Fic: Desperate
Title: Desperate
Author: vinvy
Rating: PG-13 (profanity)
Pairing: Frank/Jamia
Word Count: ~ 500
Summary: There are some pretty ridiculous solutions to nicotine cravings.
Warnings: fluff, profanity, late-night shenanigans
Disclaimer: As far as I know this never happened and more's the pity.
A/N: A ficlet for iron_fist123because she was there at its conception. Many thanks to 'bandom texts from last night' on tumblr, as well. :D
“Sonofawhore,” Frank muttered, pacing back and forth on the porch. It was late and Jamia and the girls were asleep. Frank needed a cigarette. Frank’s lighter was on the nightstand. This was a problem because he needed a cigarette.
He bounced on the balls of his bare feet, debating. Upstairs was such a long way to go for a lighter- and he would have to come all the way back out into the cold because there would be flying cats before he polluted the air that Cherry and Lily breathed when he was supposed to be kicking the habit. (Honestly, though, he’d been doing a great job of cutting back lately and he deserved a reward after the last few days. Recording was insane. Productive but, fuck, none of them were sleeping).
“Goddamn it,” he scrubbed his hand over his face as the bassline that Mikey’d been messing with that afternoon got stuck in his head again. The syncopated rhythm was perfectly catchy and it was going to be part of one of the album’s tracks because of that, if nothing else, otherwise Frank was going to smother someone.
Mikey Way. Mikeyway. There was a thought attached to the name that had nothing to do with music but Frank couldn’t work it out. His throat itched.
Mikey fuckin’ Way... Toaster! He let out a happy yelp, sounding more like Sweet Pea than he would ever admit to in human company. He snuck quietly into the kitchen and returned to the porch, closing the front door without making a sound. Now those outlets on the sides of houses made so much sense! They were perfect for more than just Halloween lights.
It took some finagling but Frank got the toaster to heat up and he lit his cigarette from one of the burners, smiling at the accomplishment. He wanted to wake Jamia and tell her but that would defeat the whole point of the exercise, wouldn’t it? He inhaled deeply. He was loony from work and satisfaction and the whole world was beautiful, even at midnight in autumn when his toes were about to freeze off.
Frank made it halfway through his cigarette before he stubbed it out on the railing.
Jamia didn’t mind being woken up- he loved his wife so much it was crazy- and she laughed at his antics. Her hair was sticking otu at odd angles- God, she was adorable when she was sleepy. “You poor, desperate thing,” Jamia said, grabbing him around the waist.
Frank fell into bed beside her, giggling.
“Bed time was two hours ago, mister,” she scolded lightly.
Frank kissed her cheek. “Sorry,” he yawned, then offered, “we wrote a couple more songs today. This is starting to come together- I can tell ‘cause Gerard’s considering dying his hair again.”
Jamia snorted at his babbling and threw her leg over his. “You’re grounded. No work tomorrow. You’re sleeping in then we’re going to the park for a picnic with the girls and to raise hell with the dogs and the ducks.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
“None whatsoever.”
Frank wriggled out of his jeans and curled up around his wife. “Sounds perfect.” He yawned again.
“I knew you’d think so.”
Author: vinvy
Rating: PG-13 (profanity)
Pairing: Frank/Jamia
Word Count: ~ 500
Summary: There are some pretty ridiculous solutions to nicotine cravings.
Warnings: fluff, profanity, late-night shenanigans
Disclaimer: As far as I know this never happened and more's the pity.
A/N: A ficlet for iron_fist123because she was there at its conception. Many thanks to 'bandom texts from last night' on tumblr, as well. :D
“Sonofawhore,” Frank muttered, pacing back and forth on the porch. It was late and Jamia and the girls were asleep. Frank needed a cigarette. Frank’s lighter was on the nightstand. This was a problem because he needed a cigarette.
He bounced on the balls of his bare feet, debating. Upstairs was such a long way to go for a lighter- and he would have to come all the way back out into the cold because there would be flying cats before he polluted the air that Cherry and Lily breathed when he was supposed to be kicking the habit. (Honestly, though, he’d been doing a great job of cutting back lately and he deserved a reward after the last few days. Recording was insane. Productive but, fuck, none of them were sleeping).
“Goddamn it,” he scrubbed his hand over his face as the bassline that Mikey’d been messing with that afternoon got stuck in his head again. The syncopated rhythm was perfectly catchy and it was going to be part of one of the album’s tracks because of that, if nothing else, otherwise Frank was going to smother someone.
Mikey Way. Mikeyway. There was a thought attached to the name that had nothing to do with music but Frank couldn’t work it out. His throat itched.
Mikey fuckin’ Way... Toaster! He let out a happy yelp, sounding more like Sweet Pea than he would ever admit to in human company. He snuck quietly into the kitchen and returned to the porch, closing the front door without making a sound. Now those outlets on the sides of houses made so much sense! They were perfect for more than just Halloween lights.
It took some finagling but Frank got the toaster to heat up and he lit his cigarette from one of the burners, smiling at the accomplishment. He wanted to wake Jamia and tell her but that would defeat the whole point of the exercise, wouldn’t it? He inhaled deeply. He was loony from work and satisfaction and the whole world was beautiful, even at midnight in autumn when his toes were about to freeze off.
Frank made it halfway through his cigarette before he stubbed it out on the railing.
Jamia didn’t mind being woken up- he loved his wife so much it was crazy- and she laughed at his antics. Her hair was sticking otu at odd angles- God, she was adorable when she was sleepy. “You poor, desperate thing,” Jamia said, grabbing him around the waist.
Frank fell into bed beside her, giggling.
“Bed time was two hours ago, mister,” she scolded lightly.
Frank kissed her cheek. “Sorry,” he yawned, then offered, “we wrote a couple more songs today. This is starting to come together- I can tell ‘cause Gerard’s considering dying his hair again.”
Jamia snorted at his babbling and threw her leg over his. “You’re grounded. No work tomorrow. You’re sleeping in then we’re going to the park for a picnic with the girls and to raise hell with the dogs and the ducks.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
“None whatsoever.”
Frank wriggled out of his jeans and curled up around his wife. “Sounds perfect.” He yawned again.
“I knew you’d think so.”