(no subject)
title: Learned Your Name Without Words
rating: NC-17
prompt: unrequited love
summary: Thnks Fr Th Mmrs. Frank/Bob, 10,810 words.
The first time it happens, Frank just thinks that Bob is being a passive-aggressive asshole.
It's towards the end of Taste of Chaos, after the Seattle show. Frank and Bob exchange high-fives and grins when they all leave the stage, the same thing that happens after every performance, and Frank is used to the hot wire of tension curling in his gut when he meets Bob's eyes by now, but that night he decides to fuck it. Fuck it, just fuck it, he's done pussying out and he wants to make a move.
Gerard finds Bert and Frank can hear them already arguing before they disappear to wherever it is they disappear to, and Ray and Mikey head over to some bus party. Bob is still in their bus, sitting on the back of the couch and drumming his fingers on his thigh, a distant look on his face.
"You gonna crash now or just hang out for a while?" Frank asks, since Bob doesn't look like he's planning on going out.
Bob shrugs. "I could probably use the extra sleep." The corner of his mouth quirks up and he stops drumming his fingers, rubbing his palm on his pant leg instead.
"Nah, dude, don't go to sleep yet. Stay up with me instead." Frank has no idea he's going to say that until the words leave his mouth, and then he's moving, crossing the bus to grab Bob's hand and get close to him, nudging Bob's knees apart so that they're on either side of Frank's hips.
Bob's eyebrows go up in surprise and his eyes flash, and Frank knows that he's going to get what he wants, knows that Bob wants this, too. "Yeah?"
Frank tugs on Bob's hand, pulling him in even closer and tilts his head forward to kiss him on the lips. He feels Bob's exhalation against his mouth and then Bob's tongue is licking at Frank's lips and his other hand is warm on the small of Frank's back.
"Frank," Bob says, and Frank can hear a lot in his voice and interpret even more in how tight Bob is holding him already. Frank moves his own hands to palm Bob's ass and move him until they're grinding together.
They move it to the bunk, and don't stop kissing until they hear a crash and loud laughter, signifying the return of Ray and Mikey. Frank and Bob both still, waiting until the noise dies down.
Frank doesn't hear them climb into their bunks. He shifts against Bob, the angle kind of awkward with his hard-on. "If we keep going, they'll probably hear us," he says, careful to keep his voice low.
Bob doesn't move his hand from where it is, down the back of Frank's pants. "And probably interrupt," he mutters, rolling his eyes.
They hear the TV come on then, offering noise cover, and they both breathe a sigh of relief. "Keep going," Frank whispers, kissing Bob on the mouth quickly before moving his lips to Bob's jaw and neck, Bob's beard rough against his skin.
Frank doesn't think much of it when he wakes up the next morning and Bob has already left the bunk. It's a good thing, he figures; now the other guys won't discover them waking up together and they won't have to explain this until they're ready to.
Bob's playing video games with Ray in the TV room when Frank emerges, and Frank gives him a slow smile before sitting down on the chair across from him. Bob nods at him before turning back to the screen, cursing when Ray takes out one of his men.
Frank pushes last night from his mind during soundcheck (they're late, no one can find Jepha, it's hectic to say the least) and the show, but as soon as they're done he makes a bee-line for Bob. Frank jumps on his back, grinning and clinging and whooping in Bob's ear, and he can feel the vibrations when Bob laughs.
Frank squeezes Bob hard with his thighs before letting go and dropping to the ground. "Any plans tonight?" he asks, grinning.
Bob doesn't seem to catch the implication. "Yeah, Jepha wanted to hang out. You?"
Frank ends up spending a few hours playing drinking games with Jepha and Bob, and not once does Bob try to cop a feel--he barely meets Frank's eyes. By the time Frank starts to get really annoyed, Gerard appears, his mouth in a tight line. "Frank, can I--can we talk?"
They go outside, heading back to their bus, and Gerard's fingers are shaking when he lights a cigarette. His stage makeup is smeared. "I, uh, Bert and I, we."
Gerard doesn't have to say anything else. Frank privately thinks it's about damn time, but he says, "Geez, I'm sorry," and squeezes Gerard's arm instead.
Gerard laughs, a little harsh. "Don't be. He's, you know. You shouldn't be sorry. I'm not." There's a strange look in Gerard's eyes, and Frank feels uneasy, wondering what Bert said to him when Gerard finally dumped him.
"How'd he take it?"
"Oh, fuck." Gerard looks away, sucking hard on his cigarette. "Fuck, man, he screamed at me, he said--I don't even know, and then he fucking ran off. I'm really worried, I think--I don't know what he's going to do."
It's sweet that Gerard is concerned about his welfare even after the shit he's put up with from Bert this whole tour; Frank kind of wants Bert to go jump off a cliff in grief.
"I found Quinn and their manager and told them, they'll track him down and keep him from doing something stupid. Shit, I'm sorry, I should've waited until the tour was over." Gerard looks at Frank with his eyes wide and miserable. "The next week and a half is not going to be fun for anyone."
"Don't you dare fucking apologize. The sooner you broke it off the better, dude, you've known that since we hit the road with them. We'll deal, okay?"
The next couple days are so chaotic and un-fun that Frank doesn't get to see much of Bob. He does get in a fight with Bert that almost gets physical until Brian pulls him away and Quinn and Jepha handle Bert.
"We need to all ignore him," Ray says, talking to both Frank and Gerard.
Gerard nods, looking paler than usual. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm trying, he just--" Gerard doesn't finish the sentence, ducking outside to smoke instead. Mikey follows him.
"I don't want to ignore him, I want to kick his fucking face in," Frank snaps, but he knows Ray's right. Bob doesn't offer an opinion on the situation, keeping his head down and his hands shoved in his pockets. Frank knows this has kind of fucked with his friendship with Jepha; he feels bad for Jepha, but he can't really deal with anyone who's taking Bert's side right now.
Frank is too distracted by Bert going for the title of Worst Ex-Boyfriend Ever to focus much on Bob, although it's always in the back of his mind. He figures that Bob hasn't approached him for the same reason, that they're both trying to be there for Gerard. But they have a day off in San Diego, and Frank makes sure that he and Bob are sharing a room at the hotel.
"Shit, dude, tomorrow's been a long time coming," Frank sighs when they crash that night, flopping face first onto his bed. "I feel like I haven't had a day without work or stress for a decade or two."
Bob snorts, sitting down on the other bed. "I think I might sleep through it. Twenty-four hours of being comatose sounds kind of perfect right now."
Frank feels a wicked smile on his face and sits up on his elbows, leering in Bob's direction. "Well, I'd like to spend twenty-four hours in bed. I don't know about sleeping."
Bob laughs, sounding surprised. "Oh, yeah? I don't know, man. I don't want to be in the room with you and your conquest."
Frank blinks, wondering if Bob's being deliberately obtuse. "Dork. You *are* my conquest."
Bob just rolls his eyes. "Right. Goodnight, Frankie."
Bob gets into bed and turns his lamp on while Frank sits up on his knees, nonplussed.
"Wait, dude." Frank scrambles off his bed and onto Bob's, poking his back hard through the covers. "I'm serious. I mean, not now if you don't want to, but don't you want to pick up where we left off?"
Bob throws the covers off and twists around to give Frank a grumpy look. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"
"You, me, orgasms," Frank says, slowly like he's talking to a kindergartner. "Um, duh?"
The look on Bob's face changes--it gets very, very blank. "Funny, Frankie. Hilarious."
"I'm not fucking kidding!" Frank explodes. "Jesus, it's been a rough fucking week, I haven't even had a chance to see you and my best friend is dealing with the drugged-up ex from hell, so I'm fucking horny, all right? Do you not *want* another blowjob?"
"Another--what the fuck?" Bob has thrown the covers all the way off now. "You want to sleep with me?"
Frank stares. "Y-E-S, Bob. Jesus."
Bob stares at him. "Just--why? Because you're horny?"
"Yeah, and you're the closest warm body," Frank says sarcastically, and realizes it was the wrong thing to say when Bob's face closes down completely.
"Yeah, well, I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing. *Goodnight,*" Bob says, lying down again and pointedly turning his back to Frank. Frank goes back to his own bed, bewildered.
Okay, well. Clearly he didn't handle that as well as he could have, but--why the hell had Bob been so coy? He'd certainly been enthusiastic the last time. But maybe that was it, maybe Bob had just been stewing about it for the last week and had come to the conclusion that they went too far too fast the first time, or something. Maybe Frank is being too pushy.
He tries not to let himself think that maybe Bob has changed his mind completely, that he doesn't actually want anything to do with Frank. That would seriously suck.
Bob isn't in the room when Frank gets up; Frank asks around, and Bob apparently went into the city to do Bob things--hitting up record shops, probably. Frank opts to laze around the hotel instead of calling him, swimming in the pool with Ray and Mikey and plotting how to get Gerard in the water.
Frank tries not to think about Bob too much. Bob is his friend and bandmate: Frank really doesn't need to worry that Bob is going to be an asshole and avoid him or blow him off after fucking him. Frank trusts Bob to come out and tell him if he thinks that night was a mistake and that it shouldn't happen again; trusts Bob to handle the situation maturely, even if last night was kind of weird.
They hit some party at some club that night, and after a brief conversation with Ray and Mikey, it's decided that Ray will be the one to stay sober by Gerard's side to make it easier for him to stick to soda, leaving Frank free to drink (but not too much--none of them go very overboard these days) and pursue Bob.
The club is kind of chaotic, and there's a lot of milling around and dancing and pictures getting taken, and Frank has already had a couple drinks before he finds himself at Bob's side. "Hi," he says, grinning up at him.
Bob gives him the quirked-up corner of his mouth back. "Hey."
Frank bumps Bob's elbow with his own. "Sorry if I was weird last night."
Bob shrugs. "Don't worry about it. I was just tired and wasn't expecting the joke, you know?"
It wasn't a joke, god dammit, but Frank lets it drop. Someone jostles into him and Frank almost spills his drink on Bob--Bob's jacket is saved only by Frank's brilliant reflexes. "Um, do you want to find somewhere more private? Less noisy?"
Bob blinks at him, then shrugs. "Yeah, sure."
They go out on the club's balcony, in a corner vacated by anyone else, and Bob turns around to lean against the railing and light a cigarette. "Something on your mind?"
Frank cocks his head, considering. He sips his drink. "Was, uh. Was last week not a big deal to you?"
Bob blinks. "The Bert thing? Of course it was a big deal. He interrupted our soundcheck and threw up almost on my kit. Jepha stopped talking to me."
Frank bites his lip and lights a cigarette of his own. "Not what I meant."
He waits for Bob to react, but when Frank looks up, Bob is still looking at him expectantly. "Uh, so what *did* you mean?" Bob prompts, like Frank is slow.
Apparently Frank has to spell it out again. "I was referring to you and I having sex after the Seattle show," he says, rolling his eyes.
Bob just looks at him. "How drunk are you?"
"I'm only tipsy!" Frank snaps. "God, will you just--give me a reaction, something, anything? I have no idea how you feel about the whole thing." He takes a step closer, alcohol making him feel warm and aggressive, leaning up to kiss Bob on the lips. It's a challenge as much as anything else. "Your memory jogged yet?" he says when he's done.
"I--what?" Bob sounds confused and kind of pissed now. "What are you doing, what are you *talking* about? The Seattle show, what?"
Frank takes a step back, stung. What the fuck? How could Bob-- "Fine," he says, not trusting himself to say anything else. He throws down his cigarette and goes quickly back inside, finishing his drink and going to the bar for more. Bob doesn't follow him.
His sophomore year of high school, one of the prettiest, most popular girls in his class slept with him at a party when he was drunk and she was sober. The next day at school, she was so determined to deny it happened that she denied remembering it to his face, so convincing that Frank thought she had amnesia. She even got one of her friends to give her an alibi, to say that she'd been with her the whole party so therefore she *couldn't* have slept with him, but her friend had been a much worse liar than she was.
It's just that Frank would never have expected this from Bob.
Frank gets drunk, so drunk that he doesn't even register Mikey glaring at him for drinking too much. Ray supports him on the way back to the hotel and Frank rolls his face into Ray's shoulder to keep himself from slurring about what an asshole Bob Bryar is.
Frank is hungover the next morning and avoids all human company, not just Bob, and then it's another show, and then it's the last few days of tour and everything is a whirlwind. Frank can pretend he's not avoiding Bob because it's not like they're being handed a ton of time to be alone together, anyway.
There's a big party after the end of the last show, but Frank isn't enthused about going--he doesn't know whether Bert is going to be there or not. Gerard goes off somewhere with Mikey, and when Frank heads back to their set of rooms he sees Bob leaning against his door, hands in his pockets.
"Hey. No, hey, wait, I wanted to talk to you," Bob says when Frank turns around to head back where he came from.
Frank scowls and walks over to Bob reluctantly, fishing out his room key and opening the door. Bob follows him inside, shutting it behind him. "Yeah? What?" Frank says, maybe a little belligerent.
Bob looks at him. "I don't know why you're mad at me."
Frank feels anger flare up in his stomach, and he opens his mouth to snap an incredulous reply, but Bob holds up a hand.
"I don't know why you're mad at me," he continues. "I'm sorry, I guess? And. I need to say this. I need to just--" Bob's voice gets high and then breaks off, and he looks away from Frank, his jaw clenched, clearly frustrated. He's so visibly agitated and it's so un-Bob-like that Frank closes his mouth and listens.
Bob mutters something under his breath before looking back at Frank. "Here's the thing. I like you, I like you a lot, and I mean--I mean not in a friendly way."
"I know it's weird because we're bandmates and friends," Bob goes on, and Frank has never heard his voice so strained. "And I don't know how you feel--"
"--you don't?!" Frank gets in finally, surprise breaking his silence.
"Well, except for how you make weird random jokes about wanting to sleep with me out of the blue," Bob says, frowning at him.
"And except for how I *kissed* you last night. What did you think that was, huh?"
Bob opens his mouth and shuts him again. "Um. You... didn't kiss me last night," he says.
Maybe they're stuck in a comic book plot and Bob has a doppelganger running around that Frank has been doing things with, because Frank is as confused as Bob is now. Bob seems to really be serious, nervous in the way that Frank remembers being just a couple weeks ago--when you're about to make a move on someone you've liked for a long time, someone who doesn't know you like them. "Bob, what do you remember doing two Tuesdays ago, after the Seattle show?"
Bob looks like he wants to ask Frank if he has brain damage, but he says, "Uh, I pretty much just went to sleep."
Frank swallows. "In your own bunk? Were you--were you really drunk or anything?"
"What? No, I was sober and yes, in my own bunk. Dude, what are you getting at?"
Frank pushes a hand back through his hair. "You don't remember," he says, hearing how flat his words sound.
"I don't remember what?" Bob says, his voice rising, pissed-off. "You're being so fucking cryptic--"
"We had sex that night. Or wait, actually: I found you alone in the bus, I asked you to stay up with me instead of going to sleep, and then I made my move and kissed you and there was a lot of tongue--" Frank is aware that he's babbling, going too fast but he can't stop. "You got my shirt off and we got back into my bunk, there was, I don't know, heavy petting? And then Ray and Mikey almost interrupted us, but they didn't, and I gave you what you *said* was an awesome blowjob, and then you fucked me, and--" Frank takes a breath. "Is *any* of this ringing a bell?"
Frank can see Bob's eyes widen when Frank describes the sexual acts. "Are you--wait, no. I don't remember any of that, that didn't happen," Bob says, his voice thin.
"Yeah, you have weird amnesia, I'm kind of getting that picture." Frank is so sick of going in circles about this. "But it happened, man, I swear. That's why I wanted you to sleep with me the other night, because we'd already done it once."
Bob seems lost in thought. "But why don't I remember?" he says, half to himself it seems like.
"I don't know, and I don't know that I care," Frank says, closing the distance between them and draping his arms over Bob's neck and shoulders, tugging him down.
Bob snaps out of his reverie and seems to realize that all of this means that Frank likes him, wants him, that the feelings are all mutual. He looks down to meet Frank's eyes and his hand goes to the small of Frank's back, warm.
"We'll just have to do it again," Frank says, trying to keep his voice light, trying to detract from the weird situation.
A smile breaks out on Bob's face, the metal in his lip glinting, and he tugs Frank closer as they both move in for the kiss.
"Bizarre, man," Bob murmurs when they pull apart to breathe. "Maybe someone slipped me drugs that night or something."
Frank laughs, but he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. "We'll just have to recreate the memory, right?"
Bob huffs out a breath against Frank's mouth and tightens his hold. Frank pushes his hips up against Bob's thighs and kisses him, slides his tongue in Bob's mouth, wraps himself around him.
They waste no time disposing of every last article of clothing, and then Bob is pushing Frank onto the bed and climbing on top of him, biting a kiss at Frank's collarbone and working his way down. Frank almost wants Bob to just keep tonguing his nipples forever, but then Bob reaches down to squeeze his dick and no. No, Frank really wants Bob to do other things forever.
"Fuck," Bob mutters when he's at eye level with Frank's cock, his fingers wrapped around the base. "Frankie--"
"Yeah," Frank says, slightly strangled. "I--you can, I mean--"
"I know," Bob says, smirking up at him briefly before bending his head. He just rubs his lips against the tip of Frank's cock first, and that alone makes Frank feel a moment away from exploding.
Bob hums when he sucks cock, Frank finds out, and he doesn't take Frank in far but the feel of that lip ring more than makes up for that. He uses his hand on the base and sucks the rest of him until Frank comes, and he swallows. Frank is more than willing to roll over onto his stomach when Bob cups the back of his thigh and ass and gives him a beseeching look, and Bob takes his time fingering him before pushing his cock in. He keeps kissing the back of Frank's neck while he fucks him, and Frank can hear him take sharp hissing breaths in every time Frank pushes his ass back against Bob's cock.
Bob gives a stuttering exclamation when he comes, his hands tightening on Frank's hips. He lies there for what seems like forever afterwards, and their breathing sounds heavy and loud in the silence.
When Bob pulls out and rolls off of him, and Frank turns over on his side so that they're facing each other. "Memorable, right?" he says, coughing when his voice comes out hoarse.
Bob laughs. "Definitely."
***
When Frank wakes up the next morning, he's alone but the other half of his bed is still warm. He can hear the bathroom sink running and Bob brushing his teeth.
Frank gets out of bed quietly and walks over to him, wrapping his arms loosely around Bob's waist and resting his chin on Bob's shoulder. "Morning."
Bob takes his toothbrush out of his mouth and looks a little confused and amusing. "Heh. Okay? Hi, Frankie."
Frank feels a slight lurch in his stomach, but he ignores it. He lets Bob go and moves so that he's in between Bob and the bathroom counter, in front of him. "Hi." He leans in to kiss Bob, tasting toothpaste.
Bob pulls back. "Uh, Frank? Not that I'm--but this is just--uh, what are you doing?" He looks confused, still sleepy.
Frank feels himself lurch again and moves away. "I--nothing, I. Sorry, just. Ignore me, I've gotta go, I--"
"Do you always sleep naked?" Bob says, noticing and glancing away, his cheeks slightly red. Frank doesn't answer, just walks quickly back into the main room, pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt before getting out of there. Gerard's room is down the hall and Frank pounds on the door until Gerard opens it, looking grumpy and half-awake.
"This hotel's coffee is disgusting," Gerard says.
"I need to talk to you. Right now. Uh, alone, I think, probably, yeah," Frank babbles out, pushing past Gerard into his hotel room.
Frank starts pacing and hears Gerard muttering sleepily behind him. "So, Bob," Frank starts, and then doesn't really know what to say. It occurs to him that this is all kind of weird.
"What about him?" Gerard says through a yawn.
"We hooked up," Frank says. "The first time was a couple weeks ago, in Seattle, and then--nothing really happened because we were all dealing with Bert--"
"You know you didn't have to--"
"Shut up, of course I know. Anyway. The weird thing is that Bob didn't remember it. There was--we had all this sex, and then I find out a few days ago that he doesn't remember anything happening with us! Not even the kissing! And then, and *then* last night he approached me and tried to--to confess his feelings or whatever, and we hooked up again, and he doesn't remember again!"
Frank whirls around to face Gerard, knowing he sounds and looks kind of crazy. Gerard scrubs a hand through his hair, tugging at the long ends.
"You like Bob?" he says after a moment.
"Uh, yeah, I think that's implied in the whole sex thing!" Frank says, his voice rising in exasperation.
"Jesus Frankie, I haven't had any coffee yet, just lemme catch up," Gerard says, holding his hands up in defense.
Frank sits down heavily on Gerard's bed. "Dude. There's something wrong with Bob's brain. I don't think sex with me could possibly be that un-memorable."
Gerard rolls his eyes. "Right. So--so wait. Let me get this straight. You've been fucking Bob, and now he can't remember it? Did he hit his head? I'm going to be kind and not freak out about two of my bandmates suddenly getting into a messy relationship right now, by the way."
"That's Brian's job, which is why Brian's not gonna know," Frank says, scuffing his foot on the carpet. "And. I wouldn't say 'been fucking.' It's more like I managed to get him naked all of twice, and now this morning he doesn't remember--doesn't remember for the second time. Not remembering once is weird enough, man, but twice? Don't you think that might be a pattern or something?"
Gerard purses his lips. "And he's not just, I don't know, pretending not to remember for some reason?"
Frank remembers Bob's words yesterday, his agitation at confessing his feelings for Frank when he really seemed to not have any idea that Frank felt the same way. "I really don't think so."
Gerard purses his lips. "Okay. Okay, hm. Okay. We should test this."
"We don't need to test this! It's happened twice, I think that means there's an issue." Frank hugs his arms and slumps, kicking viciously at the hotel carpet.
"Twice could still be a fluke, and besides, right now it's just *your* word on what happened."
Frank looks up sharply. "You don't think--"
"I believe you," Gerard says hastily. "I'm just saying, it might be harder to convince Bob that there's a serious problem with his memory if you don't have proof."
Frank narrows his eyes. "What do you suggest?"
"Well, if you've hooked up with him twice already, it's a fair bet that if you make a move on him tonight he'll be receptive. I'll walk in on you guys making out, and maybe I can even manage to take a picture with my phone if I'm stealthy enough."
Frank stands up and starts pacing again. He doesn't want to fuck around with proof and pictures and tricking Bob (at least, that's what it already feels like) into hooking up with him again, he just wants to--fuck, he just wants to hold Bob's fucking hand and wrap his arms around him in the morning and have the kind of sex that you can only have with someone who knows your body, what you like, inside and out. Hooking up with someone you like for the first time is fantastic, but Frank is more than ready to progress.
"This feels so sketchy," Frank says. "I mean, you're going to try and take a *picture?*"
Gerard rolls his eyes. "It's not like I'm going to leak it on the internet. Look, it's going to be a lot easier to make Bob believe you if it's clear it's not just you and I playing a weird joke on him."
Of course, then Bob would want to know why Gerard was taking pictures of them making out. Frank guesses that they can cross that bridge when they come to it. "Okay, but. But we're just going to be making out a little, okay? You're not going to get any porn starring me." He stops pacing and eyes Gerard.
"Oh damn, you discovered my secret motivation," Gerard says sarcastically. "This whole thing has made you fucking paranoid."
"Gee, I'm sorry that this crazy situation where the guy I've been crushing on for months doesn't remember it when we fuck is making me a little edgy!" Frank flails.
Gerard gives a long-suffering sigh. "Go get dressed and help me find the nearest Starbucks, man."
***
That day they're flying to New York for some TV thing, and there's no time before the flight to corner Bob and somehow simultaneously signal to Gerard. Frank had passed the kiss of that morning off as "I was just being friendly, man!" and since he's generally a weird, affectionate guy it sort of works. Bob still gives him strange looks throughout the morning, but when they get on the plane and end up sitting next to each other, he just falls asleep against the window.
Frank spends the flight staring at Bob and trying not to stare at Bob and fidgeting. The memory of last night has to be in his brain somewhere, right? Even if Bob has subconsciously buried it for whatever reason. No matter what, Bob has kissed Frank, touched him, fucked him, that's the physical *reality,* and Bob not remembering it doesn't mean it didn't happen.
Maybe Bob's dreamed about either time it happened, though. Maybe he's dreaming about it right now, on the plane, his knee touching Frank's--maybe he'll remember his dream when he wakes up, but dismiss it as just a fantasy. Frank finds himself staring at Bob with narrowed eyes hard enough to give himself a headache and shakes himself out of it.
When they land there's no time, and they get ushered from one studio to another, and there's also a print interview somewhere in there. Frank loses track of it all, and he feels like he goes through the performance of Helena on automatic. He can probably blame exhaustion from the tour for the lackluster, but it still bothers him.
There's a schmoozefest afterparty at the TV station when the show's over, and when Frank sees Bob slip away from the crowd for a cigarette, he slips after him. FOLLOW CLOSE BEHIND, he texts Gerard.
Bob turns when he hears Frank behind him, giving him that quirked-upturn of his lips again. "Hey."
Frank licks his lips and decides to just dive right in. "So this morning, that kiss? That wasn't just me being friendly. I totally lied."
Bob frowns a little. "Uh, okay?"
"Bob, I--" Frank doesn't really know where to go from here. He didn't know what to say to confess his feelings the first time, and he still doesn't have much of a clue now. Bob has his cigarette to his lips, and Frank takes two steps closer and grabs his hand, moving it away and then standing on his tip toes to kiss Bob's mouth.
Bob gives a little gasp of surprise and opens his mouth, giving in and damn, Frank really likes kissing Bob. Kissing Bob is something that he'd really like to explore, something that he'd like to make a project of his. Frank curls his fingers in Bob's hair and tugs him even closer, pressing their bodies together. He feels Bob's hand settle on his back.
Bob makes a low sound into Frank's mouth and Frank feels like he's melting. It comes as a shock when he hears "Hey, do you guys--oh, uh."
They pull apart, Bob instantly taking his hands off of Frank, and when Frank turns he sees a glimpse of Gerard slipping his phone into his pocket. He's pretty sure that Bob didn't notice; Bob is too busy turning red and glaring at Gerard's face.
Gerard's cheeks are pink, too, and his eyes are comically wide. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt anything! I didn't know that--I mean, um--"
"Dude, go away," Bob says, kind of pissy and kind of gruff. Something in his voice makes Frank have to bite his lip hard to keep from smiling.
"Um, yeah," Frank says, struggling to make his voice annoyed instead of amused. "We'll talk later or something, okay?"
"Right, right, okay," Gerard says, backing away hastily, still over-acting. "I'll just, uh--back inside, yeah. I'll see you guys later. Okay."
And he's gone. Frank looks back up at Bob. "We are kind of in public. I didn't really think that part through well."
Bob raises his eyebrows. "You mean you thought it through at all?"
"Well, hey," Frank says, defensive. "It's hard to be like 'I like you' without sounding like you're in junior high."
"Mm." Bob is leaning against the balcony railing, away from Frank, but he's smiling at him. "So you just decided to throw yourself at me?"
Frank spreads his hands wide in front of him. "You didn't seem to object." He feels a stab of guilt; this all feels so manipulative. Frank knew that Bob wouldn't object if he kissed him, of course. He also knows that he could do or say anything he wants tonight, because chances are that Bob won't remember it the next morning.
Bob peers at him. "So that's what this morning was about?"
Frank shrugs. "I lost my nerve this morning, yeah. I'm a little drunker now, so it's easier."
Bob laughs, his voice low, and when he says "Well, why don't we take this somewhere--less public?" Frank feels his dick jump to half-hard.
He nods a lot. "Yeah--yeah. The hotel? Let's go."
They take a cab back, and Frank is all over Bob the second they open up the door to Bob's room (it's one suite with five separate rooms--fancy compared to how they've been living on tour), but Bob puts a hand on his chest to keep him at arm's length.
"I actually wanted to just talk," Bob says, sounding almost bashful.
Frank blinks. He had just assumed--well, obviously, he shouldn't assumed. "Yeah, definitely," he says, going to sit on the bed. "Talking. Talking would be a good idea."
Bob sits next to him. "So, you like me?"
Frank raises an eyebrow at him. "Uh, yep. That should be fairly well-established by now."
Bob smiles, the hotel lamplight glinting off his lip ring. Frank thinks about licking it. "Cool. I like you, too." Bob hesitates, and Frank wants--he just wants. "We're in a band together."
Frank bites back a duh and just nods. "Right."
"We have to work together, live in each other's laps, and we're friends. So. I mean--I." Bob hesitates again, looking like he's chewing over each word he wants to say. "I'm not willing to risk all of that over something that's just sex."
Frank feels his chest do a funny little skip. He does, actually, want to have the relationship talk with Bob, he wants to establish that this is more than just orgasms, he wants this to *be* an actual thing. He feels like crying in frustration, because Bob is saying these things when he doesn't even *know* how far they've already gone, when he doesn't even realize that Frank has fallen asleep in his arms twice already.
Maybe he'll remember this in the morning; maybe it was just a weird fluke twice in a row. Frank hopes. "I know. I know, man, that's how I feel, that's what I want, that's what I think. We should." Frank takes a deep breath. "We should either really go for this or not play with it at all, you know?"
Bob gives him a long searching look, and sometimes Bob's eyes make Frank think ridiculous things, like a desire to drown in that blue, like wanting to just fall in or keep staring forever. "Yeah," Bob says. "Just as long as we're on the same page."
"I'm not fucking around," Frank says, and that seems like it was the right response, because Bob smiles. A real smile, showing teeth, and Frank scoots over and puts his hand over Bob's.
Fuck Bob's memory. Fuck everything else. "You should know that you're probably stuck with me now," Frank says. "The Ieros tend to cling."
"Well, shit," Bob murmurs before Frank feels his hand on the back of his neck, and then Bob's lips, warm and dry against his own. The kiss gets wetter and heavier and Frank closes his eyes and climbs into Bob's lap.
He'll deal with tomorrow morning when he gets to it.
***
When he wakes up Bob is in the shower. Frank rolls from his side to his back, closing his eyes again. He's in only his boxers, and maybe if he just stays like this he can pretend everything is the way he wants it to be. The imprint of Bob's head is still on the pillow next to him.
Frank doesn't open his eyes or sit up until Bob comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Dude, did you drink too much and pass out in here for some reason?" Bob says, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "I don't really remember."
Frank pulls the bedsheets up to his chin. "No. That's not what happened."
Bob looks at him, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, and Frank stares back.
Bob doesn't believe him when Frank explains, this time--three times sounds more outlandish than just one night of sex that Bob doesn't remember. He gets annoyed and they argue and Bob says "Frank, if this is your way of trying to get me in bed--" and Frank drags him to go see Gerard.
"It's not a prank," Gerard says quietly when Bob demands an explanation. "I know it's weird, man, but I saw you two yesterday." He hands Bob his cell phone with the picture of Frank and Bob filling up the screen. It's blurry and tiny, but it's unmistakably the two of them caught in an embrace.
"You took a picture?" Bob looks back and forth between Frank and Gerard, spots of color flaring in his cheeks, and Frank remembers belatedly how Bob has been guarding his privacy more and more zealously since joining the band. "What is this, proof? You guys--talked about this? Planned it?"
"We just wanted to get to the bottom of it," Gerard says. "I mean, jesus, you've got gaping holes in your memory. That's pretty freaky."
"Fine." Bob isn't looking at either of them. "So I'm like that guy in Memento. Great."
"Well, you can remember other things. Just not me. So it's not really like Memento," Frank muses, and wishes he hadn't opened his mouth when Bob stares at him.
They cancel all interviews for that day and Bob sees a psychiatrist and a brain doctor and gets a CAT scan. None of the doctors can find anything wrong with Bob's brain. Bob finds Frank that night and pulls him aside.
"So it's kind of just sunk in that all of this means that we've really had sex," Bob says, fishing a cigarette out and looking at Frank sideways. Frank lights up one of his own. "That you want to have sex with me."
Frank meets his eyes miserably. "Dude, I want to ride off into the sunset with you," he says. "That's why this memory thing sucks so much."
Bob takes a long drag and when he speaks again, his voice is husky. "You don't know what that means," he says. "What it means to hear that we've been spending nights together when the way I feel--the way I've felt since before I fucking joined the band--"
"It's the same for me," Frank says. "It's always been--"
"Will I remember it tomorrow if I kiss you right now?" Bob says, his hand on Frank's arm, and Frank forgets that he was actually going to light and smoke the cigarette in his hand.
When they fuck that night it feels frantic, desperate and fast and strained. Bob holds Frank a little too tight and Frank feels like burrowing deep inside him and never letting go. Bob doesn't remember it the next morning. He doesn't remember the CAT scan or Gerard's camera phone photo, either.
Frank mulls it over over coffee that morning. It wouldn't be a problem, really, if he could just let it go; considering that any relationship is probably a bad idea that would inevitably complicate the band even if Bob's memory *weren't* all fucked up, he should really try to move on. Leave Bob Bryar to someone else.
Frank scrubs a hand over his face. Maybe it would be easier to contemplate doing that before he knew what Bob tasted like, but *now* it's. It's really not going to happen. They'll just have to work something out.
They leave that day to tour Europe, and Frank avoids Bob--he doesn't really want to deal with it if Bob is going to try and confess his feelings again, as if nothing's happened between them. Frank needs a day to think, to plan out what exactly he's going to say to Bob the next time he has to explain the situation, to figure out how they can make this work.
Frank pulls Bob aside the next morning and explains again, the words beginning to sound tired and repetitive as he rattles off the facts of what they've done. After Bob gets over his disbelief, they draft a letter and attach a print of Gerard's photo; Bob signs it. They spend the night together and leave it on Bob's pillow.
When Frank wakes up, Bob is reading the letter. Frank can't read his expression.
Bob looks over at Frank. "How many times?"
Frank is already beginning to lose track a little. "I think five."
Bob goes back to reading. "This is crazy."
Frank swallows. "I know. It's crazy, it's weird, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want anything to do with me, but if we can make it work...."
Bob puts the letter down and rolls on his side to kiss Frank. Frank involuntarily makes an needy noise and kisses back.
The next morning Bob's reaction to the letter is much the same, except that he laughs for a while and shakes his head before reaching for Frank and kissing him. Frank feels acute deja vu, and it freaks him out a little--he drags Bob out of bed and they go out for breakfast instead of staying under the covers until they absolutely can't anymore, the way they had the previous day.
It becomes almost routine in a very surreal way, adding to the exhaustion and surreality of touring in general. Every few days or so Bob drills Frank about what exactly has happened the other times they've been together, and Frank can tell that he's weirded out as Frank gives him all the details he can remember.
"It's like it's been happening to someone else," Bob says. "It's like waking up with a whole new life. Or at least--I don't know. With a whole new boyfriend."
Frank looks away. "If it's not something you want--I mean. It's got to feel like someone else made the decision to get you into this, then."
"You know how I feel about you," Bob says, simple, and Frank believes that it's worth it.
Ray and Mikey and Brian find out about it when Bob marches out of the bunk area of the bus into the living room, where Brian is conferring with the rest of the band about the possibility of two shows on one day.
"Have Frank and I been having sex?" he demands, glaring out at them.
Gerard turns bright red, Mikey pushes his glasses higher up on his nose, Brian leans forward to stare past Bob at Frank, frowning. Ray opens and closes his mouth, then looks thoughtful. "Actually, that makes things make more sense."
"What the fuck," Brian says carefully, and Frank and Gerard both stumble over each other's words in their haste to start explaining before Brian turns purple. It takes them most of the day to explain, and it's really weird having your strange groundhog-day relationship with one bandmate get outed to the rest of your band, but after that it actually makes explaining things to Bob every morning easier. The rest of the band starts treating them as a couple, and it makes the whole thing feel at least a little closer to normal.
They experiment, trying to figure out if there's any loophole that will make Bob remember hooking up with Frank the morning after. They try staying up all night, figuring that if Bob doesn't go to sleep he won't forget, and Bob remembers up until 7am--there was a pause in the conversation, and when Frank glanced at Bob's face Bob looked confused, wondering what he was doing in Frank's bunk. They try just not having sex, but it turns out that even if they so much as kiss, Bob won't remember it the next morning.
It's a question of a relationship with no physical contact or a relationship that never lasts longer than a day in Bob's head. Bob rules that he'd rather deal with forgetting, rather than the knowledge that he has Frank but can't touch him. Frank agrees and is relieved, but sometimes he wonders if it wouldn't be better the other way around. Explaining every day, wondering whether Bob will want to continue this when he doesn't remember any of it (although Bob always wants to), going to sleep with the knowledge that Bob won't know him like this in the morning--it's getting to him.
On their second-to-last night in Europe, Frank looks up from tracing his finger idly over Bob's chest and realizes that he's in love. And he wants to say it, he's never been the kind of person to hold *that* back even when the other person didn't feel the same way--he wants to be a complete fucking cliche and shout it from the rooftops. The words are almost out of his mouth before he remembers that even though Frank's explained things to him thoroughly, to Bob it must still feel like they only started this *today.*
Frank just kisses him instead.
They finish touring Europe, and have a very brief vacation in Jersey before starting on Warped. One morning when Bob wakes up in Frank's bunk and reads the letter, he's quiet for longer than usual.
"This isn't a--"
"No joke," Frank says, interrupting. "We've been together this way since before the European leg," because he knows that next Bob will ask for how long. He puts a hand on Bob's waist and leans in to kiss him, and later he'll know that that was his mistake, taking any of this for granted.
Bob pushes him away and sits up, leaning away from Frank and looking pissed. "I--what? What the fuck? You just expect me to take your word for it that we've been sleeping together every night and that it's all been fine--"
"It has been fine," Frank says, feeling his ribcage constrict. "It will be fine, we've discussed this before--"
"As far as I'm concerned we haven't, because I don't remember it." Bob pushes past Frank to stand, and Frank scrambles to his feet as well. "This is so fucked up. What the fuck, Frankie?"
Frank swallows, and finds that he has no idea what to say. "If you don't believe me, I. You can ask the other guys, they know we're together, they know what the situation is."
Bob laughs. "I believe you. That's the problem, that I believe that you've been fucking me every night, and I'm oblivious the next morning, and you can do whatever you want--"
"I wouldn't," Frank says, horror congealing in his stomach. "Jesus, Bob, I wouldn't do anything--"
"I don't know that!" Bob yells, and if there's anyone on the bus who hasn't been overhearing this conversation, they are now. "I don't know what the hell you've done, what we've done! I don't know if--fuck, I could wake up tomorrow forgetting I even freaked out about it, and you could seduce me back into bed just because you know that I'm--attracted to you!"
Frank opens his mouth and closes it. Bob is looking at him like Frank's a stranger, and really, Frank can't disagree with anything Bob is saying. "I wish--I wish you could trust me," he says, and it sounds entirely weak to his own ears.
Bob seems to deflate a little. "I trust you," he says. "I trust you with a lot. But this--Frankie, this is. This is really creepy."
Frank bites his tongue against saying that Bob didn't find it creepy yesterday, or the day before, or for the last three months, because Bob of course will just say that he doesn't know that--he has to take Frank's word for it. And that *is* creepy, and it's wrong, and Frank thinks back to the guilt he felt that first time he manipulated Bob into making out with him so that Gerard could get a picture as proof. The stronger Frank felt about Bob, the more that guilt slipped away, and right now Frank kind of wants to punch himself in the face.
Frank moves past Bob to find Gerard in the living room, staring hard at the TV with forced casualness that means he probably just overheard every word of their fight.
"Tomorrow, don't let Bob and I hook up," Frank says, his voice flat. "If I try to pull anything, tell Bob that I could be doing anything to him and he wouldn't remember it the next morning, tell him that he did not give his consent to this."
Gerard turns away from the TV, indignant. "But that's not, you wouldn't--" he sees the look on Frank's face and on Bob's face and falters. "Okay. Will do."
Bob's anger seems to deflate from him, and he just looks tired when Frank turns back to face him. "Thanks for doing that," he says gruffly.
Frank shrugs. "You're right. You shouldn't take my word on it."
He retreats to his bunk and stays there for the rest of the day, staring at the bottom of Ray's bunk above him. After the show that night, he tracks Bob down before they all get back on the bus.
"I'm not trying anything," Frank says, hands up in defense when Bob gives him an apprehensive look. And then he feels guilty, because he kind of just lied. "I just--I wanted to tell you that I'm in love with you. For, you know. For whatever that means. I wasn't just fucking with your head for entertainment value, or because I was horny, or anything like that."
Bob meets his eyes for a beat, staring before looking down, his mouth in a tight line. "I don't really know what to say to that," he says, swallowing.
Frank shrugs. "You don't need to say anything." He steps in close to Bob, putting a hand carefully on Bob's hip. Bob doesn't move away, and when Frank kisses him chastely he's only tense for a second before returning the pressure.
Frank kisses him for as long as he thinks he can get away with before breaking it off, stepping back. "Okay. I'll--I'll see you tomorrow."
Frank doesn't want Bob to remember feeling violated by his bandmate, doesn't want him to have to remember any of this, and the next morning, Bob doesn't. Frank's already thrown away that stupid letter.
He gets Bob alone at the middle of the day, when Bob is sitting down eating lunch in the bus. "Hey, man, can I talk to you for a second?"
Bob smiles at him when Frank sits down next to him. "What's up?"
Frank hesitates. "I'm not really sure how to say this," he says, hoping his acting isn't too horrifically off. "But--okay. You know I love you, man, right? You saved the band, you're one of my best friends."
Bob stops eating. "Uh, okay. I appreciate you, too, Frankie."
Fuck. "Right. Yeah. Here's the thing. I know you have a crush on me, okay?" Bob's face goes blank and he puts down his fork; Frank pushes on. "And I'm really flattered and touched, and I wish things were different, but I just don't... feel the same way. And I wanted to have this conversation," Frank continues, because Bob is looking at him like he's being sadistic on purpose, "because I don't want there to ever be any awkwardness between us, you know? And--yeah."
Frank looks away when Bob doesn't say anything. There's sort of a buzzing behind his eyes, and he doesn't think that he feels anything at all.
Bob grunts. "Sure. All right." He gets up to leave, and Frank makes himself stay sitting, doesn't let him go after Bob, and the next morning Frank knows that Bob's remembered this conversation because every look Bob gives him is tight around the edges.
Frank is kind of glad that Mikey is disappearing with Pete every night, that Gerard is spending most of his time not onstage painting, that Ray is being obsessive in the studio in the back of their bus. He mostly just wants to be alone and torture himself for the rest of the summer.
Even through his fugue of self-loathing, after a while Frank notices that one of Fall Out Boy's guitar techs has been watching every show My Chem has played since the first day of the tour--and once Frank starts paying attention, it's pretty clear that really, he's just watching Bob, watching with wide eyes and nervous body posture, his voice breathless any time he talks to Bob when they're all backstage. At first Frank sees red, but then he realizes that maybe he can actually use this.
He starts talking to the kid, and finds out his name is Jordan. Frank spends a while trying to figure out how to approach the subject of Bob before deciding to fuck it and go with bluntness.
"So you know he's single, right?" Frank says the next time he catches Jordan trying to stare inconspicuously at Bob.
Jordan whips around to face Frank and blushes. "Um, I. What?"
"And I know for a fact he's into dudes," Frank says. "You should ask him out."
Jordan stammers a little bit more, and Frank says "We have a day off here tomorrow, and there's a great sushi joint ten minutes away from here. Bob loves sushi, okay? And uh, don't tell him I told you *any* of this."
Jordan just nods, and the next night, Bob doesn't come back to sleep on the bus. Frank plays Go Fish with Gerard and Ray and their bus driver and tries to think of a calm blue ocean instead of the images that keep popping up in his mind.
The card game isn't exactly sufficiently distracting. "Do you have any tens?" Frank asks Gerard.
"I'm so, so sorry," Gerard says. "I don't. Fuck, Frankie, I'm sorry."
"Here, have mine," Ray says somberly, his eyes round and worried, and Frank puts his head in his hands.
As far as Frank can tell, Bob remembers everything just fine when it's with Jordan. It makes Frank want to break something expensive and beautiful, it makes him want to declare war against a universe that would put him through this. He thinks about joining the army, and then about becoming a monk, but Gerard talks him out of both ideas.
Frank throws himself into his playing and tries to be oblivious to anything else, to the way Bob and Jordan's relationship is progressing, to the way Bob is acting more normal about him (because that inevitably means that Bob's feelings have faded, that he's distracted enough to be Frank's friend again). He just wants the tour to be over, he wants to go back to Jersey, he wants to not live in Bob's lap, he wants to forget the last six months ever happened. It's ironic, he thinks, that now he's the one who wants to forget. Ironic or something. Ironic or stupid and painful.
It's the last week of the tour, and Pete and Mikey have broken up and neither of them seem to be entirely clear as to why. As bad as Frank feels for Mikey, he's relieved to be able to focus on being there for someone else, to turn his attention on making things easier for Mikey to take his mind off of everything else.
"I think he's writing about me on the internet," Mikey says into his cup of hot tea that Frank had made him. He's staring hard into the mug, unblinking, and Frank pats one shoulder while Ray pats the other.
"At least he's not mentioning you by name?" Ray says, and Frank nods sympathetically, keeping his hand on Mikey's shoulder. "Or crashing our interviews."
"Yeah, he's not Bert," Frank says, and that makes Mikey snort. "And now you can join Gerard and me in our special club for self-hating bastards who've dumped their boyfriends. You can be historian."
Mikey sips his tea. "Thanks. And I guess, at least he's not in the band--" Frank notices
Bob walking up behind Mikey and squeezes Mikey's shoulder hard, and Mikey's mouth shuts with a click of his teeth.
Breaking up is even more awkward and surreal when the other person doesn't realize it was a break-up.
He's just come from talking to Patrick about how Pete's doing (on Mikey's request) when he heads back to his own bus one night, so he's actually not thinking about Bob or his own greek tragedy of a fucking life when he walks in and finds Bob by himself, sitting at the table like he's waiting for Frank, a calm and serious expression on his face. Frank wasn't expecting him, and he almost turns around and walks right back out again.
"I broke up with Jordan," Bob says, before Frank has a chance to desperately try and get them into an inane, meaningless conversation about the weather.
Frank shoves his hands into his pockets and puts on a dismayed face. "What? Why?"
Bob just looks at him, and Frank thinks don't you fucking dare-- "Because I'm in love with you."
Frank makes himself breathe. Makes himself sigh, a nice apologetic disappointed sigh. "Come on. That's not--Bob. You just *think* you're in love with me, we haven't even kissed or anything."
Bob gives a derisive snort and moves faster than Frank is ready for, standing and crossing the short distance between him to catch Frank's wrist and pull him in, and the kiss is fast and dizzying and Frank gives in to it before he has any idea what he's doing.
Frank stares up at him when Bob pulls back. You idiot, now you're not going to remember this conversation tomorrow. You're not going to know why you broke up with your guitar tech.
"There," Bob says, his voice a little shakier than it was when he was sitting down. "There. I knew it. I knew you felt the same way, at least a little, I've seen you *watching* me--"
"Trying to look out for you, as a friend," Frank says lamely, and Bob looks at him like he's a moron, which is exactly what Frank feels like.
"I know you want this," Bob says. "I know it. I just don't know why you pushed me away."
Frank's mind races to think of what he can possibly say, but it's hard with Bob so close, with his lips still tingling. He tries to remember Bob's outrage and horror when he found out what they were doing, he tries to remember that Bob asked Frank to push him away, that it's the right thing to do.
Bob is staring at him with those ridiculous fucking blue eyes, and part of Frank is whispering to him that they've already kissed, the situation is already lost, he might as well go with it. Frank opens his mouth to tell Bob no, and instead he swears and reaches his arms up to hook them around Bob's neck and bring him down, bring him in.
They tumble into Bob's bunk, and Frank prays that Gerard is too busy being a good big brother to catch them, to ask Frank what the hell he's doing. Frank kisses Bob until his lips feel raw, until he's so hard he's aching, and when he asks Bob to fuck him Bob groans loud, louder than Frank remembers him being.
"God, Frankie, I can't even handle you," Bob says, half-laughing and Frank sobs a little bit, his mouth against Bob's throat.
"You have no idea," he pants out, the last word coming out as a grunt when Bob pushes the tip of his finger against his hole.
Frank tries to make himself stay up, tries to make the night last as long as humanly possible. He thinks wildly about grabbing Bob and taking him away from here, catching a plane to some random city on the other side of the world and changing their identities and running away from everything. Maybe that would work.
When he wakes up, Bob is smiling at him. It's the soft smile of someone who got well-laid the night before, and Frank has a second of wild hope and elation before it dies, before reality sets in.
"Morning," Frank says.
"Morning," Bob says, reaching out to slip a hand around Frank's hip. He leans in, nuzzling Frank's jaw and nipping at his earlobe; Frank can feel the metal in his lip, cold.
Wait. Wait.
Frank pushes Bob back, scrambling until he's against the wall, staring. "Bob," he says. "Bob, you're."
"Uh? Do I have morning breath or something?" Bob breathes into his hand and sniffs, and Frank keeps staring.
"Did we have sex last night?" he says.
Bob gives him a look. "No, you're naked in my bunk for some other reason," he says like he's speaking to a slow child. "Did you hit your head in the middle of the night or something?"
"Oh my god," Frank says faintly. He grabs Bob and kisses him, shoving his thigh in between Bob's legs and rolling until he's on top. He doesn't stop kissing.
"Mmph," Bob says. "Hi?"
Frank lets his head rest on Bob's chest and laughs and laughs and laughs. Bob pets his hair uncertainly.
"I have to explain something to you. It's going to sound pretty crazy," Frank says when he can breathe again. "And I'm sorry, but you kind of just have to take my word for it."
rating: NC-17
prompt: unrequited love
summary: Thnks Fr Th Mmrs. Frank/Bob, 10,810 words.
The first time it happens, Frank just thinks that Bob is being a passive-aggressive asshole.
It's towards the end of Taste of Chaos, after the Seattle show. Frank and Bob exchange high-fives and grins when they all leave the stage, the same thing that happens after every performance, and Frank is used to the hot wire of tension curling in his gut when he meets Bob's eyes by now, but that night he decides to fuck it. Fuck it, just fuck it, he's done pussying out and he wants to make a move.
Gerard finds Bert and Frank can hear them already arguing before they disappear to wherever it is they disappear to, and Ray and Mikey head over to some bus party. Bob is still in their bus, sitting on the back of the couch and drumming his fingers on his thigh, a distant look on his face.
"You gonna crash now or just hang out for a while?" Frank asks, since Bob doesn't look like he's planning on going out.
Bob shrugs. "I could probably use the extra sleep." The corner of his mouth quirks up and he stops drumming his fingers, rubbing his palm on his pant leg instead.
"Nah, dude, don't go to sleep yet. Stay up with me instead." Frank has no idea he's going to say that until the words leave his mouth, and then he's moving, crossing the bus to grab Bob's hand and get close to him, nudging Bob's knees apart so that they're on either side of Frank's hips.
Bob's eyebrows go up in surprise and his eyes flash, and Frank knows that he's going to get what he wants, knows that Bob wants this, too. "Yeah?"
Frank tugs on Bob's hand, pulling him in even closer and tilts his head forward to kiss him on the lips. He feels Bob's exhalation against his mouth and then Bob's tongue is licking at Frank's lips and his other hand is warm on the small of Frank's back.
"Frank," Bob says, and Frank can hear a lot in his voice and interpret even more in how tight Bob is holding him already. Frank moves his own hands to palm Bob's ass and move him until they're grinding together.
They move it to the bunk, and don't stop kissing until they hear a crash and loud laughter, signifying the return of Ray and Mikey. Frank and Bob both still, waiting until the noise dies down.
Frank doesn't hear them climb into their bunks. He shifts against Bob, the angle kind of awkward with his hard-on. "If we keep going, they'll probably hear us," he says, careful to keep his voice low.
Bob doesn't move his hand from where it is, down the back of Frank's pants. "And probably interrupt," he mutters, rolling his eyes.
They hear the TV come on then, offering noise cover, and they both breathe a sigh of relief. "Keep going," Frank whispers, kissing Bob on the mouth quickly before moving his lips to Bob's jaw and neck, Bob's beard rough against his skin.
Frank doesn't think much of it when he wakes up the next morning and Bob has already left the bunk. It's a good thing, he figures; now the other guys won't discover them waking up together and they won't have to explain this until they're ready to.
Bob's playing video games with Ray in the TV room when Frank emerges, and Frank gives him a slow smile before sitting down on the chair across from him. Bob nods at him before turning back to the screen, cursing when Ray takes out one of his men.
Frank pushes last night from his mind during soundcheck (they're late, no one can find Jepha, it's hectic to say the least) and the show, but as soon as they're done he makes a bee-line for Bob. Frank jumps on his back, grinning and clinging and whooping in Bob's ear, and he can feel the vibrations when Bob laughs.
Frank squeezes Bob hard with his thighs before letting go and dropping to the ground. "Any plans tonight?" he asks, grinning.
Bob doesn't seem to catch the implication. "Yeah, Jepha wanted to hang out. You?"
Frank ends up spending a few hours playing drinking games with Jepha and Bob, and not once does Bob try to cop a feel--he barely meets Frank's eyes. By the time Frank starts to get really annoyed, Gerard appears, his mouth in a tight line. "Frank, can I--can we talk?"
They go outside, heading back to their bus, and Gerard's fingers are shaking when he lights a cigarette. His stage makeup is smeared. "I, uh, Bert and I, we."
Gerard doesn't have to say anything else. Frank privately thinks it's about damn time, but he says, "Geez, I'm sorry," and squeezes Gerard's arm instead.
Gerard laughs, a little harsh. "Don't be. He's, you know. You shouldn't be sorry. I'm not." There's a strange look in Gerard's eyes, and Frank feels uneasy, wondering what Bert said to him when Gerard finally dumped him.
"How'd he take it?"
"Oh, fuck." Gerard looks away, sucking hard on his cigarette. "Fuck, man, he screamed at me, he said--I don't even know, and then he fucking ran off. I'm really worried, I think--I don't know what he's going to do."
It's sweet that Gerard is concerned about his welfare even after the shit he's put up with from Bert this whole tour; Frank kind of wants Bert to go jump off a cliff in grief.
"I found Quinn and their manager and told them, they'll track him down and keep him from doing something stupid. Shit, I'm sorry, I should've waited until the tour was over." Gerard looks at Frank with his eyes wide and miserable. "The next week and a half is not going to be fun for anyone."
"Don't you dare fucking apologize. The sooner you broke it off the better, dude, you've known that since we hit the road with them. We'll deal, okay?"
The next couple days are so chaotic and un-fun that Frank doesn't get to see much of Bob. He does get in a fight with Bert that almost gets physical until Brian pulls him away and Quinn and Jepha handle Bert.
"We need to all ignore him," Ray says, talking to both Frank and Gerard.
Gerard nods, looking paler than usual. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm trying, he just--" Gerard doesn't finish the sentence, ducking outside to smoke instead. Mikey follows him.
"I don't want to ignore him, I want to kick his fucking face in," Frank snaps, but he knows Ray's right. Bob doesn't offer an opinion on the situation, keeping his head down and his hands shoved in his pockets. Frank knows this has kind of fucked with his friendship with Jepha; he feels bad for Jepha, but he can't really deal with anyone who's taking Bert's side right now.
Frank is too distracted by Bert going for the title of Worst Ex-Boyfriend Ever to focus much on Bob, although it's always in the back of his mind. He figures that Bob hasn't approached him for the same reason, that they're both trying to be there for Gerard. But they have a day off in San Diego, and Frank makes sure that he and Bob are sharing a room at the hotel.
"Shit, dude, tomorrow's been a long time coming," Frank sighs when they crash that night, flopping face first onto his bed. "I feel like I haven't had a day without work or stress for a decade or two."
Bob snorts, sitting down on the other bed. "I think I might sleep through it. Twenty-four hours of being comatose sounds kind of perfect right now."
Frank feels a wicked smile on his face and sits up on his elbows, leering in Bob's direction. "Well, I'd like to spend twenty-four hours in bed. I don't know about sleeping."
Bob laughs, sounding surprised. "Oh, yeah? I don't know, man. I don't want to be in the room with you and your conquest."
Frank blinks, wondering if Bob's being deliberately obtuse. "Dork. You *are* my conquest."
Bob just rolls his eyes. "Right. Goodnight, Frankie."
Bob gets into bed and turns his lamp on while Frank sits up on his knees, nonplussed.
"Wait, dude." Frank scrambles off his bed and onto Bob's, poking his back hard through the covers. "I'm serious. I mean, not now if you don't want to, but don't you want to pick up where we left off?"
Bob throws the covers off and twists around to give Frank a grumpy look. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"
"You, me, orgasms," Frank says, slowly like he's talking to a kindergartner. "Um, duh?"
The look on Bob's face changes--it gets very, very blank. "Funny, Frankie. Hilarious."
"I'm not fucking kidding!" Frank explodes. "Jesus, it's been a rough fucking week, I haven't even had a chance to see you and my best friend is dealing with the drugged-up ex from hell, so I'm fucking horny, all right? Do you not *want* another blowjob?"
"Another--what the fuck?" Bob has thrown the covers all the way off now. "You want to sleep with me?"
Frank stares. "Y-E-S, Bob. Jesus."
Bob stares at him. "Just--why? Because you're horny?"
"Yeah, and you're the closest warm body," Frank says sarcastically, and realizes it was the wrong thing to say when Bob's face closes down completely.
"Yeah, well, I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing. *Goodnight,*" Bob says, lying down again and pointedly turning his back to Frank. Frank goes back to his own bed, bewildered.
Okay, well. Clearly he didn't handle that as well as he could have, but--why the hell had Bob been so coy? He'd certainly been enthusiastic the last time. But maybe that was it, maybe Bob had just been stewing about it for the last week and had come to the conclusion that they went too far too fast the first time, or something. Maybe Frank is being too pushy.
He tries not to let himself think that maybe Bob has changed his mind completely, that he doesn't actually want anything to do with Frank. That would seriously suck.
Bob isn't in the room when Frank gets up; Frank asks around, and Bob apparently went into the city to do Bob things--hitting up record shops, probably. Frank opts to laze around the hotel instead of calling him, swimming in the pool with Ray and Mikey and plotting how to get Gerard in the water.
Frank tries not to think about Bob too much. Bob is his friend and bandmate: Frank really doesn't need to worry that Bob is going to be an asshole and avoid him or blow him off after fucking him. Frank trusts Bob to come out and tell him if he thinks that night was a mistake and that it shouldn't happen again; trusts Bob to handle the situation maturely, even if last night was kind of weird.
They hit some party at some club that night, and after a brief conversation with Ray and Mikey, it's decided that Ray will be the one to stay sober by Gerard's side to make it easier for him to stick to soda, leaving Frank free to drink (but not too much--none of them go very overboard these days) and pursue Bob.
The club is kind of chaotic, and there's a lot of milling around and dancing and pictures getting taken, and Frank has already had a couple drinks before he finds himself at Bob's side. "Hi," he says, grinning up at him.
Bob gives him the quirked-up corner of his mouth back. "Hey."
Frank bumps Bob's elbow with his own. "Sorry if I was weird last night."
Bob shrugs. "Don't worry about it. I was just tired and wasn't expecting the joke, you know?"
It wasn't a joke, god dammit, but Frank lets it drop. Someone jostles into him and Frank almost spills his drink on Bob--Bob's jacket is saved only by Frank's brilliant reflexes. "Um, do you want to find somewhere more private? Less noisy?"
Bob blinks at him, then shrugs. "Yeah, sure."
They go out on the club's balcony, in a corner vacated by anyone else, and Bob turns around to lean against the railing and light a cigarette. "Something on your mind?"
Frank cocks his head, considering. He sips his drink. "Was, uh. Was last week not a big deal to you?"
Bob blinks. "The Bert thing? Of course it was a big deal. He interrupted our soundcheck and threw up almost on my kit. Jepha stopped talking to me."
Frank bites his lip and lights a cigarette of his own. "Not what I meant."
He waits for Bob to react, but when Frank looks up, Bob is still looking at him expectantly. "Uh, so what *did* you mean?" Bob prompts, like Frank is slow.
Apparently Frank has to spell it out again. "I was referring to you and I having sex after the Seattle show," he says, rolling his eyes.
Bob just looks at him. "How drunk are you?"
"I'm only tipsy!" Frank snaps. "God, will you just--give me a reaction, something, anything? I have no idea how you feel about the whole thing." He takes a step closer, alcohol making him feel warm and aggressive, leaning up to kiss Bob on the lips. It's a challenge as much as anything else. "Your memory jogged yet?" he says when he's done.
"I--what?" Bob sounds confused and kind of pissed now. "What are you doing, what are you *talking* about? The Seattle show, what?"
Frank takes a step back, stung. What the fuck? How could Bob-- "Fine," he says, not trusting himself to say anything else. He throws down his cigarette and goes quickly back inside, finishing his drink and going to the bar for more. Bob doesn't follow him.
His sophomore year of high school, one of the prettiest, most popular girls in his class slept with him at a party when he was drunk and she was sober. The next day at school, she was so determined to deny it happened that she denied remembering it to his face, so convincing that Frank thought she had amnesia. She even got one of her friends to give her an alibi, to say that she'd been with her the whole party so therefore she *couldn't* have slept with him, but her friend had been a much worse liar than she was.
It's just that Frank would never have expected this from Bob.
Frank gets drunk, so drunk that he doesn't even register Mikey glaring at him for drinking too much. Ray supports him on the way back to the hotel and Frank rolls his face into Ray's shoulder to keep himself from slurring about what an asshole Bob Bryar is.
Frank is hungover the next morning and avoids all human company, not just Bob, and then it's another show, and then it's the last few days of tour and everything is a whirlwind. Frank can pretend he's not avoiding Bob because it's not like they're being handed a ton of time to be alone together, anyway.
There's a big party after the end of the last show, but Frank isn't enthused about going--he doesn't know whether Bert is going to be there or not. Gerard goes off somewhere with Mikey, and when Frank heads back to their set of rooms he sees Bob leaning against his door, hands in his pockets.
"Hey. No, hey, wait, I wanted to talk to you," Bob says when Frank turns around to head back where he came from.
Frank scowls and walks over to Bob reluctantly, fishing out his room key and opening the door. Bob follows him inside, shutting it behind him. "Yeah? What?" Frank says, maybe a little belligerent.
Bob looks at him. "I don't know why you're mad at me."
Frank feels anger flare up in his stomach, and he opens his mouth to snap an incredulous reply, but Bob holds up a hand.
"I don't know why you're mad at me," he continues. "I'm sorry, I guess? And. I need to say this. I need to just--" Bob's voice gets high and then breaks off, and he looks away from Frank, his jaw clenched, clearly frustrated. He's so visibly agitated and it's so un-Bob-like that Frank closes his mouth and listens.
Bob mutters something under his breath before looking back at Frank. "Here's the thing. I like you, I like you a lot, and I mean--I mean not in a friendly way."
"I know it's weird because we're bandmates and friends," Bob goes on, and Frank has never heard his voice so strained. "And I don't know how you feel--"
"--you don't?!" Frank gets in finally, surprise breaking his silence.
"Well, except for how you make weird random jokes about wanting to sleep with me out of the blue," Bob says, frowning at him.
"And except for how I *kissed* you last night. What did you think that was, huh?"
Bob opens his mouth and shuts him again. "Um. You... didn't kiss me last night," he says.
Maybe they're stuck in a comic book plot and Bob has a doppelganger running around that Frank has been doing things with, because Frank is as confused as Bob is now. Bob seems to really be serious, nervous in the way that Frank remembers being just a couple weeks ago--when you're about to make a move on someone you've liked for a long time, someone who doesn't know you like them. "Bob, what do you remember doing two Tuesdays ago, after the Seattle show?"
Bob looks like he wants to ask Frank if he has brain damage, but he says, "Uh, I pretty much just went to sleep."
Frank swallows. "In your own bunk? Were you--were you really drunk or anything?"
"What? No, I was sober and yes, in my own bunk. Dude, what are you getting at?"
Frank pushes a hand back through his hair. "You don't remember," he says, hearing how flat his words sound.
"I don't remember what?" Bob says, his voice rising, pissed-off. "You're being so fucking cryptic--"
"We had sex that night. Or wait, actually: I found you alone in the bus, I asked you to stay up with me instead of going to sleep, and then I made my move and kissed you and there was a lot of tongue--" Frank is aware that he's babbling, going too fast but he can't stop. "You got my shirt off and we got back into my bunk, there was, I don't know, heavy petting? And then Ray and Mikey almost interrupted us, but they didn't, and I gave you what you *said* was an awesome blowjob, and then you fucked me, and--" Frank takes a breath. "Is *any* of this ringing a bell?"
Frank can see Bob's eyes widen when Frank describes the sexual acts. "Are you--wait, no. I don't remember any of that, that didn't happen," Bob says, his voice thin.
"Yeah, you have weird amnesia, I'm kind of getting that picture." Frank is so sick of going in circles about this. "But it happened, man, I swear. That's why I wanted you to sleep with me the other night, because we'd already done it once."
Bob seems lost in thought. "But why don't I remember?" he says, half to himself it seems like.
"I don't know, and I don't know that I care," Frank says, closing the distance between them and draping his arms over Bob's neck and shoulders, tugging him down.
Bob snaps out of his reverie and seems to realize that all of this means that Frank likes him, wants him, that the feelings are all mutual. He looks down to meet Frank's eyes and his hand goes to the small of Frank's back, warm.
"We'll just have to do it again," Frank says, trying to keep his voice light, trying to detract from the weird situation.
A smile breaks out on Bob's face, the metal in his lip glinting, and he tugs Frank closer as they both move in for the kiss.
"Bizarre, man," Bob murmurs when they pull apart to breathe. "Maybe someone slipped me drugs that night or something."
Frank laughs, but he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. "We'll just have to recreate the memory, right?"
Bob huffs out a breath against Frank's mouth and tightens his hold. Frank pushes his hips up against Bob's thighs and kisses him, slides his tongue in Bob's mouth, wraps himself around him.
They waste no time disposing of every last article of clothing, and then Bob is pushing Frank onto the bed and climbing on top of him, biting a kiss at Frank's collarbone and working his way down. Frank almost wants Bob to just keep tonguing his nipples forever, but then Bob reaches down to squeeze his dick and no. No, Frank really wants Bob to do other things forever.
"Fuck," Bob mutters when he's at eye level with Frank's cock, his fingers wrapped around the base. "Frankie--"
"Yeah," Frank says, slightly strangled. "I--you can, I mean--"
"I know," Bob says, smirking up at him briefly before bending his head. He just rubs his lips against the tip of Frank's cock first, and that alone makes Frank feel a moment away from exploding.
Bob hums when he sucks cock, Frank finds out, and he doesn't take Frank in far but the feel of that lip ring more than makes up for that. He uses his hand on the base and sucks the rest of him until Frank comes, and he swallows. Frank is more than willing to roll over onto his stomach when Bob cups the back of his thigh and ass and gives him a beseeching look, and Bob takes his time fingering him before pushing his cock in. He keeps kissing the back of Frank's neck while he fucks him, and Frank can hear him take sharp hissing breaths in every time Frank pushes his ass back against Bob's cock.
Bob gives a stuttering exclamation when he comes, his hands tightening on Frank's hips. He lies there for what seems like forever afterwards, and their breathing sounds heavy and loud in the silence.
When Bob pulls out and rolls off of him, and Frank turns over on his side so that they're facing each other. "Memorable, right?" he says, coughing when his voice comes out hoarse.
Bob laughs. "Definitely."
***
When Frank wakes up the next morning, he's alone but the other half of his bed is still warm. He can hear the bathroom sink running and Bob brushing his teeth.
Frank gets out of bed quietly and walks over to him, wrapping his arms loosely around Bob's waist and resting his chin on Bob's shoulder. "Morning."
Bob takes his toothbrush out of his mouth and looks a little confused and amusing. "Heh. Okay? Hi, Frankie."
Frank feels a slight lurch in his stomach, but he ignores it. He lets Bob go and moves so that he's in between Bob and the bathroom counter, in front of him. "Hi." He leans in to kiss Bob, tasting toothpaste.
Bob pulls back. "Uh, Frank? Not that I'm--but this is just--uh, what are you doing?" He looks confused, still sleepy.
Frank feels himself lurch again and moves away. "I--nothing, I. Sorry, just. Ignore me, I've gotta go, I--"
"Do you always sleep naked?" Bob says, noticing and glancing away, his cheeks slightly red. Frank doesn't answer, just walks quickly back into the main room, pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt before getting out of there. Gerard's room is down the hall and Frank pounds on the door until Gerard opens it, looking grumpy and half-awake.
"This hotel's coffee is disgusting," Gerard says.
"I need to talk to you. Right now. Uh, alone, I think, probably, yeah," Frank babbles out, pushing past Gerard into his hotel room.
Frank starts pacing and hears Gerard muttering sleepily behind him. "So, Bob," Frank starts, and then doesn't really know what to say. It occurs to him that this is all kind of weird.
"What about him?" Gerard says through a yawn.
"We hooked up," Frank says. "The first time was a couple weeks ago, in Seattle, and then--nothing really happened because we were all dealing with Bert--"
"You know you didn't have to--"
"Shut up, of course I know. Anyway. The weird thing is that Bob didn't remember it. There was--we had all this sex, and then I find out a few days ago that he doesn't remember anything happening with us! Not even the kissing! And then, and *then* last night he approached me and tried to--to confess his feelings or whatever, and we hooked up again, and he doesn't remember again!"
Frank whirls around to face Gerard, knowing he sounds and looks kind of crazy. Gerard scrubs a hand through his hair, tugging at the long ends.
"You like Bob?" he says after a moment.
"Uh, yeah, I think that's implied in the whole sex thing!" Frank says, his voice rising in exasperation.
"Jesus Frankie, I haven't had any coffee yet, just lemme catch up," Gerard says, holding his hands up in defense.
Frank sits down heavily on Gerard's bed. "Dude. There's something wrong with Bob's brain. I don't think sex with me could possibly be that un-memorable."
Gerard rolls his eyes. "Right. So--so wait. Let me get this straight. You've been fucking Bob, and now he can't remember it? Did he hit his head? I'm going to be kind and not freak out about two of my bandmates suddenly getting into a messy relationship right now, by the way."
"That's Brian's job, which is why Brian's not gonna know," Frank says, scuffing his foot on the carpet. "And. I wouldn't say 'been fucking.' It's more like I managed to get him naked all of twice, and now this morning he doesn't remember--doesn't remember for the second time. Not remembering once is weird enough, man, but twice? Don't you think that might be a pattern or something?"
Gerard purses his lips. "And he's not just, I don't know, pretending not to remember for some reason?"
Frank remembers Bob's words yesterday, his agitation at confessing his feelings for Frank when he really seemed to not have any idea that Frank felt the same way. "I really don't think so."
Gerard purses his lips. "Okay. Okay, hm. Okay. We should test this."
"We don't need to test this! It's happened twice, I think that means there's an issue." Frank hugs his arms and slumps, kicking viciously at the hotel carpet.
"Twice could still be a fluke, and besides, right now it's just *your* word on what happened."
Frank looks up sharply. "You don't think--"
"I believe you," Gerard says hastily. "I'm just saying, it might be harder to convince Bob that there's a serious problem with his memory if you don't have proof."
Frank narrows his eyes. "What do you suggest?"
"Well, if you've hooked up with him twice already, it's a fair bet that if you make a move on him tonight he'll be receptive. I'll walk in on you guys making out, and maybe I can even manage to take a picture with my phone if I'm stealthy enough."
Frank stands up and starts pacing again. He doesn't want to fuck around with proof and pictures and tricking Bob (at least, that's what it already feels like) into hooking up with him again, he just wants to--fuck, he just wants to hold Bob's fucking hand and wrap his arms around him in the morning and have the kind of sex that you can only have with someone who knows your body, what you like, inside and out. Hooking up with someone you like for the first time is fantastic, but Frank is more than ready to progress.
"This feels so sketchy," Frank says. "I mean, you're going to try and take a *picture?*"
Gerard rolls his eyes. "It's not like I'm going to leak it on the internet. Look, it's going to be a lot easier to make Bob believe you if it's clear it's not just you and I playing a weird joke on him."
Of course, then Bob would want to know why Gerard was taking pictures of them making out. Frank guesses that they can cross that bridge when they come to it. "Okay, but. But we're just going to be making out a little, okay? You're not going to get any porn starring me." He stops pacing and eyes Gerard.
"Oh damn, you discovered my secret motivation," Gerard says sarcastically. "This whole thing has made you fucking paranoid."
"Gee, I'm sorry that this crazy situation where the guy I've been crushing on for months doesn't remember it when we fuck is making me a little edgy!" Frank flails.
Gerard gives a long-suffering sigh. "Go get dressed and help me find the nearest Starbucks, man."
***
That day they're flying to New York for some TV thing, and there's no time before the flight to corner Bob and somehow simultaneously signal to Gerard. Frank had passed the kiss of that morning off as "I was just being friendly, man!" and since he's generally a weird, affectionate guy it sort of works. Bob still gives him strange looks throughout the morning, but when they get on the plane and end up sitting next to each other, he just falls asleep against the window.
Frank spends the flight staring at Bob and trying not to stare at Bob and fidgeting. The memory of last night has to be in his brain somewhere, right? Even if Bob has subconsciously buried it for whatever reason. No matter what, Bob has kissed Frank, touched him, fucked him, that's the physical *reality,* and Bob not remembering it doesn't mean it didn't happen.
Maybe Bob's dreamed about either time it happened, though. Maybe he's dreaming about it right now, on the plane, his knee touching Frank's--maybe he'll remember his dream when he wakes up, but dismiss it as just a fantasy. Frank finds himself staring at Bob with narrowed eyes hard enough to give himself a headache and shakes himself out of it.
When they land there's no time, and they get ushered from one studio to another, and there's also a print interview somewhere in there. Frank loses track of it all, and he feels like he goes through the performance of Helena on automatic. He can probably blame exhaustion from the tour for the lackluster, but it still bothers him.
There's a schmoozefest afterparty at the TV station when the show's over, and when Frank sees Bob slip away from the crowd for a cigarette, he slips after him. FOLLOW CLOSE BEHIND, he texts Gerard.
Bob turns when he hears Frank behind him, giving him that quirked-upturn of his lips again. "Hey."
Frank licks his lips and decides to just dive right in. "So this morning, that kiss? That wasn't just me being friendly. I totally lied."
Bob frowns a little. "Uh, okay?"
"Bob, I--" Frank doesn't really know where to go from here. He didn't know what to say to confess his feelings the first time, and he still doesn't have much of a clue now. Bob has his cigarette to his lips, and Frank takes two steps closer and grabs his hand, moving it away and then standing on his tip toes to kiss Bob's mouth.
Bob gives a little gasp of surprise and opens his mouth, giving in and damn, Frank really likes kissing Bob. Kissing Bob is something that he'd really like to explore, something that he'd like to make a project of his. Frank curls his fingers in Bob's hair and tugs him even closer, pressing their bodies together. He feels Bob's hand settle on his back.
Bob makes a low sound into Frank's mouth and Frank feels like he's melting. It comes as a shock when he hears "Hey, do you guys--oh, uh."
They pull apart, Bob instantly taking his hands off of Frank, and when Frank turns he sees a glimpse of Gerard slipping his phone into his pocket. He's pretty sure that Bob didn't notice; Bob is too busy turning red and glaring at Gerard's face.
Gerard's cheeks are pink, too, and his eyes are comically wide. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt anything! I didn't know that--I mean, um--"
"Dude, go away," Bob says, kind of pissy and kind of gruff. Something in his voice makes Frank have to bite his lip hard to keep from smiling.
"Um, yeah," Frank says, struggling to make his voice annoyed instead of amused. "We'll talk later or something, okay?"
"Right, right, okay," Gerard says, backing away hastily, still over-acting. "I'll just, uh--back inside, yeah. I'll see you guys later. Okay."
And he's gone. Frank looks back up at Bob. "We are kind of in public. I didn't really think that part through well."
Bob raises his eyebrows. "You mean you thought it through at all?"
"Well, hey," Frank says, defensive. "It's hard to be like 'I like you' without sounding like you're in junior high."
"Mm." Bob is leaning against the balcony railing, away from Frank, but he's smiling at him. "So you just decided to throw yourself at me?"
Frank spreads his hands wide in front of him. "You didn't seem to object." He feels a stab of guilt; this all feels so manipulative. Frank knew that Bob wouldn't object if he kissed him, of course. He also knows that he could do or say anything he wants tonight, because chances are that Bob won't remember it the next morning.
Bob peers at him. "So that's what this morning was about?"
Frank shrugs. "I lost my nerve this morning, yeah. I'm a little drunker now, so it's easier."
Bob laughs, his voice low, and when he says "Well, why don't we take this somewhere--less public?" Frank feels his dick jump to half-hard.
He nods a lot. "Yeah--yeah. The hotel? Let's go."
They take a cab back, and Frank is all over Bob the second they open up the door to Bob's room (it's one suite with five separate rooms--fancy compared to how they've been living on tour), but Bob puts a hand on his chest to keep him at arm's length.
"I actually wanted to just talk," Bob says, sounding almost bashful.
Frank blinks. He had just assumed--well, obviously, he shouldn't assumed. "Yeah, definitely," he says, going to sit on the bed. "Talking. Talking would be a good idea."
Bob sits next to him. "So, you like me?"
Frank raises an eyebrow at him. "Uh, yep. That should be fairly well-established by now."
Bob smiles, the hotel lamplight glinting off his lip ring. Frank thinks about licking it. "Cool. I like you, too." Bob hesitates, and Frank wants--he just wants. "We're in a band together."
Frank bites back a duh and just nods. "Right."
"We have to work together, live in each other's laps, and we're friends. So. I mean--I." Bob hesitates again, looking like he's chewing over each word he wants to say. "I'm not willing to risk all of that over something that's just sex."
Frank feels his chest do a funny little skip. He does, actually, want to have the relationship talk with Bob, he wants to establish that this is more than just orgasms, he wants this to *be* an actual thing. He feels like crying in frustration, because Bob is saying these things when he doesn't even *know* how far they've already gone, when he doesn't even realize that Frank has fallen asleep in his arms twice already.
Maybe he'll remember this in the morning; maybe it was just a weird fluke twice in a row. Frank hopes. "I know. I know, man, that's how I feel, that's what I want, that's what I think. We should." Frank takes a deep breath. "We should either really go for this or not play with it at all, you know?"
Bob gives him a long searching look, and sometimes Bob's eyes make Frank think ridiculous things, like a desire to drown in that blue, like wanting to just fall in or keep staring forever. "Yeah," Bob says. "Just as long as we're on the same page."
"I'm not fucking around," Frank says, and that seems like it was the right response, because Bob smiles. A real smile, showing teeth, and Frank scoots over and puts his hand over Bob's.
Fuck Bob's memory. Fuck everything else. "You should know that you're probably stuck with me now," Frank says. "The Ieros tend to cling."
"Well, shit," Bob murmurs before Frank feels his hand on the back of his neck, and then Bob's lips, warm and dry against his own. The kiss gets wetter and heavier and Frank closes his eyes and climbs into Bob's lap.
He'll deal with tomorrow morning when he gets to it.
***
When he wakes up Bob is in the shower. Frank rolls from his side to his back, closing his eyes again. He's in only his boxers, and maybe if he just stays like this he can pretend everything is the way he wants it to be. The imprint of Bob's head is still on the pillow next to him.
Frank doesn't open his eyes or sit up until Bob comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Dude, did you drink too much and pass out in here for some reason?" Bob says, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "I don't really remember."
Frank pulls the bedsheets up to his chin. "No. That's not what happened."
Bob looks at him, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, and Frank stares back.
Bob doesn't believe him when Frank explains, this time--three times sounds more outlandish than just one night of sex that Bob doesn't remember. He gets annoyed and they argue and Bob says "Frank, if this is your way of trying to get me in bed--" and Frank drags him to go see Gerard.
"It's not a prank," Gerard says quietly when Bob demands an explanation. "I know it's weird, man, but I saw you two yesterday." He hands Bob his cell phone with the picture of Frank and Bob filling up the screen. It's blurry and tiny, but it's unmistakably the two of them caught in an embrace.
"You took a picture?" Bob looks back and forth between Frank and Gerard, spots of color flaring in his cheeks, and Frank remembers belatedly how Bob has been guarding his privacy more and more zealously since joining the band. "What is this, proof? You guys--talked about this? Planned it?"
"We just wanted to get to the bottom of it," Gerard says. "I mean, jesus, you've got gaping holes in your memory. That's pretty freaky."
"Fine." Bob isn't looking at either of them. "So I'm like that guy in Memento. Great."
"Well, you can remember other things. Just not me. So it's not really like Memento," Frank muses, and wishes he hadn't opened his mouth when Bob stares at him.
They cancel all interviews for that day and Bob sees a psychiatrist and a brain doctor and gets a CAT scan. None of the doctors can find anything wrong with Bob's brain. Bob finds Frank that night and pulls him aside.
"So it's kind of just sunk in that all of this means that we've really had sex," Bob says, fishing a cigarette out and looking at Frank sideways. Frank lights up one of his own. "That you want to have sex with me."
Frank meets his eyes miserably. "Dude, I want to ride off into the sunset with you," he says. "That's why this memory thing sucks so much."
Bob takes a long drag and when he speaks again, his voice is husky. "You don't know what that means," he says. "What it means to hear that we've been spending nights together when the way I feel--the way I've felt since before I fucking joined the band--"
"It's the same for me," Frank says. "It's always been--"
"Will I remember it tomorrow if I kiss you right now?" Bob says, his hand on Frank's arm, and Frank forgets that he was actually going to light and smoke the cigarette in his hand.
When they fuck that night it feels frantic, desperate and fast and strained. Bob holds Frank a little too tight and Frank feels like burrowing deep inside him and never letting go. Bob doesn't remember it the next morning. He doesn't remember the CAT scan or Gerard's camera phone photo, either.
Frank mulls it over over coffee that morning. It wouldn't be a problem, really, if he could just let it go; considering that any relationship is probably a bad idea that would inevitably complicate the band even if Bob's memory *weren't* all fucked up, he should really try to move on. Leave Bob Bryar to someone else.
Frank scrubs a hand over his face. Maybe it would be easier to contemplate doing that before he knew what Bob tasted like, but *now* it's. It's really not going to happen. They'll just have to work something out.
They leave that day to tour Europe, and Frank avoids Bob--he doesn't really want to deal with it if Bob is going to try and confess his feelings again, as if nothing's happened between them. Frank needs a day to think, to plan out what exactly he's going to say to Bob the next time he has to explain the situation, to figure out how they can make this work.
Frank pulls Bob aside the next morning and explains again, the words beginning to sound tired and repetitive as he rattles off the facts of what they've done. After Bob gets over his disbelief, they draft a letter and attach a print of Gerard's photo; Bob signs it. They spend the night together and leave it on Bob's pillow.
When Frank wakes up, Bob is reading the letter. Frank can't read his expression.
Bob looks over at Frank. "How many times?"
Frank is already beginning to lose track a little. "I think five."
Bob goes back to reading. "This is crazy."
Frank swallows. "I know. It's crazy, it's weird, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want anything to do with me, but if we can make it work...."
Bob puts the letter down and rolls on his side to kiss Frank. Frank involuntarily makes an needy noise and kisses back.
The next morning Bob's reaction to the letter is much the same, except that he laughs for a while and shakes his head before reaching for Frank and kissing him. Frank feels acute deja vu, and it freaks him out a little--he drags Bob out of bed and they go out for breakfast instead of staying under the covers until they absolutely can't anymore, the way they had the previous day.
It becomes almost routine in a very surreal way, adding to the exhaustion and surreality of touring in general. Every few days or so Bob drills Frank about what exactly has happened the other times they've been together, and Frank can tell that he's weirded out as Frank gives him all the details he can remember.
"It's like it's been happening to someone else," Bob says. "It's like waking up with a whole new life. Or at least--I don't know. With a whole new boyfriend."
Frank looks away. "If it's not something you want--I mean. It's got to feel like someone else made the decision to get you into this, then."
"You know how I feel about you," Bob says, simple, and Frank believes that it's worth it.
Ray and Mikey and Brian find out about it when Bob marches out of the bunk area of the bus into the living room, where Brian is conferring with the rest of the band about the possibility of two shows on one day.
"Have Frank and I been having sex?" he demands, glaring out at them.
Gerard turns bright red, Mikey pushes his glasses higher up on his nose, Brian leans forward to stare past Bob at Frank, frowning. Ray opens and closes his mouth, then looks thoughtful. "Actually, that makes things make more sense."
"What the fuck," Brian says carefully, and Frank and Gerard both stumble over each other's words in their haste to start explaining before Brian turns purple. It takes them most of the day to explain, and it's really weird having your strange groundhog-day relationship with one bandmate get outed to the rest of your band, but after that it actually makes explaining things to Bob every morning easier. The rest of the band starts treating them as a couple, and it makes the whole thing feel at least a little closer to normal.
They experiment, trying to figure out if there's any loophole that will make Bob remember hooking up with Frank the morning after. They try staying up all night, figuring that if Bob doesn't go to sleep he won't forget, and Bob remembers up until 7am--there was a pause in the conversation, and when Frank glanced at Bob's face Bob looked confused, wondering what he was doing in Frank's bunk. They try just not having sex, but it turns out that even if they so much as kiss, Bob won't remember it the next morning.
It's a question of a relationship with no physical contact or a relationship that never lasts longer than a day in Bob's head. Bob rules that he'd rather deal with forgetting, rather than the knowledge that he has Frank but can't touch him. Frank agrees and is relieved, but sometimes he wonders if it wouldn't be better the other way around. Explaining every day, wondering whether Bob will want to continue this when he doesn't remember any of it (although Bob always wants to), going to sleep with the knowledge that Bob won't know him like this in the morning--it's getting to him.
On their second-to-last night in Europe, Frank looks up from tracing his finger idly over Bob's chest and realizes that he's in love. And he wants to say it, he's never been the kind of person to hold *that* back even when the other person didn't feel the same way--he wants to be a complete fucking cliche and shout it from the rooftops. The words are almost out of his mouth before he remembers that even though Frank's explained things to him thoroughly, to Bob it must still feel like they only started this *today.*
Frank just kisses him instead.
They finish touring Europe, and have a very brief vacation in Jersey before starting on Warped. One morning when Bob wakes up in Frank's bunk and reads the letter, he's quiet for longer than usual.
"This isn't a--"
"No joke," Frank says, interrupting. "We've been together this way since before the European leg," because he knows that next Bob will ask for how long. He puts a hand on Bob's waist and leans in to kiss him, and later he'll know that that was his mistake, taking any of this for granted.
Bob pushes him away and sits up, leaning away from Frank and looking pissed. "I--what? What the fuck? You just expect me to take your word for it that we've been sleeping together every night and that it's all been fine--"
"It has been fine," Frank says, feeling his ribcage constrict. "It will be fine, we've discussed this before--"
"As far as I'm concerned we haven't, because I don't remember it." Bob pushes past Frank to stand, and Frank scrambles to his feet as well. "This is so fucked up. What the fuck, Frankie?"
Frank swallows, and finds that he has no idea what to say. "If you don't believe me, I. You can ask the other guys, they know we're together, they know what the situation is."
Bob laughs. "I believe you. That's the problem, that I believe that you've been fucking me every night, and I'm oblivious the next morning, and you can do whatever you want--"
"I wouldn't," Frank says, horror congealing in his stomach. "Jesus, Bob, I wouldn't do anything--"
"I don't know that!" Bob yells, and if there's anyone on the bus who hasn't been overhearing this conversation, they are now. "I don't know what the hell you've done, what we've done! I don't know if--fuck, I could wake up tomorrow forgetting I even freaked out about it, and you could seduce me back into bed just because you know that I'm--attracted to you!"
Frank opens his mouth and closes it. Bob is looking at him like Frank's a stranger, and really, Frank can't disagree with anything Bob is saying. "I wish--I wish you could trust me," he says, and it sounds entirely weak to his own ears.
Bob seems to deflate a little. "I trust you," he says. "I trust you with a lot. But this--Frankie, this is. This is really creepy."
Frank bites his tongue against saying that Bob didn't find it creepy yesterday, or the day before, or for the last three months, because Bob of course will just say that he doesn't know that--he has to take Frank's word for it. And that *is* creepy, and it's wrong, and Frank thinks back to the guilt he felt that first time he manipulated Bob into making out with him so that Gerard could get a picture as proof. The stronger Frank felt about Bob, the more that guilt slipped away, and right now Frank kind of wants to punch himself in the face.
Frank moves past Bob to find Gerard in the living room, staring hard at the TV with forced casualness that means he probably just overheard every word of their fight.
"Tomorrow, don't let Bob and I hook up," Frank says, his voice flat. "If I try to pull anything, tell Bob that I could be doing anything to him and he wouldn't remember it the next morning, tell him that he did not give his consent to this."
Gerard turns away from the TV, indignant. "But that's not, you wouldn't--" he sees the look on Frank's face and on Bob's face and falters. "Okay. Will do."
Bob's anger seems to deflate from him, and he just looks tired when Frank turns back to face him. "Thanks for doing that," he says gruffly.
Frank shrugs. "You're right. You shouldn't take my word on it."
He retreats to his bunk and stays there for the rest of the day, staring at the bottom of Ray's bunk above him. After the show that night, he tracks Bob down before they all get back on the bus.
"I'm not trying anything," Frank says, hands up in defense when Bob gives him an apprehensive look. And then he feels guilty, because he kind of just lied. "I just--I wanted to tell you that I'm in love with you. For, you know. For whatever that means. I wasn't just fucking with your head for entertainment value, or because I was horny, or anything like that."
Bob meets his eyes for a beat, staring before looking down, his mouth in a tight line. "I don't really know what to say to that," he says, swallowing.
Frank shrugs. "You don't need to say anything." He steps in close to Bob, putting a hand carefully on Bob's hip. Bob doesn't move away, and when Frank kisses him chastely he's only tense for a second before returning the pressure.
Frank kisses him for as long as he thinks he can get away with before breaking it off, stepping back. "Okay. I'll--I'll see you tomorrow."
Frank doesn't want Bob to remember feeling violated by his bandmate, doesn't want him to have to remember any of this, and the next morning, Bob doesn't. Frank's already thrown away that stupid letter.
He gets Bob alone at the middle of the day, when Bob is sitting down eating lunch in the bus. "Hey, man, can I talk to you for a second?"
Bob smiles at him when Frank sits down next to him. "What's up?"
Frank hesitates. "I'm not really sure how to say this," he says, hoping his acting isn't too horrifically off. "But--okay. You know I love you, man, right? You saved the band, you're one of my best friends."
Bob stops eating. "Uh, okay. I appreciate you, too, Frankie."
Fuck. "Right. Yeah. Here's the thing. I know you have a crush on me, okay?" Bob's face goes blank and he puts down his fork; Frank pushes on. "And I'm really flattered and touched, and I wish things were different, but I just don't... feel the same way. And I wanted to have this conversation," Frank continues, because Bob is looking at him like he's being sadistic on purpose, "because I don't want there to ever be any awkwardness between us, you know? And--yeah."
Frank looks away when Bob doesn't say anything. There's sort of a buzzing behind his eyes, and he doesn't think that he feels anything at all.
Bob grunts. "Sure. All right." He gets up to leave, and Frank makes himself stay sitting, doesn't let him go after Bob, and the next morning Frank knows that Bob's remembered this conversation because every look Bob gives him is tight around the edges.
Frank is kind of glad that Mikey is disappearing with Pete every night, that Gerard is spending most of his time not onstage painting, that Ray is being obsessive in the studio in the back of their bus. He mostly just wants to be alone and torture himself for the rest of the summer.
Even through his fugue of self-loathing, after a while Frank notices that one of Fall Out Boy's guitar techs has been watching every show My Chem has played since the first day of the tour--and once Frank starts paying attention, it's pretty clear that really, he's just watching Bob, watching with wide eyes and nervous body posture, his voice breathless any time he talks to Bob when they're all backstage. At first Frank sees red, but then he realizes that maybe he can actually use this.
He starts talking to the kid, and finds out his name is Jordan. Frank spends a while trying to figure out how to approach the subject of Bob before deciding to fuck it and go with bluntness.
"So you know he's single, right?" Frank says the next time he catches Jordan trying to stare inconspicuously at Bob.
Jordan whips around to face Frank and blushes. "Um, I. What?"
"And I know for a fact he's into dudes," Frank says. "You should ask him out."
Jordan stammers a little bit more, and Frank says "We have a day off here tomorrow, and there's a great sushi joint ten minutes away from here. Bob loves sushi, okay? And uh, don't tell him I told you *any* of this."
Jordan just nods, and the next night, Bob doesn't come back to sleep on the bus. Frank plays Go Fish with Gerard and Ray and their bus driver and tries to think of a calm blue ocean instead of the images that keep popping up in his mind.
The card game isn't exactly sufficiently distracting. "Do you have any tens?" Frank asks Gerard.
"I'm so, so sorry," Gerard says. "I don't. Fuck, Frankie, I'm sorry."
"Here, have mine," Ray says somberly, his eyes round and worried, and Frank puts his head in his hands.
As far as Frank can tell, Bob remembers everything just fine when it's with Jordan. It makes Frank want to break something expensive and beautiful, it makes him want to declare war against a universe that would put him through this. He thinks about joining the army, and then about becoming a monk, but Gerard talks him out of both ideas.
Frank throws himself into his playing and tries to be oblivious to anything else, to the way Bob and Jordan's relationship is progressing, to the way Bob is acting more normal about him (because that inevitably means that Bob's feelings have faded, that he's distracted enough to be Frank's friend again). He just wants the tour to be over, he wants to go back to Jersey, he wants to not live in Bob's lap, he wants to forget the last six months ever happened. It's ironic, he thinks, that now he's the one who wants to forget. Ironic or something. Ironic or stupid and painful.
It's the last week of the tour, and Pete and Mikey have broken up and neither of them seem to be entirely clear as to why. As bad as Frank feels for Mikey, he's relieved to be able to focus on being there for someone else, to turn his attention on making things easier for Mikey to take his mind off of everything else.
"I think he's writing about me on the internet," Mikey says into his cup of hot tea that Frank had made him. He's staring hard into the mug, unblinking, and Frank pats one shoulder while Ray pats the other.
"At least he's not mentioning you by name?" Ray says, and Frank nods sympathetically, keeping his hand on Mikey's shoulder. "Or crashing our interviews."
"Yeah, he's not Bert," Frank says, and that makes Mikey snort. "And now you can join Gerard and me in our special club for self-hating bastards who've dumped their boyfriends. You can be historian."
Mikey sips his tea. "Thanks. And I guess, at least he's not in the band--" Frank notices
Bob walking up behind Mikey and squeezes Mikey's shoulder hard, and Mikey's mouth shuts with a click of his teeth.
Breaking up is even more awkward and surreal when the other person doesn't realize it was a break-up.
He's just come from talking to Patrick about how Pete's doing (on Mikey's request) when he heads back to his own bus one night, so he's actually not thinking about Bob or his own greek tragedy of a fucking life when he walks in and finds Bob by himself, sitting at the table like he's waiting for Frank, a calm and serious expression on his face. Frank wasn't expecting him, and he almost turns around and walks right back out again.
"I broke up with Jordan," Bob says, before Frank has a chance to desperately try and get them into an inane, meaningless conversation about the weather.
Frank shoves his hands into his pockets and puts on a dismayed face. "What? Why?"
Bob just looks at him, and Frank thinks don't you fucking dare-- "Because I'm in love with you."
Frank makes himself breathe. Makes himself sigh, a nice apologetic disappointed sigh. "Come on. That's not--Bob. You just *think* you're in love with me, we haven't even kissed or anything."
Bob gives a derisive snort and moves faster than Frank is ready for, standing and crossing the short distance between him to catch Frank's wrist and pull him in, and the kiss is fast and dizzying and Frank gives in to it before he has any idea what he's doing.
Frank stares up at him when Bob pulls back. You idiot, now you're not going to remember this conversation tomorrow. You're not going to know why you broke up with your guitar tech.
"There," Bob says, his voice a little shakier than it was when he was sitting down. "There. I knew it. I knew you felt the same way, at least a little, I've seen you *watching* me--"
"Trying to look out for you, as a friend," Frank says lamely, and Bob looks at him like he's a moron, which is exactly what Frank feels like.
"I know you want this," Bob says. "I know it. I just don't know why you pushed me away."
Frank's mind races to think of what he can possibly say, but it's hard with Bob so close, with his lips still tingling. He tries to remember Bob's outrage and horror when he found out what they were doing, he tries to remember that Bob asked Frank to push him away, that it's the right thing to do.
Bob is staring at him with those ridiculous fucking blue eyes, and part of Frank is whispering to him that they've already kissed, the situation is already lost, he might as well go with it. Frank opens his mouth to tell Bob no, and instead he swears and reaches his arms up to hook them around Bob's neck and bring him down, bring him in.
They tumble into Bob's bunk, and Frank prays that Gerard is too busy being a good big brother to catch them, to ask Frank what the hell he's doing. Frank kisses Bob until his lips feel raw, until he's so hard he's aching, and when he asks Bob to fuck him Bob groans loud, louder than Frank remembers him being.
"God, Frankie, I can't even handle you," Bob says, half-laughing and Frank sobs a little bit, his mouth against Bob's throat.
"You have no idea," he pants out, the last word coming out as a grunt when Bob pushes the tip of his finger against his hole.
Frank tries to make himself stay up, tries to make the night last as long as humanly possible. He thinks wildly about grabbing Bob and taking him away from here, catching a plane to some random city on the other side of the world and changing their identities and running away from everything. Maybe that would work.
When he wakes up, Bob is smiling at him. It's the soft smile of someone who got well-laid the night before, and Frank has a second of wild hope and elation before it dies, before reality sets in.
"Morning," Frank says.
"Morning," Bob says, reaching out to slip a hand around Frank's hip. He leans in, nuzzling Frank's jaw and nipping at his earlobe; Frank can feel the metal in his lip, cold.
Wait. Wait.
Frank pushes Bob back, scrambling until he's against the wall, staring. "Bob," he says. "Bob, you're."
"Uh? Do I have morning breath or something?" Bob breathes into his hand and sniffs, and Frank keeps staring.
"Did we have sex last night?" he says.
Bob gives him a look. "No, you're naked in my bunk for some other reason," he says like he's speaking to a slow child. "Did you hit your head in the middle of the night or something?"
"Oh my god," Frank says faintly. He grabs Bob and kisses him, shoving his thigh in between Bob's legs and rolling until he's on top. He doesn't stop kissing.
"Mmph," Bob says. "Hi?"
Frank lets his head rest on Bob's chest and laughs and laughs and laughs. Bob pets his hair uncertainly.
"I have to explain something to you. It's going to sound pretty crazy," Frank says when he can breathe again. "And I'm sorry, but you kind of just have to take my word for it."