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Gerard can't remember when the boa thing started, or what it says about him and his fans that they regularly throw feathered boas on to the stage, and that he picks them up and wears them. He likes to think that he's encouraging the fan's support of expanding views of sexuality, or at least sexual ambiguity.
(At one point he'd have said fucking with their standard of heteronormativity, but these days he can't even pretend to fall into the hetero category.)
Still, for whatever reason, the fans throw them, and Gerard picks them up and wears them around the stage until they get flung to the nearest side of the stage. One of the techs usually makes a grab for it, if only because no one wants Frank to trip over it and break a monitor - or himself.
One night after a show, Frank snags the boa from the speaker, but no one realizes until they're back in the dressing room, where he's waving red feathers in Bob's face and pretending to crack it like a whip in Mikey's direction.
"Who the fuck let you have this?" Bob mutters, shoving Frank away as he tries to make Bob a turban only Big Bird would love.
"The fans, Bob, the fans."
"They give it to Gerard, you dumbass," Bob shoots a pleading look in Gerard's direction.
Frank doesn't even give Gerard a chance to respond. "We're a band, we share."
That's when Bob makes a lunge towards Frank and his feathered nuisance. He gets a hand on it, but Frank wraps the other end around his wrist and pulls it from Bob's grip. Gerard and Ray laugh when Frank comes to seek shelter between them on the couch - it works, actually, since Bob's just glad Frank is staying away from him.
They slip into the usual post-show patter, critiques of themselves, the crowd and the latest magazines Ray picked up. At some point Frank begins dragging one of the feathers along Gerard's arm. He moves it slowly from his palm down to the soft skin on the inside of his wrist and then up to the sensitive bit of his inner elbow. It doesn't tickle, not exactly, but there's something very strange about having your attention brought to a part of your body you rarely think about. It's kind of zen, in that way, but one glance at the way Frank is biting his lip ring and all thoughts of zen disappear. He's hyper aware of ever fiber of the feather against his skin, completely forgetting about the conversation going on around him.
"-are you in, Gee?"
Gerard's eyes snap towards Bob. "Uh."
"I think we'll grab something later, you guys go on ahead," Frank says, stilling his hand. Gerard expects his skin to be red and raised, the way it's tingling, but a quick glance at his arm proves it's just as pale as always.
"Yeah, later," Gerard echoes.
Once the room is empty, Frank lifts Gerard's arm and licks the path he'd been making for the last ten minutes. The warm wet pressure of Frank's tongue is a stark contrast to the teasing presence of the damn feather, and it feels as though every nerve in his body had been transplanted to that exact spot. Something in Gerard's brain shorts out then, and his distantly aware of the fact that Frank licking his arm shouldn't be enough for that reaction, but fuck if it isn't, and he can't help staring at that spot.
Frank finds it funny, apparently, because there's a puff of laughter before he throws a leg over Gerard's lap - Gerard swallows quickly when Frank's thigh slides over his half-hard cock - and turns to straddle him. He's got the ends of the boa wrapped around his wrists like fluffy red handcuffs, and Gerard can only watch as Frank loops the feathery chain behind Gerard's head and uses it to drag him forward until their mouths meet.
Frank grinds down against Gerard's erection as his tongue slides into Gerard's mouth, leaving Gerard scrabbling for a hold on Frank's hips. He wonders if Frank lies in his bunk at night planning these things, or if he just makes them up on the fly - either way, Gerard is one lucky son of a bitch. Their arms tangle for a moment as Frank moves his down and Gerard reaches up to fist a hand in the collar of Frank's shirt, to keep him close. (Not that Frank is showing interest in being anywhere but right here, Gerard just likes to make sure.) It gets sorted out though, ending with them pressed chest to chest, hands clutching at each others clothes.
He grabs for Frank's belt, unbuckling it just enough to get at the button and zipper so he can shove the denim down. Gerard palms Frank's cock through his boxers as Frank's hands slip up the sides of Gerard's shirt. The boa is still underneath Gerard's back and he knows he should lean forward, do something so Frank can have his full range of motion again.
Frank is doing pretty damn well, limited though he is; he's rocking into Gerard's hand and down against Gerard's erection while his fingertips smooth their way along the underside of Gerard's ribcage.
Still, when Gerard tugs the waist band of Frank's boxers down to his thighs, Frank pulls his mouth away from Gerard's lips. "Gee, come on, you, too. I wanna-"
Gerard just grins and uses the hand that isn't wrapped around Frank's cock - he doesn't need to move his hand, the way Frank is thrusting into it; he just squeezes and twists his palm against the shaft and head at random intervals - to push Frank's head back down to his until he can grab at the lip ring with his teeth.
"You fucker," Frank swears, but it's cut off by Gerard's tongue.
Gerard is vaguely aware of the fact that one of Frank's hands disappears from beneath his shirt, and the jerking motion at his back probably should've been a clue, too, but he's focused on the feel of Frank's cock in his hand and the pressure on his own. So it's something of a surprise when Frank is rising to his knees, his hand yanking at Gerard's zipper and shoving his boxers out of the way.
And yeah, okay, for a minute there Gerard forgot that Frank has the best ideas, because this, their cocks sliding together between their hands, is fucking amazing. They're barely kissing at this point, just panting against each others mouth as their foreheads press together.
Frank's thrusts are becoming more erratic and he's pushing into Gerard's hand with his whole body. Gerard's hand tightens around them both. "Fuck, Gerard. I."
With that, Frank comes into their hands with a shuddering breath, easing the slide of Gerard's cock against his. It isn't long after that - one thrust, two, jesus, fuck, Frank - before Gerard gives into the tension that's been building since Frank started teasing him and follows him over the edge.
Neither of them move at first, content with Frank's head burrowed against Gerard's neck as their pulses return to normal levels. "What the fuck was that?" Gerard asks once his tongue is capable of forming words again.
"Mmm, seemed like a good idea," Frank murmurs against Gerard's skin.
"No complaints here."
Frank finally sits up and Gerard groans when he wipes his come covered hand on the abandoned boa.
"What?"
"I just don't think that's what the fan had in mind when she threw it up on stage."
"Maybe not, but I don't think they'd care," Frank grins. "Hell, if they did know you'd probably get four or five a night."