Slayer'verse: Between a Wild Time and a Flat Line (Bob/Frank) 2/2
Part 1
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“Zompires? What?” AJ says as everyone settles back in around the study. The group from Cortez is the last group to get back to the house, and between the dirt stains and the ripped clothing, though thankfully no blood, it is obvious that they had had their own little interaction with the baddies of the hour. “No, seriously. What the fuck?”
Bob’s second phone call after he’d gotten a hold of Howie, who had already been aware of the creatures and who hadn’t needed the extra urging to get the fuck out of dodge, was back to Gerard. Bob had only had to mention the name of the creature before Gerard had started going off in his typically excited Gerard way. It had taken Mikey grabbing the phone away from his brother before Bob could actually explain what had happened.
Thankfully, Mikeyway had not taken after his brother in the world’s most excitable category, and he’d done what Bob and Brian had asked from him. When they’d gotten back to the house, the Alexes and Brendon had been organizing all of the projectile weaponry in the living room and loading them into various duffle bags for easier transport. In the study, Mikey and Jamia had been listing every legend, myth, or prophesy that had ever mentioned the creatures on one whiteboard, while Ryan and Spencer were going through every spell they could think of that worked well against both vampires and zombies, and Gerard had been adding his own two cents to both conversations - Gerard Way was a man who knew an unbelievable amount about a good deal of the supernatural world - while trying to find the journal entries dealing with the zompires in Bob’s journals.
Now Bob is flipping through his first journal, trying to locate the entries with the zompires because Gerard hadn’t been able to find it. Bob doesn’t really know why - his handwriting is not nearly as bad as Gerard’s own.
“Yes, zompires. Vampire-zombie hybrids,” Bob says. He finds the section he’s looking for and he puts the journal on the table between Ray and Spencer. Spencer drags it closer to himself before Ray can touch it, and Ryan is reading over his shoulder. “Like vamps, they’re fast and strong, and they get their mindless, absolute need to kill from the zombies. They’re also about three times harder to kill than either parent group.”
“Then how do we kill them?” Big Wormy asks. He’s leaning against the wall nearest the door, resting his hands on his massive, two-handed battle axe in front of him. Bob isn’t letting himself drool over the thing. If only because it’s the size of Frank.
“Beheading and stakes both work,” Bob says. He’s gone back around the table to lean back against one of the desks that Frank is sitting on. Frank immediately drapes an arm over the shoulder closest to him.
“But not holy water or any other religious affiliation,” Frank says. “We spent a night locked up tight in an reinforced crypt with a pack of those things acting like a really bad, really loud, really atonal chorus. Sunrise was the only thing that saved us.”
“Help finally arrive?” one of the Alexes asks. Bob honestly isn’t even trying to tell any of them apart.
Frank snorts. “No, the sun turned them to dust.”
“It was all very squishy,” Bob says with a shrug. Frank pokes him in the side of the neck, but Bob doesn’t rise to the bait.
Spencer, who doesn’t look up from his reading, raises his arm in the air and snaps his fingers. Brendon pops up next him about a second later.
“You snapped?” he asks in a bad Lurch imitation. He even tries raising his eyebrow in the same manner. Bob’s pretty sure the kid shouldn’t give up hunting for a career in acting.
“I need Brian’s 4th century necromancer’s spell book,” Spencer says. Brendon immediately turns and starts going through the shelves. Bob wishes him luck as it’s probably going to take six years before the right book is found; especially since Brian and Gerard are going through the shelves on their side of the room, too.
“Right, because that narrows it down,” Frank says. He’s now running his fingers through the hair at the back of Bob’s neck. Bob does his best not to let his shivers show. Given the grin Bob can hear in Frank’s voice, Bob’s sure he isn’t all that successful.
“It’s a black leather book with black gold bindings and a red skull on the cover,” Spencer clarifies absently. He’s flipped back a couple of pages and is running his fingers down the page as he reads.
“You want Neste’s Necromance and Black Artes?” Gerard asks. He points out a bookshelf to Brendon, two cases to the left and four shelves lower the one he had been looking on. “You think these things were created by a spell?”
“Who the fuck would think up vampire-zombie hybrids?” Big Worm asks.
“Something like that, maybe,” Spencer says. He pushes the journal over to Ray and stands up, going over to the white board with the symbols on it. He picks up the original sheet that Brian had shown Bob and starts reading through it again.
“You have a plan already?” Ryan asks. Bob would say he sounds skeptical, but Bob knows Ryan Ross and his relationship a little better than that. Awesome Brother Syndrome: Ryan has it. “‘Neste’s’ isn’t something I want to be dabbling with if we don’t one hundred percent need to.”
“Here it is, Spence,” Brendon says triumphantly. “What are we looking for?”
“Oh!” Ray exclaims suddenly. He motions for Brendon to hand him the book. “Here, let me see that.” Brendon blinks but hands the book over to Ray, who flips it open to the middle and starts moving forward through the pages at a rapid pace, muttering to himself. After a moment he grabs a hold of Ryan and drags him into the muttering.
“There’s going to be spell work tonight,” Frank whispers in Bob’s ear. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“I’m sure you can, Frankie,” Bob says dryly. “Guess it’s a good thing we have actual spell casting people here, huh?”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want you to lose another pair of pants, now would we?” Frank giggles. Bob just rolls his eyes and resists the urge to shove him off of the desk. They might need Frank able to fight later on. Besides, Vicky-T had taught Bob a spell to keep his clothing relatively intact through just about everything. Except red wine and grape juice.
The room falls silent as Spencer, Ryan, and Ray work. After about ten minutes Jamia stands up and offers to grab some drinks and food. The Alexes and Big Worm follow her out of the room. Bob just leans back against Frank and closes his eyes. He doesn’t mind having some down time while someone else figures out how to solve the problem for once. He just wants to be told where and when to wield his axe.
Jamia and the boys are just coming back into the room when Spencer, Ryan, and Ray start talking over one another. Bob can’t really make heads or tails out what they’re saying, but the fact that they’re all gesturing wildly and half-shouting sentences with “the library!” thrown in, has Bob on his feet to go.
“I take it that we’re going to need to pack all this up to go?” Jamia asks. She’s put the tray of sandwiches she had been carrying down on one of the side tables just inside of the door and is leaning against the door frame with all of the Alexes and Big Worm still behind her in the hall.
Brian stands up and walks around the table to the door. “Sounds like it. I’ll go get the coolers so we can do that. Toro! Smith! Ross!”
“What?” they all say together. Spencer is practically bouncing in place, Ray’s hair is defying massive amounts of gravity in his excitement, and they both have massive grins on their faces. Ryan has a smirk on his face, which Bob knows is as close as he’s likely to get to outward excitement.
“How long are we going to be gone?” Brian asks. He’s totally snapped into manager mode. Bob’s glad that someone has. That means, should they end up stuck in the library for a few days, Bob won’t have to resort to killing and eating one of the Alexes. Mikey seems partial to them.
“The night,” Spencer says. Then he frowns and looks down at the paper he’d been waving around.
“Yeah, not more than that anyway,” Ray says. He holds the book up so Spencer can see it and he points at a specific passage. “See?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer says. “I get it. But are we going to be able to carry all of the ingredients with us? I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember my local library carrying an arsenal of spell ingredients and shit.”
“Or candles,” Ryan says. “Or spellgrade chalk in ‘deepest, darkest, soulless black’.”
“You’ve obviously never lived on a Hellmouth,” Ray says. He points to a duffle bag under one of the side tables. “Candles and an assortment of spellgrade chalk, ready to go.”
“Right then, we’ll just go take care of the food then,” Brian says loudly, like he knows that neither Ray, Ryan, or Spencer are listening to him.
“Sounds like we’re going to need the Joe Troh Spell Kit,” Frank says. “Toro, you still have Schechter’s old Joe Troh first aid kit?” Bob twists his head away from Frank’s with a grimace. The guy never remembers to lower his voice.
Ray looks up from the text again. “What? Oh, yeah! We do! I think Brian’s been keeping it stocked up, too. There we go, Smith, spell ingredients, check.”
Gerard stands up from the table even as he shares an eye roll with his brother. “Then I guess the rest of us will go load up the cars for this little road trip. Are you three going to remember all of the books and shit we’re going to need? Or do you need a babysitter?”
“We’ll be fine. Besides, it isn’t like Brendon is going to leave us,” Ryan says. Brendon smiles at Gerard and gives him a thumbs up.
“Mikey and I will oversee, Gee,” Alicia says. She stands up and pats Brendon on the head when he pouts at her.
“All right then!” Gerard says. He claps his hands together and bounces on his heels. “That leaves the rest of us to pack for the apocalypse!” He starts shepparding everyone out of the door.
Frank giggles from where he and Bob still haven’t moved. “I guess it’s a good thing that we haven’t unpacked yet.”
Bob snorts but he can’t say he disagrees. Loading and unloading all of their various paraphernalia always makes his back ache.
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It takes them a total of three hours to get to the library and to set up for the spell in the main atrium. They haven’t seen a living soul other than their group since they left the house and Bob only finds that mildly creepy. He thinks he might actually be getting used to all of this shit.
“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Ray finally says. He and Ryan are standing in the middle of three consecutive circles of thick drawn chalk. Those three circles are interwoven with four different triangle patterns made with candles laid down on thinly drawn chalk lines, and with two intersecting star patterns marked with yet more chalk and small bags of mixed herbs. He looks around at the work and nods. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is it.”
“What about the…” Spencer says, holding up the Neste’s text and pointing at something Bob can’t see.
“Right, right,” Ray says with a nod. He looks around himself and sighs. “Shit. Okay. How about we…”
“That isn’t going to work, Ray,” Ryan says. “Wrong time of the year.”
Bob tunes them out again. He really doesn’t care about the specifics of the spell; he just wants it to work. Bob turns around and walks back towards the front doors, where Frank and Brian are keeping watch down Main Street for any unfriendly visitors.
Everyone else is scattered throughout the building, double checking locked doors and windows, and reinforcing everything as best they can. The disappearance of the townspeople is creeping everyone else out, but Bob only finds it mildly creepy. Even Kilky and the dreams had just been fucking annoying after all was said and done. Though if the townspeople were going to disappear, it would have been nice if some of them had let them in on the news..
Getting into the library hadn’t been all that hard either. Gerard had had a key to the main doors, and from the look of surprise and worry on Ray’s and Mikey’s faces and the exasperated annoyance on Brian’s, Bob knows there’s a story there that he really doesn’t want to know about either.
The library itself is a three story, old brick building built somewhere around the forties and fifties. There’s a basement with three separate sewer exits, one of which, according to Gerard, had been blocked off with cider blocks and cement back in the late sixties during one of the first remodels of the interior building. Bob isn’t a fan of basements to begin with, and he’s glad that Big Worm and the Cortez guys had handled all of that. Just taking care of the main floor with Brian and Frank in the dark had been bad enough for Bob.
(It is entirely possible that Bob had seen Ghostbusters far too many times in his youth.)
Their fallback plan, should the spell not work, is to wait out the zompires inside of the building for as long as they need to. Brian, once again channeling his old manager ways, had packed them up with enough supplies to survive until Pete, Patrick, Joe, and Andy could get to them, should that need to happen. Bob, for one, is really fucking hoping it doesn’t. And not just because he doesn’t want to be stuck in a small building with a bunch of blood thirsty hybrid demons trying to get inside to either suck his blood or eat his brains - Bob still isn’t sure exactly which it is, or if it’s actually both - but he’s already done it once.
It’s that Wentz would be unbearable if he actually came out for the rescue. And Bob’s pretty sure that the zompires would give Matt indigestion.
“They almost ready?” Brian asks quietly when Bob walks up.
Bob shrugs as he takes his spot just behind Frank, leaning against the wall and letting his hand fall to Frank’s hip. Frank looks up quick to smile at him before he goes back to staring down the street. “They should be, but they’re still arguing about details. How are we here?”
“Not a sign of anything, which is creepier than I remember,” Brian admits. He turns away from his window so he can wave his cell phone at Bob. “Everyone has checked in. This is the only way in or out of the building - Worm even blocked off the sewer exits. I’m not sure how and I’m not going to ask, but he did it. We’re good for the long run.”
Bob nods. “Good. Then I guess it’s time to kick that husband of yours into gear.”
“He’s not my husband,” Brian says, but he doesn’t really rise to the bait. It’s an old argument.
“Hey, demon marriage contracts are still binding, Cupcake,” Bob says. “It ain’t my fault none of you read the fine print first.”
Brian rolls his eyes. “I’m going to go see how things are going in there. Keep an eye out, yeah?”
Bob and Frank both nod, and Brian snorts as he walks away. Bob goes to shift over to Brian’s vantage point, but Frank leans back into him before he can properly move. “Yes, Frank?”
“Stay a minute, Bob. Not like we won’t hear them coming,” Frank says. His voice is quiet, and Bob can see his smile in the window reflection.
Bob has to admit that he’s right, so he stays where he is. It’s been awhile since they’ve had a break - probably since Bob’s actual birthday - so it isn’t like they’ve really had a lot of time to just stay with each other. Most of the time, they’re moving from one thing to the next, and if they aren’t traveling, they’re falling into bed (or wherever it is that they’re sleeping) exhausted. Not a lot of down time to be had, honestly.
It’s nice being able to stay with Frank like this. So much of their lives is hectic and crazy, a quiet moment or two is awesome. If they weren’t in charge of keeping an eye out for blood thirsty, brain hungry monsters, Bob would be inclined to show Frank just how awesome it is.
Still, Bob leans down and presses his lips to the side of Frank’s neck. Frank makes a soft sound and leans more heavily against Bob, bringing one hand up to place it over the one Bob has on his hip. It wouldn’t do to not take some sort of advantage of this moment.
They stay like that until Brian comes back down the hallway. Brian rolls his eyes when he sees them, but Bob can see the smile he’s trying to fight down, too.
“If you two don’t mind, Ray and the Wonder Trio are ready to let us know what’s going on,” Brian says.
“Okay,” Frank says. “But who are we leaving at the door?”
“We’re going to batten the hatches, Iero,” Brian says. “And Worm is going to stand guard at the atrium entrance. He’ll hear if anything tries breaking in.”
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In the end, all everyone needs to do is stand in a circle around the design on the floor. There are four compass points outside of that circle, with Worm being the North point at the room’s entrance, Bob as the South point, and Alicia and Jamia as the East and West points respectively.
Ray and Ryan both simultaneously read out two different incantations, in two different demonic languages, while the rest of them have to chant another incantation in a third demonic language, and then it is all over with a loud bang and a puff of obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke.
Bob is thoroughly unimpressed. Especially since he seems to be the only one covered in the obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke residue. If he ever runs into the assholes who thought it would be a good idea to try and start a fucking zompire army to bring about some obscure apocalyptic prophecy from the 4th century , he’s going to make them sit through this damn spell, and then he’s going to shove the obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke residue down their fucking throats.
Not that he believes any of the idiots who started this shit are actually still alive. Bob’s pretty sure that zompires are the types of pets that bite the hands that feed them. And the heads, arms, legs, torsos…
“You have abysmal luck, Bryar,” Brian tells him. From a distance of about eight feet. “At least it wasn’t slime?”
Bob glares at him as he gingerly takes off his hoodie and tries to shake some of the residue off of it. “I hate you, Schechter. And you are providing me with top shelf just as soon as the damn liquor store opens up again.”
“You are such a baby.” Brian rolls his eyes. “And you still don’t deserve top shelf.”
“Hate,” Bob says again. The residue isn’t coming off, and Bob hates his life. This was his second favorite hoodie. Maybe Ray will be able to get the gunk off of it.
“I’ll make it up to you, Bryar,” Brian says. “We’re sending out groups to double check the area while some of us stay here to clean up. Frank can take you back to the house to get cleaned up.”
Bob doesn’t like it, but he knows he isn’t going to be any use out on patrol smelling like he is; he’d probably attract shit they weren’t looking for on top of the ones they were. “Fine. But we’re taking your old room. I am not sleeping on the damn floor again. Or the basement. Or the van.”
“Whatever, Bryar,” Brian says as he walks away again. “I’m sure you’d survive.”
Frank saddles up to Bob with a wicked grin. “So, I’m taking you back to the house to get clean? Does that mean fun and sexy shower times? Saving water, yadda yadda yadda.”
“Does anyone actually believe that saves water?” Bob asks. He folds his hoodie up and motions Frank towards the door. The sooner he gets back to the house, the sooner he can get clean.
And he might just fuck Frank in the shower. It is his birthday party after all.
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Bob doesn’t have the chance to fuck Frank in the shower. It turns out the smoke residue does not react well to either water or soap, so Bob has to send Frank off to find Gerard’s paint thinner, his nail polish remover, and finally the bottle of GooGone from the van before Bob is actually clean again. Bob’s just happy the shit had only turned jelly-like and hadn’t hardened into something Frank would have had to chisel off. Bob’s even willing to deal with his skin being tinted a slight lime-green color.
Especially if it means Frank, in his infinite wisdom, trying to lick the tint from Bob’s skin.
“You do realize that that isn’t going to work, right?” Bob gasps out as Frank’s tongue takes a slow turn in a southernly direction. Bob’s hands are buried in the sheets, and the most he can see is the outer edge of whatever Brian had repainted over on the ceiling. Bob can’t really tell. And Brian is the last person Bob wants to be thinking of right now.
“Oh, I know,” Frank says. He’s grinning up at Bob from the relative vicinity of Bob’s navel when Bob looks down. When Frank sees that Bob is actually looking down at him, he wiggles his eyebrows at him. “But isn’t this more fun than paint thinner and GooGone?”
For a horrifying moment, all Bob can picture is what would have happened to Frank had he tried to lick the smoke residue off of Bob’s body. It is not a pleasant image. Bob throws an arm over his eyes and tries very, very hard to think of anything that would remove that image from his mind’s eye. “Frank, I hate you.”
Frank buries his face in Bob’s stomach as his laughs hard enough to shake the entire bed. “I can’t believe you actually pictured that! What the fuck, Bob?” He giggles when he comes up for air.
“I hate you,” Bob repeats. That really was a disgusting mental image. “You suck so fucking much, Iero.”
Frank clambers onto his hands and knees and crawls up Bob’s body. He straddles Bob’s hips, and tugs Bob’s arm off of his face. “You lie, Bryar. Except about the sucking. I do do that,” he says. He wiggles his eyebrows at Bob again. “I could be doing that right now, if you’d stop thinking of disgusting things that put you off our appetite.”
Bob rolls his eyes. “Using the royal we now, Frank? What makes you think you’re so important?”
Frank makes a show out of thinking about Bob’s question. He sits back on his heels, scrunches his eyes, and even taps his finger against his chin as he pretends to think. Mostly it makes Bob want to roll his eyes and shove Frank off of him, except for how Bob is oddly fond of the little fucker, and sometimes Frank actually manages to be cute and adorable.
How, exactly, Frank manages that while straddling Bob naked after he’s just trailed his tongue down the upper half of Bob’s body is a mystery for the ages. A mystery Bob doesn’t give one iota about solving.
As Frank continues his act, Bob reaches up, grabs Frank’s hips, and in a single, smooth motion, flips them over. Frank squeaks when his back hits the bed, but Bob kisses him before he can say something else to distract them from Bob’s purpose. Namely, fucking Frank through the mattress.
Frank’s squeak turns into a moan as he settles under Bob. Frank’s hands come up to grip Bob’s shoulders, and his legs lock around Bob’s back as easily as they would have on the practice mat. Bob pulls away from Frank’s lips to drag his teeth along Frank’s jaw to his ear, and then down his throat to where his neck meets his shoulder. Bob bites down there, eyes falling shut to the sound of Frank’s ragged moans.
“Jesus fuck, Bob,” Frank gasps out. “Did you want something, or are you just having fun?”
Bob sucks at the skin between his teeth for a moment, before letting go so he can sooth the sting with his tongue. He loves the way Frank always shivers when he does that; the way Frank’s fingers dig in along Bob’s shoulders. “I’m thinking, Frank. Are you not having fun?”
“Sure, totally not.” Frank snorts and bucks his hips up against Bob’s, his hard cock dragging along Bob’s thigh until it slips and slides along Bob’s own cock. They both moan at that, and Bob can’t help but to thrust down against Frank. Bob’s hands slide from Frank’s hips to his ass, and he squeezes hard as he pulls Frank tighter against him.
Frank’s head falls back against the bed as he gasps, “Fuck, Bob. Like that.”
Bob grinds against Frank’s cock for a minute as he returns his lips, and teeth, to Frank’s throat. Bob is very happy that they’re still the only ones in the house. Frank has a tendency towards very, very loud when they’re in bed, and Bob’s sure that, at the very least, the Alexes aren’t old enough to be listening to what Frank’s bound to shout.
“Okay, Bob,” Frank says after a minute, voice strained. He moves one hand from Bob’s shoulder to his hair, and he pulls Bob’s head up so they can look at each other. Bob loves how Frank looks like this - wide eyes all dark pupil, flushed skin, and red, red lips - and he takes a moment to look at him.
“Bob, seriously, pay attention,” Frank says. He gives Bob’s hair a sharp tug. Bob pinches his ass in retaliation, and Frank giggles at him. “No, really, Bob. Pay attention.”
Bob rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that was what I was doing, Frankie.”
“To what I’m saying, Bob, not my, admittedly awesome, body,” Frank says.
Bob doesn’t roll his eyes again, but it’s more difficult than it should really be. “I’m listening, Frank. What’s the problem?” He even stops moving, though that’s more to keep himself from ending this early than it is for Frank’s benefit.
Of course, the way Frank whines is a plus.
“You suck,” Frank says.
“Uh-huh,” Bob says. “What’d you want?”
Frank huffs out a breath. “I was trying to tell you that you should probably grab the condom if you wanted any actually fucking to be done tonight.”
“What, you trying to tell me I’ve got you all hot and bothered?”
Frank lets out a tiny growl as he smacks Bob in the shoulder, both of which have the adverse reaction of making Bob laugh. “Fuck you, Bob.”
“Nah, maybe next time,” Bob says. He leans down and kisses Frank again as he reaches for the lube and condoms they’d left up by the pillows. Frank, being Frank, does what he can to distract Bob from his task.
Still, Bob isn’t one to deviate from his set course without a damn good reason - apocalypses, raiding hordes of demons from one of the lower hell dimensions, his mom’s chocolate chip cookies - so despite Frank’s wandering hands and teeth, Bob doesn’t let them distract him from the task at hand. Despite his cursing to the contrary.
The only time Frank is ever really quiet is that moment when Bob pushes inside him. Frank doesn’t even shut up when he’s sleeping, not that that really bothers Bob. Quiet doesn’t really mean much when a constant stream of sleepy mumbles tells you that the person next to you is still alive and, mostly, whole.
But when Bob presses inside, Frank’s entire body goes still and quiet. All Bob can feel is the tight heat around his cock and Frank’s eyes, more intent than Bob has ever seen him outside of these moments, watching Bob. Bob bottoms out and holds still, feeling Frank grip and squeeze as he adjusts, and runs his hands up and down Frank’s sides, careful to keep his touch firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough not to distract Frank from what’s really going on.
“Bob,” Frank says after a minute. He’s still watching Bob, but now his hips are twitching against Bob’s and his hands are finger tipping their way up Bob’s shoulders. “Come here.” His hands bury themselves in Bob’s hair as Frank drags Bob down to kiss him.
That changes the angle, and Bob can’t stop himself from pulling out and thrusting back in. Frank moans into Bob’s mouth, his hips working with Bob’s, but he doesn’t let Bob leave the kiss.
“Stay,” Frank whispers when Bob moves to find a better angle for thrusting. Frank’s legs tighten around Bob’s waist, and one hand leaves Bob’s hair to trail up and down Bob’s neck, just like they had in the study earlier. This time Bob doesn’t stop the shivers from showing.
All right then, if Frank wants it slow and sweet, then Bob isn’t going to complain. He just shifts so that he’s on his elbows above Frank, both of his hands sinking into Frank’s hair, holding him in place for another kiss. He keeps the rhythm set to the soft sounds Frank utters every time his cock rubs between their bellies.
It doesn’t take long before Bob’s hips start to move a little more insistently, dropping him off of their rhythm so Bob can push harder into Frank, faster. That first hard thrust has Frank arching into Bob and cursing him. “Fuck, yes, yes. Right there, fucker.”
Bob nudges Frank’s head to the side so he can bite down the length of Frank’s throat, each bite a counterpoint to his thrusts. “Frankie.”
They manage another minute, maybe, before Frank is arching and shouting as he comes. The hand still in Bob’s hair gives a hard yank, causing Bob to groan and shove harder into Frank. Bob damn near sees stars when he comes, between the hair pulling and the way Frank clamps down around him like a vice grip.
Bob doesn’t know how long they lie there, tangling and slowly gluing themselves together, before the first set of cars pull into the driveway. Bob has his head resting on Frank’s shoulder, and Frank is idly tracing patterns onto Bob’s upper back.
“I suppose that means we should move,” Frank says with a sigh. He leans down and presses his lips to Bob’s hair.
“Well, we could just stay like this until morning,” Bob says. He squeezes Frank’s side gently. “Of course, then we’d have to explain to Gerard and Brian just why we need Ray to brew us up an anti-glue potion.”
Frank snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. And just for kicks, we can have Jamia, Alicia, and Mikey providing the peanut gallery commentary.” He pushes at Bob’s shoulder until Bob grumbles and rolls off of Frank. Bob is very much glad he’d already taken care of the condom.
Outside car doors are slamming, and Bob can hear Brian arguing with Spencer about some obscure prophecy. Bob knows that Brian will be poking his head into the room in about ten minutes to make sure that both of them are still alive and well.
“You can go get the washcloths,” Bob says. He pokes Frank in the shin with his foot. “It’s still my birthday.”
Frank snorts but he rolls out of the bed anyway. “Your birthday was four months ago, Bryar. Today was your party.”
“Birthday, party, whatever,” Bob says. He stretches himself out along the bed, enjoying the, maybe, two minutes he’ll have the bed to himself. “I’ve earned the right to be lazy.”
“I suppose that means you’ll want cake for breakfast,” Frank says. Then he curses as he runs into something on his way to the door in the dark.
“It is my cake,” Bob says. Not that he actually would considering the most Bob can stomach before lunch is coffee and toast. He rolls onto his side and doesn’t stop his eyes from falling shut.
“Lazy bastard,” Frank mutters as he opens the bedroom door. There’s a pause, probably Frank checking to see if the coast is clear, then the door shuts again.
Not the worst birthday party he’s ever had, Bob thinks to himself as he slowly drifts off to the sound of Brian and Ray shouting at Frank to put some fucking clothes on. At least he didn’t have to deal with piñatas or fucking clowns. On a scale of one to ten, clowns still rank higher than zompires.
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“Zompires? What?” AJ says as everyone settles back in around the study. The group from Cortez is the last group to get back to the house, and between the dirt stains and the ripped clothing, though thankfully no blood, it is obvious that they had had their own little interaction with the baddies of the hour. “No, seriously. What the fuck?”
Bob’s second phone call after he’d gotten a hold of Howie, who had already been aware of the creatures and who hadn’t needed the extra urging to get the fuck out of dodge, was back to Gerard. Bob had only had to mention the name of the creature before Gerard had started going off in his typically excited Gerard way. It had taken Mikey grabbing the phone away from his brother before Bob could actually explain what had happened.
Thankfully, Mikeyway had not taken after his brother in the world’s most excitable category, and he’d done what Bob and Brian had asked from him. When they’d gotten back to the house, the Alexes and Brendon had been organizing all of the projectile weaponry in the living room and loading them into various duffle bags for easier transport. In the study, Mikey and Jamia had been listing every legend, myth, or prophesy that had ever mentioned the creatures on one whiteboard, while Ryan and Spencer were going through every spell they could think of that worked well against both vampires and zombies, and Gerard had been adding his own two cents to both conversations - Gerard Way was a man who knew an unbelievable amount about a good deal of the supernatural world - while trying to find the journal entries dealing with the zompires in Bob’s journals.
Now Bob is flipping through his first journal, trying to locate the entries with the zompires because Gerard hadn’t been able to find it. Bob doesn’t really know why - his handwriting is not nearly as bad as Gerard’s own.
“Yes, zompires. Vampire-zombie hybrids,” Bob says. He finds the section he’s looking for and he puts the journal on the table between Ray and Spencer. Spencer drags it closer to himself before Ray can touch it, and Ryan is reading over his shoulder. “Like vamps, they’re fast and strong, and they get their mindless, absolute need to kill from the zombies. They’re also about three times harder to kill than either parent group.”
“Then how do we kill them?” Big Wormy asks. He’s leaning against the wall nearest the door, resting his hands on his massive, two-handed battle axe in front of him. Bob isn’t letting himself drool over the thing. If only because it’s the size of Frank.
“Beheading and stakes both work,” Bob says. He’s gone back around the table to lean back against one of the desks that Frank is sitting on. Frank immediately drapes an arm over the shoulder closest to him.
“But not holy water or any other religious affiliation,” Frank says. “We spent a night locked up tight in an reinforced crypt with a pack of those things acting like a really bad, really loud, really atonal chorus. Sunrise was the only thing that saved us.”
“Help finally arrive?” one of the Alexes asks. Bob honestly isn’t even trying to tell any of them apart.
Frank snorts. “No, the sun turned them to dust.”
“It was all very squishy,” Bob says with a shrug. Frank pokes him in the side of the neck, but Bob doesn’t rise to the bait.
Spencer, who doesn’t look up from his reading, raises his arm in the air and snaps his fingers. Brendon pops up next him about a second later.
“You snapped?” he asks in a bad Lurch imitation. He even tries raising his eyebrow in the same manner. Bob’s pretty sure the kid shouldn’t give up hunting for a career in acting.
“I need Brian’s 4th century necromancer’s spell book,” Spencer says. Brendon immediately turns and starts going through the shelves. Bob wishes him luck as it’s probably going to take six years before the right book is found; especially since Brian and Gerard are going through the shelves on their side of the room, too.
“Right, because that narrows it down,” Frank says. He’s now running his fingers through the hair at the back of Bob’s neck. Bob does his best not to let his shivers show. Given the grin Bob can hear in Frank’s voice, Bob’s sure he isn’t all that successful.
“It’s a black leather book with black gold bindings and a red skull on the cover,” Spencer clarifies absently. He’s flipped back a couple of pages and is running his fingers down the page as he reads.
“You want Neste’s Necromance and Black Artes?” Gerard asks. He points out a bookshelf to Brendon, two cases to the left and four shelves lower the one he had been looking on. “You think these things were created by a spell?”
“Who the fuck would think up vampire-zombie hybrids?” Big Worm asks.
“Something like that, maybe,” Spencer says. He pushes the journal over to Ray and stands up, going over to the white board with the symbols on it. He picks up the original sheet that Brian had shown Bob and starts reading through it again.
“You have a plan already?” Ryan asks. Bob would say he sounds skeptical, but Bob knows Ryan Ross and his relationship a little better than that. Awesome Brother Syndrome: Ryan has it. “‘Neste’s’ isn’t something I want to be dabbling with if we don’t one hundred percent need to.”
“Here it is, Spence,” Brendon says triumphantly. “What are we looking for?”
“Oh!” Ray exclaims suddenly. He motions for Brendon to hand him the book. “Here, let me see that.” Brendon blinks but hands the book over to Ray, who flips it open to the middle and starts moving forward through the pages at a rapid pace, muttering to himself. After a moment he grabs a hold of Ryan and drags him into the muttering.
“There’s going to be spell work tonight,” Frank whispers in Bob’s ear. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“I’m sure you can, Frankie,” Bob says dryly. “Guess it’s a good thing we have actual spell casting people here, huh?”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want you to lose another pair of pants, now would we?” Frank giggles. Bob just rolls his eyes and resists the urge to shove him off of the desk. They might need Frank able to fight later on. Besides, Vicky-T had taught Bob a spell to keep his clothing relatively intact through just about everything. Except red wine and grape juice.
The room falls silent as Spencer, Ryan, and Ray work. After about ten minutes Jamia stands up and offers to grab some drinks and food. The Alexes and Big Worm follow her out of the room. Bob just leans back against Frank and closes his eyes. He doesn’t mind having some down time while someone else figures out how to solve the problem for once. He just wants to be told where and when to wield his axe.
Jamia and the boys are just coming back into the room when Spencer, Ryan, and Ray start talking over one another. Bob can’t really make heads or tails out what they’re saying, but the fact that they’re all gesturing wildly and half-shouting sentences with “the library!” thrown in, has Bob on his feet to go.
“I take it that we’re going to need to pack all this up to go?” Jamia asks. She’s put the tray of sandwiches she had been carrying down on one of the side tables just inside of the door and is leaning against the door frame with all of the Alexes and Big Worm still behind her in the hall.
Brian stands up and walks around the table to the door. “Sounds like it. I’ll go get the coolers so we can do that. Toro! Smith! Ross!”
“What?” they all say together. Spencer is practically bouncing in place, Ray’s hair is defying massive amounts of gravity in his excitement, and they both have massive grins on their faces. Ryan has a smirk on his face, which Bob knows is as close as he’s likely to get to outward excitement.
“How long are we going to be gone?” Brian asks. He’s totally snapped into manager mode. Bob’s glad that someone has. That means, should they end up stuck in the library for a few days, Bob won’t have to resort to killing and eating one of the Alexes. Mikey seems partial to them.
“The night,” Spencer says. Then he frowns and looks down at the paper he’d been waving around.
“Yeah, not more than that anyway,” Ray says. He holds the book up so Spencer can see it and he points at a specific passage. “See?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer says. “I get it. But are we going to be able to carry all of the ingredients with us? I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember my local library carrying an arsenal of spell ingredients and shit.”
“Or candles,” Ryan says. “Or spellgrade chalk in ‘deepest, darkest, soulless black’.”
“You’ve obviously never lived on a Hellmouth,” Ray says. He points to a duffle bag under one of the side tables. “Candles and an assortment of spellgrade chalk, ready to go.”
“Right then, we’ll just go take care of the food then,” Brian says loudly, like he knows that neither Ray, Ryan, or Spencer are listening to him.
“Sounds like we’re going to need the Joe Troh Spell Kit,” Frank says. “Toro, you still have Schechter’s old Joe Troh first aid kit?” Bob twists his head away from Frank’s with a grimace. The guy never remembers to lower his voice.
Ray looks up from the text again. “What? Oh, yeah! We do! I think Brian’s been keeping it stocked up, too. There we go, Smith, spell ingredients, check.”
Gerard stands up from the table even as he shares an eye roll with his brother. “Then I guess the rest of us will go load up the cars for this little road trip. Are you three going to remember all of the books and shit we’re going to need? Or do you need a babysitter?”
“We’ll be fine. Besides, it isn’t like Brendon is going to leave us,” Ryan says. Brendon smiles at Gerard and gives him a thumbs up.
“Mikey and I will oversee, Gee,” Alicia says. She stands up and pats Brendon on the head when he pouts at her.
“All right then!” Gerard says. He claps his hands together and bounces on his heels. “That leaves the rest of us to pack for the apocalypse!” He starts shepparding everyone out of the door.
Frank giggles from where he and Bob still haven’t moved. “I guess it’s a good thing that we haven’t unpacked yet.”
Bob snorts but he can’t say he disagrees. Loading and unloading all of their various paraphernalia always makes his back ache.
|-|
It takes them a total of three hours to get to the library and to set up for the spell in the main atrium. They haven’t seen a living soul other than their group since they left the house and Bob only finds that mildly creepy. He thinks he might actually be getting used to all of this shit.
“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Ray finally says. He and Ryan are standing in the middle of three consecutive circles of thick drawn chalk. Those three circles are interwoven with four different triangle patterns made with candles laid down on thinly drawn chalk lines, and with two intersecting star patterns marked with yet more chalk and small bags of mixed herbs. He looks around at the work and nods. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is it.”
“What about the…” Spencer says, holding up the Neste’s text and pointing at something Bob can’t see.
“Right, right,” Ray says with a nod. He looks around himself and sighs. “Shit. Okay. How about we…”
“That isn’t going to work, Ray,” Ryan says. “Wrong time of the year.”
Bob tunes them out again. He really doesn’t care about the specifics of the spell; he just wants it to work. Bob turns around and walks back towards the front doors, where Frank and Brian are keeping watch down Main Street for any unfriendly visitors.
Everyone else is scattered throughout the building, double checking locked doors and windows, and reinforcing everything as best they can. The disappearance of the townspeople is creeping everyone else out, but Bob only finds it mildly creepy. Even Kilky and the dreams had just been fucking annoying after all was said and done. Though if the townspeople were going to disappear, it would have been nice if some of them had let them in on the news..
Getting into the library hadn’t been all that hard either. Gerard had had a key to the main doors, and from the look of surprise and worry on Ray’s and Mikey’s faces and the exasperated annoyance on Brian’s, Bob knows there’s a story there that he really doesn’t want to know about either.
The library itself is a three story, old brick building built somewhere around the forties and fifties. There’s a basement with three separate sewer exits, one of which, according to Gerard, had been blocked off with cider blocks and cement back in the late sixties during one of the first remodels of the interior building. Bob isn’t a fan of basements to begin with, and he’s glad that Big Worm and the Cortez guys had handled all of that. Just taking care of the main floor with Brian and Frank in the dark had been bad enough for Bob.
(It is entirely possible that Bob had seen Ghostbusters far too many times in his youth.)
Their fallback plan, should the spell not work, is to wait out the zompires inside of the building for as long as they need to. Brian, once again channeling his old manager ways, had packed them up with enough supplies to survive until Pete, Patrick, Joe, and Andy could get to them, should that need to happen. Bob, for one, is really fucking hoping it doesn’t. And not just because he doesn’t want to be stuck in a small building with a bunch of blood thirsty hybrid demons trying to get inside to either suck his blood or eat his brains - Bob still isn’t sure exactly which it is, or if it’s actually both - but he’s already done it once.
It’s that Wentz would be unbearable if he actually came out for the rescue. And Bob’s pretty sure that the zompires would give Matt indigestion.
“They almost ready?” Brian asks quietly when Bob walks up.
Bob shrugs as he takes his spot just behind Frank, leaning against the wall and letting his hand fall to Frank’s hip. Frank looks up quick to smile at him before he goes back to staring down the street. “They should be, but they’re still arguing about details. How are we here?”
“Not a sign of anything, which is creepier than I remember,” Brian admits. He turns away from his window so he can wave his cell phone at Bob. “Everyone has checked in. This is the only way in or out of the building - Worm even blocked off the sewer exits. I’m not sure how and I’m not going to ask, but he did it. We’re good for the long run.”
Bob nods. “Good. Then I guess it’s time to kick that husband of yours into gear.”
“He’s not my husband,” Brian says, but he doesn’t really rise to the bait. It’s an old argument.
“Hey, demon marriage contracts are still binding, Cupcake,” Bob says. “It ain’t my fault none of you read the fine print first.”
Brian rolls his eyes. “I’m going to go see how things are going in there. Keep an eye out, yeah?”
Bob and Frank both nod, and Brian snorts as he walks away. Bob goes to shift over to Brian’s vantage point, but Frank leans back into him before he can properly move. “Yes, Frank?”
“Stay a minute, Bob. Not like we won’t hear them coming,” Frank says. His voice is quiet, and Bob can see his smile in the window reflection.
Bob has to admit that he’s right, so he stays where he is. It’s been awhile since they’ve had a break - probably since Bob’s actual birthday - so it isn’t like they’ve really had a lot of time to just stay with each other. Most of the time, they’re moving from one thing to the next, and if they aren’t traveling, they’re falling into bed (or wherever it is that they’re sleeping) exhausted. Not a lot of down time to be had, honestly.
It’s nice being able to stay with Frank like this. So much of their lives is hectic and crazy, a quiet moment or two is awesome. If they weren’t in charge of keeping an eye out for blood thirsty, brain hungry monsters, Bob would be inclined to show Frank just how awesome it is.
Still, Bob leans down and presses his lips to the side of Frank’s neck. Frank makes a soft sound and leans more heavily against Bob, bringing one hand up to place it over the one Bob has on his hip. It wouldn’t do to not take some sort of advantage of this moment.
They stay like that until Brian comes back down the hallway. Brian rolls his eyes when he sees them, but Bob can see the smile he’s trying to fight down, too.
“If you two don’t mind, Ray and the Wonder Trio are ready to let us know what’s going on,” Brian says.
“Okay,” Frank says. “But who are we leaving at the door?”
“We’re going to batten the hatches, Iero,” Brian says. “And Worm is going to stand guard at the atrium entrance. He’ll hear if anything tries breaking in.”
|-|
In the end, all everyone needs to do is stand in a circle around the design on the floor. There are four compass points outside of that circle, with Worm being the North point at the room’s entrance, Bob as the South point, and Alicia and Jamia as the East and West points respectively.
Ray and Ryan both simultaneously read out two different incantations, in two different demonic languages, while the rest of them have to chant another incantation in a third demonic language, and then it is all over with a loud bang and a puff of obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke.
Bob is thoroughly unimpressed. Especially since he seems to be the only one covered in the obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke residue. If he ever runs into the assholes who thought it would be a good idea to try and start a fucking zompire army to bring about some obscure apocalyptic prophecy from the 4th century , he’s going to make them sit through this damn spell, and then he’s going to shove the obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke residue down their fucking throats.
Not that he believes any of the idiots who started this shit are actually still alive. Bob’s pretty sure that zompires are the types of pets that bite the hands that feed them. And the heads, arms, legs, torsos…
“You have abysmal luck, Bryar,” Brian tells him. From a distance of about eight feet. “At least it wasn’t slime?”
Bob glares at him as he gingerly takes off his hoodie and tries to shake some of the residue off of it. “I hate you, Schechter. And you are providing me with top shelf just as soon as the damn liquor store opens up again.”
“You are such a baby.” Brian rolls his eyes. “And you still don’t deserve top shelf.”
“Hate,” Bob says again. The residue isn’t coming off, and Bob hates his life. This was his second favorite hoodie. Maybe Ray will be able to get the gunk off of it.
“I’ll make it up to you, Bryar,” Brian says. “We’re sending out groups to double check the area while some of us stay here to clean up. Frank can take you back to the house to get cleaned up.”
Bob doesn’t like it, but he knows he isn’t going to be any use out on patrol smelling like he is; he’d probably attract shit they weren’t looking for on top of the ones they were. “Fine. But we’re taking your old room. I am not sleeping on the damn floor again. Or the basement. Or the van.”
“Whatever, Bryar,” Brian says as he walks away again. “I’m sure you’d survive.”
Frank saddles up to Bob with a wicked grin. “So, I’m taking you back to the house to get clean? Does that mean fun and sexy shower times? Saving water, yadda yadda yadda.”
“Does anyone actually believe that saves water?” Bob asks. He folds his hoodie up and motions Frank towards the door. The sooner he gets back to the house, the sooner he can get clean.
And he might just fuck Frank in the shower. It is his birthday party after all.
|-|
Bob doesn’t have the chance to fuck Frank in the shower. It turns out the smoke residue does not react well to either water or soap, so Bob has to send Frank off to find Gerard’s paint thinner, his nail polish remover, and finally the bottle of GooGone from the van before Bob is actually clean again. Bob’s just happy the shit had only turned jelly-like and hadn’t hardened into something Frank would have had to chisel off. Bob’s even willing to deal with his skin being tinted a slight lime-green color.
Especially if it means Frank, in his infinite wisdom, trying to lick the tint from Bob’s skin.
“You do realize that that isn’t going to work, right?” Bob gasps out as Frank’s tongue takes a slow turn in a southernly direction. Bob’s hands are buried in the sheets, and the most he can see is the outer edge of whatever Brian had repainted over on the ceiling. Bob can’t really tell. And Brian is the last person Bob wants to be thinking of right now.
“Oh, I know,” Frank says. He’s grinning up at Bob from the relative vicinity of Bob’s navel when Bob looks down. When Frank sees that Bob is actually looking down at him, he wiggles his eyebrows at him. “But isn’t this more fun than paint thinner and GooGone?”
For a horrifying moment, all Bob can picture is what would have happened to Frank had he tried to lick the smoke residue off of Bob’s body. It is not a pleasant image. Bob throws an arm over his eyes and tries very, very hard to think of anything that would remove that image from his mind’s eye. “Frank, I hate you.”
Frank buries his face in Bob’s stomach as his laughs hard enough to shake the entire bed. “I can’t believe you actually pictured that! What the fuck, Bob?” He giggles when he comes up for air.
“I hate you,” Bob repeats. That really was a disgusting mental image. “You suck so fucking much, Iero.”
Frank clambers onto his hands and knees and crawls up Bob’s body. He straddles Bob’s hips, and tugs Bob’s arm off of his face. “You lie, Bryar. Except about the sucking. I do do that,” he says. He wiggles his eyebrows at Bob again. “I could be doing that right now, if you’d stop thinking of disgusting things that put you off our appetite.”
Bob rolls his eyes. “Using the royal we now, Frank? What makes you think you’re so important?”
Frank makes a show out of thinking about Bob’s question. He sits back on his heels, scrunches his eyes, and even taps his finger against his chin as he pretends to think. Mostly it makes Bob want to roll his eyes and shove Frank off of him, except for how Bob is oddly fond of the little fucker, and sometimes Frank actually manages to be cute and adorable.
How, exactly, Frank manages that while straddling Bob naked after he’s just trailed his tongue down the upper half of Bob’s body is a mystery for the ages. A mystery Bob doesn’t give one iota about solving.
As Frank continues his act, Bob reaches up, grabs Frank’s hips, and in a single, smooth motion, flips them over. Frank squeaks when his back hits the bed, but Bob kisses him before he can say something else to distract them from Bob’s purpose. Namely, fucking Frank through the mattress.
Frank’s squeak turns into a moan as he settles under Bob. Frank’s hands come up to grip Bob’s shoulders, and his legs lock around Bob’s back as easily as they would have on the practice mat. Bob pulls away from Frank’s lips to drag his teeth along Frank’s jaw to his ear, and then down his throat to where his neck meets his shoulder. Bob bites down there, eyes falling shut to the sound of Frank’s ragged moans.
“Jesus fuck, Bob,” Frank gasps out. “Did you want something, or are you just having fun?”
Bob sucks at the skin between his teeth for a moment, before letting go so he can sooth the sting with his tongue. He loves the way Frank always shivers when he does that; the way Frank’s fingers dig in along Bob’s shoulders. “I’m thinking, Frank. Are you not having fun?”
“Sure, totally not.” Frank snorts and bucks his hips up against Bob’s, his hard cock dragging along Bob’s thigh until it slips and slides along Bob’s own cock. They both moan at that, and Bob can’t help but to thrust down against Frank. Bob’s hands slide from Frank’s hips to his ass, and he squeezes hard as he pulls Frank tighter against him.
Frank’s head falls back against the bed as he gasps, “Fuck, Bob. Like that.”
Bob grinds against Frank’s cock for a minute as he returns his lips, and teeth, to Frank’s throat. Bob is very happy that they’re still the only ones in the house. Frank has a tendency towards very, very loud when they’re in bed, and Bob’s sure that, at the very least, the Alexes aren’t old enough to be listening to what Frank’s bound to shout.
“Okay, Bob,” Frank says after a minute, voice strained. He moves one hand from Bob’s shoulder to his hair, and he pulls Bob’s head up so they can look at each other. Bob loves how Frank looks like this - wide eyes all dark pupil, flushed skin, and red, red lips - and he takes a moment to look at him.
“Bob, seriously, pay attention,” Frank says. He gives Bob’s hair a sharp tug. Bob pinches his ass in retaliation, and Frank giggles at him. “No, really, Bob. Pay attention.”
Bob rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that was what I was doing, Frankie.”
“To what I’m saying, Bob, not my, admittedly awesome, body,” Frank says.
Bob doesn’t roll his eyes again, but it’s more difficult than it should really be. “I’m listening, Frank. What’s the problem?” He even stops moving, though that’s more to keep himself from ending this early than it is for Frank’s benefit.
Of course, the way Frank whines is a plus.
“You suck,” Frank says.
“Uh-huh,” Bob says. “What’d you want?”
Frank huffs out a breath. “I was trying to tell you that you should probably grab the condom if you wanted any actually fucking to be done tonight.”
“What, you trying to tell me I’ve got you all hot and bothered?”
Frank lets out a tiny growl as he smacks Bob in the shoulder, both of which have the adverse reaction of making Bob laugh. “Fuck you, Bob.”
“Nah, maybe next time,” Bob says. He leans down and kisses Frank again as he reaches for the lube and condoms they’d left up by the pillows. Frank, being Frank, does what he can to distract Bob from his task.
Still, Bob isn’t one to deviate from his set course without a damn good reason - apocalypses, raiding hordes of demons from one of the lower hell dimensions, his mom’s chocolate chip cookies - so despite Frank’s wandering hands and teeth, Bob doesn’t let them distract him from the task at hand. Despite his cursing to the contrary.
The only time Frank is ever really quiet is that moment when Bob pushes inside him. Frank doesn’t even shut up when he’s sleeping, not that that really bothers Bob. Quiet doesn’t really mean much when a constant stream of sleepy mumbles tells you that the person next to you is still alive and, mostly, whole.
But when Bob presses inside, Frank’s entire body goes still and quiet. All Bob can feel is the tight heat around his cock and Frank’s eyes, more intent than Bob has ever seen him outside of these moments, watching Bob. Bob bottoms out and holds still, feeling Frank grip and squeeze as he adjusts, and runs his hands up and down Frank’s sides, careful to keep his touch firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough not to distract Frank from what’s really going on.
“Bob,” Frank says after a minute. He’s still watching Bob, but now his hips are twitching against Bob’s and his hands are finger tipping their way up Bob’s shoulders. “Come here.” His hands bury themselves in Bob’s hair as Frank drags Bob down to kiss him.
That changes the angle, and Bob can’t stop himself from pulling out and thrusting back in. Frank moans into Bob’s mouth, his hips working with Bob’s, but he doesn’t let Bob leave the kiss.
“Stay,” Frank whispers when Bob moves to find a better angle for thrusting. Frank’s legs tighten around Bob’s waist, and one hand leaves Bob’s hair to trail up and down Bob’s neck, just like they had in the study earlier. This time Bob doesn’t stop the shivers from showing.
All right then, if Frank wants it slow and sweet, then Bob isn’t going to complain. He just shifts so that he’s on his elbows above Frank, both of his hands sinking into Frank’s hair, holding him in place for another kiss. He keeps the rhythm set to the soft sounds Frank utters every time his cock rubs between their bellies.
It doesn’t take long before Bob’s hips start to move a little more insistently, dropping him off of their rhythm so Bob can push harder into Frank, faster. That first hard thrust has Frank arching into Bob and cursing him. “Fuck, yes, yes. Right there, fucker.”
Bob nudges Frank’s head to the side so he can bite down the length of Frank’s throat, each bite a counterpoint to his thrusts. “Frankie.”
They manage another minute, maybe, before Frank is arching and shouting as he comes. The hand still in Bob’s hair gives a hard yank, causing Bob to groan and shove harder into Frank. Bob damn near sees stars when he comes, between the hair pulling and the way Frank clamps down around him like a vice grip.
Bob doesn’t know how long they lie there, tangling and slowly gluing themselves together, before the first set of cars pull into the driveway. Bob has his head resting on Frank’s shoulder, and Frank is idly tracing patterns onto Bob’s upper back.
“I suppose that means we should move,” Frank says with a sigh. He leans down and presses his lips to Bob’s hair.
“Well, we could just stay like this until morning,” Bob says. He squeezes Frank’s side gently. “Of course, then we’d have to explain to Gerard and Brian just why we need Ray to brew us up an anti-glue potion.”
Frank snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. And just for kicks, we can have Jamia, Alicia, and Mikey providing the peanut gallery commentary.” He pushes at Bob’s shoulder until Bob grumbles and rolls off of Frank. Bob is very much glad he’d already taken care of the condom.
Outside car doors are slamming, and Bob can hear Brian arguing with Spencer about some obscure prophecy. Bob knows that Brian will be poking his head into the room in about ten minutes to make sure that both of them are still alive and well.
“You can go get the washcloths,” Bob says. He pokes Frank in the shin with his foot. “It’s still my birthday.”
Frank snorts but he rolls out of the bed anyway. “Your birthday was four months ago, Bryar. Today was your party.”
“Birthday, party, whatever,” Bob says. He stretches himself out along the bed, enjoying the, maybe, two minutes he’ll have the bed to himself. “I’ve earned the right to be lazy.”
“I suppose that means you’ll want cake for breakfast,” Frank says. Then he curses as he runs into something on his way to the door in the dark.
“It is my cake,” Bob says. Not that he actually would considering the most Bob can stomach before lunch is coffee and toast. He rolls onto his side and doesn’t stop his eyes from falling shut.
“Lazy bastard,” Frank mutters as he opens the bedroom door. There’s a pause, probably Frank checking to see if the coast is clear, then the door shuts again.
Not the worst birthday party he’s ever had, Bob thinks to himself as he slowly drifts off to the sound of Brian and Ray shouting at Frank to put some fucking clothes on. At least he didn’t have to deal with piñatas or fucking clowns. On a scale of one to ten, clowns still rank higher than zompires.