Fic: Just Like My Favorite Scenes (MCR, Frank/Bob, R)
I fail at completing challenges on time, but apparently I can amuse myself with Frank and Bob while watching Spawn 2 swing at the park. Small victories, yes? :D
Title: Just Like My Favorite Scenes
Fandom: Bandslash, MCR
Pairing: Frank/Bob
Length: 1700 words
Summary: He swore he could hear Bob's laugh echoing, soft and crazy, behind him.
As always, huge hugs to audrarose for helping! *loves*
Just Like My Favorite Scenes by Sori
Frank knew that the world was weird long before Bob flopped down on the couch in the lounge; he knew exactly how weird when the part of the couch that Bob flopped down on happened to currently be occupied by Frank's legs.
"Huh," Frank said, staring at Bob sitting on his lap.
"Problem?" Bob asked, blinking once and smiling innocently. His lip ring was almost blinding in the dim light.
"Maybe?" Frank said unsure. It was a big question considering.
Bob just grinned evilly.
()
During their interview with K-whY Radio (and for sure they'd had a fucking time with that one on the bus ride), Bob sat behind him. That wasn't so uncommon really because Bob liked sitting behind and to the side and basically out of picture range (which, seriously, Frank still didn't necessarily get, whatever), but the fingers that started playing softly with the hair at the nape of his neck, well, those were definitely uncommon. And distracting. And when two fingers slipped down underneath the collar of his shirt, hot and slick and burning against his skin, it was definitely way the hell more than uncommon.
Frank could feel the chills roll down the entire length of his body.
"Frank?" The interviewer asked, leaning forward anxiously. "Are you okay?" She asked with a gleam in her eye, like it was even possible, in a million years, that he was going to say anything but, "fine, fine," to her question even though he had fucking goose bumps covering his body. Frank was fairly sure she was waiting for an answer that involved him and Gerard's fingers and the magical things that could happen between two boys and their tongues.
He swore he could hear Bob's laugh echoing, soft and crazy, behind him.
()
Bob sat down beside him on the couch and handed him a piece of paper. "I think this should be your next one," he said earnestly.
"Okay," Frank said, opening up the paper and looking down. The paper had a picture of a big zombie head, intricate and detailed with huge bulging eyes, its head split wide open and brains gushing out, filling up the space on the paper. "What is it?"
Bob coughed into his hand and looked up, wide eyed and, no fucking way, weepy looking. He said, "I was thinking it could be your next tattoo."
And, seriously, Frank had nothing, no idea at all, because, yeah, this was so obviously a joke, Bob was not that good of an actor, and Frank was like absolutely sure the weepy look was from suppressed laughter, but still; that was just wrong because everyone knew that Frank was pretty much programmed to respond to an even slightly upset looking Bob.
"My next tattoo," he said, not even bothering to make it a question.
Bob nodded eagerly, pointing down at the paper, his lips curved up at the corners. "Yeah, fucking awesome, isn't it?" Frank could totally tell he was having to beat back the laughter.
His fingers were tracing little circles around the brains falling out of the zombie head; brains that had little hearts floating in the brain matter, bobbing happily next to the chunky bits that Frank didn't want to look at too closely. The little hearts had the letters FI and BB captured inside, all glittery and flowery like.
Frank could see Gerard in every line of the drawing.
The big, fucking traitor.
"Awesome?" Frank asked because, well, okay. He was sort of scared that the sentiment was almost true.
()
That night he crawled into the bunk with Gerard.
"Okay, for real, I think the world is about to end."
Gerard grunted, and Frank had to duck and roll quickly to avoid the elbow flying at his face.
"Gerard," Frank said, desperate, images of zombie brains with little floating brain-matter hearts dancing in his head. "Gerard. GerardGerardGerard-."
"Fucking, what?" And this time, when Gerard jerked his whole body, Frank couldn't get out of the way of the knee heading straight for him.
"Oh, you asshole," he gasped, climbing out of the bunk and limping back to his own, his hand protectively covering his nuts.
Frank was pretty sure Gerard wouldn't have been much help anyway.
()
After the show in Louisiana, Bob brought him a huge cup of coffee in his bunk. "Okay, what the fuck, Bryar?"
Bob just grinned back at him, lip ring bobbing around happily, but Frank could still totally see the gleam of what was probably world domination in his eyes.
Evil. Pure evil.
Frank sniffed carefully at the coffee cup before taking the first sip. "Just remember, you'll miss me if you kill me dead," Frank said.
Bob rolled his eyes and headed back toward the front of the bus.
()
So after their next show, Frank tackled Bob and sat on his head.
"Bob Bryar, you're like a true evil overlord and I want to know what the fuck you're planning." Bob shoved him off, not even trying to keep Frank's ass from being slammed down onto the tragically hard cement floor.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Iero," Bob said, completely deadpan.
But Bob only thought he was cunning; Frank could see right through his evilness.
"You are such a liar." Frank climbed up off the floor and stomped closer toward Bob. "And ouch. That fucking hurt," he said, rubbing at his ass carefully. He could already feel the bruise forming.
Bob helpfully patted his ass for him. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" He asked politely.
()
Then, as fate would have it, Bob got a cold. Not like a pneumonia type cold or anything, more like cold with snot and a headache and a lot of grumpiness and grouchiness that could apparently only be cured by Bob lying with his head in Frank's lap.
Frank knew it was this kind of cold because when he said, "Bob?" Bob just grunted at him, settled his head more comfortably in Frank's lap and picked up Frank's hand, winding their fingers tightly together. "My head aches," he said pitifully.
"I know," Frank said softly, not able to stop his other hand from rubbing softly through Bob's hair, scratching at his scalp.
Bob's hair was thick and greasy and it even felt sick, like Bob's sickness had infected his hair and made it all droopy. Frank felt more than a little bad for him.
"Go to sleep," he whispered, sitting quietly still, enjoying the weight of Bob's head on his legs and the warmth of his body that was spreading out and around and into everything nearby.
And, okay, Frank wasn't really that stupid. Four hours later, he was still sitting on the couch, twitchy and uncomfortable, and realizing that maybe, possibly, he had a not-so-small problem named Bob Bryar.
No doubt, the fucking world was going to come tumbling down around him.
()
"So, I think I sort of have a Bob Bryar problem," Frank said as he climbed into Gerard's bunk.
Gerard pulled out one of his ear buds and looked at Frank, eyebrow raised. "Really, and you're just figuring this out? How dumb are you?"
That was really unfair. "So not dumb. It's not like I could help it."
"And?"
"And," Frank said, flopping down onto the bunk beside Gerard and stealing his pillow. "Fix it."
"Right," Gerard said, stealing his pillow back. He waved his hand randomly across Frank's body. "Poof. Fixed."
"Asshole," Frank said, because, seriously. Frank poked him hard in the stomach. "Why do we keep you around again?"
"Because I drive the kids wild." Gerard nodded his head wisely. "And I'm awesome."
Frank flipped him off and climbed back out of the bunk.
()
"We should have sex." Frank said, and that made perfect sense to him. They could have sex and Bob would be so overwhelmed that he'd spill his secret plans and Frank could finally get some fucking sleep at night instead of waiting for the next sneak Bryar attack.
"Yeah - not. I'm not that kind of girl, Iero."
"You sat on my lap. You brought me coffee. You so are that kind of girl. Besides, I'm irresistible." And, okay, Frank knows that's not really true but still; he has it on good authority that he's irresistible at least some of the time.
Occasionally.
Bob snorted, picked up the People magazine that was face down on the beat-up table in the lounge, and went back to ignoring Frank.
"You don't even like People."
Bob just grinned into his magazine.
()
And then Bob gave him a t-shirt that said, Property of a Drummer. Frank stripped off his old shirt and put on his new one and went to kick Bob's ass.
"You know, you're demeaning my status as a rock god," Frank said after he found Bob sitting near the back tire of the bus, smoking a cigarette. "Seriously, you're going to send me into an identity crisis and then I'll never be able to have sex again and you will die a lonely, horrible death caused by blue balls."
"You know, somehow I'm not all that worried," Bob said, putting out his cigarette on the asphalt and tossing away the butt.
Frank blinked and said, "huh," and then leaned over, climbed into Bob's lap and licked into his mouth, all tongue and hands and lips, the gravel on the asphalt biting into his knees, the pain sharp and perfect and sort of just exactly like Bob.
Bob wrapped his hands around Frank's hips and pulled him in, closer and closer until the space between them was gone and it was just them, and the night, the smell of bus engines and exhaust, and the sounds of thousands of people three hundred feet away leaving the concert. Frank pulled back and grinned.
"You were so messing with me," he said. "Come on, admit it. You were wooing me with zombie heads and ass gropes."
Bob tugged Frank's head closer and whispered lewdly in his ear, "The world will never know." And then he kissed him, hard and rough, and Frank figured he didn't really give a fuck, not really.
After all, he was pretty sure that sex with an evil genius was going to be awesome.
Title: Just Like My Favorite Scenes
Fandom: Bandslash, MCR
Pairing: Frank/Bob
Length: 1700 words
Summary: He swore he could hear Bob's laugh echoing, soft and crazy, behind him.
As always, huge hugs to audrarose for helping! *loves*
Just Like My Favorite Scenes by Sori
Frank knew that the world was weird long before Bob flopped down on the couch in the lounge; he knew exactly how weird when the part of the couch that Bob flopped down on happened to currently be occupied by Frank's legs.
"Huh," Frank said, staring at Bob sitting on his lap.
"Problem?" Bob asked, blinking once and smiling innocently. His lip ring was almost blinding in the dim light.
"Maybe?" Frank said unsure. It was a big question considering.
Bob just grinned evilly.
()
During their interview with K-whY Radio (and for sure they'd had a fucking time with that one on the bus ride), Bob sat behind him. That wasn't so uncommon really because Bob liked sitting behind and to the side and basically out of picture range (which, seriously, Frank still didn't necessarily get, whatever), but the fingers that started playing softly with the hair at the nape of his neck, well, those were definitely uncommon. And distracting. And when two fingers slipped down underneath the collar of his shirt, hot and slick and burning against his skin, it was definitely way the hell more than uncommon.
Frank could feel the chills roll down the entire length of his body.
"Frank?" The interviewer asked, leaning forward anxiously. "Are you okay?" She asked with a gleam in her eye, like it was even possible, in a million years, that he was going to say anything but, "fine, fine," to her question even though he had fucking goose bumps covering his body. Frank was fairly sure she was waiting for an answer that involved him and Gerard's fingers and the magical things that could happen between two boys and their tongues.
He swore he could hear Bob's laugh echoing, soft and crazy, behind him.
()
Bob sat down beside him on the couch and handed him a piece of paper. "I think this should be your next one," he said earnestly.
"Okay," Frank said, opening up the paper and looking down. The paper had a picture of a big zombie head, intricate and detailed with huge bulging eyes, its head split wide open and brains gushing out, filling up the space on the paper. "What is it?"
Bob coughed into his hand and looked up, wide eyed and, no fucking way, weepy looking. He said, "I was thinking it could be your next tattoo."
And, seriously, Frank had nothing, no idea at all, because, yeah, this was so obviously a joke, Bob was not that good of an actor, and Frank was like absolutely sure the weepy look was from suppressed laughter, but still; that was just wrong because everyone knew that Frank was pretty much programmed to respond to an even slightly upset looking Bob.
"My next tattoo," he said, not even bothering to make it a question.
Bob nodded eagerly, pointing down at the paper, his lips curved up at the corners. "Yeah, fucking awesome, isn't it?" Frank could totally tell he was having to beat back the laughter.
His fingers were tracing little circles around the brains falling out of the zombie head; brains that had little hearts floating in the brain matter, bobbing happily next to the chunky bits that Frank didn't want to look at too closely. The little hearts had the letters FI and BB captured inside, all glittery and flowery like.
Frank could see Gerard in every line of the drawing.
The big, fucking traitor.
"Awesome?" Frank asked because, well, okay. He was sort of scared that the sentiment was almost true.
()
That night he crawled into the bunk with Gerard.
"Okay, for real, I think the world is about to end."
Gerard grunted, and Frank had to duck and roll quickly to avoid the elbow flying at his face.
"Gerard," Frank said, desperate, images of zombie brains with little floating brain-matter hearts dancing in his head. "Gerard. GerardGerardGerard-."
"Fucking, what?" And this time, when Gerard jerked his whole body, Frank couldn't get out of the way of the knee heading straight for him.
"Oh, you asshole," he gasped, climbing out of the bunk and limping back to his own, his hand protectively covering his nuts.
Frank was pretty sure Gerard wouldn't have been much help anyway.
()
After the show in Louisiana, Bob brought him a huge cup of coffee in his bunk. "Okay, what the fuck, Bryar?"
Bob just grinned back at him, lip ring bobbing around happily, but Frank could still totally see the gleam of what was probably world domination in his eyes.
Evil. Pure evil.
Frank sniffed carefully at the coffee cup before taking the first sip. "Just remember, you'll miss me if you kill me dead," Frank said.
Bob rolled his eyes and headed back toward the front of the bus.
()
So after their next show, Frank tackled Bob and sat on his head.
"Bob Bryar, you're like a true evil overlord and I want to know what the fuck you're planning." Bob shoved him off, not even trying to keep Frank's ass from being slammed down onto the tragically hard cement floor.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Iero," Bob said, completely deadpan.
But Bob only thought he was cunning; Frank could see right through his evilness.
"You are such a liar." Frank climbed up off the floor and stomped closer toward Bob. "And ouch. That fucking hurt," he said, rubbing at his ass carefully. He could already feel the bruise forming.
Bob helpfully patted his ass for him. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" He asked politely.
()
Then, as fate would have it, Bob got a cold. Not like a pneumonia type cold or anything, more like cold with snot and a headache and a lot of grumpiness and grouchiness that could apparently only be cured by Bob lying with his head in Frank's lap.
Frank knew it was this kind of cold because when he said, "Bob?" Bob just grunted at him, settled his head more comfortably in Frank's lap and picked up Frank's hand, winding their fingers tightly together. "My head aches," he said pitifully.
"I know," Frank said softly, not able to stop his other hand from rubbing softly through Bob's hair, scratching at his scalp.
Bob's hair was thick and greasy and it even felt sick, like Bob's sickness had infected his hair and made it all droopy. Frank felt more than a little bad for him.
"Go to sleep," he whispered, sitting quietly still, enjoying the weight of Bob's head on his legs and the warmth of his body that was spreading out and around and into everything nearby.
And, okay, Frank wasn't really that stupid. Four hours later, he was still sitting on the couch, twitchy and uncomfortable, and realizing that maybe, possibly, he had a not-so-small problem named Bob Bryar.
No doubt, the fucking world was going to come tumbling down around him.
()
"So, I think I sort of have a Bob Bryar problem," Frank said as he climbed into Gerard's bunk.
Gerard pulled out one of his ear buds and looked at Frank, eyebrow raised. "Really, and you're just figuring this out? How dumb are you?"
That was really unfair. "So not dumb. It's not like I could help it."
"And?"
"And," Frank said, flopping down onto the bunk beside Gerard and stealing his pillow. "Fix it."
"Right," Gerard said, stealing his pillow back. He waved his hand randomly across Frank's body. "Poof. Fixed."
"Asshole," Frank said, because, seriously. Frank poked him hard in the stomach. "Why do we keep you around again?"
"Because I drive the kids wild." Gerard nodded his head wisely. "And I'm awesome."
Frank flipped him off and climbed back out of the bunk.
()
"We should have sex." Frank said, and that made perfect sense to him. They could have sex and Bob would be so overwhelmed that he'd spill his secret plans and Frank could finally get some fucking sleep at night instead of waiting for the next sneak Bryar attack.
"Yeah - not. I'm not that kind of girl, Iero."
"You sat on my lap. You brought me coffee. You so are that kind of girl. Besides, I'm irresistible." And, okay, Frank knows that's not really true but still; he has it on good authority that he's irresistible at least some of the time.
Occasionally.
Bob snorted, picked up the People magazine that was face down on the beat-up table in the lounge, and went back to ignoring Frank.
"You don't even like People."
Bob just grinned into his magazine.
()
And then Bob gave him a t-shirt that said, Property of a Drummer. Frank stripped off his old shirt and put on his new one and went to kick Bob's ass.
"You know, you're demeaning my status as a rock god," Frank said after he found Bob sitting near the back tire of the bus, smoking a cigarette. "Seriously, you're going to send me into an identity crisis and then I'll never be able to have sex again and you will die a lonely, horrible death caused by blue balls."
"You know, somehow I'm not all that worried," Bob said, putting out his cigarette on the asphalt and tossing away the butt.
Frank blinked and said, "huh," and then leaned over, climbed into Bob's lap and licked into his mouth, all tongue and hands and lips, the gravel on the asphalt biting into his knees, the pain sharp and perfect and sort of just exactly like Bob.
Bob wrapped his hands around Frank's hips and pulled him in, closer and closer until the space between them was gone and it was just them, and the night, the smell of bus engines and exhaust, and the sounds of thousands of people three hundred feet away leaving the concert. Frank pulled back and grinned.
"You were so messing with me," he said. "Come on, admit it. You were wooing me with zombie heads and ass gropes."
Bob tugged Frank's head closer and whispered lewdly in his ear, "The world will never know." And then he kissed him, hard and rough, and Frank figured he didn't really give a fuck, not really.
After all, he was pretty sure that sex with an evil genius was going to be awesome.