There's something about Gerard that makes people want to touch him. He has this... magnetism that draws people to him like he's some kind of magic healing stone or something. Like touching him will somehow dissolve all their worries, and everything will be butterflies and bunny-rabbits from that moment on.

The problem is it doesn't happen that way.

The problem is, once you touch Gerard, you realize he's more than just magnetic, and you want to just keep on touching him. Forever.

At least that's how it was for me. And I can't stop. I don't even want to stop. In fact, if I could figure out a way to attach myself to him permanently, I'd do it in a second (although our wives would probably object at that point). But what parts would I connect? My hand to his ass? My cheek to his thigh? Maybe my mouth to his? Of course, that would make it hard for him to sing, and I'd hate to ruin his career—not to mention that all the fans would want to kill me for shutting him up.

But god, his mouth is amazing! When he smiles, he looks so sweet and boyish, he melts my heart along with a thousand others. When he pouts, my knees go weak and my thighs start to sweat. And when he kissed me ... I had to push him away to keep from jumping him right there onstage in front of everybody.

Not that I haven't come close on a few other occasions. It wasn't so bad when he slid his hand inside the front of my shirt and stroked my chest. But when he slapped my ass as I walked by him—slapped and then squeezed, actually—he's lucky I didn't turn around and return the favor. Things could have gotten out of control pretty quickly once I got hold of him. Instead, I made myself keep walking, trying hard to summon the mental equivalent of a cold shower.

The worst, though, was when I was on my knees and didn't see him moving toward me. I felt him when he stood behind me—this incredible heat emanates from him like an aura, and I swear you can almost see it if you look hard enough. He stood there with his feet planted wide apart and waited for me to react. And I did, more than he probably knows. I tilted my head back to look up at him, and his crotch was right there. I opened my mouth and had my tongue out before I could think, then dropped my chin onto my chest and bit my lip until he stepped back.

You might be asking why he does these things to me, or why I don't tell him to stop. Well, the truth is that I ask for it. I've actually done worse to him. Like I said, I want to touch Gerard. And I do it a lot because he lets me, and the fans go wild for it—which, of course, makes it even harder to stop myself from going too far. (Imagine being cheered on and knowing you have to stop anyway. It might explain why I always seem to have so much pent-up energy.)

One of my favorite things to do is to kiss or lick him while he's singing. Sometimes I target his neck, but mostly it's his face. He has such a beautiful face. So pale and smooth ... and expressive! He's really, really good at showing emotion, whether he's singing or screaming or simulating an orgasm (yeah, he does that), and I find myself wanting to taste him. Sometimes I come up beside him and just quickly kiss his cheek. Other times, I come from behind and stand right up against his back, then lick the side of his face or neck like he's an ice cream cone that's starting to melt. (For the record, he tastes better than any ice cream I've ever tried.)

Once, when he was writhing around on his back on the stage, I did jump on him. I couldn't help myself. He was so incredibly sexy, I just had to be on top of him, even if only for a few seconds. So I straddled him and dropped to my knees, planting my ass on his chest. The audience went crazy. Gerard kept singing, but his eyes widened a little, then rolled back and finally closed, and I felt his chest fall when he suddenly exhaled. When he looked up at me again with those intense, darkly shadowed eyes, I had to get up and get moving, or I would have laid my guitar aside and given the audience more of a show than they bargained for. And then Gerard and I might have found out firsthand what they do to guys like us in prison.

I have, on occasion, leaned down toward the front of his pants—which always makes the crowd scream—and he's never backed off or pushed me away. One time, he watched me get closer, then laid his hand on the back of my head. He didn't try to pull me closer; he just ran his fingers through my hair. I want him to do that again, only this time, I want him to pull me to him. Not onstage, though.

It's late at night, and I probably should be sleeping, but I can't get Gerard out of my head. I keep thinking about his eyes. And his mouth. And the salty taste of the sweat on the side of his neck...

There's a faint knock at my hotel room door that startles me a little, and I realize I'm breathing too hard. I take a deep breath and lick my dry lips, then get up and go to the peephole. I don't see anybody, just an empty hallway. "Who is it?" I ask through the door.

"Open up, Frank," he says. "It's Gee."

I can't unlock this door fast enough, and a second later, I'm looking at him. He's still dressed from the show earlier tonight, and his hair is still damp with sweat. "Gee, you ok?" I ask him. "You look— I mean, you haven't been drinking, have you?"

He gives me a pained expression. "No," he says. "Why? Do I look that bad?"

I shake my head. "No, you look..." I try to think of a word other than hot. "Just worried about you, that's all. You haven't even changed clothes."

He frowns and then looks down at his outfit like he didn't know it was there. "Oh," he says numbly. "Yeah, I've just been thinking."

It occurs to me now that maybe we shouldn't just stand here in the doorway, and I motion him into the room. Then, without really knowing why, I glance up and down the hall before I close the door and engage the lock again. When I turn to face him, he's leaning against the wall with his hands behind his back, staring at some point in the air between his face and the burnt-orange carpet. He looks a little embarrassed or ashamed of himself, and I wonder what I could have missed after the concert. As far as I know, we all just came back to the hotel and went to our own rooms. No parties tonight. Maybe he called home and had a fight with his wife about something?

"Hey," I say quietly, taking a step closer and touching his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Now he meets my gaze, but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he lets his eyes do all the talking as they travel downward, pausing to linger briefly on my mouth, then continuing over the soft fabric of my t-shirt. I'm wearing sweatpants, and I'm a little concerned that he'll soon see the effects of his attention.

I gently touch his cheek. "Gerard?"

Coming back to my face, his green eyes look glassy. They seem to search mine for a few seconds before he suddenly pushes himself away from the wall and kisses me full on the mouth. At first, I'm too surprised to respond, but the familiar flavor of Red Bull on his tongue quickly reorients me, and I kiss back, slipping my arms around his slender waist. His right hand finds my lower back while his left slides up my chest and around to the back of my neck, where his fingers continue to steal upward into my hair.

I'm already excited from thinking about our onstage affair and imagining what it would be like if we didn't have to hold back—but I never expected to find out. Now here we are. Alone. Nobody watching.

But how far will this really go? I wonder. He's never done this before. Not with me, at least. Is he seriously ready to take our relationship to the next level? I want to ask, but I'm scared to hear the answer. On the other hand, I don't want to push this too far and risk alienating him. I don't think I could stand it if he stopped letting me touch him at all.

Suddenly, he pins me against the wall and presses his body to mine. His fingers curl into my hair, pulling on it a little. His right hand slides down over my ass, then back up as it moves to the front of my body. He slips it into my shirt. A low moan issues from his throat as he begins to caress my chest, then teases my left nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

I can feel his erection now, and the pressure of it against my hip is maddening. I want to drag him onto the bed and fulfill my fantasy right now. Still, I don't know if he wants the same, so I decide to wait and follow his lead.

His kiss is becoming more insistent. Hungrier. I take the hint and lower my hands, grabbing his ass and pulling him tighter against me. A second later, his mouth leaves mine to concentrate on the side of my neck. While his lips and tongue work their magic, his cool, damp hair brushes my cheek, and I turn my head to bury my face in it. I love the smell of him—oddly enough, especially when he's drenched in sweat. It's an aphrodisiac like no other. I enjoy a deep breath of his scent and then let it out sharply when he abruptly drops to his knees in front of me.

With his hands on my hips, he presses his lips against the bulge in the front of my pants and looks up at me with a sort of pleading in those wonderful dark eyes. I can't say anything. All I can do is stand here breathless and wait to see what he'll do next.

True to his character, he doesn't disappoint me. He opens his mouth and tilts his head to one side, taking my erection between his teeth. Even through two layers of cotton, I can feel the heat of his mouth, and it's so good, it almost hurts. I close my eyes for just a second, then open them again, afraid I'll miss one of those uniquely Gerard expressions that I love so much. As I watch, he bites down slightly and slowly relaxes his lips until I can't see his teeth anymore. As soon as they disappear, I feel a new pressure midway between them.

His tongue.

"Oh" is all I manage to say. And now I'm breathing hard again. My left hand rises involuntarily and hovers above the top of his head, immobilized again when his eyes meet mine. He transfers his own left hand from my hip to a space between my thighs and slowly slides it up until it barely touches the underside of my balls. This is just a tease, though, as I discover a moment later. His right hand carries his real mission. Hidden from my vantage point, it moves to capture the base of my dick and quickly surrounds it with five surprisingly strong guards. His teeth release me, and he straightens his head, opening his mouth again to let me see his tongue still pressed firmly to the cotton barrier between us.

I don't remember opening my own mouth, but I find myself licking my teeth. Gerard seems pleased by it, so I don't stop. He smiles as he drags his tongue up to the top of my dick, then licks his lips and hesitates, watching my face. He seems to be asking my permission to continue. Of course, he has it. He's always had it, but he's waiting for me to tell him.

"Yes," I whisper and finally rest my left hand on his head. I don't pull him forward or try to guide him in any way. One word was all he needed. Without any further notice, he levers my dick toward him and takes the head of it—still covered—into his mouth. He sucks hard, using his briefly forgotten left hand to massage my balls at the same time.

I throw my head back against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut tight. "Oh, god," I moan. And then again: "Yes." I stroke his hair and find the elastic waistband of my sweats with my other hand, tugging at it. "Fuck," I curse plaintively. He's going to make me come, and I haven't even felt his tongue on my skin!

Gerard takes the hint and stops, calming my hand with his and planting a soft, gentle kiss in my palm. I look down and see a smile playing at the corners of his mouth while he rests his cheek in my hand. But his eyes are serious. "I've been wanting to do this for so long," he tells me in a voice that's hardly more than a whisper. "I just couldn't take it anymore tonight, and I had to try."

"Try?" I repeat. I'm confused. He's been wanting to do this?

"I didn't know if you'd let me do it for real," he explains while he flattens his right hand against my pants and slides it up and down along the swelling. "I thought maybe you were just playing."

Now I'm stunned. I almost laugh, but I kind-of want to scream, too. This is so funny, it's cruel. I feel like I've been tortured for information I never had.

He kisses my thumb and uses it to caress his lower lip, then holds the end of it between his teeth and licks it. When I still don't say anything, he stops teasing my thumb and lets his hand fall away from my pants. "Were you just playing, Frankie?" he asks me. "Or do you really want me?"

I can't believe I'm hearing this. I open my mouth to respond, then close it again, finding a better answer. Kneeling in front of him, I take his face in both my hands. His worried expression breaks my heart, and I lean forward and kiss him as tenderly as any real lover would do. He holds onto my wrists and seems to dissolve into my kiss, parting his lips only slightly to let my tongue find his.

When I pull back, his eyes slowly open halfway and fix on mine; his mouth remains ready for the next kiss. Instead, I trace his lips with my thumb and gaze steadily into his eyes. "I'm not playing, Gee," I say seriously. "I really want you."

His eyes open a little wider and light up like a little kid's face on Christmas morning. Then he lets go of my right wrist and reaches for my head, sliding his fingers into the back of my hair once again while he pulls me toward him. I go willingly and meet his eager kiss with my own hunger. I'm not holding back now, and I'm done waiting. Now I know what he wants, and I'm dying to give it to him.

"So bad," I whisper in his ear between kisses. "I want you so fucking bad."

I know he loves that word, so I'm not surprised that he reacts to it. The only question is which direction he'll go first. Generous as ever, he chooses to give, and he lets me know by easing me onto my back on the floor. He crawls forward, positioning one knee between my legs, and tugs my t-shirt up to my neck. His mouth goes straight to my right nipple while he pinches the left between his fingers. My eyes roll back, and I blindly grope his soft black hair. The tip of his tongue draws a line to my throat, where he decides to suck on my skin. He lowers himself onto me and humps my thigh, giving me a preview of what's in store, then quickly slides backwards until his face is even with my waist. He kisses my belly and draws another line with his tongue, this time along the waistband of my pants, while his fingers find their way under the elastic at my sides.

The anticipation is killing me, but I manage to resist the urge to just grab his head and shove it down my pants. I want him to do this his way, and I'll let him take his sweet time—even if we're here for the next three days. I've waited so long to get here, I don't want to rush it. We both deserve to savor this experience.

When I feel him tugging at the top of my pants, I open my eyes again and look down. He's using his teeth again, this time with help from his fingers, to pull my pants down. I raise my hips to accommodate him, and he looks up at me while he slides the soft material all the way to my knees. Now there's only a single thin layer of powder blue fabric in his way, and he licks his lips and gives me a wicked smile.

I hold my breath as his face approaches my crotch, but instead of removing the last barrier, he decides to work around it for a while. Sliding his warm hands up my naked thighs, he works his fingertips into the bottom of my underwear, an inch or so from either side of my dick, which throbs in expectation. "Oh, god," I whisper, still watching him. "Please touch me."

He lowers his head until his lips rest lightly on my balls. Then he closes his eyes and lets his tongue out to play again, teasing me through my briefs. I moan with pleasure and barely notice when he shifts position, stretching out on his belly between my legs, pinning my half-mast sweats under his body so I can't move my legs at all. I can feel the heat of his breath on my inner thighs and the pressure of his fingertips at my groin, and now—finally—the sweet wetness of his probing tongue when it touches the sensitive skin on my balls for the first time.

"Jesus," I breathe, digging my fingers into the carpet because I can't quite reach his hair.

He licks the underside of my sack, tilting his head to push his tongue farther into my underwear, sliding it up to the base of my dick at time same time. It's excruciating, this taunting maneuver of his, but it's also the most intense pleasure I've ever felt—so far. I know there's more ahead, and I wonder how much of it I can take.

At long last, he seems to get impatient with his own game, and he abruptly tugs the front of my briefs downward, exposing me fully. As I watch, he stares thoughtfully at his discovery for a few seconds, then places a soft, wet, lingering kiss just below the swollen head. I gasp, then hold my breath again, unable to move.

When Gerard's eyes meet mine this time, I know what he's about to do, even before he opens his mouth, and I'm ready. But he hesitates, and I begin to wonder if he's changed his mind. Oh god, please, I plead silently, please not now.

Frowning slightly, he glances at my right hand, my fingers dug into the short carpet fibers beside me. Then he turns his head toward the bed on the other side of the room. A look of regret darkens his gaze when he looks back at me, and he says quietly, "Frankie, this isn't right."

Shit! Is he serious? I think I'm going to scream. If he stops now and leaves me like this, I swear I'll...

"Come on," he says, rising and holding out a hand to me.

I consider taking it, then pulling him back down and making him finish, but that's not something I'm prepared to do—or ever will be. So I glare at him, cursing him in my head for ever touching me in the first place, hating him for making me want him so much.

He blinks, cocks his head to one side, narrows his eyes. "You ok, Frank?"

"No," I mutter through clenched teeth.

His confusion immediately turns to concern. "Shit, what happened?" he asks worriedly. "Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?"

I slap his hand away when he reaches for me. "Fuck you, Gerard," I snarl at him, and a look of surprise and pain contorts his pretty face. I ignore it and go on with my tantrum. "You can't waltz in here and start this shit, and then just walk away. What the fuck kind of bullshit is—?"

He's laughing.

"What the fuck?" I repeat angrily.

He tries to stop but can't completely douse his grin. "I'm sorry," he says, but his amused expression doesn't sell it.

I scramble away from him and get to my feet, pulling my pants up and pointing an accusing finger at him. "Fuck your sorry!" I snap.

"Frankie," he says gently, standing again. "Come on."

"No!" I shout, taking another step back and shaking a fist at him. "Just get out, Gerard. If you're gonna go, just get the fuck out and leave me alone."

Shaking his head, he rolls his eyes and says more firmly, "Frank, calm down. Just fucking listen to me for a second." He waits, then adds, "I'm not walking away."

"What?" I demand, confused. "You just said this wasn't right."

He laughs again and points at the carpet beneath his black tennis shoes. "This!" he exclaims, gesturing emphatically. "Frank, I was talking about doing it on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed available."

I stare blankly at him.

Now he sighs heavily and rolls his eyes again. A second later, he's closed the gap between us and pushed me up against the wall, pinning me once more with his body. He thrusts his hips forward and grinds his erection into mine. "You feel that?" he asks breathlessly, peering into my eyes. "That's because of you, Frankie. That's what you do to me."

Without waiting for a response, he catches my mouth with his and kisses me deeply, then meets my gaze from a distance of no more than a few inches. "Now you tell me why the fuck I'd come in here with this massive hard-on for you and beg you to say you want me, and then just stop and leave us both unsatisfied. Why would I do that, Frankie? Tell me. Do you really think I'd go this far and then stop?"

He sounds almost angry, but that's not the emotion I see in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against his. "I was just so scared you didn't mean it."

Stroking the back of my hair, he kisses my forehead, then my eyelids, and finally, my lips. "Frankie," he says quietly, "when have I ever lied to you?

"Never," I admit, "but you didn't say exactly what you wanted." Our lips are almost touching during this exchange, and I can taste his breath. "I didn't know how far you'd take me."

I feel his tongue at the corner of my mouth as he slides his left hand inside my pants—inside my underwear—and takes hold of my dick. "All the way, Frankie," he breathes against my lips, pumping his hand slowly up and down. "I want ... to take you ... all the way."

Okay, I'm back in the mood now. I grasp the back of his hair and stuff my tongue in his mouth. Reaching down with my free hand, I squeeze the swell in the front of his tight black jeans. I've felt it before; Gerard is almost always hard when he's onstage, and I sometimes grope him briefly just to watch his reaction—and, of course, get the audience screaming again. But this is different. This is for us.

Gerard hums his appreciation as he sucks my tongue deeper into his mouth and strokes me a little faster. The sound excites me, and I suddenly need to feel his bare skin against mine. I let go of his hair and set to work on the buttons of his black shirt, leaving his red tie securely fixed at his throat. Once all the buttons are undone, I peel off my t-shirt, drop it, and press my chest against his. This is the most physical contact I've ever shared with him, and, although I've experienced his heat aura before, I'm still surprised by the warmth of his body. He's like an electric blanket set on high, and I immediately begin to sweat.

His body is already slick with perspiration, which—as I mentioned—is a huge turn-on for me. I dip my head and flick the tip of my tongue across his right nipple, and I hear him gasp, then moan when I take it between my teeth and suck it into my mouth. The salty taste of his skin is intoxicating. I want more, so I move my mouth to the center of his chest and lick him with the full width of my tongue.

"Oh ... yeah," he groans. "I love it when you lick me, Frankie."

I love it, too, but now I have another idea. Drawing his hand out of my pants, I raise it to my mouth and suck each of his fingers for a few seconds. When the last one is done, I take Gerard by surprise and trade places with him, pushing him face-first against the wall so I can press myself against his back. This seems to really work for him. He turns his head and presses his right cheek and both hands to the smooth paint, simultaneously thrusting his hips back to accommodate me. I lean forward, sliding my hands up under his shirt, caressing his back, then wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly while I press myself against his denim-clad ass.

"Yes," he whispers, closing his eyes. And when I start to rock my hips, riding him, he moans, "Oh ... yes. God, yes."

While I slowly undo his belt, I feel him tremble with anticipation. I unfasten the button at his waist, then pinch the tab of his zipper—he holds his breath—and I slowly pull it down.

"Touch me," he pleads, and I oblige, reaching inside his jeans to touch his dick through the silky material that covers it, and I briefly wonder what kind of underwear he has on. Then, deciding I don't really care right now, I find my way inside those, too. Gerard sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation of my fingertips and moans again, this time without actual words.

I stroke him while I continue to hump his ass. His breath comes in short, shallow bursts with groans of pleasure in between. I'm breathing hard and fast, too, watching his face and enjoying the sounds he makes.

He starts to get louder and grinds his ass against me, then slows to a halt and breathes, "Wait." He stays my hand. "Frankie, stop a second."

I don't want to stop, but I obey. He stands up and reaches back to put his hand on the back of my head, turning his face toward me to lick the corner of my mouth. I stick out my own tongue and let him lick that, too, then grab a handful of his hair and pull his head back, exposing his neck. I kiss him, lick him, bite him.

Somehow, he manages to get my hand out of his pants and turn around in one move, without letting go of my hair. He plants his free hand in the center of my chest and pushes me backwards until I run into the side of the huge bed and fall onto the mattress. I take him with me, but he lets go and slides down my body, kneeling between my legs at the side of the bed. He doesn't waste any time now; he just grabs my pants and peels them off of me, taking my underwear at the same time. Casting them aside, he pounces on me and takes my dick in his mouth. "Oh my god," I gasp, sliding both hands into his wet black hair. "Oh my god, Gee, that feels so fucking good." Gerard hums a reply, looking up at me as he grasps the base of my cock again. He holds it upright and slowly descends on me, sucking gently as his lips slide over my skin. I watch, fascinated, as my dick disappears into his mouth. When he reaches the bottom, I see a gleam in his eyes just before he closes them, and he suddenly sucks hard. My eyes roll back so far, I feel like I must be looking at my brain, but all I can see are flashes of light that might be fireworks. Am I holding my breath? All I can feel is the hot, wet, pressure of Gerard's mouth—that mouth I love so much. I hear moaning, but it takes several minutes before I recognize that the sound is coming from me. I don't even care how loud I am. This is the most incredible sensation I've ever felt. Besides—fuck it—we're in a hotel. If the neighbors don't want to hear me, they can check out. (If they like it, on the other hand, good for them. They're welcome to listen.) When I realize it's starting to feel too good, I lift my shoulders a little and move one hand to his face. "Gee," I whisper. "You gotta stop." "Hm-mm," he argues, looking up at me like I'm trying to take his last cookie. I'm getting dangerously close to losing it, and I'm not ready yet. "Baby, stop," I plead, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Please." He whines but obeys, releasing me with a final flick of his tongue. I sit up and tug at his shirt, and he rises to meet me, grabbing handfuls of my hair as he kisses me. I get hold of his hips and pull them toward me, then push on his chest until he stands up. I'm still breathing hard when I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his belly. He moans softly and presses his pelvis forward, massaging my hair with his fingertips. As I move down toward his open jeans, he says quietly, "Frankie." "What?" "You called me baby." Caught off-guard, I look up at him. "What?" He touches my cheek. "You called me baby." "Did I?" I wonder if I should be apologizing. "You did," he assures me, then grins. "And I liked it." I return his smile and kiss his hand, then hug his hips and run my tongue sideways across his lower belly. Gerard moans again and urges me lower. When I don't immediately oblige, he gets more insistent, pushing my head toward his crotch. "Get my fucking pants off," he says quietly, "and suck me." His commanding tone does something unexpected to me, and I find myself wanting to do whatever he tells me. I quickly obey, dragging his tight black jeans down from his hips to his ankles, and he steps out of them. Now that I can see his underwear, I'm surprised again. Red silk bikinis. I look up again and give him a questioning smile, raising my eyebrows. Gerard is unfazed. "You like my panties, don't you, Frankie?" Actually, I do, and I nod agreement. "Nice," I tell him. "You been wearing these all night?" "Of course," he says. "You think I'd go to the trouble of changing my underwear and then put my sweaty clothes back on?"