BANDOM FIC: The Competition's Won MCR 1/1 Bob/Frank
Someone asked me for a drabble featuring Bob/Frank in the Desolation Row universe, and I think it was belladonnalin but I'm not entirely sure. However! I've come up with this. Highly un-betaed, really soppy.
Disclaimer: Ray Toro, if you are reading this, you really shouldn't be. And neither should you, Pete.
Onstage, Frank whirls in a circle until he vomits into the crowd, swishes stale water in his mouth and spits it to the sky, laughing like a loon and Bob has to keep his eyes on his hands, pounding his sticks down on the toms until he can barely hear Gee screeching over the thrum. He hears the crowd scream, feels it in his bones, and strikes harder. Frank dances into his vision, kicking his way over to the amps, and Bob's eyes follow the curve of Frank's ass. The cops come when he's distracted.
In the paddy wagon, Frank giggles, throws himself against the wall separating the cab from the back, and falls to the ground in love with the blood dripping down his face, and Bob sighs, closes his eyes and leans his head on Mikey's bony shoulder. Ray mutters something from his corner, and Gee laughs. Mikey shushes them, but Bob can hear the grin in his voice. He remembers when he had adrenaline, too.
He's the only one with a real job--works night security at the junk yard outside of town--so he can afford the rent on the band's house. He's fucking tired, and the pigs knocked his whole set down on top of him. His stomach aches, his wrists throb in the handcuffs, he wants to go home. He doesn't even have the energy to talk anymore, all the reserves he'd kept for the show evaporated as soon as the cops climbed off him and slapped the cuffs on his wrists.
They're shoved into the same cell at the station, and Bob stretches out on the floor with his head in Gee's lap. Gee's wonky fingers tug on his hair as they rub over Bob's scalp. He blinks heavily--can't fall asleep in jail--and watches Frank bouncing on the concrete floor, rehashing the concert with Ray and laughing. Can't fall asleep in jail...
He wakes up to Ray's hands on his shoulders, and Frank crowing in delight, calling Brian a motherfucker and a jewel in the same breath as he steps out of the cell into the corridor.
"You got our gear, right? Of course you did, you bastard," he says.
Brian smacks the top of Frank's head. "Get in the damn car, Iero."
Bob rolls to his feet with a groan, and Frank looks over his shoulder, frowning briefly. Bob waves his hand and follows the guys out of the station.
The sun's up by the time they get home and Brian follows Ray back to their room, Mikey to where Alicia's waiting for him, and Gerard to wait for Lyn in their own beds respectively. Bob wavers on his feet, looking out the back window to where the grass needs mowing, and Frank grabs his wrist.
"Come on, come on," Frank says under his breath, tugging Bob into their bedroom.
Bob grins, and follows. The blanket covering their window has fallen down on one side, and Frank groans, dropping Bob's wrist in favor of grabbing the broken end of the pool cue they keep by the sill. He pokes the blanket back into place, and turns around, waving the cue. Bob raises his hands to the sky.
Frank rolls his eyes. He drops the cue and steps up into Bob's space. "Did you fucking see that shit?" he demands.
Bob shrugs. Frank grins. "Yeah, you saw that shit," he says. "They fucking carried us out like gods."
Bob rolls his eyes. Frank sometimes doesn't see the world the way sane people do. He lets Frank manhandle him out of his jacket, kicks off his own shoes, and falls back on the bed when Frank pushes him. Frank leans over him, straddles his waist fully clothed, and puts his thumbs to the circles under Bob's eyes, tracing the discolored half-moons.
"You got work later?" he murmurs. Dried blood is beginning to flake above his mouth.
Bob nods, and Frank leans over his chest to kiss him goodnight. His shirt is stiff with sweat, and his breath tastes like ass. The stiff point of Frank's hair pokes him in the forehead, and Bob wrinkles his nose. He laughs, and puts his hands on Frank's hips. Frank hums into the kiss, sucking Bob's lower lip into his mouth and biting slightly. Bob tightens his hold, and lifts his hips off the bed. He feels the shape of Frank's mouth stretch into a grin.
"You fucking badass, Bryar," Frank says, pulling back an inch or so. "Now get under that damn blanket. I'm not fucking you for at least four more hours."
Bob laughs, but Frank moves off and Bob grumbles, but wrestles the covers off the bed and around himself. The pillows he stole from Macy's are fucking heaven underneath his head. He closes his eyes as Frank slips into bed with him. Frank's arm comes up over his waist and grips tightly. Bob falls asleep.