FicWad

A falling star
Fell from your heart
And landed in my eyes

- Cosmic Love, by Florence And The Machine

“You’re smoking.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No, I like the smell.”
Frank smiled at the softness in Gerard’s voice.
“It reminds me of you.”
Iero smiled wider and let the sunlight warm his face, as the cigarette smoke swirled around them and trickled into the mid-September air, slowly thinned as it climbed towards Central Park’s golden trees, leaves tinted with reds and oranges and yellows. He felt the delicate and tentative touch of Gerard’s hands as they searched for his. He grabbed them and squeezed them as their fingers latched together and Way let out the tiniest of sighs.
A Canadian goose honked as it swam in the small lake near by.
“What does it look like?” Gerard asked.
“The bird?”
Way nodded and Frank caught a glimpse of his pretty, blind eyes hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses.
“Well…it’s big.”
Gerard chuckled. Frank took a drag from his cigarette.
“What’s so funny, Gee? It’s a big goose.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Frank sighed jokingly and glanced back at the bird.
“It’s big and…brown?”
“Big and brown and…?”
Frank stared at the bird as it clambered onto shore.
“It looks adventurous.”
”Adventurous?”
“Believe me, Gerard, that duck means business.”
Way laughed out loud, pressing a hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sound. He’d always laughed loudly and always would’ve. Frank adored it: it meant the man he loved was alive inside, alive and fighting.
“It’s one of the most business-like ducks I’ve ever seen. I’m surprised it hasn’t earned a job at Wall Street, Gerard, that little guy would’ve been perfect.”
Gerard kept on giggling as he drew Frank closer to him and pressed his lips against his cheek.
“And he’d wear a little suit and carry a little briefcase in his beak, and he’d strut around honking loudly and he’d have his coffee black, two sugars, and thank you.”
”Exactly, Gee. That’s probably what he’s off to do now.”
Frank chuckled, grabbing Gerard and holding him close. He cradled him, as the other man buried his face in his neck, followed the path of his skin with his hands.
“You shaved this morning.”
Iero kissed the top of Gerard’s head.
“Yes I did, Way. What aftershave did I use?”
It was their game: Gerard had to guess little details about Frank, like what aftershave he’d used or wether he’d brushed his teeth with mint or peppermint toothpaste. Gerard would map Frank’s body with the tip of his fingers, with his sense of smell and his taste, losing himself in the smallest swatches of skin and in his hair flowing through his fingers, every feeling and sigh and breath amplified by his ever-so sharp senses.
He’d feed onto the way Frank’s lips pressed against his, he’d feed onto the sound of Iero’s light snoring, onto the way the sheets would press against his body as Frank arched his back and moaned slightly when they made love, eyes shut and breaths rushing through his lungs and throat in quick, erratic jabs. Gerard tilted his head to the side before brushing his nose against Frank’s neck, which was already rough with stubble.
”Is it—is it Hugo Boss?”
Frank kissed Gerard.
“Correct, my sweet prince.”
My sweet prince.
Gerard knew he’d blushed: he could feel the warmth in his own cheeks, and he lowered his head, swallowed.
“My sweet, precious prince” Frank went on, and kissed him once more.
Gerard smiled to himself, as their lips touching and their breath mingling painted wonders on the dark canvas behind his eyelids, showed him the world in ways no one else could.