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Title: The Frankenberry Code.
Genre: Smut, kinda comedy.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't know anyone in MCR, neither do I own them of course, or their names. This story is a product of my imagination and it most probably never happened. It was, however, inspired by one of Gerard's blogs and I use his words here. So whatever I say that Gerard was writing, he did in real life.
Summary: Gerard is happy and uses the 'Frankenberry Code' to give hints about his sexual life. He chooses a very particular moment to do it.
P.O.V.: 3rd person, the focus changes but it's mostly on Gerard.
Author Note: This is the first thing I thought when I read that blog at 8 am in the morning and still awake. So I had to write it! Thanks to my lovely wifey Nathy who shared my theory and suggested the name!

THE FRANKENBERRY CODE

"I cannot be fucking stopped." Gerard chuckles slightly as he speedily presses the buttons of his cellphone. He can't believe himself what he's doing. Or concretely...he can't believe where and when he's doing it. He breathes deeply, fighting the urges to move as he forces his brain to work and think of the perfect words. It's not easy when his member is exquisitely surrounded by warm, tight walls of flesh and the man below him is grunting at the lack of action.

Gerard knows that this is going to make Frank hate technology even more than he already does, but he can't help it. He's happy and he needs to tell the world. Of course, he's not going to be that straightforward and just openly blog about how he's three inches deep into Frank's ass, so he opts for using the same method he's been resorting to lately: The Frankenberry Code. Let the less perceptive people think he's craving pink cereal and send him some, he loves it anyway. Let the brighter ones read behind the lines, he can always deny it.

"I'm three boxes deep into a case of Frankenberry and I'm still not sick of it." he writes. So much better. And of course he's not sick of it, he's been enough time without Frank. Okay, since December, but that's pretty long for Gerard's standards. Frank agrees. Although they were obviously excited about the band getting together to write and eventually record the new album, they were equally ecstatic about seeing, feeling, tasting each other again.

"I eat a bowl every night after practice." Fuck yeah, Gerard does! There's no better closure for a rewarding, enjoyable but tiring day. The two man always purposely delay their movements, taking ridiculous amounts of time to simply gather their stuff before leaving the study. They're eventually left alone, their bandmates calling them rheumatic slugs. That's when the fun happens.

Sometimes Frank sucks Gerard against the sound-proof walls, his naturally nearly-red lips doing what they do best -besides kissing, that is- causing the older man to vociferate obscenities with total impunity, his mind at ease that no one can hear them.
Other times they exchange hand jobs while their tongues intend to visit each area of the other's mouth that's been painfully missed during those long two months.
There are nights, however, when playing around doesn't suffice. During those nights they give in to their pent-up emotions and make love. Gerard prefers to top, but Frank loves to bottom so there's no need for an argument. There have several more nights ahead to be innovative if things became too repetitive and they were in need of a change.

So far, Gerard's been fucking Frank anywhere they can think of or wherever their peak of passion finds them: on the shabby, dirty beige carpet of the recording studio, over the sound console -which they wisely remember to unplug just in case after the others leave, only-partly more comfortably lying on the smelly, old couch, or standing and stumbling among Bob's drum set and stool, having to hear Bryar's curses afterwards because of the mess they make.
The drummer is the only one who now knows what's the real reason for their slowness, after coming back one night that he'd forgotten something. He'd walked on them just when Frank, having reached his orgasm, gripped what he shouldn't have gripped and sent the still attached couple forwards together with half of the set. Not that Bob was too surprised, anyway. He'd promised not to tell the other two guys -specially Mikey- as long as they put everything back in its place and pay for anything that might be broken.

"I think I actually like it more than I did as a child..." is the next thing that Gerard types. It's not that he's known Frank since they were kids, but they were rather childish and inexperienced when it all started. It's been 'only' six years since the first time they realised that they were hopelessly drawn towards each other, yet it feels like an eternity. So much has happened, so many things have changed. Gerard has always thought that Frank was highly attractive, hot, stunning. Not only hasn't he changed his mind, he even likes him better now. He has more to touch, more to love.

Frank is aware that those nine months of scarce activity added to the home-made food he adores so much had a visible effect on his appearance. He's not blind to the fact that he's put up some considerable weight. See, everybody knows about Gerard's self consciousness when it comes to his body, yet only a few acknowledge that Frank's just as self-conscious, if not more. He didn't mind it when he was screaming his lungs out while on tour with Leathermouth and trying -failing, according to Gerard- to look badass. Once he was back to his main job, back to his 'brothers' and mostly back in front of the man who irredeemably makes his legs tremble, the situation was different.

That day on December when My Chemical Romance reunited with the prospect of spending some time together apart from shooting the Desolation Row video, Frank had been worried. He was aching for Gerard's touch but was afraid that the singer wouldn't find him attractive anymore. He'd felt like a school girl for thinking that way, but it was stronger than him. He'd cowered, tried to make himself smaller and if possible invisible while at the same time couldn't help staring at Gerard, burning holes into him with his big, puppy-like eyes.

This hadn't lasted much. Gerard skillfully chased all of Frank's fears and insecurities away when, following him to the bathroom, he cornered the guitarist and lustfully grabbed each inch of his body. His mouth had then replaced his hands and in between butterfly kisses he told him once and again how beautiful he was.

So yes, Gerard likes Frankie more and more each day. He'd made sure to tell him so again this time, as he welcomed him at the airport with a tender embrace. He'd also thanked him for shaving; that baby-face should always be clean, Way thinks.

"...it's far more mild than I remember. Calming." he decides to finish it there before Frank does something drastic like forcefully -and potentially painfully- pushing him away or even worse, snatching the phone off his hands to add 'Gerard needs to stop blogging and fuck me properly now.' to his blog and send it.

It's a good way to end the blog, though. It portrays how their relationship have changed through the years. When they were younger it was more about releasing their sexual frustration. They knew and comprehended that they couldn't be officially together for several reasons, the same it was a torture for them to be apart. They'd have angry, fast, desperate sex whenever given the opportunity. They'd often end up fucking after those episodes that included Frank bitching at Gerard for acting like a petulant asshole or Gerard snapping at Frank for being a fucking tease on stage.

As years went buy they became more composed. Even though they still let their desires guide them once in a while, that doesn't mean they rush things. There is no urgency, no violence every time they're alone together. They keep using the word just because it's less cheesy, but the truth is that they don't fuck anymore, they make love. Slowly, feelingly, mildly. Before, sex would leave them tired but desperate nevertheless, wanting more; sometimes inclusively crying because they couldn't have things as they wished. Now it was calming, reassuring. It reminded them that the other would always be there and it'd never be the last time.

"Gee...f-fuck! Throw that damn thing away and start moving now or I'm gonna finish without you!" Frank demands. He's been using all his strength to refrain from stroking himself, but he won't be able to resist any longer. Having Gerard immobile inside of him is cruel, inhuman. Who pauses sex to blog? Only Gerard Way.

"Just a second...l-lemme find a pic and..." as he puts the phone out of Frank's reach, Gerard unwittingly jerks his pelvis and an unstoppable moan escapes his lips only to create a perfect duet with Frank's.

There's no way back from there. Gerard begins to swing back and forth rhythmically while looking for a picture of the famous pink cereal to accompany his brief blog. Found, sent, and the phone finally abandons his grasp to go rest on the floor, his hand joining the other on the younger boy's hips. He kisses his lover's inner thigh before lowering that leg -which was placed on his shoulder- to his waist. Frank wraps himself tighter around Gerard, sending him deeper to the point of colliding with that spot that could be considered the portal to paradise. The receiver arches his back in ecstasy, ignoring how the carpet burns his skin. Whimpers and screams fill the room and it doesn't matter that Ray turned the heater off when he left. The air is steaming hot. Gerard bends down as he helps Frank up so they can lock lips. It's messy, it's not exactly comfortable but it works like they want it to work. They always manage to find a way to kiss enough during sex, because 'just getting off' doesn't serve them anymore.

Gerard will never get sick of this, never. How could he ever get sick of Frank's face at that glorious moment, the pinnacle, that explosion of colors and sensations? He likes Frank to finish first so he can admire his beauty and let the orgasmic sight induce his own culmination.

The youngest one feels spent, exquisitely weak; but he doesn't loosen his grip until he senses his partner tense and shake and sees him throw his head back with a groan at the same time that his insides grow warm. Gerard collapses on him and Frank feels filled, complete.

Singer and guitarist lay on that filthy carpet, limbs entangled and faces close. They calmly kiss and cuddle until they're breathing normally, then they'll go clean themselves and leave the place. No sleeping in each other's arms, no waking up together. They must go back to their wives. Guilt? Not anymore, their girls know. They've known for a long time and they understand. Frank and Gerard truly love them and would never leave them, but they also love each other. The women talked it over, they've meditated it. None of them have the heart to separate their husbands. They learned to share and leave jealousy aside.

"Won't that blog be a little too suspicious?" Frank asks as they walk to the parking lot hand in hand.
"Nah, you think that because you know my ultra-secret code."
"Oh...come on, Gee! Don't underestimate our fans, they're smart and read and write lots of gay fanfiction..."
"Frankie..." Gerard stops and pecks at the short man's lips. "...don't think so much and get used to it, there will be many more blogs. Frankenberry is an addiction I never want to recover from."
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