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The stars are out, and for once, Gerard can see them, no smog or light pollution in the way.
They notice them sometime around “Cancer,” the rising sea of phone flashlights drawing their attention up and up to where the first few start to blink into the night sky, more appearing throughout the set.
When they lose sight of the sky, dead on the ground, they look over at Ray, playing on as Frank and Mikey leave the stage, and they resist the urge to smile.
Gerard’s noticed him looking at the stars, too, but he’s been good at not breaking character. That was his promise when Gerard told him what the show would be. They can’t stop themself from smiling, though, when he gets dragged off the stage, playing frantically as he fights to get to them. That was his other promise: his character would always try to save theirs, just like he would in real life. ‘In sickness and in health,’ or whatever. Oh, that husband of theirs.
He’s waiting for them just offstage, a smile and a kiss before he hustles them both back to their dressing room. “You look happy,” he says once they’re inside. He changes into street clothes for their second set as Gerard wipes away their costume makeup. “Something special happen?”
They wave a hand at him. “Stop making fun of me getting slapped, dude, you’ve been slapping me for fifteen years.”
“Not that,” he says, standing behind them, crowding them against the vanity. He ducks down to kiss their cheek, wrinkles his nose when he tastes the leftover makeup remover. “Something else.”
“It’s nothing crazy, promise.” They twist in his arms, tuck his hair behind his ears. It’s the longest they’ve ever seen it. He looks like a mermaid, or something. “I’m just happy we can still do this.”
Ray smiles, gives them a quick kiss before pulling away. “We have, um, five minutes until we have to be back out there,” he says, glancing at his phone. “I’ll help you change.”
They don’t need help, but it’s nice to let him take care of them. His hands are warm on their legs as he pulls the marching pants down, and they step into the jeans he holds out for them. Once they’re settled into place around their hips, he squeezes their thighs before he does up the button and zip. He drags his fingers lightly over their arms as he takes the undershirt off, bends to press a kiss to their stomach before letting their t-shirt hide it away again. He hands them their jacket, smoothing out the collar once Gerard pulls it on. It’s more comfortable than the costume, worn in from years of use on stage and off, some of the seams unravelling, a little bit smelly—it doesn’t get the special treatment the costumes do.
Ray looks them up and down with a smile and gives a thumbs up. “Ready?”
They nod, rolling their shoulders. “I’m ready.”
The stars have multiplied, more visible now that they’ve left the cover of the mainstage. So many stars, stretching on and on.
In Texas, in the van, every time they drove through the night, Ray would pull over to look at the stars. Gerard always joined him. Those pit stops, tiny windows of freedom from the others, had been the closest they had to privacy.
Gerard’s heart skips a beat at the memory of standing on the sides of highways while Ray traced the constellations and told them how to find north. How different it is in Texas now; how very much the same Ray is, as constant as the stars he stared up at twenty years ago.
He’s flushed after Gerard tells the story, looking between them and the sky, smiling at the memory.
Ray gets his revenge, though. Gerard’s face heats up when they feel the hand on their butt, just quick enough to be played off as friendly, but they know that touch, that gentle squeeze.
They’re on him the second they step out of sight, kissing him hard before rushing back to the dressing room.
Ray laughs as they pull him through the door, push him down on the couch so they can climb over him and bite at his lower lip. “If this is how you’re going to act,” he says as they kiss his neck, right under his beard, “I’ll grab your ass every show.”
Gerard always acts like this, all the adrenaline making them act the way they did back in the old days. That’s why they told him to slap them as hard as he could while they sucked him off after the first night, let him fuck them in uniform after San Francisco, squirmed around on the couch at home while he teased them for what felt like hours after the second LA concert. But it is the first time they’ve tried to get things going while still at the venue, so, maybe they should do this every show.
They detach from the mark they’re working onto his collarbone and kiss his lips with an obnoxious sound. “I want you to force me over your lap and smack the shit out of me.” Another, harder kiss. “Like, make my ass bright red. And then whatever you want, I don’t give a fuck, just…. God, it’s so hot when you get all touchy up there, its like you’re fuckin’ marking me or something….”
He lets them kiss him for long minute, but doesn’t let them get very far, mouth closed to their tongue even as they rut against his thigh. He pushes them away slightly, laughs at their needy whine, his hand shifting from their hip to their ass. “Sounds like a plan,” he says with a playful pat. “But I’m gonna be nice about it. Does that fit your vision?”
Gerard nods, makes a happy little noise when he squeezes their ass with one hand and rubs over their shoulderblade with the other, gentle and slow, patient and loving. “I did say whatever you want.” They buck slightly when he squeezes again, a little rough, before soothing over where his fingers dug into their skin. Nice about it. He always is, even when they tell him to be mean. “What, are you getting all sappy on me?”
Ray shrugs, and they can see him flushing a little. “I’m not allowed to lovingly spank my wife?”
“I love when you call me that,” they say with a sigh. Even after seven years with that title, it’s still thrilling to hear.
He lifts his head just enough to ghost his lips over their jaw. “I love calling you that,” he says in their right ear. He lays back down, pulling Gerard with him until they’re flush against his chest, head on his shoulder. “I’m not being sappy. I’m just… very happy about us right now.”
Gerard lifts their thigh up until it presses against his dick, giggles at his sharp inhale. “I can tell.” They take a sharp breath of their own when he pulls a lock of their hair, not as gentle as he was a minute ago. A warm up. A warning. “Fine, okay, I won’t tease you,” they say, a little bratty, and his grip loosens. “What are you happy about, darling husband?”
Ray hums, a rumbly noise against them. “Your story.”
“My—oh….” Gerard’s hand slips out from where it’s trapped between their chests, fingers tracing a shape on his bicep, up down left right. SL just barely peeks out from the bottom of his shirt sleeve, and Gerard nudges it up so they can see it better. “The stars at night are big and bright,” they warble, drawing another one over the tattoo, “deep in the heart of Texas.”
“I forgot all about that,” Ray says softly. “I remembered getting out of the van to look at them, and that you were the only one who joined me, but I haven’t thought about it in years.” He kisses Gerard’s head. “I think—I think that’s how I knew this was real. That you weren’t just messing around with me for fun.”
They stop doodling their constellation and roll their eyes, planting their hand on the couch and pushing themself up to look at him. “What,” they say teasingly, “confessing my undying love for you wasn’t enough?”
Ray laughs self-consciously. “I mean, yeah, but…. It was….” Gerard cups his cheek, and he turns his face into it, his beard scratching a little at their palm. “You know how I was back then,” he says sheepishly.
Gerard remembers it well; the insecurity Ray hid behind nonchalance, saying he was weird looking in interviews like it was nothing and being quietly surprised anytime a fan praised him specifically, his almost constant check-ins with Gerard to make sure that they were still having fun together. That they still wanted this, wanted him. Gerard also remembers pulling him into a closet after one of those interviews, dropping to their knees, and telling Ray to stop saying that about himself, that they were going to fuck that idea out of him one of these days. They remember talking him up in interviews and onstage, forcing everyone in the audience to see all the talent that Gerard saw in that Muppets solo, almost thirty years ago now. They remember answering all those check-ins with kisses, some long and loving, some short and chaste, some burning and biting, all reassurances that they weren’t going anywhere.
“Yeah,” they say, still a little teasing, but gentler now. “And I know I told you I was gonna fuck it out of you.” They lean down to kiss him, tongue pressing at his lips until he parts them with a sigh. “Did it work?” they ask, the words spoken directly into his mouth, Gerard biting him to keep it open.
Ray laughs, a little breathy. “Yeah, it did.”
Gerard hums, pleased, and goes back to making out with him. They’re maybe too old to call it ‘making out,’ but they can’t think of a better word for it, the long, wet kisses and roaming hands and shaking breaths. Ray’s hand lands on their jaw to angle them how he wants, smiling against their lips as they moan, pressing his leg against them until they do it again.
And then the inevitable knock comes. “Fuck,” they mumble, but it's muffled and misshapened around Ray’s tongue tracing over their teeth, and if he’s down to fuck in the dressing room—
“There’s a car here for you,” someone calls through the door, but Gerard’s too distracted by Ray pulling them down to grind harder against his thigh to figure out who it is. “Time to hit the road.”
“Fuck,” Gerard says again, but now it’s clear and whiny, because Ray’s pushing them away and smiling wickedly. “Oh, so you can tease me?” They punch his arm, not hard enough to hurt, just enough force to be a nuisance. “Asshole.”
“What happened to ‘darling husband?’” He pushes at their shoulders until they climb off him, and he stands, rolling his neck. He holds out his hands to pull them up with him, dragging them in for a kiss when they let him. “Grab your stuff,” he says, voice low, “and I’ll take care of you at the hotel.”
A shiver goes up their spine, and they nod, turning to pick up their things as fast as they can. Ray smacks their ass as they bend to pick up a fallen pen, just barely hard enough to count as a smack, and they can hear him chuckle at the choked-off gasp they let out. “Jesus,” they say, scrambling to gather everything. All of Ray’s things are kept in his pockets, keys and wallet and phone put together in seconds, while Gerard has notebooks and makeup and colored pencils on every surface of the dressing room. They rush to shove things in their bag, cast one last glance around the room to make sure nothing important is left behind, and tug Ray through the door.
The stars are bright as Gerard rushes them out, or tries to, anyway; Ray stops just outside, head tipped back, taking it in. “We would pull over,” he says, smiling up at the sky, “and everyone would complain, but you didn’t. You wanted to look at them with me.” He laughs, pulls their hand until they’re flush against his side. “You always thought planes were stars.”
“A girl tries to spend time with their boyfriend and they get made fun of,” Gerard says mournfully, but they press their cheek against his chest with a content sigh. “Of course I wanted to stargaze. It was the closest thing we had to date nights.”
Ray hums in agreement, arm wrapping around their shoulders. “I always woke you up, and you never told me not to. I felt so lucky. I couldn’t believe you were into me.” He kisses their head, nuzzling into their hair.
They poke him in the side, giggling. “That was, what, a year after we got together? It took you that long?”
“Right before we got the bus.”
“That disgusting bus,” they say fondly, taking one last look at the stars before detaching themself. “Alright, well, we have real date nights now, and tonight is one of them, so….”
“So impatient,” Ray chides them, but he guides them into the backseat with a hand on their lower back, so close to what they’ve asked him to do.
Tease. Twenty-two years, and that’s never changed; Ray getting so close to what they want without doing anything, telling them to wait no matter how amped up he’s feeling, patience until neither of them can take it anymore. Gerard shivers as he squeezes their thigh and holds, grip tight and hand hot through their jeans, and they aren’t sure how they’ll make it through the hotel lobby without someone noticing how turned on they are.
“Ray,” they whisper, jerking their chin toward the front seat. The driver isn’t paying any attention to them, but if she tried to make conversation, Gerard would be useless.
“Gorgeous night,” he says casually, like they aren’t hard next to him, like it’s just an average day for Ray Toro. “We don’t get views like this at home.”
They sigh and follow his gaze out the window. LA is great in its own ways, but it’s got nothing on this. They know enough about astronomy to find the important constellations, the Big Dipper here and Orion there, and back in those early days, Ray would point out all the other ones. Gerard can’t remember the names, or how to find them. They were always too busy staring at his hands, dimly lit by the headlights, fingers stretched as he pointed or gently gripping their chin to make them look at the right spot.
They look at the hand on their thigh, the fingers kneading the fat there, big and dextrous and solid, and cover it with their own. Ray hums, hand sliding a little higher, and sighs happily.
“I want all of the stuff from earlier,” Gerard murmurs, dropping their voice lower for the new, final part of their request, “while we stargaze.” Ray bites back a groan, and they smile at the sound. They can tease, too. They look down, smile wider when they see his jeans starting to tent. “Does that work for you, honey?”
“You want me dead,” he says softly, looking at them like he’s figuring out exactly what he wants to do to them, how he’ll be nice tonight. “I have some ideas.” He doesn’t elaborate.
Gerard trembles through the last few minutes in the car, through the lobby, and into the elevator. Ray holds them through it all.
They aren’t as careful now as they used to be, a little more willing to be touchy out and about, a combination of changing worldviews and lack of lurking on the internet. In Gerard’s mind, what they don’t see can’t affect them; if pictures of them holding hands in a hotel lobby spark interest, they never have to know. And if people figure out what’s been happening since the band started, well. They wouldn’t be wrong, so let them talk. Gerard won’t see it, anyways. They let Ray tug them closer and closer against his side as they move, taking the lead, hand low on their hip, and their eyes slip half closed, already tuning out everything around them.
They go in for a kiss in the elevator, but Ray leans his head and shoulders back just far enough to stay out of reach. They sigh, accepting defeat; when Ray says to be patient, he means it.
It’s a delicious sort of torture, all of the waiting. As much as Gerard loves to complain, act bratty and annoyed by it, they love when he teases them like this, makes them beg for it or work to get him as turned on as they are. Though Ray’s acting patient now, he’s very careful to carry his sweatshirt in front of his crotch.
But he doesn’t do anything, just walks them to their room, pace slow and relaxed, and Gerard’s not quite sure how hard they’ll have to work tonight.
Ray opens the door slowly, holding it open as they fumble for the light switch and drop their bag on a desk close to the back door. The curtains are open, the view of the balcony and the city beyond it clear and tempting.
“So,” Gerard says, turning around as the front door clicks shut, “are we going to stargaze, or—”
The noise of surprise they make as they’re pushed against the back door is muffled by Ray’s mouth. He kisses them, long and firm, while their hands scrabble against his back and fist into his shirt. Gerard parts their lips, waiting for him to continue what they started in the dressing room, but he doesn’t let them have it, mouth closed against their tongue and teeth.
They manage to pull away to breathe out Ray’s name, the word ending on a whine as he twists his fingers through their hair and tugs them back in. They bite down on his lip until he gasps and pushes them harder against the door, cushioning the back of their head with his palm and fingers.
He licks into their mouth, and it sends little zips of heat and pleasure and need down their spine, the way he’s moving their head for them, directing them into the best position for what he wants. Gerard can’t pull away, there’s no room, and they have to settle for keening into his open mouth as their hips move frantically against his.
Ray doesn’t stop until he’s starting to make desperate sounds of his own and Gerard’s lips and chin and cheeks are hot from the friction of his beard. He steps back, looks them slowly up and down, and sits on the bed, leaning back on his hands. How he can look so collected right now, even with his lips bitten red and his dick swelling in his jeans, is beyond Gerard. They’re burning, shifting from foot to foot as they wait for instruction.
“I want you to strip for me,” he says, and his voice is so soft, so kind, like he’s not about to spank them until they cry, and Gerard has to bite their cheek to keep from abandoning the plan. “Can you do that for me, baby?” They nod, mouth going dry as they kick off their shoes. “Good girl,” he says with a smile, settling in to watch.
Their socks come off first, then pants, before they reach for their panties. They start to peel those off slowly, teasingly, but Ray hums in disagreement, waves a hand, a little gesture to keep them on. He’s always liked them in lingerie. They like it too, the scratch of lace against their skin, their cock straining against it, the feeling of Ray’s hungry eyes on them. It makes Gerard shiver, the way he’s staring at them, his smile growing as they reveal more skin. Their shirt is last and pulled off quickly; no matter how long they’ve been doing this, their stomach is still the one thing they hate showing off.
Ray knows that, because he knows them, which is why he beckons them over, tugging at their thighs when they get close enough and pulling them to stand between his legs. He ducks down to kiss and bite the soft flesh there before he does anything else, like his own version of trying to fuck the insecurities away. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, biting gently at the little roll of fat above the waistband of their panties, tonguing at the white lace. “My pretty girl….” Gerard shivers as Ray blows against the spot. He pulls back, tilts his head up to look at them. “I want you to bend over my lap,” he says gently, one hand coming up to skim over their ass and squeeze, hard enough to make them gasp and whine.
Gerard nods, and Ray scoots back slightly so they’ll be able to rest their upper body on the bed while still letting their legs dangle. They scramble to comply, gasping a little at the pressure of his legs against their dick, the lace that contains them starting to grow wet.
Gerard tries to grind down, but Ray stops them with firm hands, one between their shoulder blades and the other on their ass. “Not yet,” he says, and it’s kind, even as his grip on their ass tightens, squeezing and kneading the flesh and fat and muscle. “Your bubble butt,” he says fondly. “So cute. So pretty in these.” Gerard keens at the praise. They’re under no impression that they have some giant ass, but Ray talks about it like they do, and they love it. They get one knee under themself, pushing their hips high enough for Ray to kiss where the edge of the lace meets their skin before he guides them back down. “Want me to make it prettier?” He keeps his palm flat on the skin as he lifts and lowers his fingers, little pats, little teases, preparation for what’s to come.
“Please,” Gerard says through a shallow breath, “I want it, please.”
The first slap isn’t hard enough to really hurt, but they let out a pleased sound anyways. They wriggle around for a second, trying to figure out a way they can look at him from this position, but there’s no good view. They settle on looking at his legs, his tight jeans. There’s something so sexy about doing it like this, Gerard naked while he’s still clothed. It’s not about power, the way Gerard thought it was in those early days; Ray is clothed under them, denim rough on their thighs and dick hard against theirs, because it’s about love, making them feel good before he does anything for himself.
“Doing okay?” he asks after a moment. One of his fingertips slips under the edge of their panties, just enough to stroke over the skin.
They reach back with one hand, fingers skimming over his knee. “I thought I told you to make it red,” they say, shifting their hips temptingly. “Put your back into it, Toro—Ah!” They’re cut off by the slight sting, closer to what they wanted, but still not quite there. “Harder. Come on, baby, make me cry.”
“So bratty.” He smacks them again, and again, and again, until they yelp. “I know what you like,” he says sweetly, punctuating it with another hit. “Just let me take care of you.”
Gerard pushes back against his hand when he rubs them gently, moaning at the scratch of his callouses over the burning skin, and then they’re crying out again. They’re pretty sure that last one might have left an actual handprint.
“Good?” Ray bends down to kiss the spot when they moan in reply, voice muffled by the sheets and shaking. “I’m not hurting you too bad?”
Gerard shakes their head without lifting it. “Please,” they mumble, rutting against his legs, “please, please, please—”
He doesn’t make them beg any more. They let their eyes slip shut, let their mouth fall open, lose themself in the feeling and repetition. Ray pauses every few slaps to soothe them, stroke over their ass and whisper reassurances before hitting again, the force kicking up slightly each round. Gerard thinks that, if they focus hard enough, they can feel his fingerprints embedding into their flesh, each whorl tattooed on them, something to match the SL on his arm. Not that they’re getting spanked to prove their devotion to Ray—no, this is just another way Ray proves his, how he listens to their fantasies and improves on them, takes care of them and stays by their side.
For some reason, Gerard’s mind goes back a year, to when they were trying to write their fantasy stage show. When they scribbled their idea for this tour down a year ago, they weren’t even sure if it was feasible. Costumes and videos, totally doable, props, for sure, the band, obviously. An invented alphabet, actors, a full storyline—they’d done a lot of things onstage, but never anything quite this detailed.
Ray read the outline while they ate dinner, not saying anything, just nodding and humming between bites, but Gerard wasn’t anxious about the reaction. They’ve always been able to read each other’s minds, like some weird, romantic ESP; Gerard will start talking right when Ray was about to say the same thing, Ray can write a riff from the messy vocalizations Gerard lets out without thinking, they can share ideas without speaking, not realizing they’re on the same path until one of them expresses it. “Like with ‘Breakfast Monkey,’” Gerard told Geoff, back in the basement they recorded Bullets in. “He kinda just… knew what I was going for. I didn’t have to explain it.”
Which is why Gerard knew that, when Ray laughed and slid the notebook across the table, it was out of some kind of wonder, a belief in their maybe too-complicated idea. “You’re a genius,” he said with a smile. “How do you come up with this stuff?”
Always there, trusting their vision, helping them along the way, even when the vision is spanking them until they sob into the mattress. They don’t even notice that he’s reached that goal until his hand is gone and his legs are shifting out from under them.
“There you go, baby, you did so good.” Ray’s voice comes from their other side. Gerard blinks their eyes open to see him squatting next to the bed, head resting on the mattress and smiling. His hand goes back to their hair, petting them softly, and he leans in to kiss their cheeks, where tears must be drying now. “Feeling okay? Do you need to take a break?”
Gerard nods, rolling onto their side and reaching to grab Ray’s shoulder and haul him in for a kiss. “Fuck,” they say shakily, “you love me so much.”
Ray laughs, thumbing over their crow’s feet, his own smile lines crinkling. Matchy matchy. “You know I do.” He kisses their forehead and stands. Gerard can hear his knee pop. “Let me get you some water, and we can relax for a little while.”
They mumble an agreement. “But what about—”
“Water and rest,” he says, already heading for the bathroom, “and then you can decide if you want to… stargaze.”
Gerard snickers at the phrasing. “I want to have sex on the balcony, yeah.” It doesn’t sound super convincing, their breaths still shuddery and shallow, shifting around on the sheets as the sting turns to a dull ache. “Don’t back out on me now, darling husband.”
“I’m not backing out on you, darling wife,” Ray calls over the running faucet, “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
They sigh, rolling their eyes as Ray sets a glass on the nightstand and helps them sit up against the headboard, mumbling comforts when they wince. “I won’t be uncomfortable,” they say over the lip of the glass when Ray lifts it for them. They take a long drink, and another, before pushing it back. “We’ve done this a billion times, I can handle it.”
Ray hums and sets the glass down, climbing in on their other side and wrapping them up in his arms. “I know, but we haven’t done all of this right after a show. You need to rest.”
“You’re getting soft on me.” They poke him in the ribs, dig their fingertip in until he squirms. “I didn’t get off, and I know you didn’t get off, so give me a second, and you can, fucking….” They run out of steam before they can think of what exactly he can fucking do. “Whatever.”
“Just drink your water.” Ray kisses their temple, nosing at the greying hair there.
They drain the glass, just to prove that they can, and tuck in closer. “You said you had some ideas, right?” They kick at his leg lazily. “You wanna share with the class?”
“Thought I’d get you on the balcony and eat you out,” he says with a shrug. “Nothing crazy.”
“You’re not gonna fuck me?” It comes out whiny despite their best efforts. “What the fuck, Toro, do you even want to come?”
“I’m pretty sure I left bruises on your butt,” he notes, a little absent. “I’m not going to make them worse.”
They click their tongue. “Old and soft.”
But he’s right, as much as they hate to admit it. It’s lovely getting to middle age, because they can look in the mirror and see grey hair and smile lines. It’s also terrible getting to middle age, because their stamina isn’t what it used to be, and their ass isn’t either. If they weren’t well on their way back to fully hard, they’d probably go to sleep. Ray seems determined to keep them here, warm and comfortable in bed, not even trying to get back on track. He keeps his hands to himself, even though Gerard can see their erection, pink skin peeking through the lace, and they can see his erection, flagging without stimulation, but still noticeable. That won’t do.
“Alright, don’t fuck me,” they grumble, pulling his hand from their chest and down, letting go when he brushes their dick. “But I’m still expecting my stargazing date.”
Ray huffs out a laugh, squeezing them through the panties. “You have a one track mind,” he murmurs as they buck against his hand. “I’ll get you taken care of, but you have to be quiet if we’re going to do it on the balcony.”
“I’m always quiet,” they say, a total lie, but they’re much better at it now than they were back in their tiny bus bunks. They slip out of bed, hissing a little as the cool hotel A/C hits their butt, and don’t wait for Ray to follow them.
It’s nice out. It can’t be below 70, but they shiver anyways. Though the city stretches out before them, somehow its light doesn’t seem to touch the inky sky, nothing to dull the moon and stars over them as they lean against the railing.
They snort a little, looking over their shoulder when Ray finally joins them. “You’re gonna rail me.” They laugh at their dumb pun, patting the metal barrier. “Get it?”
He laughs and kisses their shoulder, their cheek, their lips, nuzzling against their hair. “I get it,” he says, thumbs tucking under their waistband, “very funny, baby.”
Gerard wiggles to help get the lingerie off, watches as Ray carefully sets them on a nearby table. “I always am.” They sigh, looking back to the sky. “I loved being out there with you,” they say softly, jerking back slightly as his hands stroke their hips. “I would’ve done anything if it meant spending time with you.” One hand is on their ass now, gently rubbing. “God, I loved you so much, I can’t believe you thought I—”
“Fuck,” Ray says, more of a groan than anything, and they hear his knees hit the ground before he’s kissing across their butt, one hand pushing their legs further apart while the other pushes down on their back, making them bend over the railing.
They manage to stifle their moan when he finally licks over their hole. He’s holding them so carefully, just barely opening them up, and the angle isn’t great, and for some reason, Gerard kind of wants to cry. They rest their forehead on the balcony railing, pushing back against him as his tongue starts pressing into them, slow but sure as he licks them open, his beard scratching against oversensitive skin and his hands massaging the pleasurable ache he gave them. When a finger drifts down to join in, they have to bite down on their knuckle to keep from letting out a whine, have to do it again when Ray pulls his mouth away.
“Tell me more,” he says, breathless, and they can just barely hear the sound of a zipper being undone. “Tell me—everything you remember.”
Unfortunately, they don’t remember a whole lot, between how drunk they were then and how turned on they are now. They look up at the stars again, eye catching on Orion, igniting a sudden spark of memory.
“I was still so out of it, and you were trying to sober me up, and you wouldn’t let me kiss you,” they say, and then gasp when they’re rewarded with his spit-slick finger returning alongside his mouth. “And I didn’t even care—yeah, come on, more—I just wanted to be around you—” They have to drop their head again, bury their face in their arms when a second finger curls in just right. “God, baby, there, yes.”
Ray’s mouth is gone now, just his fingers working, but his breath is hot over their bare skin. “Didn’t want you to barf on me. Had to draw a line somewhere,” he says, letting out a little grunt. Gerard can’t see him, down on the ground and out of their line of sight, but they know that noise well.
Gerard lets out a pleased moan, just quiet enough so the neighbors won’t hear them. “I wanted you to jerk me off while I puked, and you kept telling me I smelled.” Ray lets out a stuttery laugh; puke is one of their only requests he’s been grossed out by. “I didn’t even fuckin’ care that you wouldn’t kiss me, I just needed to be with you, you had me all figured out, I thought no one could see it, and you were there….”
Ray nibbles their left cheek, and the memory is gone, along with every thought in their head, reducing them to a whimpering mess. “I needed you with me, too,” he says, voice rough and raspy. He picks up the pace, presses in a little harder. “Needed you safe with me.”
He crooks his fingers, grinds them in hard as his mouth goes to their balls, and Gerard comes, stars exploding behind their eyes as they bite down on their arm. He stays there until they go limp, and they barely notice his fingers slipping out as they moan into the crook of their elbow. One of his hands is on their hip, and something is brushing the curve of their ass, and after a minute of bitten off sounds, he’s coming too, a long groan as he releases on their skin.
They’re both quiet, catching their breath, Ray’s forehead resting on Gerard’s shoulder.
Gerard blinks their eyes open. The sky takes up their whole field of vision, like they’ve been fucking among the stars, not just below them. Ray starts to stir, arms shifting to wrap around their waist, holding them close. It’s not at all like it was in the van days. It’s entirely the same. Always so gentle with them, always there, at their best and their worst, holding them together as they both look up at the stars.
Ray kisses their shoulder.
Gerard starts to cry.
Ray makes little shushing noises, pulling them up and turning them around, pressing them into his chest. “Alright,” he whispers, rubbing their back, “it’s okay, G, it’s okay….”
“I just love you so much,” they sob, wrapping their arms around his neck. “You’re so good to me.”
Ray doesn’t say anything, just kisses their head and rubs their back. He doesn’t need to say anything; as much as they hate to admit it, crying after sex—or, when it’s really good, during—has become a fairly regular occurrence in the last few years. He squats down to grab them around the thighs and carries them back to bed. Gerard tries to hold on once they get there, but he grabs their wrists and pulls their arms off him, kissing their palms. “I’m going to run you a bath,” he says. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
They nod, sniffling, leaning in for a kiss, flopping back on the pillows once he obliges. He finally gets his clothes off, and his shirt is stained, his underwear, too, and Gerard wants to, like, crawl inside of him, become part of him, never let him go. They whine when he disappears into the bathroom, ten steps too far away for their liking.
By the time Ray comes back, scooping them up from the bed and kissing their forehead as he carries them off for a bath, they’ve managed to stop the tears. He sets them down in the tub and sits behind them, legs open so they can lie back against his chest, his chin resting on their head as they turn to press their cheek into his chest. They hum, content, closing their eyes.
“Comfortable?” Ray says, hand skimming over their stomach.
“Mmm hmm….” They rub their face against him, wrinkle their nose at the tickle of his chest hair.
“Doesn’t hurt too bad?”
They lazily flick some water at his raised knee. “Don’t make me cry again, fucker.”
He laughs, moves his hand under their chin to lift their face up for a kiss. “Just trying to keep my girl happy.”
Gerard grins, kisses him again. “She is.”
They stay in the bath until the water goes lukewarm. Gerard’s half-asleep by the time Ray convinces them to get out. He dries them off, careful with the towel, and ushers them into bed. He gets them under the covers, tucks the blankets around their shoulders, and climbs in beside them, smoothing their hair back and pressing his lips to the crown of their head.
Ray didn’t close the backdoor. Any other night, Gerard would poke him until he got up and locked everything. But he’s so warm against them, the way he always is, and the night sky is so beautiful, the way it was so long ago, and they don’t want him to go anywhere, the way they always have.
“I love you,” Ray says, and Gerard thinks they can hear the stars in his voice.