Frank doesn't think Gerard could get any more gay.
"There's a boy, I know! He's the one I dream of. Looks into my eyes, takes me to the clouds above!"
Frank shook his head, there was no fucking way Gerard was singing that song. He must be dreaming or having some sort of hallucination.
"How will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer with every heartbeat!"
Frank then knew Gerard was singing that stupid song. What the fuck, why hadn't Bob got up and locked Gerard in the studio? Bob usually locked Frank in there when Frank had done something to wake Bob up, like jump in his bunk. Why hadn't Mikey been complaining that his 'fucking brother' was singing 'fucking love songs' at 'fucking ass o'clock'? Why wasn't Ray stressing that the next album had to be 'so much better' and they needed to 'fucking concentrate' because 'the 'fro does not work unless under pressure'?
It was known to the whole band that Gerard was gay, though there wasn't much need for the 'coming out' on Gerard's part. When Gerard went through his rough patch with drugs and alcohol, the band had to endure the noises of Bert and Gerard.
But that was all over now, and much to Frank's joy, Gerard was single. Not that he was happy that Gerard had nobody, though he always had Frank, but because the thought of Gerard with anyone but Frank made Frank sick to his stomach.
Frank pulled himself out of his bunk to see what or who the sound was about, a bit nervous for the answer to the latter. What Frank saw when he entered the kitchen, was not what he was expecting, though he didn't quite know what he was expecting.
There was Gerard in a pink apron, wash cloth in hand, cleaning the dishes that had piled up for about a week.
"Said there's no mistake! What I feel is really love!"
Frank giggled, "And when I thought you couldn't fit the gay stereotype any more, you do this."
Gerard jumped and cursed under his breath, "Ha Ha Frankie, I thought everyone was out getting food so I wanted to wash up."
"While singing Whitney Houston?" Frank said raising an eyebrow.
Gerard blushed and looked down. "Oh come on Gee, nobody sings Whitney Houston unless it's about someone. So tell meeeee," Frank whined. Gerard shook his head.
"Why? I thought we were best friends? You can tell me anything, Please Gee" Frank pleaded.
"I can't tell you this Frankie, you'll hate me, it'll wreck the band, and us, and everything we've worked so hard for! Mikey is going to have a fucking fit at me for not growing some god damn balls," Gerard ranted.
"Gee, please. I mean c'mon, I've seen you naked and too drunk to stand, I've seen you not be able to clean your own ass, I've seen you puke in every god damn thing on this bus, there's nothing you can do, feel or say that we can't get through," Frank again pleaded.
"You," was the simple reply given.
"Me? What about me?"
"I was singing, um, about, you?" Gerard said, but it sounded more like a question, Frank sat there, letting the words process, "pleasepleasepleaseplease don't hate me, really, I can't help it frankie you're so, so hot and funny and perfect and-" Frank leaned in and smacked his lips against Gerard's, putting his tongue into the very shocked, but willing mouth. The kiss must have lasted about 5 minutes, but it seemed longer to the pair.
"I'm so what now?" Frank smirked, joking.
"Shut up and kiss me," Gerard smiled, and Frank was so okay with that.