"Dude, your fingers are like fucking ice cubes or something, what the fuck?" Frank complains, trying to grab the cold claws clutching at him. His aim is a little off, but he'll blame the beers for that. And the jager. And the tequila.
Gerard's fingers slide over the bare expanse of skin between the top of Frank's jeans and the bottom of his shirt and Frank shudders, hissing in a breath. "Fuck that's fucking cold."
"I know," Gerard says, though clearly he doesn't know because he leaves his fucking hand there and Frank had no idea that he had Iceman-like mutant powers, but this is proof enough. "So cold, Frankie, we gotta get warm like penguins. With like, body heat." He curls his body around Frank's even though there is nowhere near enough room in the van's centre seat and he nearly pulls them both off onto the disgusting floor.
Frank's pretty sure penguins don't use body heat to warm up, and he draws breath to say so but that just fills his lungs with more cold air and makes him shiver. "Shit, Gee, can't we turn the heat on?"
Gerard burrows his face into Frank's neck and his ice-cold nose brushes behind Frank's ear, raising goosebumps all over his skin, "Otter fucked off with keys. Do you know how to hotwire? I don't know how to hotwire. I mean, I've seen it in movies, but they don't really explain in properly." Gerard's breath smells like pot and whiskey and for once the smell of liquor is stronger than the stink of his unwashed hair.
"I don't know how to hotwire," Frank's words smush into the back of the seat. Gerard's hands are still freezing, but the rest of him is kind of warm, like a human blanket. Maybe he can stay.
"We suck at being from Jersey," Gerard says, and shifts. And shifts again. And again. In fact Frank might go so far as to say he was rutting against him. Frank goes very still and tries to assess the movements. Gerard's hips are glued to Frank's ass and... yeah. Okay. Gerard totally has a boner.
"Gee... what are you..."
Gerard pants out a few breaths, still moving. There's definitely hip-rotation action going on here and Frank's maybe starting to thaw out enough that him not managing to pick up at the after party that - seriously, everyone else managed to pick up at - isn't so bad after all. He rocks back against Gerard experimentally, and the drag of the seat against his own rapidly-forming boner feels pretty good.
Gerard's hands shift, cold fingers burrowing down the front of Frank's jeans and Frank shrieks, grabbing them.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should have asked. I like, respect you Frankie, I wouldn't just like, invite myself into your pants, I mean, I'd like to - I just, you're pretty cool you know, and I like - what are you doing?"
Frank drags Gerard's stupidly cold hands upwards, cupping his own hands over them and huffing warms breaths onto his fingers. "Your hands are fucking freezing, dude. I don't want to get frostbite on my dick."
"Oh." Gerard says, and when Frank looks over his shoulder to see his face, he catches the moment when Gerard processes the meaning of that one, "Does that mean I get to touch your dick?"
Frank breathes on Gerard's hands again, "Not until your hands are warm."
Gerard looks utterly delighted, then he starts rubbing up against Frank again. The ridiculous part is, as a plan to warm them both up it's actually working.
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Gerard's fingers slide over the bare expanse of skin between the top of Frank's jeans and the bottom of his shirt and Frank shudders, hissing in a breath. "Fuck that's fucking cold."
"I know," Gerard says, though clearly he doesn't know because he leaves his fucking hand there and Frank had no idea that he had Iceman-like mutant powers, but this is proof enough. "So cold, Frankie, we gotta get warm like penguins. With like, body heat." He curls his body around Frank's even though there is nowhere near enough room in the van's centre seat and he nearly pulls them both off onto the disgusting floor.
Frank's pretty sure penguins don't use body heat to warm up, and he draws breath to say so but that just fills his lungs with more cold air and makes him shiver. "Shit, Gee, can't we turn the heat on?"
Gerard burrows his face into Frank's neck and his ice-cold nose brushes behind Frank's ear, raising goosebumps all over his skin, "Otter fucked off with keys. Do you know how to hotwire? I don't know how to hotwire. I mean, I've seen it in movies, but they don't really explain in properly." Gerard's breath smells like pot and whiskey and for once the smell of liquor is stronger than the stink of his unwashed hair.
"I don't know how to hotwire," Frank's words smush into the back of the seat. Gerard's hands are still freezing, but the rest of him is kind of warm, like a human blanket. Maybe he can stay.
"We suck at being from Jersey," Gerard says, and shifts. And shifts again. And again. In fact Frank might go so far as to say he was rutting against him. Frank goes very still and tries to assess the movements. Gerard's hips are glued to Frank's ass and... yeah. Okay. Gerard totally has a boner.
"Gee... what are you..."
Gerard pants out a few breaths, still moving. There's definitely hip-rotation action going on here and Frank's maybe starting to thaw out enough that him not managing to pick up at the after party that - seriously, everyone else managed to pick up at - isn't so bad after all. He rocks back against Gerard experimentally, and the drag of the seat against his own rapidly-forming boner feels pretty good.
Gerard's hands shift, cold fingers burrowing down the front of Frank's jeans and Frank shrieks, grabbing them.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should have asked. I like, respect you Frankie, I wouldn't just like, invite myself into your pants, I mean, I'd like to - I just, you're pretty cool you know, and I like - what are you doing?"
Frank drags Gerard's stupidly cold hands upwards, cupping his own hands over them and huffing warms breaths onto his fingers. "Your hands are fucking freezing, dude. I don't want to get frostbite on my dick."
"Oh." Gerard says, and when Frank looks over his shoulder to see his face, he catches the moment when Gerard processes the meaning of that one, "Does that mean I get to touch your dick?"
Frank breathes on Gerard's hands again, "Not until your hands are warm."
Gerard looks utterly delighted, then he starts rubbing up against Frank again. The ridiculous part is, as a plan to warm them both up it's actually working.
(cont)