Fic: Almost
almost part one of three.
frank/bob
1,378 words
do not own
whisperingtome - you are more wonderful than you know. thank you.
this fic is my take on what i saw at the two shows i went to on the UK tour. feedback would be great!
written for 100_situations. prompt 038: touch
The buzz and blinding heat of the lights died away. The screams and blur of thousands of faces disappeared. The music was just a dull echo in air heavy with sweat and promise, and seconds stretched so far they felt like hours. Bob was aware of the sharp elbow in his back and hot breath on his neck and then, unsurprisingly, he realised he wasn’t quite breathing. He struggled to turn onto his back, in his intoxicated state nothing was easy to do, and blinked until Frank’s features were only misty around the edges.
Frank leant in a little closer. And closer. And closer. And their lips were almost touching, almost but not quite; the electricity between them was a barrier that was close to unbearable. Bob let out a small breath cautiously and Frank smiled. Showing his teeth. Showing he meant it.
The heat between their bodies and Frank’s legs either side of his own made Bob’s heart beat faster. Alcohol had taken care of his inhibitions; it was just all these people watching and waiting that were the problem now. The show was almost over, almost but not quite; the last few lines of the song were another barrier that neither of them had the power to break down.
Bob stopped thinking and brought his hand up to touch Frank’s lips. He let his fingertips brush them softly, slowly, and it seemed to satisfy Frank in that moment. It was like some unspoken agreement, some unbreakable pact, which confirmed neither was alone in their feelings. It was reassurance, and it was all they needed.
Frank scrambled up quickly and Bob followed suit. It seemed only a couple of seconds had passed since they fell, but it felt like an eternity. The screams of the crowd rushed back into his ears as he watched Frank jump from the riser. Thousands of faces blurred together and assaulted his vision as the stifling heat from the lights reminded him once again where he was. His legs felt as though they were made of cotton wool as he looked out upon the sea of people; he’d never felt so glad to be drunk. Bending down, he began searching for a stray drumstick to end the song. His fingers lucked upon one of the few unbroken sticks and he gripped it hard before standing up. He hit every drum he could reach, hard and fast and as loud as he could. He hit every drum that hadn’t been knocked off the riser when Frank had leaped on him and claimed his body.
The song ended. Gerard thanked the crowd. His four band mates walked from the stage on a high but Bob had to steady himself before jumping from the riser to the floor. A security guard was waiting for him when he landed but after a few steps with this guy’s arm around his back, hand under his armpit to keep him upright, Bob fell down. Simply to make this man - this stranger - stop touching his body. His body that belonged to Frank.
Arms and legs flailing was how Bob left the stage that night, being carried forcefully round the waist. Not his proudest exit. When his feet touched solid ground again he resolved to stay upright. He made it to the dressing room door and watched his fingers grip the handle, as if they weren’t his own, as if he was watching himself from some quiet corner.
Inside the room Gerard was sipping from a can of Pepsi and smoking another one of those ‘I promise this is my last’ cigarettes, as usual. Mikey was on his sidekick, with his brow furrowed and there was Ray, slouched next to him, exhausted but visibly happy. As usual.
“You made it back,” Ray quipped chirpily. Bob flipped him off and let his eyes wander to where Frank was laying on the couch. Shirt off and skin showing. Bob’s knees felt weak again.
He made his way over, never breaking eye contact, and waited for Frank to lift his legs. He never did. Bob tutted and a smile played mischievously on Frank’s lips for a few more seconds. He finally sat up and Bob took the opportunity to sink back into the threadbare cushions of the red couch.
“Sobered up yet, asshole?” Gerard asked playfully, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t pissed about it.
“I’m sorry,” Bob started, but was aware of the slight slur still present in his voice, so he stopped at that.
“It was a good fucking show, man, so don’t sweat it.” Gerard squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before making Bob shift along so he could sit down and light up again.
Now Frank’s thigh was touching his. Now his breathing was getting faster and he just felt so much but didn’t know what movement to make to show it. Now Frank’s hand was sliding in between the two of them and Bob followed suit once more. Their fingers were lacing together and a lump emerged in Bob’s throat so that even swallowing was difficult and he realised he was so close to Frank, they were touching, and yet he needed more. He had never wanted to kiss someone this much or hold someone’s hand this much, or be a part of someone this much.
“Who’s hungry?” Ray asked, breaking Bob’s chain of thought. Mikey nodded in answer, he was starving, and Gerard stood up ready to go and eat.
The last thing on Bob’s mind was food. He’d lost his appetite around the same time he’d lost his inhibitions. So, about the same time his lips had nearly touched Frank’s. About the time the alcohol had really kicked in.
“I think I’m gonna stay here and get a little sleep,” Frank said, squeezing Bob’s hand lightly. He got the message.
“How about you?” Ray asked, looking at Bob.
“I’m not hungry, I feel a little sick actually. I’ll stay here.”
There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious of them, but Bob still felt as if his eyes or his voice or his movements were going to give them away at any second. So he held his breath.
The door closed behind three of his best friends and he relaxed just that little bit. Enough to breathe. Frank stood up. The longing feeling grew in the pit of Bob’s stomach and his hand tingled where Frank should have been holding it.
For a minute Frank looked vulnerable - a little lost or lonely, Bob couldn’t decide which - but maybe it was just the light. He couldn’t be sure, so he stood up and faced Frank squarely. It felt like they were getting ready to throw punches, Bob supposed it was a showdown of sorts, and Bob watched Frank’s lips moving quickly, subtly, as if psyching himself up to make the first move. He felt a yearning; Frank just looked so exposed. The artificial light made the thin layer of sweat on his bare upper body glisten - Bob wanted so badly to feel Frank’s skin on his skin.
Frank finally met Bob’s eye and he moved closer. And closer. And closer. There was no time for Bob to think now though because Frank broke down that barrier so quickly - the barrier of electricity, of the last few lines of a song, the barrier of almost - and pressed his lips urgently to Bob’s.
He lifted his hand to Frank’s neck, they moved even closer, then let his fingers lace softly through Frank’s still-damp hair and Bob felt every nerve in his body tingle as their tongues touched lightly for the first time. Frank pressed his hand against the small of Bob’s back and let it linger there. The warmth through Bob’s shirt felt safe and reassuring but new and exciting and dangerous - because what if he got hurt? - all at the same time. Reality slipped away as the pressure on his back grew and he hoped, fleetingly, that they would just fall into one another, live in the same skin as two separate people, because it was how close he wanted to be to Frank. And he realised that the barriers were gone now. Every single one.
---
part two is here!
frank/bob
1,378 words
do not own
whisperingtome - you are more wonderful than you know. thank you.
this fic is my take on what i saw at the two shows i went to on the UK tour. feedback would be great!
written for 100_situations. prompt 038: touch
The buzz and blinding heat of the lights died away. The screams and blur of thousands of faces disappeared. The music was just a dull echo in air heavy with sweat and promise, and seconds stretched so far they felt like hours. Bob was aware of the sharp elbow in his back and hot breath on his neck and then, unsurprisingly, he realised he wasn’t quite breathing. He struggled to turn onto his back, in his intoxicated state nothing was easy to do, and blinked until Frank’s features were only misty around the edges.
Frank leant in a little closer. And closer. And closer. And their lips were almost touching, almost but not quite; the electricity between them was a barrier that was close to unbearable. Bob let out a small breath cautiously and Frank smiled. Showing his teeth. Showing he meant it.
The heat between their bodies and Frank’s legs either side of his own made Bob’s heart beat faster. Alcohol had taken care of his inhibitions; it was just all these people watching and waiting that were the problem now. The show was almost over, almost but not quite; the last few lines of the song were another barrier that neither of them had the power to break down.
Bob stopped thinking and brought his hand up to touch Frank’s lips. He let his fingertips brush them softly, slowly, and it seemed to satisfy Frank in that moment. It was like some unspoken agreement, some unbreakable pact, which confirmed neither was alone in their feelings. It was reassurance, and it was all they needed.
Frank scrambled up quickly and Bob followed suit. It seemed only a couple of seconds had passed since they fell, but it felt like an eternity. The screams of the crowd rushed back into his ears as he watched Frank jump from the riser. Thousands of faces blurred together and assaulted his vision as the stifling heat from the lights reminded him once again where he was. His legs felt as though they were made of cotton wool as he looked out upon the sea of people; he’d never felt so glad to be drunk. Bending down, he began searching for a stray drumstick to end the song. His fingers lucked upon one of the few unbroken sticks and he gripped it hard before standing up. He hit every drum he could reach, hard and fast and as loud as he could. He hit every drum that hadn’t been knocked off the riser when Frank had leaped on him and claimed his body.
The song ended. Gerard thanked the crowd. His four band mates walked from the stage on a high but Bob had to steady himself before jumping from the riser to the floor. A security guard was waiting for him when he landed but after a few steps with this guy’s arm around his back, hand under his armpit to keep him upright, Bob fell down. Simply to make this man - this stranger - stop touching his body. His body that belonged to Frank.
Arms and legs flailing was how Bob left the stage that night, being carried forcefully round the waist. Not his proudest exit. When his feet touched solid ground again he resolved to stay upright. He made it to the dressing room door and watched his fingers grip the handle, as if they weren’t his own, as if he was watching himself from some quiet corner.
Inside the room Gerard was sipping from a can of Pepsi and smoking another one of those ‘I promise this is my last’ cigarettes, as usual. Mikey was on his sidekick, with his brow furrowed and there was Ray, slouched next to him, exhausted but visibly happy. As usual.
“You made it back,” Ray quipped chirpily. Bob flipped him off and let his eyes wander to where Frank was laying on the couch. Shirt off and skin showing. Bob’s knees felt weak again.
He made his way over, never breaking eye contact, and waited for Frank to lift his legs. He never did. Bob tutted and a smile played mischievously on Frank’s lips for a few more seconds. He finally sat up and Bob took the opportunity to sink back into the threadbare cushions of the red couch.
“Sobered up yet, asshole?” Gerard asked playfully, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t pissed about it.
“I’m sorry,” Bob started, but was aware of the slight slur still present in his voice, so he stopped at that.
“It was a good fucking show, man, so don’t sweat it.” Gerard squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before making Bob shift along so he could sit down and light up again.
Now Frank’s thigh was touching his. Now his breathing was getting faster and he just felt so much but didn’t know what movement to make to show it. Now Frank’s hand was sliding in between the two of them and Bob followed suit once more. Their fingers were lacing together and a lump emerged in Bob’s throat so that even swallowing was difficult and he realised he was so close to Frank, they were touching, and yet he needed more. He had never wanted to kiss someone this much or hold someone’s hand this much, or be a part of someone this much.
“Who’s hungry?” Ray asked, breaking Bob’s chain of thought. Mikey nodded in answer, he was starving, and Gerard stood up ready to go and eat.
The last thing on Bob’s mind was food. He’d lost his appetite around the same time he’d lost his inhibitions. So, about the same time his lips had nearly touched Frank’s. About the time the alcohol had really kicked in.
“I think I’m gonna stay here and get a little sleep,” Frank said, squeezing Bob’s hand lightly. He got the message.
“How about you?” Ray asked, looking at Bob.
“I’m not hungry, I feel a little sick actually. I’ll stay here.”
There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious of them, but Bob still felt as if his eyes or his voice or his movements were going to give them away at any second. So he held his breath.
The door closed behind three of his best friends and he relaxed just that little bit. Enough to breathe. Frank stood up. The longing feeling grew in the pit of Bob’s stomach and his hand tingled where Frank should have been holding it.
For a minute Frank looked vulnerable - a little lost or lonely, Bob couldn’t decide which - but maybe it was just the light. He couldn’t be sure, so he stood up and faced Frank squarely. It felt like they were getting ready to throw punches, Bob supposed it was a showdown of sorts, and Bob watched Frank’s lips moving quickly, subtly, as if psyching himself up to make the first move. He felt a yearning; Frank just looked so exposed. The artificial light made the thin layer of sweat on his bare upper body glisten - Bob wanted so badly to feel Frank’s skin on his skin.
Frank finally met Bob’s eye and he moved closer. And closer. And closer. There was no time for Bob to think now though because Frank broke down that barrier so quickly - the barrier of electricity, of the last few lines of a song, the barrier of almost - and pressed his lips urgently to Bob’s.
He lifted his hand to Frank’s neck, they moved even closer, then let his fingers lace softly through Frank’s still-damp hair and Bob felt every nerve in his body tingle as their tongues touched lightly for the first time. Frank pressed his hand against the small of Bob’s back and let it linger there. The warmth through Bob’s shirt felt safe and reassuring but new and exciting and dangerous - because what if he got hurt? - all at the same time. Reality slipped away as the pressure on his back grew and he hoped, fleetingly, that they would just fall into one another, live in the same skin as two separate people, because it was how close he wanted to be to Frank. And he realised that the barriers were gone now. Every single one.
---
part two is here!