Our Italian Night In
Fandom: My Chemical Romance
Pairing: Bob/Frank
Prompts: Olive Oil and Foccacia Bread (eh...I love my friends...)
Title: ‘Our Italian Night In’
Authors Note: Since it's Valentine's Day I thought I would post something short and cute. My buddy and lover Lou (who doesn't have a livejournal...poo...) comissioned me to write her a fic with the prompts 'Foccacia Bread and Olive Oil' so, well, here it is. I love this pairing a lot now :)
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“Bob, it’s a Sunday, okay and it’s *Valentine’s Day*? The Lord gave us this day for rest and blueberry pancakes, so why am I on the phone to you at fuck-knows-what in the morning?”
“Okay firstly Gee, you don’t believe in God or anything that doesn’t have fangs or a cape, secondly if I know Lyn no one’s making any blueberry pancakes for you be it Valentine’s Day, Pancake Day or your freakin’ birthday so you’re going to help me.”
Gerard was silent in thought, and then let out a sigh of defeat because Bob was always right. Plus Gerard owed him big time for that one time at the zoo with the penguins and the marshmallows so he was bound to help out by unwritten contract.
“Okay, so what’s all this about food?” Gerard yawned.
“Okay, you’re Italian, right Gee?” Bob asked hopefully.
“Half but-”
“Good, great perfect! Okay, Frank is moving in today so I’m getting one of my buddies to drop him off here from the airport and I’m, making him dinner. So-”
“D’awww that’s so sweet!” Gerard cooed and Bob could hear Lyn laughing in the background with little Bandit gurgling along too. This is why Bob was dubious of women, they work in packs.
“Anyway...” Bob continued. “So I’m making him dinner but I don’t know what to make and I can’t ask him without it being suspicious. I bought lots of stuff with Italian names on it like this extra-virgin olive oil, pasta, more pasta, fock...foss...fosca...?”
“Foccacia Bread?”
“That’s the fucker! Yeah, what do I do?”
There was silence mixed with quiet murmuring on Gerard’s side of the phone between him and Lyn. Some of it sounded vaguely like ‘I don’t know! My mom...’ and ‘Foccacia? Really?’
“Am I seriously the only person who can’t say that word?” Bob demanded and Gerard laughed, trying to mask Lyn shouting ‘Yes! You suck! B thinks so too! We love you uncle Bob!’
“I love you too...I think,” Bob laughed. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I can’t help you dude,” Gerard admitted sadly. “Sorry.”
“What?! Why not?” Bob almost exploded with worry. “Don’t you guys cook?”
“Yeah, but Lyn’s too scared to cook Italian. Mom is kind of...nosy when it comes to her cooking.”
Bob was sure he heard ‘she sees *everything*, she’s like a ninja’ in the background.
“What about Mikey or your mom?” Bob pleaded.
“Mom and dad unplug the phone and kick everyone out of the house on Valentine’s Day.”
“Wow, um ew?”
“Don’t even question that shit.”
“And Mikey?”
“Fork-in-the-toaster Mikey?”
“Point taken.”
“Sorry again, dude.”
Bob started pacing across the kitchen worrying about what he was going to do and how in the hell he was going to be able to cook anything, let alone something Frank would like. He wanted this to be the best Valentine's Day either of them had ever had.
"I could try and fish for clues, if you want," Gerard offered. "But Frank's kinda..."
"Stupid?"
"I was going to say he thinks in a different way to everybody else, but faigh enough. But Italian is a good start, I mean Frank is always going on about how great his mom--Oh! I am a fucking genius Bob seriously, like I could *kill people* with this brain! Gotta go! Bye!"
Bob spluttered to say something, but was met with the sound of the dial tone.
"Well, that was odd."
***
"Bucatini...what? Um...anti-pasti? How the hell can you have fucking *anti-pasta*. That sound like a supervillain or some shit, I...ugh...this isn't going well..."
Bob was seriously considering fucking Chicago Town mini-pizzas when his phone rang again. He sighed and picked it up, assuming it would be an excited Frank and his heart would break a litle.
"Hello...?"
"Lasagne alla Bolognese," a familliar and female voice said on the other end of the phone.
"Gesundheit?"
She laughed and instantly Bob knew who it was because it was infectious.
"Mrs. Iero?" He tried and she laughed again.
"Of course it's me Bobby, caro! How have you been?" Mrs. Iero asked cheerfully.
"Fine thanks, kinda stressed at the moment," Bob sighed.
"Ai caro! You should wait until Frank moves in!" Mrs. Iero chuckled heartily at her words and Bob laughed a little bit along with her. Mrs. Iero was a fantastic woman and the *only* person allowed to call Bob 'Bobby'. Not even his mom could do that.
"Ah si, Lasagne alla Bolognese! Frankie's favourite food," Mrs. Iero continued. "Gerard mentioned you needed a hand so you cook and I'll tell you what to do, ah?"
Bob grinned and thanked Mrs. Iero almost a million times before they got started cooking.
***
Franks stumbled into the house with bags upon bags of his stuff with Bob's buddy Chris who was carrying a multitude of guitars and a couple of Frank's 10 amps - he liked variety. They had to make a copule of trips but with the help of Bob all Frank's stuff was strategically put somwhere - unpacking wouldn't be for years yet judging by Frank's general ADD and inability to sit still - and they said goodbye to Chris before Bob did what he had been waiting for for months and kissed Frank. Hard and desperately. They clung to each other for a little while not getting any faster or slower, just revelling in each other and every so often breaking apart to sigh 'I missed you' or 'I love you so much'.
"Happy Valentine's day, Frank," Bob grinned and Frank grinned back.
"Happy Valentine's day. I...hey, what smells so good?" Frank asked and Bob grinned and took him by the hand into the kitchen, where Bob had served up the food on the table with two chairs, a rose in a vase on the centre of the table and the lights were dimmed. It was like something out of a Romantic Comedy or something, it was..."
"How did--" Frank stared.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Frank. Welcome home."
"You did all this for me? And since when can you cook?"
"Thanks dude," Bob laughed and Frank punched him in the arm.
"You know what I mean, asshole," Frank laughed. "And how did you know what to cook?"
"Your mom helped," Bob explained. "She's a saint."
"Ah."
"Come on, lets go eat. Oh and by the way, how do you feel about living off bread and pasta for the rest of our lives?"
"Gerard did mention something about Foccacia this morning..."
"Am I the *only* person who can't say that word?!"
Pairing: Bob/Frank
Prompts: Olive Oil and Foccacia Bread (eh...I love my friends...)
Title: ‘Our Italian Night In’
Authors Note: Since it's Valentine's Day I thought I would post something short and cute. My buddy and lover Lou (who doesn't have a livejournal...poo...) comissioned me to write her a fic with the prompts 'Foccacia Bread and Olive Oil' so, well, here it is. I love this pairing a lot now :)
-----------------------
“Bob, it’s a Sunday, okay and it’s *Valentine’s Day*? The Lord gave us this day for rest and blueberry pancakes, so why am I on the phone to you at fuck-knows-what in the morning?”
“Okay firstly Gee, you don’t believe in God or anything that doesn’t have fangs or a cape, secondly if I know Lyn no one’s making any blueberry pancakes for you be it Valentine’s Day, Pancake Day or your freakin’ birthday so you’re going to help me.”
Gerard was silent in thought, and then let out a sigh of defeat because Bob was always right. Plus Gerard owed him big time for that one time at the zoo with the penguins and the marshmallows so he was bound to help out by unwritten contract.
“Okay, so what’s all this about food?” Gerard yawned.
“Okay, you’re Italian, right Gee?” Bob asked hopefully.
“Half but-”
“Good, great perfect! Okay, Frank is moving in today so I’m getting one of my buddies to drop him off here from the airport and I’m, making him dinner. So-”
“D’awww that’s so sweet!” Gerard cooed and Bob could hear Lyn laughing in the background with little Bandit gurgling along too. This is why Bob was dubious of women, they work in packs.
“Anyway...” Bob continued. “So I’m making him dinner but I don’t know what to make and I can’t ask him without it being suspicious. I bought lots of stuff with Italian names on it like this extra-virgin olive oil, pasta, more pasta, fock...foss...fosca...?”
“Foccacia Bread?”
“That’s the fucker! Yeah, what do I do?”
There was silence mixed with quiet murmuring on Gerard’s side of the phone between him and Lyn. Some of it sounded vaguely like ‘I don’t know! My mom...’ and ‘Foccacia? Really?’
“Am I seriously the only person who can’t say that word?” Bob demanded and Gerard laughed, trying to mask Lyn shouting ‘Yes! You suck! B thinks so too! We love you uncle Bob!’
“I love you too...I think,” Bob laughed. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I can’t help you dude,” Gerard admitted sadly. “Sorry.”
“What?! Why not?” Bob almost exploded with worry. “Don’t you guys cook?”
“Yeah, but Lyn’s too scared to cook Italian. Mom is kind of...nosy when it comes to her cooking.”
Bob was sure he heard ‘she sees *everything*, she’s like a ninja’ in the background.
“What about Mikey or your mom?” Bob pleaded.
“Mom and dad unplug the phone and kick everyone out of the house on Valentine’s Day.”
“Wow, um ew?”
“Don’t even question that shit.”
“And Mikey?”
“Fork-in-the-toaster Mikey?”
“Point taken.”
“Sorry again, dude.”
Bob started pacing across the kitchen worrying about what he was going to do and how in the hell he was going to be able to cook anything, let alone something Frank would like. He wanted this to be the best Valentine's Day either of them had ever had.
"I could try and fish for clues, if you want," Gerard offered. "But Frank's kinda..."
"Stupid?"
"I was going to say he thinks in a different way to everybody else, but faigh enough. But Italian is a good start, I mean Frank is always going on about how great his mom--Oh! I am a fucking genius Bob seriously, like I could *kill people* with this brain! Gotta go! Bye!"
Bob spluttered to say something, but was met with the sound of the dial tone.
"Well, that was odd."
***
"Bucatini...what? Um...anti-pasti? How the hell can you have fucking *anti-pasta*. That sound like a supervillain or some shit, I...ugh...this isn't going well..."
Bob was seriously considering fucking Chicago Town mini-pizzas when his phone rang again. He sighed and picked it up, assuming it would be an excited Frank and his heart would break a litle.
"Hello...?"
"Lasagne alla Bolognese," a familliar and female voice said on the other end of the phone.
"Gesundheit?"
She laughed and instantly Bob knew who it was because it was infectious.
"Mrs. Iero?" He tried and she laughed again.
"Of course it's me Bobby, caro! How have you been?" Mrs. Iero asked cheerfully.
"Fine thanks, kinda stressed at the moment," Bob sighed.
"Ai caro! You should wait until Frank moves in!" Mrs. Iero chuckled heartily at her words and Bob laughed a little bit along with her. Mrs. Iero was a fantastic woman and the *only* person allowed to call Bob 'Bobby'. Not even his mom could do that.
"Ah si, Lasagne alla Bolognese! Frankie's favourite food," Mrs. Iero continued. "Gerard mentioned you needed a hand so you cook and I'll tell you what to do, ah?"
Bob grinned and thanked Mrs. Iero almost a million times before they got started cooking.
***
Franks stumbled into the house with bags upon bags of his stuff with Bob's buddy Chris who was carrying a multitude of guitars and a couple of Frank's 10 amps - he liked variety. They had to make a copule of trips but with the help of Bob all Frank's stuff was strategically put somwhere - unpacking wouldn't be for years yet judging by Frank's general ADD and inability to sit still - and they said goodbye to Chris before Bob did what he had been waiting for for months and kissed Frank. Hard and desperately. They clung to each other for a little while not getting any faster or slower, just revelling in each other and every so often breaking apart to sigh 'I missed you' or 'I love you so much'.
"Happy Valentine's day, Frank," Bob grinned and Frank grinned back.
"Happy Valentine's day. I...hey, what smells so good?" Frank asked and Bob grinned and took him by the hand into the kitchen, where Bob had served up the food on the table with two chairs, a rose in a vase on the centre of the table and the lights were dimmed. It was like something out of a Romantic Comedy or something, it was..."
"How did--" Frank stared.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Frank. Welcome home."
"You did all this for me? And since when can you cook?"
"Thanks dude," Bob laughed and Frank punched him in the arm.
"You know what I mean, asshole," Frank laughed. "And how did you know what to cook?"
"Your mom helped," Bob explained. "She's a saint."
"Ah."
"Come on, lets go eat. Oh and by the way, how do you feel about living off bread and pasta for the rest of our lives?"
"Gerard did mention something about Foccacia this morning..."
"Am I the *only* person who can't say that word?!"