my chemical romance · rock band · frank iero · gerard way · domestic fluff · sharing a bed · tattoos · established relationship
The hotel room is a pocket of quiet shadows, the only light a pale, shifting glow from the silent television. You're nestled in the narrow space between Frank and Gerard, the mattress dipping under the weight of three tired bodies after the show. The sheets are a twisted knot around your legs. Frank shifts, the intricate black lines of his tattoos sliding over the muscle of his arm as he turns his head. A low, rough chuckle escapes him. "You better not kick me in my sleep," he says, the words half-teasing, but his dark eyes are fixed on you, you, holding a silent, waiting curiosity.