pickin' up on that feline beat
Bob turns into a cat. Frank is a) less than sympathetic, and b) kind of a douchebag. This started out as commentfic in my journal. One of these days I will write something that is not unapologetic crackfic. Today is not that day! And, uh, for anyone worried, there is no bestiality in this fic, no one puts their head in a f(l)urry, it's all good.
pickin' up on that feline beat
Bob knows he's not supposed to eat food given to him by fans. He knows that, but Bob's never really excelled at self-preservation. The girl who'd offered him cookies after the show seemed really sweet, though, and he's usually a decent judge of character. She hadn't seemed the type to poison him or drug the cookies with ecstasy or something. And technically she hadn't done either of those things; he's pretty sure that what she's actually done is some kind of crazy-ass voodoo shit, because as far as he can tell, he's turned into a kitten.
"So," Gerard says, staring at him. "You've turned into a kitten."
"Way to state the obvious," he tries to say, but it comes out as a tiny little "Mew!" and Gerard's face softens. He's wearing that look that says "I have just found a new life to save!" and Bob tries to back away, but Gerard scoops him up and cuddles to his chest.
"It's okay, Bob," he says. "We'll fix this."
"Mew," Bob says again, trying to struggle out of Gerard's grip, but Gerard holds him tight, and Bob finally goes limp in his grasp and allows his ears to be scratched.
He's not gonna purr, though, fuck that shit.
*
The rest of the band takes it in stride, for the most part, which is perhaps the strangest part of the situation. Mikey and Ray barely look away from their laptops, apparently too engrossed in World of Warcraft to care that their drummer is suddenly a one-pound ball of fluff, and Brian just sighs and gets on the phone - Bob doesn't know who you call when someone turns into a cat, but Brian seems to knows everything.
Frank thinks it's hilarious, though, and doesn't stop laughing. "Oh my god, Bryar, oh my god, this is beautiful. Hey, hey, do you want to play?" He swishes his finger along the edge of the table, back and forth, and it's almost hypnotic, and Bob's pouncing before he can even think about it. It was an instinct, okay, he tries to tell Frank, but it comes out as a plaintive "Mew!" and Frank just laughs harder, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.
Bob stalks off to the back of the bus, his fur puffed up, and he hears Frank call out from behind him "Come on, Bob, don't be such a pussy!"
*
He hides away for awhile, until everyone is gone to bed, and then he makes his way to his bunk. Or, well. He makes his way to the floor near his bunk; he has one on the bottom, but it's way too high for him to jump up there. He tries a few times and almost makes it once, but the curtain is drawn and he doesn't weigh enough to knock it aside, so he falls back down to the floor.
He's ready to give up when he hears the sound of a curtain opening; he turns to see Frank peering out from his bunk across the aisle. "Dude," he says, and Bob is not in the mood for this, giving him his best menacing glare. This apparently translates as adorable, because Frank just kind of smirks and leans out of his bunk to scoop him up. Bob makes a yelping sound, but Frank pulls him back into the bunk with him and sets him down on the blanket.
Frank goes back to sleep almost immediately. Bob eyes him dubiously - Frank's totally going to squish him if he rolls over. But the bunk is nice and warm and comfortable, a lot better than the floor would be, so Bob curls up into a ball next to Frank's side and goes to sleep.
*
He's still a cat when he wakes up, which is good because if he'd spontaneously turned back into himself he would have fallen out of bed, but bad because he's still a fucking cat. He hops out of Frank's bunk and goes out to the kitchen, where he can smell coffee.
Mikey's there, just pouring himself the first cup of the day, and Bob looks at him hopefully. "Sorry, little buddy, I don't think caffeine's good for kittens. Don't want to stunt your growth," he says, and Bob turns tail and goes straight back to the bunks. There's a pile of Mikey's clothes on the floor, and he only feels marginally bad about pissing on them.
It smells disgusting. Mikey probably won't notice.
*
It's a travel day, thank god, but Bob's bored as hell, pacing around and biting every ankle in sight. Ray takes pity on him and puts a movie on in the lounge. He's not sure what it is, but there are a lot of zombies, and the mindless violence is just what the doctor ordered.
Twenty minutes in, though, when Ray's wandered off to do something else, Frank comes in and switches the DVD to the motherfucking Aristocats, and Bob has had enough of this shit. He'd stalk off, except that Frank closed the door behind him when he came in. "What's wrong?" Frank asks him, smirking when Bob makes an angry yowling sound, and Bob attacks, claws ripping into his arm. "Ow, Christ, what's your problem?"
His claws aren't sharp enough to do major damage, that's his fucking problem. And he's in a band filled with fucking idiots; Gerard will probably try to be responsible and have him neutered or something, and if Mikey tells Alicia they'll probably end up dressing him up in a costume and post it on fucking Buzznet or something.
And, oh right, he's a goddamn cat. He bites Frank's elbow once more for good measure, then hides under the couch. It's kind of disgusting down there, but it's a little easier to block out the cartoon cats singing and dancing on the TV screen.
Frank cranks the volume. Bob has never hated anyone more than he does right now.
*
He falls asleep on the couch that night, but wakes up when someone picks him up. He digs his claws in automatically, and whoever's holding him hisses. "Give it a rest, Bryar," Frank says, and carries him into his bunk with him. "Go back to sleep," he mutters, tossing him down onto the pillow, and Bob twitches his tail unhappily before stretching out across the pillow, not giving Frank any room to lie down.
"Stop being such a little a bitch," he tells him, and Bob's tempted to jump out of the bunk because seriously, he thinks his present situation entitles him to be as bitchy as he likes, thank you very much. But then Frank starts petting him and his eyes slip closed; he concedes, curling up and letting Frank settle down next to him.
He drifts off to sleep not much later, Frank still petting him. He's so comfortable and tired that he doesn't really notice that he's purring.
Frank is never going to let him live this down.
*
He wakes up to Frank's breath tickling the back of his neck, hot and slow and even, and this shit must be getting to him, because all he thinks before drifting off again is this isn't a bad way to wake up.
*
They're all starting to get a little panicked the next day when mid-afternoon rolls around and Bob's still feline. They've got soundcheck in three hours, and Bob's pretty good at playing with handicaps, like having something wrong with his wrists or, oh, being on fire, but there's no way he's going to be able to hold a pair of drumsticks.
"Maybe we could get an electric kit and he could hop on the drumpads," Ray suggests, and then says "ow, motherfucker!" when Bob bites his leg rather savagely.
Gerard picks him up before he can do any more damage. "Mew," Bob says sadly, and Gerard nods.
"I know, dude, this sucks. But I told you, we'll work it out." And then - and Bob is never going to forgive him for this - he kisses Bob on his fuzzy little head between his fuzzy little ears and then suddenly Bob is himself again, standing there bemused as Gerard stares back at him, holding onto his arms.
"Oh my god, Bryar, you're the fucking Frog Prince," Frank says, and he's laughing again already.
"I am going to murder you in your sleep," Bob says. It’s not a threat. Threats imply that there's a possibility that they won't be fulfilled. This is a fucking promise.
"Wow, kitten's got claws," Frank says, and runs off before Bob can throttle him.
*
They play the show, and it's good, though Bob's wrists feel a little stiff and he misses a few beats. The crowd doesn't seem to notice, though, and when the band finishes playing they're pretty buzzed. Bob wants to shower as soon as they get to the dressing room, and he's starving, and he plans on drinking all the coffee in the world, but Frank corners him as he goes to shower. "I have to say," he says conversationally, "I didn't think the first time I got you into my bunk it would be under those circumstances."
Bob licks his lips; Frank’s probably just being an asshole again, but his eyes are all dark and he’s looking up at Bob through his lashes and, well, he’s pretty fucking hot. "Shut up, Iero," he says, shifting so he can get past, but Frank gets in his way again.
"Go shower," Frank says. "I bet you're tired, though, maybe you should swing by my bunk later."
Bob blinks at him and goes to shower.
*
When they're back on the bus, Frank heads straight for the bunks. Bob grabs something to eat, though, and drinks a couple of cups of glorious, glorious caffeinated coffee before going back there. When he walks in, Frank is sitting on Bob's bunk, eating - oh, shit, Bob really meant to throw those out as soon as he was human again. "These are good cookies, dude," Frank says, and Bob just grins.
"Yeah, enjoy," Bob says, and goes back out to wait for the inevitable mew mew mew! that he's sure he's going to hear in a few moments.
pickin' up on that feline beat
Bob knows he's not supposed to eat food given to him by fans. He knows that, but Bob's never really excelled at self-preservation. The girl who'd offered him cookies after the show seemed really sweet, though, and he's usually a decent judge of character. She hadn't seemed the type to poison him or drug the cookies with ecstasy or something. And technically she hadn't done either of those things; he's pretty sure that what she's actually done is some kind of crazy-ass voodoo shit, because as far as he can tell, he's turned into a kitten.
"So," Gerard says, staring at him. "You've turned into a kitten."
"Way to state the obvious," he tries to say, but it comes out as a tiny little "Mew!" and Gerard's face softens. He's wearing that look that says "I have just found a new life to save!" and Bob tries to back away, but Gerard scoops him up and cuddles to his chest.
"It's okay, Bob," he says. "We'll fix this."
"Mew," Bob says again, trying to struggle out of Gerard's grip, but Gerard holds him tight, and Bob finally goes limp in his grasp and allows his ears to be scratched.
He's not gonna purr, though, fuck that shit.
*
The rest of the band takes it in stride, for the most part, which is perhaps the strangest part of the situation. Mikey and Ray barely look away from their laptops, apparently too engrossed in World of Warcraft to care that their drummer is suddenly a one-pound ball of fluff, and Brian just sighs and gets on the phone - Bob doesn't know who you call when someone turns into a cat, but Brian seems to knows everything.
Frank thinks it's hilarious, though, and doesn't stop laughing. "Oh my god, Bryar, oh my god, this is beautiful. Hey, hey, do you want to play?" He swishes his finger along the edge of the table, back and forth, and it's almost hypnotic, and Bob's pouncing before he can even think about it. It was an instinct, okay, he tries to tell Frank, but it comes out as a plaintive "Mew!" and Frank just laughs harder, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.
Bob stalks off to the back of the bus, his fur puffed up, and he hears Frank call out from behind him "Come on, Bob, don't be such a pussy!"
*
He hides away for awhile, until everyone is gone to bed, and then he makes his way to his bunk. Or, well. He makes his way to the floor near his bunk; he has one on the bottom, but it's way too high for him to jump up there. He tries a few times and almost makes it once, but the curtain is drawn and he doesn't weigh enough to knock it aside, so he falls back down to the floor.
He's ready to give up when he hears the sound of a curtain opening; he turns to see Frank peering out from his bunk across the aisle. "Dude," he says, and Bob is not in the mood for this, giving him his best menacing glare. This apparently translates as adorable, because Frank just kind of smirks and leans out of his bunk to scoop him up. Bob makes a yelping sound, but Frank pulls him back into the bunk with him and sets him down on the blanket.
Frank goes back to sleep almost immediately. Bob eyes him dubiously - Frank's totally going to squish him if he rolls over. But the bunk is nice and warm and comfortable, a lot better than the floor would be, so Bob curls up into a ball next to Frank's side and goes to sleep.
*
He's still a cat when he wakes up, which is good because if he'd spontaneously turned back into himself he would have fallen out of bed, but bad because he's still a fucking cat. He hops out of Frank's bunk and goes out to the kitchen, where he can smell coffee.
Mikey's there, just pouring himself the first cup of the day, and Bob looks at him hopefully. "Sorry, little buddy, I don't think caffeine's good for kittens. Don't want to stunt your growth," he says, and Bob turns tail and goes straight back to the bunks. There's a pile of Mikey's clothes on the floor, and he only feels marginally bad about pissing on them.
It smells disgusting. Mikey probably won't notice.
*
It's a travel day, thank god, but Bob's bored as hell, pacing around and biting every ankle in sight. Ray takes pity on him and puts a movie on in the lounge. He's not sure what it is, but there are a lot of zombies, and the mindless violence is just what the doctor ordered.
Twenty minutes in, though, when Ray's wandered off to do something else, Frank comes in and switches the DVD to the motherfucking Aristocats, and Bob has had enough of this shit. He'd stalk off, except that Frank closed the door behind him when he came in. "What's wrong?" Frank asks him, smirking when Bob makes an angry yowling sound, and Bob attacks, claws ripping into his arm. "Ow, Christ, what's your problem?"
His claws aren't sharp enough to do major damage, that's his fucking problem. And he's in a band filled with fucking idiots; Gerard will probably try to be responsible and have him neutered or something, and if Mikey tells Alicia they'll probably end up dressing him up in a costume and post it on fucking Buzznet or something.
And, oh right, he's a goddamn cat. He bites Frank's elbow once more for good measure, then hides under the couch. It's kind of disgusting down there, but it's a little easier to block out the cartoon cats singing and dancing on the TV screen.
Frank cranks the volume. Bob has never hated anyone more than he does right now.
*
He falls asleep on the couch that night, but wakes up when someone picks him up. He digs his claws in automatically, and whoever's holding him hisses. "Give it a rest, Bryar," Frank says, and carries him into his bunk with him. "Go back to sleep," he mutters, tossing him down onto the pillow, and Bob twitches his tail unhappily before stretching out across the pillow, not giving Frank any room to lie down.
"Stop being such a little a bitch," he tells him, and Bob's tempted to jump out of the bunk because seriously, he thinks his present situation entitles him to be as bitchy as he likes, thank you very much. But then Frank starts petting him and his eyes slip closed; he concedes, curling up and letting Frank settle down next to him.
He drifts off to sleep not much later, Frank still petting him. He's so comfortable and tired that he doesn't really notice that he's purring.
Frank is never going to let him live this down.
*
He wakes up to Frank's breath tickling the back of his neck, hot and slow and even, and this shit must be getting to him, because all he thinks before drifting off again is this isn't a bad way to wake up.
*
They're all starting to get a little panicked the next day when mid-afternoon rolls around and Bob's still feline. They've got soundcheck in three hours, and Bob's pretty good at playing with handicaps, like having something wrong with his wrists or, oh, being on fire, but there's no way he's going to be able to hold a pair of drumsticks.
"Maybe we could get an electric kit and he could hop on the drumpads," Ray suggests, and then says "ow, motherfucker!" when Bob bites his leg rather savagely.
Gerard picks him up before he can do any more damage. "Mew," Bob says sadly, and Gerard nods.
"I know, dude, this sucks. But I told you, we'll work it out." And then - and Bob is never going to forgive him for this - he kisses Bob on his fuzzy little head between his fuzzy little ears and then suddenly Bob is himself again, standing there bemused as Gerard stares back at him, holding onto his arms.
"Oh my god, Bryar, you're the fucking Frog Prince," Frank says, and he's laughing again already.
"I am going to murder you in your sleep," Bob says. It’s not a threat. Threats imply that there's a possibility that they won't be fulfilled. This is a fucking promise.
"Wow, kitten's got claws," Frank says, and runs off before Bob can throttle him.
*
They play the show, and it's good, though Bob's wrists feel a little stiff and he misses a few beats. The crowd doesn't seem to notice, though, and when the band finishes playing they're pretty buzzed. Bob wants to shower as soon as they get to the dressing room, and he's starving, and he plans on drinking all the coffee in the world, but Frank corners him as he goes to shower. "I have to say," he says conversationally, "I didn't think the first time I got you into my bunk it would be under those circumstances."
Bob licks his lips; Frank’s probably just being an asshole again, but his eyes are all dark and he’s looking up at Bob through his lashes and, well, he’s pretty fucking hot. "Shut up, Iero," he says, shifting so he can get past, but Frank gets in his way again.
"Go shower," Frank says. "I bet you're tired, though, maybe you should swing by my bunk later."
Bob blinks at him and goes to shower.
*
When they're back on the bus, Frank heads straight for the bunks. Bob grabs something to eat, though, and drinks a couple of cups of glorious, glorious caffeinated coffee before going back there. When he walks in, Frank is sitting on Bob's bunk, eating - oh, shit, Bob really meant to throw those out as soon as he was human again. "These are good cookies, dude," Frank says, and Bob just grins.
"Yeah, enjoy," Bob says, and goes back out to wait for the inevitable mew mew mew! that he's sure he's going to hear in a few moments.