passing out (bob/brian, for asknicer)
Bob/Brian
Ficlet
PG
written December 2006
For asknicer, as requested.
Bob can't breathe.
There seems to be something blocking his throat, trapping the air in his lungs, making his face burn. He doesn't want to panic, but he can't seem to stop the quickening of his heartbeat; every beat seems hard enough to make his ribcage shake.
Brian notices the look on his face and walks over to him, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Bob answers it with a shake of the head and tries to relax, to loosen the invisible vice that seems to have gripped his body, but his hands won't stop trembling, and the world is starting to look fuzzy around the edges. Brian's face becomes a blur as Bob is overcome by a wave of weakness, of frailty. He reaches out for the manager, but his eyes lose all remaining focus and the strength seems to ooze out of his limbs as he slumps to the floor.
Bob doesn't hear the frantic voices calling his name, the footsteps hurrying towards him, the cellphone being dialled. He doesn't feel the cool cloths and water bottles pressed to his face in an effort to revive him. He doesn't smell the bottle of aftershave wafted under his nose ("Hey, I thought it would help, okay?" Frank says indignantly when Mikey scoffs).
But he wakes to see the worried faces leaning over him, blurry but familiar. It takes his eyes a while to readjust, although he manages to recognise Ray by his hair and Frank by his height, Gerard by his voice -- "Fuck, I hope he's all right ... oh my God, wait, I think he's awake! Bob, Bob, are you okay?" -- and Mikey by the bright flash of tattoo ink on his inner forearm.
Bob doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Brian's arms are around him, that his head is resting against Brian's denim-clad thigh, the rough fabric mingling with the clean, slightly musky scent of the manager's skin. He feels Brian's strong fingers ruffling his hair as he's assaulted by his bandmates' voices, and the caress is the only thing that gives him the strength to smile.
And when Bob's eyes finally snap into focus, it's Brian that he sees; Brian with his quirky, mobile mouth twisted into a relieved smile, Brian with his dark, intense eyes shining.
"Don't scare me like that, asshole," he says thickly, and Bob can only reach for Brian's free hand and squeeze it.
Gerard, grinning like a Cheshire cat, rambles in his relief, and Frank interrupts whenever he stops to take a breath. Mikey laughs, shakes his head and contributes the odd sarcastic comment. Ray rolls his eyes at the others and pats Bob on the shoulder comfortingly, with a murmured "Y'okay, man?"
More than brothers, Bob thinks as he nods, weary but happy. He squeezes Brian's hand again, more strongly this time, and tries to push himself into a sitting position. The room seems to spin around him for a moment before he regains his equilibrium, and he swallows the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. He leans heavily against Brian, who props him up with deceptively strong arms. Safe arms.
"I love you guys," Bob whispers, but at that moment, he's only thinking of Brian; funny, smart, gorgeous Brian.
He finds it ironic -- and surprising -- when Brian's the first to respond.
"We love you too."
Ficlet
PG
written December 2006
For asknicer, as requested.
Bob can't breathe.
There seems to be something blocking his throat, trapping the air in his lungs, making his face burn. He doesn't want to panic, but he can't seem to stop the quickening of his heartbeat; every beat seems hard enough to make his ribcage shake.
Brian notices the look on his face and walks over to him, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Bob answers it with a shake of the head and tries to relax, to loosen the invisible vice that seems to have gripped his body, but his hands won't stop trembling, and the world is starting to look fuzzy around the edges. Brian's face becomes a blur as Bob is overcome by a wave of weakness, of frailty. He reaches out for the manager, but his eyes lose all remaining focus and the strength seems to ooze out of his limbs as he slumps to the floor.
Bob doesn't hear the frantic voices calling his name, the footsteps hurrying towards him, the cellphone being dialled. He doesn't feel the cool cloths and water bottles pressed to his face in an effort to revive him. He doesn't smell the bottle of aftershave wafted under his nose ("Hey, I thought it would help, okay?" Frank says indignantly when Mikey scoffs).
But he wakes to see the worried faces leaning over him, blurry but familiar. It takes his eyes a while to readjust, although he manages to recognise Ray by his hair and Frank by his height, Gerard by his voice -- "Fuck, I hope he's all right ... oh my God, wait, I think he's awake! Bob, Bob, are you okay?" -- and Mikey by the bright flash of tattoo ink on his inner forearm.
Bob doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Brian's arms are around him, that his head is resting against Brian's denim-clad thigh, the rough fabric mingling with the clean, slightly musky scent of the manager's skin. He feels Brian's strong fingers ruffling his hair as he's assaulted by his bandmates' voices, and the caress is the only thing that gives him the strength to smile.
And when Bob's eyes finally snap into focus, it's Brian that he sees; Brian with his quirky, mobile mouth twisted into a relieved smile, Brian with his dark, intense eyes shining.
"Don't scare me like that, asshole," he says thickly, and Bob can only reach for Brian's free hand and squeeze it.
Gerard, grinning like a Cheshire cat, rambles in his relief, and Frank interrupts whenever he stops to take a breath. Mikey laughs, shakes his head and contributes the odd sarcastic comment. Ray rolls his eyes at the others and pats Bob on the shoulder comfortingly, with a murmured "Y'okay, man?"
More than brothers, Bob thinks as he nods, weary but happy. He squeezes Brian's hand again, more strongly this time, and tries to push himself into a sitting position. The room seems to spin around him for a moment before he regains his equilibrium, and he swallows the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. He leans heavily against Brian, who props him up with deceptively strong arms. Safe arms.
"I love you guys," Bob whispers, but at that moment, he's only thinking of Brian; funny, smart, gorgeous Brian.
He finds it ironic -- and surprising -- when Brian's the first to respond.
"We love you too."