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Fic: In Production (7/7)
Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Previous
***
The preview screenings do a good job of hijacking any kind of life outside of the film Gerard might have hoped to have now that Brian is back in LA. Hours vanish from his days as days vanish from his calendar, sucked into the void of the edit suite and mix rooms, like every buzzing computer monitor is leeching away time.
His whole life revolves around test scores and notes from the audience screenings and focus groups. He sits on Bob's couch trying to find some semblance of meaning in the endless piles of survey cards scrawled by strangers who probably didn't even spend five minutes writing their thoughts down. On top of that, there's the bottomless supply of studio notes as the hacks at Universal attempt to come up with some new way to market the film for maximum profit, even if it means making a trailer for a different movie, or telling Gerard to create something that just isn't there.
It's exhausting, frustrating, and easily his least favorite part of filmmaking. When a note comes from Meyer's office that they want to try to change the ending to make it more "optimistic" he nearly throws his laptop across the room. He thumps the couch instead, scattering markers and pens across the floor.
Bob skates his chair backwards, not even turning around. He takes Gerard's crumpled pack of Marlboro's off the coffee table and hands them to him without even saying a word.
Bob's right of course, which is no surprise. It's definitely time for a break.
He abandons the scattered survey cards and redundant notes for the smoking area, his movements sharp with annoyance as he lights up. His fist closes around the phone in his pocket and he pulls it out, scrolling through his contacts for Brian's number. Before he's even registered what he's doing his thumb is hovering over the send key.
It's so tempting to just call. He's desperate to hear Brian's voice, pull it around him like a comfortable blanket. His thumb twitches over the button, but he's got nothing but bile to spew, hate for the studio and for stupid audiences who don't know what they want. He digs around for something safe and not work-related to talk about, but he can't find anything. His whole life is the film right now which means everything is tainted with the stink of his work-crazy. He can't dump that on Brian. No way.
The noise he makes is somewhere between an angry hiss and a resigned sigh as he puts his phone away. He smokes his way furiously through three more cigarettes before he feels ready to face the suite again.
***
If he was shooting the next two weeks as a montage it would be in fast motion, all his movements a blur, only slowing to a crawl when he pulls out his phone and hovers his thumb over Brian's number. He longs to press send, but he doesn't. Brian's calls go to his message bank and he listens to them over and over, counting down the days until the last preview screening is wrapped up, when he might have something to say.
He knows it isn't the way it's supposed to work, but he doesn't know how to fix it and he never has the brain space to figure it out. He keeps waiting, thinking any day now it'll come to him, but it just keeps getting harder and harder, to the point where he knows it's been too long from the cooling tone of Brian's voice in his messages and the longer gaps between them.
An entire week passes in a blur of pixelated images, sound cues and VFX signoffs, and Gerard doesn't hear from Brian once. Not until the end of the week when he gets a single text message that nearly stops his heart.
your turn
He dumps a mess of notes on Bob and finishes work early, heading straight to Brian's, hoping it's not already too late. Brian lets him in, which is probably more than he deserves, but Gerard takes it anyway, crossing the threshold to fidget in Brian's living room.
"So, you gonna fill me in?" Brian asks, after Gerard hasn't managed to make any words for at least thirty seconds. "Because if we're breaking up it would be nice if you told me." He folds his arms across his chest and regards Gerard, his entire demeanor icy.
"Brian, I-" Gerard doesn't get the words out, because after a week of radio silence, Brian's feeling talkative now. He skirts past Gerard and drops into an armchair, not the couch, which means Gerard can't sit beside him.
"Did I miss something? Because, two weeks. That's a while." The only chink in the illusion of Brian's calm is the way his foot is tapping out a staccato beat on the carpet, a lot like it was at that first meeting they had for Umbrella Academy. Gerard feels a bit breathless at the memory when he realizes just how far they've come since then. But the way Brian's looking at him right now, it doesn't feel that far at all.
He drops onto the couch opposite Brian, dragging his gaze up from Brian's bouncing foot to his assessing expression.
"Fuck, Brian, I'm sorry." The words tumble out before Gerard's really formed them, but it's all truth so he lets them come, hoping he can still fix this. He palms his hair into a mess, trying to find a reason. "It's just the film is kind of eating me alive right now and... and I don't wanna lay that crazy all over you."
Brian's foot stops tapping and starts circling instead. "That's fucking weak and you know it."
"I know, I'm sorry, fuck." Gerard rocks forwards, leaning on his knees in a desperate effort to close the distance between them. "I guess, I was trying to keep the crazy away, but that just meant I was keeping me away, you know?"
Brian doesn't deny it, but he doesn't agree either. He rubs the heel of his hand across his forehead like the whole thing's one big headache. "I thought you wanted something real. I mean, all that phone shit, I thought we were past this being just a set thing."
"It's not just a set thing," Gerard leaps in.
"Yeah, I could tell by the way you ignored me for two weeks." The words come out in a rush before Brian stops himself, lip curling in distaste as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fuck. Gerard. I don't want this shit. I don't want to be the fucking other woman to your goddamn film." He pushes to his feet, pacing and Gerard springs up after him, feet hesitating on the carpet as he watches the tense line of Brian's back.
"It's not like that. It isn't." An edge of desperation creeps into Gerard's voice. Brian turns to look at him, and the doubt on his face sends Gerard reeling back like a physical shove.
"You know, I haven't even seen your office. And I know sweet fuck all about what you're doing there. Shit, there's probably a fourteen year old kid who's been to one of your previews that knows more about where you're at than I do." It's not until the words are out of Brian's mouth that Gerard realizes it's true. It's a sinking thought. Brian rubs the back of his neck, his mouth pulling to the side in a mirthless smile. "You know, I thought it might change, but it's actually getting worse." He rocks back on his heels and settles, folding his arms and meeting Gerard's eyes. "I don't want this. I don't want to be the afterthought."
"No, fuck, it's not like that, Brian please. I'm not good at this and I'm fucking it up." The words spew out of Gerard's mouth and it's a physical effort not to reach out to Brian and grab him.
Brian doesn't give an inch. "You really are."
Okay, he deserved that one, but it still hurts. Gerard takes a deep breath, one hand still tangled up in his hair and tugging on it. "I've only done this once before and it was such a fucking disaster. I opened up everything and he just, took it all. And he didn't even want me." He thumps his chest for emphasis, eyes imploring. "Me, you know? He just wanted everything else." Gerard can't even stand to look at Brian, because fuck, this is so much worse than it was with Bert. He tried this time, he tried so hard to stop it from getting to this.
Gerard feels like he's spilling his guts out on the floor and Brian hasn't even moved.
"That's not me, Gerard." Brian scrapes a hand through his hair, his frustration leaking out through the motion. "I don't want a piece of your fucking career, I have mine, thanks. I don't need an 'in' from you. I'm not asking to run your goddamn show, but I'd like to think you'd put my name on the door to fucking see it."
"Brian." The name sounds so desperate to his own ears. Gerard's hand shoots out to touch Brian's shoulder, but he shrugs away.
"No. I think you should go." Brian's voice is tight and stripped of emotion; something inside Gerard breaks at the sound. He opens his mouth to speak without even thinking.
"Brian, I love you." It's the first time he's said it. He's thought it, so many times; he's stopped himself from saying it a lot of times, too. He knows this isn’t the right time to pull it out, but it's the only thing he has in his arsenal and he's desperate.
It doesn't work the way he wants it to. Brian doesn't fall into his arms, if anything his face gets harder, his mouth twitching angrily. "Don't you say that. Don't you fucking say that if you're not gonna back it up." He spits the words like they're leaving a bad taste in his mouth and that's it, Gerard's out of ammo.
He's got nothing left to say, so he grabs Brian's face in his hands and kisses him. If he can't tell him, he'll show him. Sex is so much easier than all this other stuff. He can give up everything, lay himself bare and let it all flow out unchecked. He pushes everything he can't say into the kiss, offering it to Brian with lips and tongue and Brian lets him, at least at first. He ravishes Gerard's mouth, teeth scraping his lips, tongue driving inside, but the hard hand he keeps on Gerard's shoulder holds them apart. When Gerard tries to get closer, Brian's grip gets firmer until he's pushing him away.
"You should go," is all he says, only his wet lips and the rawness of his voice betrays him.
"Brian-"
"I want you to leave. Now." Brian says it hard. No arguments. Gerard just stands there for a moment, panting softly and watching Brian's face for any sign that he might change his mind. He doesn't.
In the end he doesn’t leave because he’s told to, or asked to. He leaves because he can’t stand having Brian look at him like that for one moment longer. The door closing behind him sounds too much like an ending, a fucking bad ending that needs a goddamn rewrite.
Night finds him lying in his too big, too empty bed, not sleeping. Instead, he runs the whole conversation through his head over and over, from every angle, like it’s a scene he’s going to shoot. Except if that were the case he’d have some control over how it turned out, and maybe he could actually write in some dialogue so it doesn’t keep ending on a big close up of Brian’s face looking hard and disappointed.
This isn't something he can fix with a rewrite or a reshoot. He can't even fix it in post with an offscreen line or a new visual effects shot. This needs to be something real, something big... but he has no idea what.
He really does suck at this.
***
Pete’s in serious overdrive. Every moment Gerard doesn’t need him on the film, he’s on the phone, waiting on hold with banks, talking hard at potential financiers or whispering sweet temptations to the smart up-and-comers he wants to employ.
Ryan’s a given, he goes where Pete goes, and Mark Hoppus didn’t need a lot of convincing. He’d be tempted to try and take Mikey if he thought Gerard would let him. Perhaps if he offered him a junior producer position and asked very, very nicely. Mikey could always train up Brendon as his replacement, and Gerard wouldn't want to hold his little brother back from the next step up in his career. He adds it to his ever-growing list of things to do.
He won't be bringing it up with Gerard today though; the director in one of his rare ill moods and Pete knows better than to pitch a challenging idea to someone who's all riled up like a junkyard dog. He's laying low today, poring over The Black Parade script with his highlighter and pencil, making detailed notes about everything from potential shooting locations to ideas for key crew.
It's a good script. Such a fucking good script and it deserves the best of everything - crew, locations and a fair, decent budget. He's desperate to put the script in front of Patrick, if for no other reason than the weight it would add to his offer when he makes it. On the red carpet at the premiere, because Pete is damned if he's going to do this by halves. He's never wanted anything more.
His phone chimes and he answers, marking the script page with his finger. He's hoping for Patrick's voice but he gets Gabe Saporta's casual greeting instead.
"Tell me good news, man."
"Well if you want good news... I got laid last night." Pete can hear the grin on Gabe's mouth as he says it and he fights the urge to cringe.
"Gabe, really? Scarred for life now. Thanks."
"You're welcome," Gabe chuckles. "I'm here for you, man." Gabe's a good person to know, because he knows everyone and he has a knack of getting favors out of people without generally having to give favors in return.
"Yeah, yeah, okay. Now give me the goods. Can I afford him?" Pete asks, feeling nervous. Gabe's been doing some sniffing around the ranks of Universal on Pete's behalf, through friends of friends and lovers and fuck buddies, because Pete needs to know how much the studio is paying Patrick. He knows he'll never be able to match it, but he needs to know just how ludicrous the amount he's allotted in his budget for Patrick's salary will be.
"No fucking way," Gabe says on a laugh.
"Way to break it to me gently, Saporta."
"Dude, Tom fucking loves this guy; he thinks he's the bees goddamn knees. He'd be earning six figures, man."
Pete swears softly, drumming his fingers on the table.
"What's so special about this dude anyway? Why do you need him so bad?" Gabe digs, looking for his angle as always.
"Gabe… I could explain it to you, but you'd still have no idea," Pete sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Okay, so it's a bit more of a mountain to climb than he thought. But he's not giving up. Not yet, anyway.
***
Gerard’s self aware enough to know he’s in a shitty mood. Apparently he loses all ability to function as a polite human being when he’s heartsick. He grumps at Bob, he snarks at Pete and he even snaps at Mikey, which is clearly alien behavior because he never snaps at Mikey.
An invisible barbed wire fence gets strung across his office door. If his aim was to be left alone, he gets it in spades. Bob’s suddenly got a whole bunch of "boring sound work" to do, which he insists Gerard doesn’t want to be in the room for. Pete has a convenient conference call and Mikey just vanishes mysteriously, as only he can.
Gerard stares at his pile of backlogged paperwork, eyes gritty from lack of sleep, wondering how the hell to fix this without divine intervention or time travel. He’s startled out of his thought-track by the voice of someone who clearly has no fear of invisible barbed wire.
"You know Geeway, there’s this thing called sleep. You should try it sometime. I hear it’s awesome."
Gerard drags his gaze up from the pile of reports to find his doorway graced by the not-very-large presence of one Frank Iero, his arms loaded down with poster tubes and stinking of recently smoked cigarettes.
He barely manages a weak smile before Frank barrels in the door, dumping the poster tubes onto a table and starting to pop them open. "Pete said I should reschedule, but I already hauled ass all the way into town. You’re not gonna make me have sat through all that traffic bullshit for nothing, right?" He glances over his shoulder for a confirmation Gerard doesn't give before starting to shake a poster loose from the tube. Gerard completely forgot they had a meeting; Mikey would’ve reminded him if Gerard hadn’t, you know, made him magically disappear by being an asshole.
He’s about to warn Frank that Pete was probably right and he’s not going to get anything useful out of Gerard right now when the poster Frank’s unrolling flops out flat and Kraken glares at him from the glossy paper. Gerard’s on his feet before he’s even aware of it, walking closer to study the design. It’s still rough around the edges and he already wants font and color changes but the design is striking.
"Frank it’s great, it’s really going where I want it to. I mean I want it darker and the font sucks, but this is the kind of thing I was thinking of." When Gerard tears his eyes away from the poster long enough to meet Frank’s, the grin he gets from him is knowing.
"Good." Frank shakes another poster loose, and another one, sticking them up on Gerard’s walls with tape; covering phone lists, charts and old sketches, until all nine are displayed across the office. There’s individual character posters for each of the main protagonists: Spaceboy, Kraken, Rumor, Séance, The Boy, The White Violin, Professor Reginald Hargreeves and Pogo, plus the main movie poster which features all the Academy members in both their younger and older incarnations, with the Eiffel Tower slicing up through the center of frame.
The proofs are still very much a work in progress, but the concept is really working. Looking at the art on the walls, Gerard finally has that stomach clenching moment where he realizes that the film isn’t always going to be his, safely held in his hands as he tweaks and massages it. At some point he’s going to have to give it up to the world and let them take it. Love it, hate it, laugh at it or tear it apart, but he’s going to have to let go of it soon.
So he better make sure it’s damn good first.
"Still with me?" Frank asks, startling Gerard out of his head.
"Yeah. Yeah Frank, they’re really fucking good. I only have a few notes."
A ‘few notes’ in Gerard language has them talking for the next hour or so, Frank scrawling notes in a battered moleskin diary as Gerard unloads his brain at him. By the time they’ve been through all nine posters Gerard’s throat is dry and he’s desperate for a cigarette.
Frank starts to pull one of the posters off the wall but thinks better of it. "You want me to leave them up? I have my own copies."
"Yeah, that’d be great." He doesn’t really need to see all the other crap underneath them and a reminder of how fucking kick-ass the movie is going to be is always a good thing.
He’s thinking it’s time for that cigarette when Frank shoves one last piece of card in his hands with a casual, "Almost forgot."
It’s a smaller version of the main movie poster with the faces and the Eiffel Tower, except Frank’s moved the elements around to make room for more text in the centre. A few words in Gerard realizes what it is; it’s a mockup of an invitation to the Red Carpet Premiere. Frank being Frank, he's used Gerard’s name for the example text so it reads "Gerard Way plus one".
Gerard stares at the text, gripping the invitation so hard his hand shakes. Finally, finally, it clicks.
"Plus one," he mutters, wrapping his mouth around the words.
"I know you’re supposed to say ‘and guest’ but it sounds so pretentious. And it’s a gig thing," Frank rambles, glancing at him for a reaction but Gerard’s not seeing it. His heartbeat’s multiplied and it feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest.
"I have to go." His feet are already twitching in his shoes, blood racing through him. "I have to… do something," he stammers, already halfway out the door.
He barely hears Frank’s "Ummm… okay?" because he’s speeding down the hallway, shouting to Pete he’ll be back later. He needs to get to Brian. Now.
It’s not entirely obvious how he manages to make it to Brian’s apartment so quickly, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to go back and analyze his driving. He parks worse than Mikey and scampers up the stairs, knocking on the door so hard his knuckles hurt, hoping like hell Brian’s there.
He’s still breathless from all the running and climbing, his deathgrip on the door frame the only thing keeping him upright, when Brian opens it. The way he looks would knock the breath out of Gerard if he wasn’t already panting with effort; fuck he’s out of shape. Brian’s unshaven, wearing a worn wifebeater and jeans that are so destroyed there’s barely enough left of them to quality for the name. His hair is fuzzy like he hasn’t put any product in it yet and Gerard knows how soft it would feel if he put his hand through it. The whole picture is about as casual as you can get but to Gerard’s eye he looks amazing.
A flicker of something passes across Brian’s face before he fixes his expression to blank.
The guardedness sticks in Gerard's side but he digs deep and reminds himself why he’s here.
"I want you to be my plus one." He’s still breathless, but the words come out strong.
"Sorry?" The blank mask slips and Brian just looks confused.
Gerard’s still struggling for breath; Jesus he needs to cut down on the cigarettes already. He waves the invitation as he repeats himself, trying to put the meaning into the words. "I want you to be my plus one."
Brian notices the flapping card and takes it, studying the invite. "For the Premiere?"
"No. Yes!" Gerard shakes his head, trying to get it straight. He hasn't really processed it as much as he'd like; he's flying straight from the gut here. "Not just for the premiere. For everything. Brian I…" He looks up and realizes he's still on the doorstep and Brian's still not quite getting it. "I'm probably going to ramble for a bit, can I?" He gestures a hand towards inside and Brian steps back, letting him come in. The door slams closed and Gerard scrambles to find the thread of what he was saying.
"I know I fucked this up. I know that. But I think I finally figured it out and if you can stand it, like, if you can bear the idea of letting me try again I promise, I won't keep you out of the work stuff. I mean, I felt like I had to, like I had to keep it all separate, have like, boundaries, because…" Gerard glances up from his hands which somehow have commanded his view since he got inside and Brian's looking at him levelly.
"Keep going." His voice betrays nothing, but it gives Gerard the push to continue.
"I had… a thing with one of the AD's on Revenge. It was bad, like, it ended really badly, because there were no boundaries and he just… well he just wanted to be in on everything, like us being together gave him that right and it all went down the tubes because I couldn't. I couldn't give him that. And in the end it was all he wanted; he just wanted to put my name on a project he was trying to get up, you know, and the sex and everything else was just a way to get it." Gerard's hands have fisted unconsciously, fingernails digging into his palms. Even after all the years it's still hard to talk about. "It all went down about the time we brought you on, actually, to-"
"Rig the fucking car?" Brian poses the question in a monotone.
"Yeah, right." Gerard can feel heat blooming in his cheeks at the memory of his infamous tantrum. "I was such a shit to you, I know. God, I was just, I was still so raw from the thing with Bert and I was so fucking attracted to you and I just. I couldn't, you know? I had to fight it somehow."
"By being an asshole? What are you twelve?" Brian's mouth isn't giving anything away but there's a smile in his eyes.
"Yeah well, I've never claimed to be a grown up." Gerard's mouth pulls up at the side in a wry grin. He dares to let himself feel hopeful, because Brian isn't looking angry anymore.
Brian waves the invite at him with a questioning expression, reminding him he's wandered off topic.
"Oh right, plus one. I mean, I just saw it on the page and something clicked, you know? I've been such an idiot about the whole thing. It's so fucking obvious now. You don't have to be in on everything I do, just like I don’t want to be all over your stunt crap. Your stuff is your stuff and mine is mine, but like, that doesn't mean we can't still share it with each other. Like you can be my plus one for this premiere, and I can be yours for your Prague gig and… you know, it'll work?" Gerard's voice peaks up on the last sentence, straining with hopefulness. He closes the few steps between them, spearing the invitation between his fingers and holding it up. "You can be my plus one."
Brian draws in a breath and Gerard's heart nearly stops. He's looking so hard for any sign of what's going through Brian's mind he almost misses the words when they come.
"Gerard. That's pretty much exactly what I said to you yesterday."
"Yeah but, I just, I guess I needed to see it. I'm a visual person, you know?"
Brian shakes his head like Gerard's not all there, but that's a real smile Gerard can see pulling at the side of his mouth, so he pushes his advantage. "And I'll get Mikey to put your name on the security gate so you can come and go whenever you want and you can like, come and have lunch with us if you like even though it's really boring and we basically just sit in Bob's room and eat ramen and half the time he and Ryan sneak off to make out. Oh and you can come and sit in on the mix too if you're keen, those guys over at Kerplunk Sound are fucking mental it's pretty-"
"Gerard." Brian cuts him off.
"What?"
"Shut up." The shock of the order doesn't even register before Brian's mouth is covering his and oh yes, that's what he's been missing. He melts into the kiss wondering how he could have been so stupid to pass this up for so long. Brian's arms fold tight around him, hauling him close and Gerard's lost; he can only fold into Brian and kiss him back with everything he's got.
Brian's hands slide up under Gerard's shirt, the urgency in his movements showing Gerard he's not the only one who's been waiting. They struggle against each other until the frustration of being clothed is too much to bear. Gerard tugs on Brian's wifebeater until he tears his mouth from Gerard's long enough to strip it off. Gerard follows suit, tearing off his shirt and pressing back into Brian, skin on skin, panting from the sensation.
He gets a hand down the back of Brian's pants, palming his ass and Brian grinds onto him. Fuck, they need to be naked right now. Brian totally gets it, because he pushes Gerard onto his back on the couch and starts unbuckling Gerard's belt. Gerard reaches for the button on Brian's jeans to return the favor, but Brian finds his dick first, stroking it firmly through his underwear and all Gerard can do is groan and turn liquid under his hands.
"Fuck. Fuck me," he pants, hips arching up off the couch into Brian's hand.
Brian hums and licks a stripe up Gerard's neck. "Actually, I was thinking now that we're going steady, you could fuck me."
The words are hot against Gerard's cheek and he has to grab Brian's wrist and still his hand or he's gonna lose it and this will all be over way too fast. He grits his teeth and hangs on, fingers tight on Brian's shoulders until he finds enough brain cells to make words.
"Yeah. Fuck yeah, Brian. We should do that," Gerard grits out before taking Brian's mouth again and kissing him, thrusting his tongue inside, fingers tight in his hair. Now this is a fucking plan.
He breaks the kiss long enough to whisper, "Bedroom?" getting a nod from Brian and the most wicked smile. He wriggles out of his jeans because if he doesn't he's gonna fall on his ass before they even get there. Brian hooks a finger under the waistband of Gerard's underwear, pulling it down and Gerard takes the hint and shoves them off too. Then he's naked in Brian's living room, Brian's hot gaze trailing across his pale skin, lingering on the rude jut of his cock and making him prickle and sweat.
Gerard knows that look, it's the same hungry stare Brian gets when he jerks off for him on camera, except he's standing right in front of him and that's so much fucking better. He pounces on Gerard, kissing him hard and the press of denim on his over-sensitized dick is too much. They almost don't make it to the bedroom. Gerard has to hold tight to the thought of getting inside Brian, giving him the push he needs to pull his lips off Brian's long enough for them to stumble through the door.
When they get there Brian makes short work of his own jeans while Gerard scrabbles in the beside drawer for lube and condoms. They nearly fall out of his hands when he turns around to see Brian bare-assed and bent over, disentangling one foot from his messy jeans. Gerard puts the supplies carefully on the bed and slides up behind Brian, running his hand down his back from neck to ass, memorizing every muscle and curve under the heated skin. Brian straightens up and wraps an arm around him, pulling Gerard close, chest to back, his dick trapped between their bodies. His breath comes out in a hiss and he kisses along Brian's shoulder blade, up to the back of his neck, tracing his tongue over the unloveable tattoo.
"False advertising," he smirks, but the smile falls from his lips when Brian shoves his hips backwards, rubbing his ass on Gerard's cock.
"Shut up and fuck me." Brian's voice is pure sex and Gerard has to tighten his grip on Brian's arms for a moment or else he's gonna fall over.
"C'mon. Bed," is about all the words he can manage; thankfully Brian is feeling co-operative and he tumbles forwards onto the bed and crawls up until he's face down in the middle. Gerard grabs the lube and joins him, leaning his body over Brian's, running hands and tongue down his spine, tasting salt and sweat on his warm skin.
He's just about to fumble the bottle open when Brian groans impatiently, "Come on, fuck."
"God, bossy much?" Gerard retorts, relieved when the bottle top pops and he can get his fingers slippery. He arches over Brian, resting his forehead on Brian's back as his fingers stroke up the crease of his ass. Brian makes a low grunt and presses back into Gerard's hand, encouraging, so Gerard straightens out a finger and slips it inside. Fuck, so warm, hot and tight his dick clenches, he's so fucking ready to be in there.
Brian shifts again, arching his back and demanding, "More. Fuck Gee, come on." Gerard grins into Brian's back, slipping his finger out and pressing back in with two, making Brian groan into the mattress.
He licks up Brian's back as Brian shoves down on his hand, trailing his tongue up over his shoulder to suck on his neck. Up close he can see every bead of sweat on Brian's upper lip and when he leans in to lick it off, Brian turns his head to meet his mouth for a messy kiss. He breaks it with a groan when Gerard twists his fingers inside him.
"Want three?" Gerard asks, smirking. He's having way too much fun with this.
"I want your fucking dick. Hurry up." Brian's voice is deep and gravelly and it goes straight to Gerard's cock. He swallows a breath and adds a third finger, more than ready for the next part. Brian's brow furrows and he bites his lip, rolling his head to the side. His body is writhing under Gerard's, sliding against him deliciously, so when Brian catches Gerard's hand at the wrist saying "Now. Come on." Gerard goes with it, slips his fingers free and snatches for a condom, moving as fast as his clumsy hands will allow.
He kneels up behind Brian, gripping his hip and lining up. It's a fucking hot sight, the curve of Brian's back, all that skin, round cheeks of his ass framing Gerard's sheathed dick, but he doesn't stop to admire it. He leans his body down over Brian's until he's crushed against his back, the tip of his dick pressing at Brian's opening and that's about the time when Brian's patience expires. He pushes back against Gerard, sinking himself onto his cock and Gerard can't do anything but push forwards, throaty groan spilling from his lips as he presses home. So hot. So fucking tight.
Brian moans, long and deep and Gerard can feel it vibrate right through him. He reaches around to find Brian's dick, hot and leaking, and he firms his fingers around it. He strokes it as he slides his cock out and pushes it back in again. Fuck, he's not gonna last, it feels too good. He groans into Brian's neck and moves again, finding a slow rhythm, every thrust pulling a moan from Brian that turns him inside out.
He pants out hot breaths into Brian's neck, reveling in the slick slide of skin against his body with every motion, Brian's cock pulsing in his hand.
"Fuck, faster. Come on, fuck." Brian twists his head when he makes the demand and Gerard can see the effort it takes him. He does as he's told because he wants it too; shoving his hips forwards with more force and the panting groan he gets in response is like music. Brian's movements are unchecked and he's so unselfconscious, fucking himself back on Gerard's cock. It feels amazing. Gerard doesn't hold back; he lets his hips pound forwards until he can feel Brian shaking under him, tightening around him, throbbing in his hand.
It nearly undoes him, but he keeps pushing on, wanting to feel it when it hits Brian, knowing he won't be far behind. Brian lets out a deep groan as his body tenses beneath Gerard's and that's it, Gerard speeds his thrusts, stroking Brian faster until he feels him come apart, cock pulsing and releasing as he bucks under Gerard. His ass clenches around Gerard's cock and it dislodges his brain. He lets out a keening whine as his hips push home over and over, pulling out his orgasm until it shatters through him, groaning into Brian's shoulder as he shoots inside him.
"Fuck. Fuck," he mutters, going boneless and collapsing onto Brian's heaving body.
"Yeah," Brian agrees, the words smushed into the mattress.
Gerard lets himself melt into Brian for a long moment, matching his breathing to the rise and fall of Brian's back. When he feels sleep tugging at his consciousness he shakes it off, forcing himself up and off. He ditches the condom and lets Brian pull him back onto the bed, pressing up hot against Gerard's back and coiling his arms around his chest.
He presses a kiss behind Gerard's ear, warm breath tickling. "Never make me wait that long again." His voice is gruff and it reverberates right up Gerard's spine. Gerard wiggles around, flipping over to face Brian and take his mouth in a messy kiss.
He finishes with a swipe of tongue and a smile. "Not ever." It's a promise, not just to Brian but also to himself.
"Good," Brian agrees, and kisses Gerard again, long and lazy until Gerard's melting into the bed. His hands slide up into Brian's hair as he teases Gerard with his tongue, their legs scissoring into a delicious tangle.
Brian breaks the kiss, sucking hard on Gerard's lower lip before pulling back to rub his thumb over it, wet and plump. His eyes dance over Gerard's face, like he's memorizing every detail and it makes Gerard's heart stick in his chest.
"Do you have to get back?"
Gerard considers it. Technically he should, there's probably a squillion things Mikey's got for him to do, but then Mikey did abandon him. "Nah, I'm in no hurry. They can wait. Bob banned me from his room anyway, and Mikey's hiding from me."
"You have another one of your famous tantrums?" Brian grins, one eyebrow arched and fuck, it is so on.
"Fuck you!" Gerard's indignant squeal is somewhat ruined by his giant grin. "One time. One motherfucking time and I will never live it down." Gerard grabs Brian's wrists and tries to wrestle him onto his back in an insane attempt at forcing him into submission. He's no match at all for Brian, who counters by flipping him onto his back, pinning him hard in about two seconds flat. He's not even breathing heavy. Gerard would be impressed if he wasn't so annoyed... and, if he's honest, more than a little turned on.
Brian's body is heavy on his, crushing him into the bed. Gerard struggles, trying to arch up and throw him off but all that does is rub his body up on Brian's, which is more than a little distracting.
"Let me up," he whines, trying to shake Brian's hands off, but there's no dice; his grip is like steel.
"Say it." Brian grins down at him, completely immoveable. He swoops down for a kiss, lightning fast and Gerard doesn't even have time to react. He locks his eyes on Gerard's and grins, challenge written all over him. "Jesus. Fucking. Christ," he starts, trailing off the last word with a knowing look and Gerard knows the next part already. He rolls his eyes and sighs, but Brian's not letting up, not giving even half an inch.
"Brian," he warns, but there's no kick in it; he's fighting a grin and all his struggling is just rubbing him up against Brian all warm, naked and freshly fucked. Getting annoyed at this point is probably beyond him.
"Jesus fucking Christ..." Brian says again, voice almost sing-song in its taunting and it's too late, Gerard's lost it; he giggles out the rejoinder with no conviction whatsoever.
"Just rig the damn car already!"
Brian smile is smug as his hands relax their grip, but Gerard doesn't even bother taking advantage of the opportunity to get away because Brian's kissing him, and kissing back is way more fun than struggling. Brian strokes his tongue into Gerard's mouth and he moans around it. The heat starts to build between them again and Gerard thinks he might already be up for round two. He palms a hand through Brian's hair, skating his fingers down his cheek and over the curve of his sideburns. It's pretty mind-blowing to think that he can have this whenever he wants now, that he doesn't have to ration it, or try to exist on a diluted version where he can see but not touch. Brian's right here and he's not going anywhere anytime soon. Gerard plans to make the most of that.
"Gee," Brian breaks the kiss, smirking a little with lips swollen from kissing. "You know, you and I are done professionally." It's the worst Christian Bale impression ever and Gerard can't help but laugh, smothering his snorts into Brian's neck and clinging onto his back.
Because really, as long as they're not done personally, Gerard's totally fine with that.
***
It nearly kills Pete to wait until the premiere to invite Patrick into the Decaydance family. Still, he toughs it out because he believes in big gestures and besides, by the time all the pieces have fallen into place and he can say that what he has is an honest-to-god real functioning company, it's only an extra two weeks to wait. Of course, those two weeks pass slower than ooze.
He doesn't have loads of time to dwell on it; with the premiere bearing down on them there's press junkets to arrange, publicity copy to sign off on, interviews to drag Gerard and the cast kicking and screaming to, not to mention the smaller cast and crew screenings for the Australian contingent. And most important of all, the task of selecting his outfit for the Premiere.
Despite the dwindling amount of Pete-time in this breakneck schedule, he still manages to find a few minutes a day to talk to Patrick. Patrick would call it bothering, not talking, but he still picks up the phone every time.
"Hello Pete." He greets Pete by name, even though Pete's calling from the work line which he knows doesn't show up on caller ID.
"So Trick, I'm thinking red napkins for the pre-show cocktails, and white ones for the after-schmooze. What do you reckon?"
"If you've already decided, why are you calling?"
"I value your opinion Trick, you know that." Pete curls the phone cable around his finger. He probably should have come up with a better excuse to call but he's had weaker than this and Patrick hasn't hung up on him yet.
"Do you always turn into Bridezilla before your Premieres? And Pete, it's napkins. Really?"
"Hey, Gerard's hogging all the really fun creative choices for the event, I gotta make do with what crumbs he throws me."
"Fine. White's classic. Red's modern, but make sure you don't get the cheap ones that stain when they're wet."
"You see, Patrick, you see? This is why I need you."
"Well, good thing for you I'm only a phone call away. You got carpal tunnel from dialing my number yet?"
"Course not. I have you on speed dial," Pete snorts.
"Is that all? You know I do have some actual work to do." Patrick's got his best annoyed voice on, but it doesn't hold that much kick for Pete these days.
"You love it." Pete smiles around the words, knowing Patrick will hear it. He pulls his hand free from the cord-trap and steels himself to sound as casual as possible for the next part. "Oh, and one other thing. I'm giving you a ride to the Premiere."
"Are you?" There is a definite note of surprise in Patrick's response.
"Yeah, and your date too, if you have one."
"Who the hell would I be taking that isn't going anyway?" It's unusual for Patrick to be quite so openly pouty.
"Your mom?"
"I'm hanging up now."
"No! I didn't mean it that way. God you're so sensitive," Pete scrambles, palming his face. Way to go, Wentz, you're a real charmer. " I'll pick you up at six okay?"
"Pete-"
"No buts. And you should wear your Fedora. It's hot. Six o' clock." He hangs up before Patrick has any more time to argue, staring at the phone with his hand still on the receiver for a full minute while his heart slows down.
Ryan interrupts any plans he might have of whining or squealing with glee by bursting into the room in a cloud of unimpressed emo, loaded down with a variety of hats.
"This is incredibly demeaning, and so completely not my job," he states with a dramatic head toss and dumps an array of fedoras in an assortment of colors onto Pete's desk without ceremony. Pete doesn't even bother calling him out on it, because he doesn't want a repeat of the Great Dry Cleaning Collection Tantrum of 2005. Pete's not sure what he did wrong to end up with the only PA in the film industry who acts like they're being ethically raped on the very rare occasion that Pete needs him to do something personal and not directly work-related. Ryan's just lucky he's good at every other aspect of his position. Being cute and leggy doesn't hurt either.
Pete digs through the pile, trying on hat after hat and checking his reflection in the dark screen of his computer monitor.
"What do you think?" he asks for the third time, on the fifth hat. Ryan makes yet another non-committal noise, deeply focused on the screen of his iPhone. Pete balls up one of his fax coversheets and throws it Ryan's head.
"Hey, stop sending slutty texts to our esteemed editor and give me your damn opinion. Black, grey or green?" he asks, pretty pleased with how quickly he manages to switch between the three hats.
"Black," Ryan answers without missing a beat, his upward glance so quick you couldn't time it.
"But Patrick's is black; I don't want us to look too… matchy-matchy." Pete stares at his barely visible reflection in the dark monitor, tilting his head from side to side.
Ryan makes a noise that would usually be a pre-cursor to vomiting and leaves the room muttering,"I think the photo-copier is out of paper."
The photo-copier line is usually code for I'm going to see if Bob has time to make out in the disabled toilet. Pete discovered this entirely by accident.
Pete sighs and puts the black and grey fedoras to one side, stacking all the other rejected contenders on Ryan's desk with no small amount of righteous indignation.
He ferrets around in his bottom desk drawer, pulling out two small white cardboard boxes and depositing them on his desk with care. He slides the first box open, pulling out one of his brand spanking new business cards, matte laminated, with the Decaydance Films logo splashed across one side. The other side is stylishly sparse, the words Pete Wentz, Producer in the centre and his phone and email tucked into the corners. They turned out really, really well. Which is great, because he bought a run of a thousand to keep the per-card cost down. He's all about smart budgeting now that he has his own production company.
His own production company. He takes a moment to roll that thought around in his mind before he reaches for the second box. He only ordered a run of 500 of these. Just in case. Because there's optimism and then there's blind optimism. And there's not much you can do with 999 unwanted business cards. 999, not 1000 because he's putting one in his wallet right now, for keeps.
The Decaydance side is the same, but when he flips the card over, Patrick's name sits in the centre instead of his own, the word Producer printed proudly underneath it. Pete runs a reverent finger across the text, taking a steadying breath. It's a lot to hope for, all in one small 3.5 x 2 inch rectangle, but it's been keeping Pete going for weeks, months now. It's his silver bullet to slay the studio wolves away from his Patrick.
His Patrick.
He's only days from finding out if that's actually going to be the case.
***
Pete hasn't fussed so much over his outfit for an event since senior prom. He fluctuates between grey suit and grey hat, or black suit and black hat, or a mix of the two and don't even get him started on whether he should rock the white shirt or the black shirt. Ryan is less than useless, because he and Bob are co-habitating now which means he's ignoring half the photos Pete sends through to his phone of the various combinations, probably in favor of Bob-flavored blowjobs which Pete really can't think about right now and not just because of the Bob angle. Or the Ryan angle.
In the end, he decides black suit and hat with a white shirt is classic and why would he even contemplate anything else? He's showered, shaved, dressed and smelling good when the limo pulls up outside his place. He second-guessed himself endlessly on the limo; should he just opt for a town car, was it too flashy? In the end he decided grand gestures should be, well, grand, plus anything that makes him look more money at this point can only be a good thing.
It's not far to Patrick's and he's surprised to find he's nervous, feet twitching, palms damp, and it has nothing to do with the film premiere. It's just the backdrop to the moment he's been working toward for the last endless weeks. The moment which could end in a whole lot of public embarrassment and heartbreak, but he's damned if he's not going to follow through now.
Patrick looks breathtaking when he answers the door, wearing a charcoal fedora, with a wide grey band and a crisp black dress shirt and slacks. It takes all of Pete's self control not to ravish him in the doorway. It doesn't help that this is the first time they've been alone together in a non-work context since the day he stood on this very same doorstep and vowed to himself to do what he's minutes away from doing. The thought makes him swallow heavily before he can push a greeting past his tongue.
"You clean up real nice, Patrick." He grins, reaching up to adjust Patrick's fedora the tiniest bit. "I told you. Hot." He punctuates the statement with an exaggerated leer.
Patrick's cheeks flush to a dull pink, but he manages a small smile in return. "You look all right yourself." He taps the brim of Pete's hat in an approving way.
"Thanks." Pete's wide grin splits his face. He wraps an arm around Patrick's shoulder and walks him to the limo. As soon as Patrick sees the chariot that awaits, he snorts with laughter.
"What?" Pete retorts, looking wounded.
"Nothing. Really. It's just." He waves a hand at the shiny, shiny car, his smile threatening to eat his face. "You're not very subtle, Pete."
"Never was one of my strong points." Pete pulls the door open in a display of chivarly and takes an eyeful of Patrick's rear as he climbs in the car. Pete fidgets the entire way to the theatre, talking a lot less than usual and he hopes like hell that Patrick thinks he's fretting about the film and its reception, even though it's really the last thing on his mind.
By the time the large and unwieldy car finds its way past several checkpoints to the red carpet Pete's entire body is thrumming with adrenaline. He tries to remind himself that this is like any film pitch he's ever done, just say the words and paint the picture, sell it well enough and they'll buy it. Except he's not pitching for a film, he's pitching for Patrick, which is a much bigger prize and a much longer fall if he doesn't get green lit.
He can't even find two words to say as they exit the limo. There's a gamut of reporters and press to run before they get to the red carpet. It's early in the night yet, but the crowd that's gathered are already making enough noise to be noticed, shrieking and calling out to anyone famous or familiar. Pete and Patrick are neither, so they pass through with a minimum of fuss and only a scattering of flashbulbs. One of the cannier reporters for an industry rag drags them over for comment, but he's scanning over their shoulder the entire time, searching for a bigger ticket celebrity.
Once they reach the red carpet it only gets more hectic, falling in with other crew and minor cast to shuffle down the long run, corralled on one side by crowds and security, and the other side by reporters. The main cast are assembled in a scattered line down the side, talking to various press crews over a steel barrier. Gerard's down the end with Andy Whitfield, gesticulating at someone from E! and probably telling one of the half dozen stories he keeps rolling out on their press junkets. He's wearing the blazer Frank whipped up for him with the Umbrella Academy logo on the pocket and he catches Pete's eye as they pass, giving him a swift nod and Patrick a knowing look. Pete had a good excuse to weasel out of his press duties tonight, not that anyone is going to miss him; the news hacks are always more interested in cast than crew anyway.
The slow plod down the crowded carpet is steadily unraveling Pete's hard-won calm until he's a bundle of nerves. He and Patrick are nearly at the venue doors, the end of the red carpet looming when Pete steels his resolve and grabs Patrick by the hand, pulling him off to the edge of the carpet and tucking them in behind a large banner, out of the direct line of sight to the press.
"Pete, what?"
"Just a minute. I just… need to ask you something." Pete's heart is chattering in his chest, his entire body quaking. Fuck, he feels like he's about to propose or something. Patrick looks startled, like there're words that are waiting to burst out of his mouth, but he doesn't say anything. He just waits for Pete to continue, wearing his I'm humoring you expression that Pete's seen many times.
"You know that Decaydance Films, my company, is fully operating now. We have a premises, staff and a project lined up."
"Pete I know all this, I was there for most of it," Patrick explains with a touch of exasperation. He doesn't tell Pete to get to the point, but the insinuation is obvious.
"Right, you know it all because you helped me put it together; you were there at every step." Pete's voice is not cracking, but it's not as strong as he wants it to be. Patrick doesn't say anything, he just nods, like he knows there's more and he waits for Pete to say it.
"There's one thing we're missing, that we really need if the company is gonna fly the way I want it to." Pete reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the 3.5 by 2 inch piece of card and pressing it into Patrick's hand. Patrick glances at him, a question in his eyes, before he looks down to study the card. He runs his thumb across the Decaydance logo, before turning the card over so slowly it makes Pete's breath stick in his throat.
Patrick looks down at his name on the card in his hand, the word Producer clearly printed underneath. He doesn't look at Pete, he doesn't say a word, just stares at the card, his chest shifting up and down with ragged breaths.
"You," Pete says, drawing Patrick's eyes up to his face. "It's all we're missing. "
Patrick's expression is blank, but for a vague expression of shock. It twists Pete's heart, but he digs down, pulling out the pitch.
"I know I can't offer you the kind of money you're getting from the studio, but I can give you that producer title, and the opportunity to work on some fucking awesome films, like Gerard's next one." Patrick brow furrows; he still doesn't look like he's quite comprehending.
Pete takes a deep breath, knowing once he says this there's no going back. "I want you to be my partner in this Patrick; I want us to keep making films together. The right way, with us both on the same side."
Patrick's mouth is hanging open and it's hard for Pete's mind not to go to sinful places looking at it. Patrick looks down at the business card in his hand and back up at Pete, eyes wide and glowing. "Pete, I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," Pete urges. "Please." His fingers tighten on Patrick's hand, his eyes imploring. "You know this will work, you know we're solid, fuck, you helped me put this thing together. It's where you're meant to be. Fucking say yes."
"Yes." The word falls out of Patrick's mouth without hesitation and it knocks the breath right out of Pete. Now that he's standing here, hearing it coming from Patrick himself, he's shocked the plan actually worked.
"Really?" His voice comes out far too doubtful, but Patrick nods and says "Yes" again, strong and sure and Pete feels like his heart might explode. He wraps his arms around Patrick in a hug that's more of a body-slam, squeezing him tight as his face splits into an enormous grin, relieved laughter spilling from between his lips.
When he pulls back to see Patrick's face, his grin is mirrored back at him on Patrick's lips and his eyes are bright. Pete stares at the plump bow of Patrick's mouth, thinking there's only one thing he wants more than the answer Patrick just gave him. If he tries to take it now he could lose the answer he worked so hard for, but he's never been one to balk at taking risks.
He slides his hand up Patrick's back, over his shoulder to cup his chin, swiping his thumb across Patrick's lower lip. The smile fades from Patrick's face, replaced with a hungry look Pete recognizes from three, no four, stolen interludes. Pete wets his lip and slips his hand up to the back of Patrick's head to pull him into a kiss.
Patrick doesn't fight even a little, he just melts into Pete, giving up his mouth, his tongue, and something deep inside Pete growls possessively. Mine. He breathes in deep through his nose, filling his senses with Patrick, the warmth where their bodies are pressed, the weight of Patrick's hand on his shoulder. It's hard to pull apart, but they do eventually, aware of where they are, how scant their cover is and just how many cameras are nearby in the hands of photographers who might just be tempted to make them newsworthy. Not that Pete cares, he'd happily see it on the front page; it's a fucking milestone as far as he's concerned.
Pete reaches up to adjust Patrick's hat, thinking there's nothing better in the world to look at than Patrick looking sex-drunk and kiss-swollen. Those sinful lips are curved in a satisfied smile and Pete's pretty smug with himself for putting it there.
He loops his arm through Patrick's and steers them back on course for the theatre.
"So Patrick, now you're not a studio guy any more, we can totally fuck right?"
"Pete, please tell me you did not just start an entire production company so that we can have sex."
"What can I say? You're really good in bed." Pete leers at him, complete with eyebrow waggling and he can see the moment when Patrick loses the fight and the laughter comes bubbling out. It's a beautiful sight, and one he plans to recreate as many times as possible.
When they get to the theatre foyer there's a sea of familiar faces waiting. Frank and Jamia, Mikey and Alicia, Bob and Ryan, Brian, Ray, James, Spencer, Brendon, Joe, Andy and the entire sound crew. Pete steals two glasses of champagne (balanced on red napkins) from a passing waiter, handing one to Patrick as they join the throng.
If anyone thinks it's weird that Pete won't let go of Patrick's arm, they certainly don’t mention it. They trade hugs and congratulations and while there are high nerves all around, it's not the sinking kind Pete's had on previous films. There's a quiet confidence that the night will go well, the opening weekend takings will be good, and it's the kind of faith Pete wishes for every film he ever gets.
There's an increase of noise and shuffle as the main cast find their way into the venue, signaling it's nearly time to get started. Gerard sweeps in, zipping through the crowd to find their huddle. He's all energy and an endless tumble of words that doesn't stop until Brian kisses him, fast but tender and it seems to reset Gerard back to zero, if only briefly. He shoots Brian a grin and steals his glass of coke, raising it in a casual toast.
"To the Umbrella Academy, and to all of you for making it a movie I'd want to watch and something we can be fucking proud of." Gerard's grinning fit to burst as the various crew chink their glasses with his in a cacophony of agreement.
"And to us slaughtering that fucking Twilight movie in the box office takings," Franks announces with a smirk, getting a mixture of cheers and groans in response.
Pete shoots a smile at Patrick as they touch glasses, already thinking about what he's gonna be getting up to when the business part of the night is over.
A voice booms out over the loudspeaker, letting them know to take their seats. Pete catches the brief look of apprehension that crosses Gerard's face before Brian whispers something in his ear to chase it away.
Gerard glances around at the various assembled crew, smiling wide and raising jazz hands as he announces,
"It's showtime."
Epilogue
There's a brand new whiteboard in the freshly refurbished Decaydance Films offices. It's double-sided. The side facing the conference room displays the pre-production schedule for The Black Parade feature film, slated for release in summer of 2012. The side that faces the wall is mostly blank. Mostly.
In the centre of the expanse of white, scrawled in Gerard's loopy handwriting are the names Gerard Way and Brian Schechter linked with a curved line.
Taking up a large amount of space on the left hand side, in sweeping pen strokes written in a fit of annoyance because Pete wanted to get in first damnit, are the names Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump in red marker, tied with a straight line.
Unlike the whiteboard that was in the Umbrella Academy production office, all the names are written in permanent marker.
~end
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