kalpurna

The lip ring is a smooth line of contact, rubbing up and down with Frank's bobbing head. It's body-warm, like it always is, except in the dead of winter when it's a cold surprise in Frank's kisses.

Frank is basically using Gerard's hand like a toy, clutching it with both of his own and fucking into his loose fist. It's pretty much the laziest sex Gerard has ever had. When he musters enough energy to tighten his hand and jerk it a couple of times, clumsily, Frank comes with a loud wail. Gerard shushes him, laughing. "You're gonna have to work on that, Frankie. Tour bus sex is supposed to be quiet."

The first thing Patrick notices when he wakes up is that Pete is lying next to him, lips slightly parted in sleep. The second thing he notices is that his mouth tastes like something crawled into it and died. The third thing is mostly pain.

"Owwwwww," he whimpers as quietly as he can, clutching at his skull with one hand to try and keep it perfectly stationary. "Oh, ow."

Squinting against the light that comes in through the curtains, Patrick sees a glass of water and some advil sitting on the bedside table that Pete, beautiful, wonderful Pete, must have put there at some point during the night. He covers his eyes with one hand and gropes for the pills with the other.

"Oh, no," Patrick moans. "Did I get handsy? Sometimes when I'm drunk, I – oh, shit, please tell me I didn't hook up with Bill Beckett." Pete grins, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Patrick, my friend, I can't tell you something that's not true."