It's one of those days when nothing goes right. It's all stupid little stuff, but there's a dozen different things that have gone south and it adds up. By mid-afternoon Bob is ready to punch something out of sheer frustration but they're on the bus and, yeah, there's nothing to punch that won't a) break his hand, or b) just plain break. And that includes his bandmates. He can't even pace properly.
He tries, but the bunk area is really narrow, and the lounge and kitchen are cramped with furniture, stuff and people, and even this is going wrong. Everyone's shrinking away from him, trying to stay out of his way because the last time someone tried to talk to him he pretty much bit their heads off.
After Gee makes a hushed cell phone call, the studio door opens and Ray appears. "Get your ass in here, Bryar."
Bob goes because he can't really think of a reason why he shouldn't and, also, he knows that look on Ray's face. Ray will manhandle him in there if he doesn't go.
The studio is just as cramped and confining as the rest of the bus, maybe more so because there's a door and it's contained.
Ray presses a set of sticks into Bob's hands and points at the set of drum pads they added to the room before this tour started up. Bob tries but it's not the same as banging away on a real set, with the give and take and the reverberations of movement traveling up his arms, through his feet. The practice pads are a deadzone, absorbing the force and pressure and keeping it from returning to Bob.
After ten minutes he tosses the sticks across the room and curses.
Ray watches him steadily, then nods like he's come to some agreement. He sets his guitar aside and pulls Bob from behind the pads. Bob stares at him, confused, but Ray just hooks a hand into the waistband of Bob's jeans and yanks him closer. "Go for it," he says, smiling a little bit.
Bob isn't sure if he's reading the situation right so he hesitates, but Ray grins and takes two steps back, so that his back is pressed against a wall, and he drags Bob with him.
"I can take it," Ray says easily, almost casually, but Bob can see his pupils dilating and with how close they are he can feel the way Ray's breath stutters in anticipation. "You won't break me, man."
Bob slaps his hands onto the wall on either side of Ray's head and sucks in a huge breath. "You sure?"
For an answer Ray just moves a hand to the small of Bob's back and pulls him in tighter. "Go for it," he repeats, and he's got that look on his face again, the one Bob knows better than to argue with, refuse.
Bob bites his way into Ray's mouth, unforgiving and uncompromising, and Ray makes this noise at the back of his throat, low and dark, and holds on tight. "Okay, yeah," Bob says and then he's lost and Ray's right with him.