposed to the idea. He just looked interested, inquiring, and perhaps a touch too innocent for Gerard's liking.

"We don't have much longer on tour," he reasons, "and I wanted to end it on a good note."

"Your spit in my mouth is leaving on a good note?" Frank quips, eyes crinkling at the corners as he giggles.

"Come here, you fucking shithead," Gerard demands, ignoring the usual obnoxious punk streak in his friend's personality. Frank suddenly moves his head closer and takes the moment when Gerard is off his guard to dart out his tongue and lick a wet, playful line up Gerard's cheek. Frank crinkles up his nose afterward and pulls away before Gerard can even get a chance to react properly.

"When's the last time you've taken a shower, fucker? Your skin tastes like sweat and month-old lasagna."

Gerard rolls his eyes. "You're the one who licked me. I should be the one who's disgusted right now."

"But you're not," Frank disagrees, shaking his head matter-of-factly. "Because I actually brush my fucking teeth."

"Shut up," Gerard says defensively. And then, "What do teeth have to do with this?"

It's silent for a moment before Frank erupts into another round of carefree snickering, and Gerard watches him peacefully until the sound dies down again. Gerard takes a moment to feel how suddenly aware he is that this is the last hotel night they'll have on tour. They're playing a show in Denver tomorrow, then one in Philadelphia, and then they're packing up shop and heading home for a couple of months. Gerard's not sure how often he'll see Frank before the next tour, but he figures they'll both be busy with their families - and Frank with his girlfriend. But Jamia's a nice girl, Gerard has to admit, and Frank deserves to spend every second of his time with her.

Out of the blue, Frank runs a finger up Gerard's forearm and says, "I've got some guitar riffs I've been meaning to show you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm, I'll play them for you tomorrow morning. Want you to try and sing along with 'em..." Frank's voice becomes tired and breathy before he's even gotten his last word out.

"Sure," Gerard agrees easily. He presses further into Frank's touch, closes his eyes without thinking and lets himself feel where their skin presses together, warm and clammy.

"Night, Frankie."

They both slip off into unconsciousness like that, curled up against each other in the dampness of another cheap hotel room.

When Gerard wakes up the next morning and realizes he never did get that kiss he wanted, he feels like he's missed his chance.