bested again by the tiniest of creatures
wrote this for curtainfic and maryangel200. I loooove it. It makes me happy. I don't even know. Bob and Frank get a kitty. :D
bob/frank // pg // 1234 words // maryangel200's prequels are here and here and my sequel is here if you're interested.
//
"I don't want a fucking cat, Frank. I've already got you and a chihuahua climbing the walls and tearing up the furniture." Bob turns back to loading the dishwasher and tries to ignore Frank's stupid hurt face with his stupid big eyes. How he got himself saddled with this munchkin of a boyfriend, Bob will never fucking know.
"But Bob," Frank whines in his high pitch, I'm doing the world a favor and you could at least fucking appreciate me voice, "Kitty! Alicia's lease won't let her have another one. We have to save her." Frank slips on his Gerard face, (which Bob might be jealous of if it weren't so cute on both of them. Bob is really screwed here.) and puts his hands on Bob's face, turning him so they're eye-to-eye. "We have to save her."
Bob sighs. He doesn't run a hand down his face but only because he's got last week's spaghetti squash meal stuck on his fingers. "I'll think about it."
"Well that's as a good as a yes. I've got you so whipped, Bryar, you don't even know." Frank smacks a loud kiss on Bob's cheek and runs off before Bob can try to throw plates at him.
They are plastic plates. They wouldn't hurt anyone anyway.
==
"What are we calling her, Bob? Bob? Bob, what are we naming her?"
Starbucks before PetSmart apparently wasn't a great plan. Bob feels his hair vibrating.
"Princess Choosmashoos." Bob's mumbly and grouchy, and seriously it's just a fucking cat. It's not like he didn't know he wasn't going to live in a menagerie when he met Frank. They met because of a hamster. Fucking Gerard, anyway. Funerals for tiny ratlike creatures.
"She won't chew your things. And she's really fluffy, but I'm sort of refusing to call her Fluffy. I sort of want to call her Bonecrusher."
Frank mistakes Bob's silence for disapproval and not the thoughtful mockery it is.
"Okay okay. Too much. Ironside? Jetfire?" Frank slaps a hand on his thigh. "I got it. Moonracer?" He looks at Bob all excited happy.
Bob trails after Frank with the shopping cart as he goes through every Transformer he can think of that isn't Bumblebee.
"How about we leave off the Transformer references? She kinda, I don't know, looks like fuzzy house shoes that moms wear."
Frank dumps eighty pounds of kitty litter into the cart. It's white and blue and the cat looks like it's in fucking heaven trying to pee. Bob knows that's a big fat lying cat. He's had cats before. He knows the power of cat destruction. He's also had a pet before with Frank. The man can't train anything. There was a whole period where everyone in a ten foot vicinity was getting treats. It wasn't a great time.
Frank turns around with a pink leopard print mouse-on-a-rope toy pointed viciously at Bob. "I am not calling her Slippers. You should just disavow yourself of that notion right this instant, Bryar." Frank's glare is menacing. Bob is so terrified, hence the eyeroll.
He leans on the cart and bats at the ugly toy. The cat doesn't move. Seriously that is Frank's kind of pet. "Could we, like, dye her blue? For your birthday, maybe? Then we could sit her out and I bet someone would try to wear her. She'd earn her fuzzy slippers name. But she'd have to be blue. Or tie-dyed."
Frank huffs off down to the end of the aisle and starts contemplating food choices. Honestly it's cat food that she's not going to eat anyway because Frank's going to feed her from the table (couch, whatever), and she's going to get too fat to move from the couch and fall off the back and everyone is going to wish they had taped that shit and sent it to their moms.
But whatever. Bob reaches around him for a tiny mouse-shaped thing, well he supposes it's a mouse-shaped thing, and wiggles it at them. "Ooooh catnip."
"Clearly not working, Bob. Now do you think this one for kittens or this one with the vitamins?"
"Are you trying out your 'if tones could kill' voice? Not quite there. And besides, what would you do without me? Why would you subject Fuzzy Slippers to a broken home like that when she's so young?" Bob chunks the catnip mouse at her and bops her on the nose. She doesn't even blink.
"She hates you already. Way to go, being the mean dad." Frank smiles serenely at him over his shoulder as he turns the corner.
"She'll hate you more when you dress her up like a tiny shark," Bob says to the endcap of fake dog bacon. But he grabs one of those cat ribbons of endless fun and follows Frank to the front.
"What?" Frank smiles at him for real. He's petting the stupid cat and he's so fucking happy Bob sort of wants to kiss him in the middle of the store. It's ridiculous.
He shakes his head. "Did you want to get something for Peppers?"
==
"Her name isn't Fuzzy Slippers." Frank tilts his head back to glare at Bob, but Bob just puts a hand over his eyes. Advantages of not getting on the floor. Frank does that not-laughing laugh thing and pulls Bob's thumb back.
"You called her that in the car. You said it out loud. That makes it her name. Those are your pet-naming rules, Frankie." Bob lets up and takes his hand off Frank's face so Frank can track the room for the kitten. She had gone behind the television for two hours after they got home and then spent the rest of the day under their bed.
She's determined to be antisocial. Seriously that is Bob's kind of pet.
Frank scrambles around so he's facing Bob, digs his chin into Bob's thigh. "So it's not a stupid cat name?"
"Mikeyway's dog's name is Piglet Tree." Bob lets that sink in until Frank is rolling around laughing at all of the Ways ridiculous pet names. "Get up here, will ya?"
Frank settles in beside him and they watch Peppers turn forty-eight circles before settling down on the carpet in the exact same spot she was in before.
"Still don't know why dogs do that." Frank is completely fascinated by the most mundane things. Bob thinks it's kind of cute.
"Maybe one day you'll get bitten by a radioactive poodle and it will allow you to talk to animals and you can ask them." He pushes Frank over a bit so he's resting on the arm of the couch and leans on him, tucks his head under Frank's chin.
"Radioactive poodle? Think that would hurt?" Frank twists sections of Bob's hair around his fingers. If he didn't like it so much, he'd tell Frank to stop petting him like a damn dog.
"Probably. You'd have to get a rabies shot and the doctor would think you were insane and then you'd hear the hospital mice talking in the walls." Bob pinches Frank's side, "Hey. You could talk to spiders. Ask them to be less creepy."
Bob feels something land on his back and Frank reaching over him.
"Hey Slippers. This is the fuzziest tail ever, you know that?" Frank tries to whisper, but he fails. And Fuzzy Slippers starts purring loud enough to wake the neighbors.
bob/frank // pg // 1234 words // maryangel200's prequels are here and here and my sequel is here if you're interested.
//
"I don't want a fucking cat, Frank. I've already got you and a chihuahua climbing the walls and tearing up the furniture." Bob turns back to loading the dishwasher and tries to ignore Frank's stupid hurt face with his stupid big eyes. How he got himself saddled with this munchkin of a boyfriend, Bob will never fucking know.
"But Bob," Frank whines in his high pitch, I'm doing the world a favor and you could at least fucking appreciate me voice, "Kitty! Alicia's lease won't let her have another one. We have to save her." Frank slips on his Gerard face, (which Bob might be jealous of if it weren't so cute on both of them. Bob is really screwed here.) and puts his hands on Bob's face, turning him so they're eye-to-eye. "We have to save her."
Bob sighs. He doesn't run a hand down his face but only because he's got last week's spaghetti squash meal stuck on his fingers. "I'll think about it."
"Well that's as a good as a yes. I've got you so whipped, Bryar, you don't even know." Frank smacks a loud kiss on Bob's cheek and runs off before Bob can try to throw plates at him.
They are plastic plates. They wouldn't hurt anyone anyway.
==
"What are we calling her, Bob? Bob? Bob, what are we naming her?"
Starbucks before PetSmart apparently wasn't a great plan. Bob feels his hair vibrating.
"Princess Choosmashoos." Bob's mumbly and grouchy, and seriously it's just a fucking cat. It's not like he didn't know he wasn't going to live in a menagerie when he met Frank. They met because of a hamster. Fucking Gerard, anyway. Funerals for tiny ratlike creatures.
"She won't chew your things. And she's really fluffy, but I'm sort of refusing to call her Fluffy. I sort of want to call her Bonecrusher."
Frank mistakes Bob's silence for disapproval and not the thoughtful mockery it is.
"Okay okay. Too much. Ironside? Jetfire?" Frank slaps a hand on his thigh. "I got it. Moonracer?" He looks at Bob all excited happy.
Bob trails after Frank with the shopping cart as he goes through every Transformer he can think of that isn't Bumblebee.
"How about we leave off the Transformer references? She kinda, I don't know, looks like fuzzy house shoes that moms wear."
Frank dumps eighty pounds of kitty litter into the cart. It's white and blue and the cat looks like it's in fucking heaven trying to pee. Bob knows that's a big fat lying cat. He's had cats before. He knows the power of cat destruction. He's also had a pet before with Frank. The man can't train anything. There was a whole period where everyone in a ten foot vicinity was getting treats. It wasn't a great time.
Frank turns around with a pink leopard print mouse-on-a-rope toy pointed viciously at Bob. "I am not calling her Slippers. You should just disavow yourself of that notion right this instant, Bryar." Frank's glare is menacing. Bob is so terrified, hence the eyeroll.
He leans on the cart and bats at the ugly toy. The cat doesn't move. Seriously that is Frank's kind of pet. "Could we, like, dye her blue? For your birthday, maybe? Then we could sit her out and I bet someone would try to wear her. She'd earn her fuzzy slippers name. But she'd have to be blue. Or tie-dyed."
Frank huffs off down to the end of the aisle and starts contemplating food choices. Honestly it's cat food that she's not going to eat anyway because Frank's going to feed her from the table (couch, whatever), and she's going to get too fat to move from the couch and fall off the back and everyone is going to wish they had taped that shit and sent it to their moms.
But whatever. Bob reaches around him for a tiny mouse-shaped thing, well he supposes it's a mouse-shaped thing, and wiggles it at them. "Ooooh catnip."
"Clearly not working, Bob. Now do you think this one for kittens or this one with the vitamins?"
"Are you trying out your 'if tones could kill' voice? Not quite there. And besides, what would you do without me? Why would you subject Fuzzy Slippers to a broken home like that when she's so young?" Bob chunks the catnip mouse at her and bops her on the nose. She doesn't even blink.
"She hates you already. Way to go, being the mean dad." Frank smiles serenely at him over his shoulder as he turns the corner.
"She'll hate you more when you dress her up like a tiny shark," Bob says to the endcap of fake dog bacon. But he grabs one of those cat ribbons of endless fun and follows Frank to the front.
"What?" Frank smiles at him for real. He's petting the stupid cat and he's so fucking happy Bob sort of wants to kiss him in the middle of the store. It's ridiculous.
He shakes his head. "Did you want to get something for Peppers?"
==
"Her name isn't Fuzzy Slippers." Frank tilts his head back to glare at Bob, but Bob just puts a hand over his eyes. Advantages of not getting on the floor. Frank does that not-laughing laugh thing and pulls Bob's thumb back.
"You called her that in the car. You said it out loud. That makes it her name. Those are your pet-naming rules, Frankie." Bob lets up and takes his hand off Frank's face so Frank can track the room for the kitten. She had gone behind the television for two hours after they got home and then spent the rest of the day under their bed.
She's determined to be antisocial. Seriously that is Bob's kind of pet.
Frank scrambles around so he's facing Bob, digs his chin into Bob's thigh. "So it's not a stupid cat name?"
"Mikeyway's dog's name is Piglet Tree." Bob lets that sink in until Frank is rolling around laughing at all of the Ways ridiculous pet names. "Get up here, will ya?"
Frank settles in beside him and they watch Peppers turn forty-eight circles before settling down on the carpet in the exact same spot she was in before.
"Still don't know why dogs do that." Frank is completely fascinated by the most mundane things. Bob thinks it's kind of cute.
"Maybe one day you'll get bitten by a radioactive poodle and it will allow you to talk to animals and you can ask them." He pushes Frank over a bit so he's resting on the arm of the couch and leans on him, tucks his head under Frank's chin.
"Radioactive poodle? Think that would hurt?" Frank twists sections of Bob's hair around his fingers. If he didn't like it so much, he'd tell Frank to stop petting him like a damn dog.
"Probably. You'd have to get a rabies shot and the doctor would think you were insane and then you'd hear the hospital mice talking in the walls." Bob pinches Frank's side, "Hey. You could talk to spiders. Ask them to be less creepy."
Bob feels something land on his back and Frank reaching over him.
"Hey Slippers. This is the fuzziest tail ever, you know that?" Frank tries to whisper, but he fails. And Fuzzy Slippers starts purring loud enough to wake the neighbors.