Gerard/Bob. Explicit. 8,919 words, altogether too many of them about television.
It was just Bob, sprawled on the couch at three in the morning, watching a DVD he'd seen probably a dozen times and waiting to get tired.
In the TV Light
It wasn't like Bob had actually had to think about it. The only question he asked before saying yes was "are you shitting me?" and that was pretty much rhetorical. He knew Frank wouldn't call him in the middle of a random afternoon to tease him about something that had never really been funny even when it was a joke. And there was only one possible answer to the question: yes, yes, yes he wanted to play drums for My Chemical Romance, yes he could drop everything, yes he'd be in Jersey tonight.
But the reason it was easy to say yes was that he knew these guys, knew what it would mean to play drums for them--or at least he thought he did. In his head My Chem hadn't changed since he'd teched for them in Europe; in his head they were still a van band, playing hard and partying hard and then passing out all over each other (and him) in the seats. It wasn't that he cared one way or the other about partying, or that he actively wanted to be crammed into a van, but it kept the awkwardness of being the new guy down to a bare minimum: you couldn't go thirty-six hours like that without someone spitting or drooling or puking on you, or sleeping with their head in your lap, or yours in theirs. You fit in based on how good you were to sleep on, and Bob was pretty much a champ as a headrest. He didn't even have to think about any of that, didn't have to worry about how he'd fit in with the guys; he just knew it.
And that was where he got into trouble, because even though they told him things had changed, he didn't really get it until he was in the middle of it. Bob had been with the band two weeks now, counting the video and some practice days, and he was sitting up alone in the back lounge of their bus. He hadn't seen a beer can within ten feet of any of them, within a hundred feet of Gerard, and everybody slept lying down, behind curtains, and everybody had their own issues to deal with--Gerard getting sober, Matt being gone. Bob was just... along for the ride. He liked them, and they liked him, but Bob couldn't quite find his way in, and it was weirder than he ever thought it might be.
It was lonely in a way that being on tour had never been before. He couldn't really hang with the techs anymore--they didn't need a drummer messing up their system or slowing them down trying to be buddies or, worse, trying to help. He should have been hanging with his band, but his band had sort of battened down the hatches, so it was just Bob, sprawled on the couch at three in the morning, watching a DVD he'd seen probably a dozen times and waiting to get tired.
He laughed at the funny parts anyway--it really didn't ever stop being funny--but cut himself off when he heard his own laugh tentatively echoed from the doorway.
Gerard was standing there, with his hair sticking out in every direction, his eyes wide and still makeup-caked. He was still holding his blanket, and he looked more like Cindy Lou Who than Bob was ever going to admit was his first thought.
Gerard looked over at Bob, almost like he didn't think there was anyone there--like the TV was on for no reason, and Bob felt a weary glimmer of irritation. He wasn't invisible. He was too fucking big to disappear anywhere but behind his kit, but even alone together at three in the morning Gerard was looking past him.
Gerard gave him the slow blink of the half-awake, and then a vague smile. "Bob. Sorry, I was--can't sleep. I won't bug you, I can..."
Gerard waved vaguely toward the kitchen, and Bob knew what that would lead to: coffee, and drawing until sunrise, and Gee being vague and dazed all day, covering the circles under his eyes with another layer of makeup and five more cups of coffee.
Gerard's sleep cycle was still totally fucked from the fact that he wasn't just drinking himself unconscious and then sleeping till the hangover admitted defeat. Bob thought maybe he himself was still on tech time: awake when the bus was in motion, in case it was about to be his turn to drive, sleeping hard from load-out to sound check, just when the band was waking up and hanging around together. So maybe his invisibility wasn't all their fault, anyway.
Bob tilted his head toward the TV. "Wanna watch? There's enough for everybody."
Gerard grinned, rubbing one eye like a little kid, and said, "Sure, what is it?"
Bob stared. "Gerard, seriously, you were a loser geek in high school and you didn't ever see Blackadder?"
Gerard shrugged. "The other loser geeks didn't like me enough to share their tapes."
Bob patted the couch beside him. "Come on, I'll start it over."
Gerard sat down, wrapping his blanket around himself, and when Bob settled back to watch from the beginning, he realized Gerard had planted himself a careful foot away, his knees drawn up to prop his chin on.
Bob stared. "You're seriously going to sit over there?"
Gerard looked over at him without moving his head, the glow of the TV screen reflecting off the whites of his eyes. "I'm respecting the personal boundaries of others this week."
Bob didn't think that was a Step, so it must have been a therapy thing. He rolled his eyes. "Well, I'll tell you to knock it off if you start drooling in my ear, okay? Come on."
"That was Frank," Gerard said, but he scooted over at the same time, leaning his head against Bob's shoulder instead of his own bony knees. He wriggled around for a minute while the movie was getting started, and then he let out a long breath, relaxing into Bob's side.
The movie seemed a lot funnier this time, and he and Gerard both had to shush each other all the way through it so they wouldn't wake everybody else. When it was over, they walked up to the bunks together and each climbed into their own. Bob fell asleep to the sound of Gerard intermittently giggling to himself, sleepily mumbling his favorite lines in a horrible imitation of a British accent.
That night on stage, Gerard totally butchered an attempt at a Blackadder joke; Bob recognized the effort and laughed anyway, and so did Ray, who obviously was a more socially successful loser geek in high school. Mikey glanced back at Bob, shook his head, and almost cracked a smile. Frank was busy getting disentangled from the amp cords, and Bob was trying not to look too closely at all the trouble he was causing the techs.
Bob counted them into the next song with a smile on his face, and Gerard threw him a wink before he launched into his part.
Gerard showed up again in the back lounge the next night, while Bob was watching Flying Circus. There was no rewinding required, and Gerard didn't hesitate when Bob waved for him to come in, trailing his blanket after him. He leaned against Bob right away, squirming around to get comfortable and rearranging his blanket even as he mumbled, "M'not bugging you?"
"Yeah," Bob said, eyes on the screen. "Because I'm fucking shy about telling people when they're bugging me."
Gerard snickered against Bob's arm, warm and damp on his skin. "I think Frankie still has marks from that time in Germany."
Bob grinned, but all he said was, "Shh, lumberjack song's coming up."
Time was funny on tour; anything you did twice was a habit, anything you did three times was a tradition. Gerard showed up again in the middle of the night, and again. By the end of that week Bob felt like he couldn't remember when it wasn't like this, Gerard drifting in with his blanket and his messy hair and curling up at Bob's side to watch TV. On the night or two when it didn't happen, Bob told himself it was just touring fucking with him, that if it weren't weird tour-time he wouldn't feel disappointed like this. It was better, anyway, if Gerard wasn't having trouble sleeping.
It wasn't a big deal, just an hour or two in the middle of the night, Bob providing a warm soft spot for Gerard to lean while the TV lulled him back to sleep. Some nights he actually passed out on Bob, and there was never really any waking him up after that. The best Bob could do was to get him to the point of zombie-like movement, so he'd stagger to his bunk if Bob steered him. Bob pushed him inside and made sure he had his feet at the right end and settled his damn blanket over him so he wouldn't whine about being cold in the morning.
Some nights when Gerard fell asleep, or got so close to it that he was boneless and bendy as a cat, he'd slump halfway into Bob's lap. Bob had to put his arm down, holding on to Gerard so he didn't tumble right off the couch. Bob's feet ended up asleep when that happened, from Gerard's weight on his thighs, but it wasn't a big deal. He couldn't argue with Gerard after he'd fallen asleep, anyway. By morning Bob had always forgotten to be mad about it, too, because by the time Bob woke up Gerard was three cups of coffee into the day, and Bob needed to be mad about Gerard being so fucking chipper, instead.
There was a complicated movie-swapping ring on the tour which Bob didn't entirely understand, but the loan of his favorite season of Mr. Bean got him a collection of first-generation tapes of MST3K including Manos, the Hands of Fate, accompanied by dire threats about what would happen if the tapes weren't all returned safely. He knew Gerard hadn't seen Manos--he and Ray had been marveling at his deprivation while Gerard just rolled his eyes a lot--so he put it aside. You could walk in anywhere and follow a MST3K episode--he'd been watching a lot of them at night for that reason, and Gerard had watched the last halves of a lot of episodes with him the past couple of weeks--but Manos was way funnier if you could see it from the beginning and get all the running jokes.
The next time Gerard wandered into the lounge at three in the morning, Bob patted the couch like usual. He got up as Gerard sat down, so he could switch on the VCR and put the tape in. When he sat down again, Gerard was frowning, hesitating to settle in.
"Were you saving that? To watch with me?"
"Uh." It hadn't seemed weird until Gerard said it like that. Out loud. "I guess, yeah. You haven't seen this one, it's a classic."
Bob hit play, and Gerard said, "Oh! Manos! You and Ray were talking about this one. Badass."
And then Gerard stopped talking, snuggling up to Bob and doing his tiny spastic couch-dance to the theme song, and that was mostly it for talking.
Not quite two hours later, Gerard had completely passed out, fallen so far into Bob's lap that his shoulder was on Bob's opposite thigh and the weight of his head was making Bob lose feeling in his other arm. Bob tried to shove him off so he could go shut the TV off, and Gerard actually startled half-awake, sitting up unsteadily.
"No," he said, though Bob hadn't actually said anything. "M'not tired, let's watch another one."
Bob blinked stupidly at Gerard, and then grabbed the next hand-labeled tape and shoved it in--he had to remember to rewind Manos later, or he was going to get killed in his sleep--and aimed himself back at the couch. Gerard had sprawled across it in the thirty seconds it took Bob to swap the tapes, and already appeared to be totally unconscious.
"Fucker," Bob muttered, and glanced toward the bunks. His bed seemed really far away--he was so fucking tired--and then the theme music came on and Gerard twitched and started doing his stupid dance in his sleep. Bob smiled, and then next thing he knew he was lying down right there on the floor beside the couch, tugging an edge of Gerard's blanket toward himself, turning his head so he could see the TV.
He opened his eyes to fucking bright morning sunshine, Frank Iero's cheerful fucking face, and a warm breathing weight that smelled like pure unshowered Gerard Way cutting off circulation to the entire right side of his body.
Frank prodded Bob's exposed shoulder with his toe. "Is that comfortable in any way?"
"Fuck off," Bob muttered, squeezing his eyes shut even as he attempted to push Gerard off his numb arm and leg. Gerard squirmed, managing to jab his knee right into something in Bob's thigh that suddenly had sensation and hurt like a motherfucker. Bob's head whipped to the side, just in time for Gerard's face to mash against the side of his, and Bob just had time to feel-hear Gerard breathing into his ear before he felt it.
Wet. Inside his ear.
"Oh, fuck you," Bob snapped, shoving harder at Gerard, though it still didn't work well because he couldn't feel his fucking arm that Gerard was sleeping on. "Way, get up, you fucking drooled in my ear, fuck."
It was turning cold already, and he could feel it trickling, and he could not remember for sure the last time Gerard had brushed his teeth. For fuck's sake, he was going to get disgusting ear diseases now, fucking awesome.
"See?" Frank said brightly. "It could happen to anyone."
"No," Bob groaned. "It can only fucking happen to me. Gerard! Move!"
"S'ry," Gerard mumbled, rubbing his nose against Bob's temple. "Kiss't better."
He smacked his lips against Bob's cheek, closer to his eye than his ear, and Bob gave up, rolling out from under Gerard and dumping him, blanket and all, on the floor. Gerard dug his face in against the carpet and went back to sleep, and Bob shoved Frank down onto the couch for the fucking smirk before he headed up to the kitchen.
He was limping when he got there, gritting his teeth as the pins-and-needles pain and the almost-kneed-in-the-crotch pain worked through his arm and leg, and the wet feeling in his ear just kept sliding around. Ray was sitting at the table, peering at some video game magazine cheat-guide with his Game Boy sitting next to him.
"Toro," Bob said, "is there peroxide somewhere? First aid kit?"
Ray looked up and jerked his chin toward the fridge. "In back, behind Frank's fake cheese shit. What happened, you cut yourself on Gerard?"
Bob stopped in the process of opening up the fridge and glared.
"You looked so peaceful," Ray said, already looking down at the page in front of him again. "I didn't want to wake you."
Possibly the thing Bob hated most about being in this band, right at that moment, more than the fucking drool in his fucking ear, was that he didn't know Ray Toro quite well enough to know what he meant by that.
"No," Bob gritted, turning back to the fridge. "I need to fucking bleach my ear. Gee needs to learn to keep his spit to himself."
And of course when he slammed the fridge door shut, Gerard and Frank were standing right there, and Gerard still looked like fucking Cindy Lou Who, only now he also looked like Bob had stolen his Christmas tree. Bob couldn't think of a goddamn thing to say, so he just stared back for a few seconds, and then he brushed past Gerard and went into the bathroom with the peroxide.
A couple of hours before soundcheck, Bob was standing outside smoking. It was how he'd spent most of the day, smoking, rubbing his ear, avoiding Gerard. It was stupid to feel bad when Gerard was the one who drooled in his ear, but it had been stupid for Gerard to have that sad little look on his face, too. It was just tour shit, it was just Bob before his first cup of coffee when his hand and foot were screaming. Bob didn't know how to fix any of it, because he wasn't fucking apologizing but he couldn’t stand the idea that Gerard might think he should, either. Bob was kind of hoping the show would just wipe the slate clean, and tonight would be another night, and this time he wouldn't be watching anything special and everything would be fine.
The plan kind of went out the window when Mikey came outside and bummed a smoke, and then a light, and then said, "You have to talk to Gee, okay?"
Bob rolled his eyes. "It's fine, Mikey, I'm not mad at him, I was just--"
"You're just in love with him," Mikey said, and Bob stopped dead.
"It's cool, you've always been super cool about it, everybody respects that," Mikey continued, squinting out across the parking lot while Bob tried to remember how to think, or breathe, or function in any way at all. "You don't go around all pathetic or anything, you always treated him really normal, but it's not like we didn't know. Except Gee's not wasted anymore, and you're not somebody else's tech anymore, so even he's figured it out at this point. The whole stoic routine is just confusing the shit out of him."
"I'm not," Bob finally managed to say, and Mikey Way gave him a seriously withering glance.
"I'm not," Bob repeated. He wasn't. He couldn't be. That would be so stupid. He'd always liked Gerard, liked him a lot, and maybe he cared a little bit more about Gerard liking him back than he did with most people. He'd noticed that Gerard was hot--it wasn't like he'd kick the guy out of his bed if he ever, say, stumbled into it naked--but it wasn't like he'd ever had any kind of shot with the guy and it wasn't like he'd ever given it much thought. Lots of people were hot, and Bob liked lots of people. Several. At least four or five, most days.
Mikey shook his head and turned away to blow smoke. "Bleaching your ear just because he kissed it was kind of overkill, though."
"I didn't--fuck, he can kiss whatever he wants, I just draw the fucking line at bodily fluids in my ear canal, okay, I was fucking disinfecting."
Mikey kept his face turned away just long enough for Bob to hear what he'd said, and then he looked back, one eyebrow raised.
"See, this is the kind of conversation you should be having with Gee. Expectations and shit. Turn-ons, turn-offs. Because if Frank and Ray and I have to spend one more day listening to him refine his top fourteen reasons why Bob wouldn't want to sleep with him, there's going to be fucking blood on the walls. Got it?"
Bob tossed down his cigarette and lit another. "Fuck."
Bob wasn't stupid. He really hadn't ever thought there was any chance of anything with him and Gerard; Gerard was In The Band and Bob wasn't that kind of tech, and then Gerard was... Gerard. It just never occurred to him that anything was even on the table.
But Mikey hadn't sounded like he was joking about Gerard obsessing over Bob and why he didn't want to sleep with Gerard, and that kind of suggested that the problem wasn't that Gerard didn't want to sleep with Bob. Mikey would have been having a totally different talk with him, otherwise.
So Bob had to tell Gerard something, and he had to do it before any of his bandmates killed him or Gerard, but Bob really had no fucking clue what to say. He'd never been great with these kinds of conversations--there was nothing he could say that wasn't incredibly sixth-grade. I like you, Mikey says you like me, check yes or no. Especially since there was a whole lot more than check-yes-or-no to figure out, like, Are you ready to be in a relationship with anybody? or Is this just a sex thing? or Is this going to fuck up the band? or Is this going to get me kicked out of the band before I'm officially in it? or Top or bottom and do you have a latex allergy? or No, seriously, why are you even interested?
And then there was the part that he really, really didn't know how to say, the part that was really stupid and embarrassing and harder to admit to than the number of times he'd knowingly jerked off thinking about Gerard in the last two years (five and a half). The really embarrassing part was that Bob really just liked watching TV with Gerard in the middle of the night, liked the weight of Gerard against his side, liked Gerard falling asleep in his lap, and he wasn't anywhere near sure he was ready to trade that in for awkward attempts at bunk sex.
"Fuck," Bob muttered again, because when he played that over again in his head, it sounded an awful lot like I'm in love with you and I want it to be special.
Bob stuck with MST3K that night, popping in Godzilla vs. Megalon, because fuck it, it was his favorite. He needed serious distraction if he was going to even pretend like he wasn't just sitting there waiting to see if Gerard showed up.
The theme music was barely over when he walked in, but he stopped short of the couch, biting his lip. Bob just patted the spot beside him, and when Gerard settled in, Bob put his arm around Gerard's shoulders, holding him there. Gerard sagged heavier against Bob's side, letting out a tired-sounding sigh.
"Is this the one with Mothra?"
"No," Bob said, "It's the one with the robot. I've got the Mothra one, too, though. Want me to put it on?"
Gerard shook his head against Bob's shoulder. "We can watch it later. Or, like. Tomorrow."
"Yeah," Bob said, and carefully didn't move his arm at all. He still hadn't figured out what the fuck to say, although that had been almost like a conversation right there, except he was pretty sure Gerard was going to be just as confused tomorrow morning and come up with three new reasons Bob didn't want to sleep with him relating to incompatible preferences in the robot-versus-sea-monster department. And then Mikey would probably decide to kill both of them, and Bob wouldn't even really blame the guy.
Bob stared at the screen without blinking, feeling pretty much like he'd been yanked back to high school and handed a final exam in some class he hadn't known he was taking. Then Gerard started laughing way too hard at the Spiny Norman reference, and Bob couldn't help laughing back at him. It didn't really take too much figuring out to settle his hand on the back of Gerard's neck, to turn and kiss him before he'd quite finished giggling. The sound vibrated against Bob's lips and tongue, more ticklish than hot.
Gerard went still everywhere but his mouth, pushing back into the kiss, lips opening wide for Bob. His hand landed on Bob's thigh, and he was moving closer, and it was late. Bob was tired and didn't know what to say, and there was still half of Bob's favorite episode of MST3K playing on the TV.
Bob squeezed the nape of Gerard's neck and pulled back from the kiss, meeting his eyes. Gerard looked a little confused, and kind of happy, and kind of turned on.
Bob cleared his throat. "I just wanted you to know that."
Gerard blinked a couple of times and then nodded. When Bob slumped down on the couch and looked back at the TV, Gerard rearranged himself to rest against Bob's side, head on his shoulder. They both laughed just as hard at the Holy Grail joke.
Bob opened his eyes, blinked a few times, rubbed the heel of his hand across his face, but Gerard was still there, leaning into his bunk and letting in daylight.
"Hey," Bob managed.
"So that stuff we were talking about last night," Gerard said, holding Bob's gaze steadily. "I just wanted to make sure I understood you."
Bob blinked, trying to think of fucking words, trying to think how to explain what he'd meant by it, but Gerard leaned down and kissed him. His mouth tasted sharp, minty-fresh, which made Bob sort of smile at the thoughtfulness and wince at the state of his own mouth at the same time, but then again Gerard was kissing him. Bob reached up, got his fingers into Gerard's hair as Gerard's tongue traced along his, and then Gerard picked his head up and just looked at Bob like he was waiting for something.
"Yeah," Bob said after a minute, letting his hand fall from Gerard's head. "That was pretty much it."
Gerard grinned. "Okay. Cool. There's coffee, I'll save you some."
He was gone before Bob could say anything, and as the curtain settled back into place, Bob rolled over to face the wall. He still wasn't really awake, and he couldn't quite figure out whether he had time to jerk off before Gerard forgot he was saving the coffee and drank it all himself.
Bob waited that night until Gerard showed up before he put in the next MST3K episode. Gerard didn't ask any questions, just grinned and curled up close to Bob, spreading his blanket over both of them.
Everything was pretty much exactly like it had always been until half an hour into the episode, when Gerard yawned, rubbed his face against Bob's arm, and mumbled, "The one with the robot is way better."
"Yeah," Bob said. Mothra was cool and everything, but he was no Jet Jaguar.
"Hm," Gerard said, and then he straightened up and put his hand on Bob's cheek, turning his face away from the TV. Gerard leaned in slowly, almost shyly, and Bob waited until one kiss had melted into another and another before he slipped his hand into Gerard's hair, holding him there for the next one and the one after that.
They stopped making out during the funny parts, watching with their hands still on each other, their heads tipped together, before getting bored and going back to kissing. By the end of the episode Gerard's hand was inside the collar of Bob's hoodie, and Bob had two fingers tucked into the waistband of Gerard's pajama pants.
They broke apart when the credits rolled. Bob hesitated a long, nervous minute, and then Gerard yawned, gave him one last peck on the lips, and got up to go to bed. Bob followed, smiling.
Two nights later, Gerard was stretched out on top of Bob on the couch. They were half-watching Mr. Bean, making out and lazily grinding against each other, pants and shirts still on, hands above waists. It helped distract both of them from the fact that Gerard didn't actually really like Bob's favorite show, and it was helping Bob avoid thinking about what it meant that Gerard was out here pretending to watch a show he didn't like at all for the sake of making out with Bob. Especially since he just tucked his face against Bob's throat when Bob turned his head to watch for a few minutes, letting them both catch their breath and not deliberately distracting Bob at all. Bob even caught Gerard smiling when he laughed, like he didn't care what Bob was laughing at, like it just made him happy to see Bob happy.
Halfway through the second episode, Gerard mumbled against Bob's mouth, "Friday's a hotel night."
Bob nodded. He was pretty much counting hours to a hot shower and a real bed.
Gerard's hips pushed down sharply, then. Bob's breath caught, and he started trying to count minutes. Holy fuck, a real bed.
"Friday," he repeated, totally failing to sound like all his blood wasn't in his dick. "That's going to be awesome."
"Yep," Gerard agreed, and he gave Bob another long, lingering kiss before he squirmed around so that Bob was getting more of Gerard's hipbone than the press of his dick. He settled his head on Bob's chest and lay still, acting like he was really watching until he started to snore, and Bob turned off the TV and made him get up and go to bed.
By Friday morning, Bob had doubled his lifetime jerking-off-thinking-of-Gerard total and was seriously reconsidering the appeal of awkward bunk sex. He was also reconsidering bathroom sex, dressing room sex, broom closet sex, and Gerard-splayed-over-his-drum-kit-in-fron
Frank just offered him some weird vegan potato-chip-ish things and shrugged.
"Nerds," he said, like he hadn't spent three hours yesterday arguing with Gerard about the paramount importance of some single issue of some Batman comic that wasn't actually called Batman. Bob shrugged back, licking his fingers; Gerard happened to glance up at him as he was doing it, and Bob raised his eyebrows and closed his lips on his fingertip.
Gerard's face went abruptly bright red, and Frank started laughing and threw the bag of potato-chip-esque-things at Bob's head even as Ray said, "What? What did I miss?"
"Jesus, shut up," Mikey said without raising his head. "Don't ask, you don't want to know."
Standing in the hotel lobby, Bob stared at the back of Gerard's head, trying not to move at all so his cold, sweaty shirt wouldn't touch any more of his skin. He realized that he couldn't decide whether he wanted sex more than he wanted a shower, and that was definitely kind of sad. Then Gerard glanced back over his shoulder at Bob and grinned. Bob's stomach did a funny little flip, and he decided he didn't care about being sad. He was definitely going to get a shower and sex--maybe even each one more than once, if he was lucky or really good at planning--and there wasn't going to be anything to complain about.
"Seriously," Frank announced, "you guys are gross. Get a room."
Bob rolled his eyes, and Gerard looked away, hiding a smile behind his hair. Ray said, "I think that's actually what we're all trying to do here, Frankie."
Bob looked toward Mikey, who had been nominated to deal with getting them room keys; thank God, he was on his way back. He handed one set of keys to Gerard and handed out the others to Frank and Ray, without even asking how anyone wanted to divide up. Bob hoped to God there hadn't been any Top Fourteen Reasons You Don't Want to Argue About Me Rooming With Bob from Gerard in the past few days.
"You know, you guys should go out," Gerard said, eyes fixed on the keys in his hands.
Bob arched an eyebrow, and Gerard looked up and met his eye, making a swatting hand gesture that clearly dismissed Bob from this part of the conversation.
"Seriously, you should," he repeated into the silence of Frank and Ray and Mikey all staring at him like they were afraid even to move. "I know the Seconds guys were going out, they must have told you. You should go, have fun. It's not like I'm going to notice, I swear."
Ray and Frank both looked at Mikey, and Mikey shrugged.
"Oh, fuck yeah," Ray said, tugging his phone out of his jeans and heading off across the lobby.
"Bob Bryar, I am so in love with you right now." Frank jumped on him--a sweat-soaked weight that nearly knocked him down, but Bob staggered and got his balance as Frank planted a smacking kiss on his mouth, and then he was gone too, heading off after Ray. Mikey lingered another second, gaze locked with Gerard's, and then he snorted, mussed Gerard's hair, and followed the other two at a saunter.
That just left Bob and Gerard and the keys to their hotel room. Gerard waggled his eyebrows and Bob rolled his eyes again, but he resettled his bag on his shoulder and started for the elevators with Gerard at his side. Once they were alone and headed up, Bob said offhandedly, to the ceiling, "You're sure you're good with them going out?"
Gerard snorted, and Bob looked down. He was grinning. "Dude, they've all been sober as long as I have. They're going to get wasted and tomorrow they're going to be hungover and I won't. I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. It's going to kick ass."
Bob grinned, and looked back up at the ceiling.
"Plus, it's really not like I'm going to notice," Gerard added.
Bob nodded. "Yeah, I mean. The hotel has cable."
"And HBO," Gerard said, and somehow it sounded like he'd just laid out all fourteen reasons he wanted to room with Bob in Technicolor detail. Bob kept on staring at the ceiling until the doors opened, because the elevator did not have cable, or doors that were going to stay closed nearly long enough.
Gerard was kissing him as soon as they got into the room, and Bob's heart was racing as soon as Gerard touched him, nerves as much as excitement. He sunk his hands into Gerard's hair, trying to give as good as he got or at least keep up with Gerard's mouth, moving wet and fast against his. Gerard pressed up tight against Bob, one hand clutching Bob's hoodie and the other sliding down to his hip. Bob groaned into Gerard's mouth, rubbing up against him, and Gerard made a breathless sound back.
It hit Bob, then, that they were about to have--or possibly were already having--exactly the kind of sweaty, fully-clothed sex they could have had in a dressing room or the back lounge or one of their bunks anytime in the past week. As long as he'd been waiting--and as awesome as sweaty, gross, fully-clothed sex could be--this really wasn't what he'd been waiting for.
"Hey," Bob gasped, and then got his hands down onto Gerard's shoulders and detached him with a gentle shove. Gerard stared at him, dazed. "Hey. Uh. Before we--I'm just going to take a shower, okay?"
Gerard blinked a few times, and then he seemed to get it. Whether it was just Frank's some people like to be clean mantra coming back to him, or whether he actually understood that Bob wanted to take a few minutes of time out, he nodded.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and said, "Yeah, sure. No rush or anything."
He was grinning when he dropped his hand, and Bob smiled back, because this was going to be okay, this was going to be fucking great. He leaned across the small distance between him and Gerard to give him one last quick kiss.
"Maybe, like, a little bit of a rush," Bob muttered, and then he picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it and took the whole thing into the bathroom before he started looking for his toothbrush and got distracted by Gerard and totally ruined his exit.
Bob scrubbed off fast but thoroughly, and the temptation to jerk off was tempered by the idea that Gerard was going to be seeing him naked in the really near future. He glared down at his belly and dick both as he washed behind his ears, but he wasn't seventeen anymore, he didn't need to pre-party to keep from embarrassing himself--and Gerard had a pretty goddamn good idea what he looked like and hadn't had any objections so far, so fuck it. Bob had done something scarier just getting up on stage every night on this tour, and that had all turned out pretty fucking fantastic. He wasn't going to freak out now.
He did put clothes back on after he dried off, though, pajama pants and his clean(er) hoodie. This was all about not rushing, so. He wasn't going to rush anything.
When he stepped back into the room, Gerard was rummaging through his backpack, already holding a little bag Bob had never seen before. It looked like a makeup kit, but it wasn't any of the three makeup kits Gerard used on a daily basis, so it probably actually had soap and a toothbrush and stuff in it.
Gerard looked up at Bob, smiled, and grabbed a handful of clothes out of his bag. "Shower sounds kind of. Yeah."
Bob tried hard not to look surprised, just stepped aside and said, "Yeah, go for it. There's lots of towels."
Gerard nodded all the way to the door, gave Bob a shy smile, and then shut the door in his face.
Bob fished some stuff out of his own bag and moved it to the drawer of the nightstand--shoving the Gideon Bible out of the way with his other hand--and then just stood there, listening to the water running in the bathroom. He wondered if he was being overly optimistic with the supplies, and then he remembered the way Gerard had shoved him up against the door and decided that was kind of a stupid thing to worry about at this point. After a few minutes, he realized it was also kind of stupid to just stand there. He figured he might as well stick with what worked. He sat down, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV on.
He changed channels randomly, just for the novelty of watching shit he hadn't already memorized, and spent ten minutes watching a juicer infomercial contemplating just how badly they would wind up misusing that thing on the bus. Gerard had been in the shower for so long that Bob was starting to wonder if he'd forgotten how when he changed the channel again and found Sealab 2021.
Bob grinned and dropped the remote, though he kept it close by. Ray had warned him before they even left for the tour that Gerard could be, "Just, you know, kind of funny about Aqua Teen Hunger Force. It's not a big thing, just if you're bringing it with you you have to fucking hide it like it's freaky farm animal porn, okay?"
Bob had nodded and Ray had added, "If you have freaky farm animal porn, though, you should just show it to Cortez first thing, because he'll find that shit. It's like his superpower. He knows somehow."
Bob hadn't asked any more questions about that.
The next show up after Sealab was anime that Bob had seen maybe half an episode of before, so he had no fucking clue what was going on. He was thinking about switching the channel again when he heard the water shut off, and then he just kept his eyes on the screen.
Bob had almost figured out what was going on by the time the bathroom door opened, and Gerard immediately said, "Oh, hey, Full Metal Alchemist!"
Bob looked over, then, and Gerard was dropping his kit back into his backpack and walking over, wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt. "You're a fan?"
Gerard shrugged, climbed onto the bed and then onto Bob, straddling his lap and putting his back to the TV. "Right now, I honestly don't give a fuck."
"Fair," Bob muttered, and then Gerard was kissing him again, his hands on Bob's face, his hair falling down to brush against Bob's forehead, wet and chilly where Gerard's mouth was hot. Bob shivered and settled his hands on Gerard's hips, tugging him down. He let his fingers slide under Gerard's shirt, to the soft skin beneath, careful not to tickle. Even knowing exactly where Gerard's knees and elbows were, that could probably still end badly.
Gerard let Bob pull him down, settling some of his weight in Bob's lap, grinding down against Bob's dick, and pajama pants were a fuck of a lot thinner than jeans. Bob bucked up, hands tightening on Gerard as he did. Their mouths broke apart, and Gerard was grinning down at him.
"Fuck yeah," Gerard breathed. "This is what I'm talking about."
Bob shifted one hand up to the back of Gerard's neck, pulling him down for just one more kiss, and one more after that, until Gerard pulled back against his grip.
"I don't want to rush you or anything," he said breathlessly, shifting his hips in a slow roll against Bob's dick, "but I have been waiting a really long time for you to fuck me."
Bob's fingers dug in hard against Gerard's skin, and even seeing Gerard wince was kind of hot at this point. Bob kissed his throat when he tipped his head back and said, "We're going to have to lose some clothes, then."
"You're going to have to let--" Bob closed his teeth lightly on Gerard's throat, not enough to leave a mark--not that Gerard wouldn't either cover it up with makeup tomorrow or draw it in brighter, depending on his mood--and Gerard went silent. Bob licked the spot, wondering if that was all it took to shut Gerard up, and if he could remember to use it in the morning, and then he thought he might have better things to do in the morning than get Gerard to leave him alone so he could go back to sleep.
Gerard rocked against him again, and Bob lifted his head and pushed Gerard's shirt up. Gerard barely let him get it off before he was tugging at Bob's hoodie, and Bob let him wrestle it off before he pushed Gerard off his lap, muttering, "Pants, pants, come on."
Gerard shimmied out of his own while Bob was pulling his off, and that left Gerard lying there naked, on his back. He licked his lips, and Bob saw him looking nervous, just for a second. He couldn't just leave Gerard like that; he stretched out next to him, not quite on top. The first full-body contact of skin to skin, his dick against Gerard's hip, made Bob let out a shaky breath. He planted his knee between Gerard's legs, letting Gerard shove his dick against Bob's thigh as they kissed.
Gerard's hands running randomly over Bob's skin turned gradually to Gerard holding on; when he started trying to dig in his fingernails, Bob lifted his head.
"I've got--" Gerard said, looking a little dazed, his dick still thrusting against Bob like he just couldn't stop.
Bob shook his head. "Got it already."
He leaned over and got the stuff out of the drawer, and dropped it on the bed.
"But I want to blow you first."
Gerard squeezed his eyes shut and nodded fast, going carefully still. Bob grinned as he moved, trailing kisses down Gerard's throat, over his chest and belly--nearly as white and soft as Bob's own, which made Bob give it an extra nuzzle and lick, until Gerard was laughing breathlessly. "Fuck, fucker, not there."
"Oh, no? Someplace else?" Bob had his hands on Gerard's hips now, holding him still, but Gerard still tried to push up, tried to get some friction.
"Seriously," Gerard said, an edge of a whine in his voice, "we can have a Mr. Bean marathon, just--fucking please--"
Bob snorted--Gerard had his priorities seriously misplaced if he was trying to bribe Bob to go down on him with the offer of more TV--but he gave in, settling himself between Gerard's splayed-out legs and licking up the underside of his dick.
Gerard gasped out a "Yeah," and his hand landed on Bob's head, scrabbling for something to hold on to and getting nothing--Bob was growing out his buzzcut, but all it had done so far was get fluffy, still sticking straight up, so he just looked sort of surprised all the time.
Bob lifted his head enough to look Gerard in the eye as he said, "If you grab me by the ear, I swear to God I will dump you in the hallway bare-assed and trade you for Frank."
Gerard nodded frantically, and Bob grinned before he finally got down to it properly, closing his mouth over the head of Gerard's dick. He still had his hands on Gerard's hips, but he didn't bother trying to get the leverage to really hold him down. When Gerard thrust up Bob rode him out, letting Gerard's cock fill his mouth and batter at his throat. He sucked when Gerard tried to be still, and let Gee fuck his mouth when he wanted. He'd been waiting for this, for the smell and taste of Gerard filling his mouth, for the hitch in the rhythm of Gerard's breath, for Gerard's hand scrubbing over his head, pushing but never trying to grab.
Bob only pulled off when Gerard's gasps turned to urgent half-words, warning. He knelt up, then, planted one hand on each of Gerard's shins, and said, "Turn over."
Gerard stared blankly at Bob for a second, chest heaving, spit-shiny dick bobbing slightly as he breathed, and then he burst into motion, and only Bob's grip on his legs kept him from kneeing Bob in the head. When he was safely turned over, Bob grabbed Gerard by the hips, tugging him up to knees and elbows, pushing him toward the head of the bed. Gerard pushed the lube and condoms back toward him, but Bob ignored them for the moment, resting his hands on Gerard's ass and licking at the base of his spine, just above the cleft of his ass.
Gerard jerked like Bob had shocked him, made a startled sound but didn't say a word.
"Gee?" Bob let his lips drag against Gerard's skin as he spoke. "You mind?"
Gerard exhaled on a shudder and shook his head, and Bob licked lower. Gerard's legs opened a little wider for him, making it easy, and Bob tasted nothing but clean sweat and skin, and revised his guess on why Gerard's shower had taken so long. Bob grinned, tracing a line downward with his tongue, pressing Gerard's cheeks open with his hands. Gerard made another startled sound when he got there, stringing even tighter, and Bob told himself he was in no hurry even if his dick said something different. He went slow, licking wet and soft around Gerard's hole, pushing in shallowly at first, teasing, just enough to test the tightness of muscle. When Gerard started pushing back into the touch he pressed harder, licking inside, working his tongue in and out until Gerard was wet and easy and practically growling at him. "Bob, fuck, come on, now, or I'll trade you for Frank."
"Uh-huh," Bob breathed, but he was already getting to his knees, reaching for the lube. He slicked a finger, pressed it against Gerard's hole and in, but Gerard shook his head, looking at Bob over his shoulder. He was flushed and sweaty like he was in the middle of a set, like Bob was a thousand screaming fans and a kick-ass sound system, driving him wild.
"Don't, I don't--now, Bob--"
And Bob wasn't going to argue with Gerard when he was like that, not one bit. He got the condom on, got himself ready, and then he had his hand on Gerard's hip, holding him steady as he pushed slowly inside. Gerard was tight, and Bob probably should have asked him how long it had been--as well as Bob knew Bert, he'd never known what the fuck was really going on there--but Gerard was hissing, "Yes, yes, yes," and he felt so fucking good on Bob's cock that there was no way he was doing anything but this now.
When Bob was all the way in he kept still for a couple of breaths--long enough to hear familiar cartoon dialogue behind him. His hips jerked, shoving his dick that little bit harder into Gerard, even as he was tempted to grab the remote. Gerard started laughing a little, and said something that sounded like, "Fucking Meatwad, fuck."
Bob folded forward over Gerard's back, scraping his teeth against Gerard's shoulder. "You have such a fuckin' way with words, man."
Gerard's giggle came out half a moan as Bob pulled out, and when he thrust back in, Gerard gasped, "Oh, yeah, Harvey Birdman--"
"Oh, God, shut the fuck up," Bob gasped, pushing in again even as he tried to get his hand over Gerard's mouth.
Gerard licked and bit at his fingers, moaning out, "Come on, Frylock, give it--"
Bob took his hand from Gerard's mouth and closed it around Gerard's dick, and "Aw, Brak, yeah," trailed off into nothing but breathing. Bob tried to move in some kind of rhythm, but he just felt like he was racing himself, trying to get Gerard off, trying to come. He realized Gerard was going to beat him to it a second before he felt it, spilling wet over his fingers, clutching hot-tight around him, and he gritted his teeth and waited it out, until Gerard was easy and quiet under him, pushing back lazily onto Bob's dick.
"C'mon, your turn," Gerard murmured, and Bob let his weight fall on Gerard's back, pushed them both down to the bed. His sticky hand was trapped under Gerard's stomach as he kept moving, fucking him deep and hard and almost, almost--
There, jerking rough and uncontrolled into Gerard's ass, lips moving meaninglessly against Gerard's skin as he came, gasping like he was drowning.
Behind him, Space Ghost was yelling at Zorak. "Fuck, Gee, remote."
Gerard laughed again. "See, Cartoon Network, fucking ruins the afterglow, man."
Gerard squirmed around beneath him, and then there was sudden silence from the TV, and Bob pressed his face against Gerard's shoulder, thinking vaguely that he was going to have to move, clean up, at some point. He should at least, like, move so Gerard wasn't smashed into the wet spot, to say nothing of his own hand.
Bob woke up to an annoying beep to find the lights still on, Gerard still under him. Gerard made a sleepy annoyed noise and batted at something that wasn't on the nightstand, and Bob peeled himself away with a wince and got up, getting rid of the condom first and then digging through Gerard's backpack after the source of the noise. "Gee, somebody's--"
Gerard rolled over and sat up all at once, wincing even as he said, wildly unconvincingly, "You don't have to get that! It's not important!"
Bob had the phone in his hand, though, and he flipped it open automatically.
Bob blinked at it a couple more times, and then shut it off with a stab of his thumb. He dropped it back into Gerard's backpack and shut off the lights, and then he climbed back onto the bed, stretching out half on top of Gerard. He could feel the brick-red flush of Gerard's cheeks, hot as a fever against his lips.
"You had an alarm set to wake you up in the middle of the night."
Gerard made a tiny choked noise.
Bob grinned, rubbing his nose against Gerard's flaming cheek. "Were you ever having trouble sleeping at all? Have you been fuckin' stalking me, Gee Way?"
"The first time I really couldn't sleep," he muttered. Bob wrapped his arms around Gerard, tugging him closer, trying to figure out how to get under the covers without making either of them stand up.
Gerard added almost primly, "And it's not stalking if you live with the person. It's setting time aside to spend alone with someone special."
That didn't sound like a Step or therapy. "Where'd you get that, Cosmo?"
Gerard huffed and pulled out of Bob's grip, shoving the covers down and getting inside, holding them up for Bob to follow.
"Yeah, Cosmo," he said, when he was pressed up against Bob again, his knee pushing between Bob's thighs. "You should see what they said on page 72 about driving your man wild in bed."
"Mmmm." Bob ran his hand down Gerard's back, kissing idly at the bridge of his nose. "Something they can't show on TV?"
"Only on the good channels," Gerard promised. "And only after midnight."
"Yeah?" Bob muttered. "Well, it's always after midnight somewhere."