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Give 'Em Hell, Kid.

Hopeless Hearts

I wouldn't front the scene if you paid me

Bob (favorite)

So give me all your poison, and give me all your pills. And give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill.You're running after something that you'll never kill. If this is what you want, then fire at will.

Hopeless Hearts

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Frank
Title: Hopeless Hearts [Standalone]
Pairing: Frank Iero/Bob Bryar
Rating: R
POV: Third
Summary: Bob helps Frank get through his first Christmas without his grandmother.
Author Notes: And an extremely belated happy holidays to everyone. I've been sitting on this fic a while, but here you go, finally. ♥ Oh, and no disrespect to any Bert or The Used fans! Frank and Bob have a harmless fun at Bert's expense. :p




Hopeless Hearts




The first Christmas without his grandmother is the hardest Frank has ever spent. For his family's sake, he's trying not to fall apart, but he's not sure how long that's going to last. He's been doing his best though. He's been helping out in the kitchen more, and keeping the front hall swept, just like his grandmother would have wanted. He makes sure all the coats are hung in the guest room closet, and sees to it that no one is ever empty handed. He'll pass around trays of cookies, eggnog, assorted baked goods, and whatever other platters his mother puts together. He tells more jokes, laughs at the same ones his father tells every year, and keeps a bright smile on his face.



Every year on Christmas morning for as long as Frank can remember, his grandparents have always gotten up extra early to make waffles for everyone. Sort of an Iero family tradition. This year, Frank decided to take the task upon himself. The best part of breakfast making of course, is getting to lick the waffle batter from the bowl. One of Frank's favorite memories of his grandmother, was always how she'd pretend to get angry when he'd get batter all over his face. (And every other available surface in her kitchen.)



This year it was worse, if possible.



"You're a mess kid; c'mere," Grandpa Frank had said, when he peeked in to see how the waffle production was going. He too, then made a big fuss over wiping Frank's face clean. As usual Frank squirmed and giggled, while trying to escape.



Some things, never change.



The waffles didn't turn out as well as the ones his grandmother used to make, but they were pretty damn good. Frank is proud of the turnout, and knows his grandmother would have been too. Once breakfast is over, and all the presents have been opened, Frank takes a cup of hot cocoa into the living room, and does what he always does after the festivities are over. He sits under the tree, and admires the lights. Frank loves lights; the brighter the better.



He doesn't quite fit under the tree as well as he did when he was little, but it's warm and cozy down there, so he stays. His grandfather makes the best hot chocolate in the world, and Frank is on his third cup. He always likes waiting until the marshmallows have melted, and then he pokes his fingers in the fluffy white layer that results. Then he makes a big show of sucking on his fingers like a toddler, and repeats the process until the marshmallow fusion is gone.



Despite the somber undertones, it's been a good day, Frank thinks, and he's glad that everyone has managed to hold each other together. Things got a bit teary when his mother broke down during breakfast, but for the most part everyone has been in good spirits. His grandfather is doing so much better than Frank had originally anticipated, which is a relief. If there's one thing Frank can't deal with, it's to see his grandfather upset. Overall, Christmas has been a complete success, minus one thing, of course.



Frank really misses Bob.



~*~



Christmas at the Bryar household is always a massive event. Even more so than at the Iero's, if possible, and his year is no exception. Bob adores Chicago, and is thrilled to be home. The Bryars usually do the bulk of their celebrating on Christmas Eve, because his mother volunteers at a shelter on Christmas Day, and is usually gone for the better part of the morning. Bob doesn't mind though, because this means he can sleep late, eat sugary cereal for breakfast, and play several rounds of video games with his cousins.



The nights are lonely though, because unlike the Ieros, the Bryars all go to bed pretty early. Well, all except Bob, who plays even more video games, eats more junk food, and smokes excessively because Frank isn't around to deter him. Not that he succeeds anyway, since Frank himself still smokes socially. Bob is trying to quit though, ('trying' being the operative word) and thinks maybe this will be his year. Right now, he desperately wants a cigarette, but instead, plucks a candy cane from the tree, and hopes it'll make a decent substitute.



It doesn't, and now Bob finds himself exceptionally bored. And when he's bored, he smokes. Giving in, he lights a cigarette, and props his slippered feet up on the coffee table, while admiring the furry kittens staring back at him. One of his cousins had given him the cat slippers as a gift, and Bob has yet to take them off his feet. Glancing at the clock, it reads only ten-thirty, and Bob isn't even remotely tired. Even as nice as his Christmas has been, it's still desperately lacking the company of his favorite little rhythm guitarist.



~*~



As Frank is busy sipping his cocoa under the tree, suddenly his thoughts are disrupted when his mother enters the living room, carrying a brightly wrapped package.



"Hey sweetie. I forgot that I had this for you," she says, and takes a seat in front of him. "I put it together a while back, so it was in my closet," she adds, as she scoots close, and hands the heavy package to Frank.



"What is it?" He asks, even as he's busy tearing the paper off, with his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he works dutifully.



"It's a photo album," she explains, even though once the paper is off, Frank can clearly see that. "Most of the pictures are from this past year, of things you missed while you've been touring," she says with a bright smile as she begins flipping through the pages. "And others, I've been meaning to put into albums anyway," she laughs as she reaches over and wipes a smudge of chocolate off Frank's face.



For the next few minutes, they stroll down memory lane, taking in pictures of birthday parties, anniversaries, and other random events that Frank wishes he could have been there for, as well as reminiscing about some of the good times that he could never forget. He thought it would be hard to look at pictures of his grandmother, but he actually finds it comforting.



One picture in particular stands out to him, because he's never seen it before. It's a candid shot, which features him and Bob from last Christmas, and they seemed to be laughing about something his grandmother is saying. Frank had a hand on Bob's knee, and his face buried against Bob's neck. Bob's cheeks were full and rosy, and the camera seemed to capture the aqua sparkle in his eyes perfectly.



"Who took this picture?" Frank asks, which earns him a mischievous grin from his mother.



"I did. You and Bob were too busy acting like a couple of schoolgirls, so I snapped it when you weren't paying attention; it's my favorite," she smiles, and runs her fingernail along the outer edge of the photo. "You look cute together, you know," she adds, and looks up to gauge Frank's reaction.



"Shut up mom," Frank grins, and tries his hardest not to blush. For the record, he fails miserably.



"Frankie, when are you going to tell Bob how you feel about him? You're not getting any younger, kiddo."



"Yeah, thanks. Because I totally wasn't aware of that," Frank quips, taking the album from her hands and setting it aside. "Anyway, Bob doesn't like me like that. Bob's straight," Frank says, putting heavy emphasis on 'straight' to which his mother begins choking on a stolen sip of cocoa.



"He's what now?"



"Mom, we're not all gay or bisexual you know."



"I know that baby, but your little drummer boy marches to a pretty gay beat," she snorts, while getting to her feet. And just like mothers do, she disappears without another word, which once again leaves Frank alone with his thoughts.



Sometimes (even more than others) Frank really adores his mom.



Truth be told, Bob's sexuality has always been a big question hanging over the heads of his closest friends. Even though he's always dated girls, that never has really offered much of an argument. Especially considering that on more than one occasion Frank has caught Bob sneaking peeks at him whenever they've undressed in the same room. Not to mention that by nature, Frank is overly affectionate and a shameless flirt, and Bob has never had a problem with it. In fact, if anyone pays close attention, (and Frank does) Bob is quite the flirt himself. Granted, he's a lot more discreet about it, but he can always roll with Frank's punches. Especially when Frank is either completely drunk, or well on his way to inebriation. At least once a week, Bob will find himself with a lapful of tiny rhythm guitarist, who refuses to go to sleep unless he can share a bunk with his favorite drummer. Only once Frank finally drifts off to sleep, will Bob slip his arms around him and pull him close.



In conclusion, no one really thinks much about Bob's sexuality anymore. To most, he's just Bob, and that's that. Label-free. The only person who still allows the 'is he/isn't he' question to plague him, is Frank. Not that he plans on coming right and asking or anything. As easy as that could be, Frank prefers to be creative about it. Or, he'll just turn on the Iero charm, and see where that gets him. Hopefully somewhere good, because enough is enough already.



Sighing heavily, his mother's words continue to echo in Frank's mind as he daydreams about Bob.



And Bob's perfect smile.



And Bob's strong arms wrapped tightly around his own smaller body.



And Bob's infectious laugh.



Frank Iero it seems, has found himself in quite a predicament because upon further investigation, the records would show that he is madly in love with Bob.



~*~



After his second cigarette, (and third coughing fit) Bob pulls his Sidekick from his back pocket, and decides to give Frank a call. They'd texted earlier in the day, but Bob's boredom is increasing, and his lungs are heavily paying the price.



Frank answers on the second ring, and does nothing to hide the excitement in his voice when he's met with Bob's familiar greeting.



"Yo, fuckface."



"Bobusan! What's up man?"



"Not a damn thing. Bored as motherfuck. How ya holding up, little buddy? Everything okay on your end?"



"I'm awesome. Don't I sound awesome? And yeah, things went a lot better than I expected." Frank's voice is dripping with well-practiced sarcasm.



"But?" Bob, in true drummer form, never misses a beat.



"I miss her. I miss her so fucking much. She should be here, man. She should be in the kitchen right now, cutting me a huge slice of pie; I should be covered in whipped cream and being yelled at for getting her table all sticky."



"I know, buddy," is all Bob offers, because really, what can he say? He's never been good with words, but he desperately wishes that he could comfort Frank. Especially now.



"I wish you were here," Frank says softly, and wants to kick himself the minute the words are floating out of his mouth. Nothing like getting all lovesick and sappy. He misses Bob almost as much as he misses his grandmother, and he hates this. He absolutely abhors this feeling of dread, when Christmas is his second favorite holiday. It takes a back seat to Halloween, for the obvious reasons, but Frank loves spending time with his family, and being the life of the party.



Except this year, he doesn't feel so lively.



"Me too, man. I mean, I love Chicago, but we could be sledding down the hill in your dad's trash can lids again! That was fun, remember?" Bob cracks up, just recalling the memory. For some reason, every time he and Frank are together, they seem to lose at least a decade off their age.



"Yeah, and I also remember my Grandma wanting to beat the shit out of us for going out without scarves. Remember that?" Frank supplies, as he giggles into the phone.



"Oh my God," Bob laughs, and covers his mouth with his free hand. He had totally forgotten, and now the images are flooding back. "That was fucking priceless. Your Grandma hardly ever got mad, but she was all worried about us. I love how one minute she was swatting at us with those scarves, and the next minute, she was force feeding us cocoa and sugar cookies."



"She was the best wasn't she?" Frank asks wistfully, as he crawls up onto the couch above him.



"It runs in the family."



"Thanks," Frank blushes, and is secretly glad for once that Bob isn't there to tease him about it. What Frank doesn't know is that making him blush is one of the guilty pleasures that Bob is taking to the grave with him.



"You're welcome," Bob smiles while trying to imagine what Frank might be wearing. Not that it really matters, but Bob still wants the visual. Knowing Frank, he's probably still in the ridiculously patterned pajamas that one of his aunts seem to think are still suitable for a man his age. Maybe even the footed kind, if Bob is lucky. He desperately wishes that image wasn't sexy, but it is. Probably because he knows that Frank doesn't usually wear anything under those pajamas.



"So have you had enough of Chicago yet? Because Jersey misses you, man. You need to come home. And I mean like, home-home. Jersey home. Not Chicago home," Frank rambles as he tucks his cold feet under one of his mother's decorative pillows.



"Dude, I've only been here a week," Bob exclaims in a faux huff, but he can't stop the smile from spreading across his face.



"That's seven days too many, if you ask me," Frank snickers, while shifting again. For some reason, he can't seem to get comfortable. "Hey, you wanna play the game?" he asks suddenly, because right about now he's craving a subject change. He knows Bob doesn't need to ask which game; it's one they play whenever they're bored. Usually on the road.



"Okay, shoot. You first."



"All right," Frank bounces, and takes a second to think up a question. "Oh, I got one. Who would you rather see in a thong? Worm? or Bert," Frank cackles, and wishes desperately he could see Bob's face. That's all the game is, really. Coming up with the most ridiculous questions, and having to answer honestly.



"The Bert or The Worm?" Bob laughs at his own joke, while stopping to give the question thorough consideration.



"Bob, that is by far one of your lamest jokes, just so you know. But yeah, which would you rather see all dolled up for you?" Frank giggles, clearly pleased with himself.



"First, I hate you, just so you know. Second. Oh man, I guess I'll go with Bert, but only because the alternative is even scarier."



"Whatever dude; Worm would look sexy in a thong; you're just jealous!"



"Oh. Right. You totally got me," Bob deadpans as he settles back against the couch cushions. "My turn, and payback is a bitch," he warns, as he thinks up his retaliation. "Oh man, this is good. Okay, would you rather touch a spider, or make out with Bert?"



"Dude, why does every question have to involve Bert?"



"Hey, you started it! Now answer, dammit!" Bob insists, and he waits patiently for Frank to reply.



"I think I might throw up a little," Frank laughs finally, after a few seconds of silence.



"That's fine, but you still gotta pick."



"Is there a third option?" Frank asks hopefully, knowing full well what Bob's answer is going to be.



"Fuck no, dude! You gave me the thong question, and I'm still a little traumatized."



"Well, I'd totally rather see Bert in a thong, than touch a fucking spider!"



"It's too bad those aren't the choices, huh? Now what'll it be, Frankie?"



"If you repeat this to anyone, I will fucking kill you," Frank says through gritted teeth as his stomach heaves a little.



"Noted. What's your final answer?" Bob is gloating, because he's pretty sure he knows what it'll be, and hearing it gives him perverse satisfaction.



"Bert," Frank chokes out, the name sounding more like a grunt, than anything else.



"What's that? I didn't quite hear you," Bob replies, (definitely gloating) and sparks up another cigarette.



"Oh, you heard me all right. And put that Goddamn cigarette out!"



"How the hell did you know?" Bob is a little impressed, because he is trying to be as quiet as possible.



"Dude. I know everything."



"That must hurt your brain," Bob laughs on the exhale, and blows a steady stream of smoke into the receiver. "Everything is a lot, man."



"Seriously. Put the fucking cigarette out, Bob. No one wants to kiss someone who tastes like an ashtray," Frank says, and tries to suppress a giggle.



"Oh, so is that why no one ever wants to make out with you?" Bob counters smugly, while reluctantly snuffing the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Well, Frank does have a point.



"As if, dude. Plenty of people want me; you're just jealous."



"Of what?"



"Because you totally want to make out with me," Frank announces boldly, while closing his eyes and imagining what it might be like.



"Don't flatter yourself." Bob is grinning from ear to ear, and trying to quickly think of something a little more clever to add.



"So I'm wrong?" Frank presses, his voice smooth and even against Bob's ear, as Bob jiggles his right leg.



"Yo, if you've been sucking face with McCracken, your tongue better not be anywhere near mine," Bob warns playfully as he smiles against the receiver.



"Your loss; I'm a fantastic kisser," Frank boasts, but there is a definite catch in his voice, like he wants to say more, but doesn't. He sounds almost sad in a way, but Bob tries not to analyze it too much.



"I'll take your word for it."



"One day dude. I'm so going to drag your ass out of Narnia, and we'll have a tea party. Gee can host, and we'll stick Mikey and Toro in French maid outfits. It'll be great."



"Your head is a scary place, Frank. I think I'm done talking to you now," Bob says, though his tone is lacking any traces of real annoyance. He also can't help but laugh himself because he can hear Frank giggling on the other end.



"Yeah, yeah. When are you coming home?"




"Tomorrow," Bob sighs, though not irritably.



"Seriously?" Frank's stomach somersaults like he's on a high speed thrill ride. A roller coaster, maybe.



"Yeah," Bob confirms, as he feels sleep starting take over; it's been a long day. "I can only put up with my family for so long, y'know? Besides, they're coming to Jersey for New Years."



"Stop trying to cover up the fact that you totally miss me," Frank laughs, while hauling himself upright. He's exhausted, and if Bob is coming home tomorrow, Frank is picking him up from the airport, no exceptions.



"You wish."



"Whatever." Frank isn't easily discouraged. "So when does your flight get in?" he asks, because, hey, that might be useful information, right?



"Seven-thirty tomorrow night, give or take. I'll email you the details in the morning, and I'll be down at baggage claim around eight or so. Can you see if someone will swing by the airport and claim the drummer?" Bob asks hopefully, as he turns off all the downstairs lights, and head up to bed.



"Done deal, man; I'll be there," Frank promises, much to Bob's delight.



"Thanks, man. Oh, and hey Frankie?" Bob can feel his stomach churning a little.



"Yeah?"



"I do, you know," Bob says softly, which makes Frank's toes wiggle happily; no further explanations are needed. If anyone can speak "Bob," it's Frank.



"I know." Frank feels his whole body flush, as he slips into bed, and tucks the covers under his chin. "Hey Bob?"



"Yeah?"



"I miss you too."



~*~



The following evening, Newark airport is a mad house.



When making his last minute flight changes, it failed to occur to Bob that he'd be returning the day after Christmas. As a result, he is unfortunately welcoming chaos with open arms. His flight was delayed, not to mention overbooked, forcing him to sit in coach, and he can't get to Frank. At least, not for a few more agonizing minutes, anyway. The poor kid has already waited for the better part of two extra hours, but what Bob doesn't know, is that Frank would happily wait all day, without complaint.



Two phone calls, six texts and one annoyed drummer later, Bob is finally making his way down to baggage claim. He also whispers a silent prayer that his luggage has managed to make it on the same flight, because really? He just might lose his fucking mind, otherwise.



As he nears his destination, Bob's stomach begins to tighten, because he is only seconds away from seeing Frank. In fact, he is craning his neck in hopes of being able to spot his friend from down the corridor, but no suck luck. It's only when Bob is standing at the proper conveyor for his flight, does he start to panic a little. Could Frank have left? His last text confirmed that he was already there, yet Bob's arms are empty. No welcome home, no bone-crushing hug, no nothing.



Just as he slumps onto a nearby bench and pulls out his phone, a pair of tiny hands slip over his eyes, as warm breath ghosts across his ear.



"Hey little boy, want some candy?" Frank whispers, just before vaulting the bench and shamelessly crawling onto Bob's lap.



"Well that depends; what kind of candy?" Bob grins, as he comfortably slides his arms around Frank's waist.



"Gummi bears!" Frank's eyes light up like a delighted toddler as he rescues the bag from his coat pocket and waves it in Bob's face. "I stole some of the red ones," he admits guiltily, as he leans down and tucks the bag into Bob's carry on.



"Then you'll have to be punished," Bob laughs, even as he squeezes Frank hard.



"Hey!" Frank squeaks, leaning forward and pressing his nose against Bob's. "Is that any way to talk to your Knight in shining armor?"



"Knight?" Bob cocks an eyebrow, but doesn't let Frank go.



"Duh," Frank grins, and Bob can feel his insides melting. He'd do anything for that smile.



"Armor?" Bob continues, while shifting slightly; Frank is heavier than he looks.



"Messenger bag; whatever," Frank huffs, as he lets said item fall from his shoulders, and settle on the floor by his feet. "Oh! And I think that's your bag," he adds, hopping off Bob's lap once he sees the familiar blue suitcase headed their way.



Up until then, the pair have gone unnoticed, since the airport is so crowded; everyone just wants to get where they want to go, and be done with it. Though, when Frank jumps up, the hood of his sweatshirt goes flying backwards, which reveals his identity a whole lot better. He hears two girls gasp loudly at his recognition, so he and Bob (who then gets noticed as well) happily sign a few autographs before they're finally out in Frank's car.



Frank didn't tell anyone that Bob was arriving earlier than originally planned, because he knew if he did, that would have meant a chaperoned trip to the airport, and Frank wasn't having any of that.



The drive to Bob's apartment is blissfully uneventful, which is nice. This means that within the hour, Bob is home, semi-unpacked and happily curled up on the couch with Frank on the pretense of watching a movie. What movie? Bob doesn't know. Something Frank picked, though he couldn't care less, really. Spread out in front of them is a whole array of junk food that Frank had stopped for, just before heading to the airport. Everything from cookies and chips, to doughnuts and Bob's favorite cereal.



"You want a beer?" Frank calls, when he heads into the kitchen to order a pizza. Sure, Bob has probably had his fill of Geno's in Chicago, but Frank will argue to the death that nothing beats Jersey pizza.



"Yeah, thanks," Bob shouts back, before tipping the bottle in his hands, and draining it the rest of it. He's currently on his third, and has a nice buzz going. He's not drunk by any means, but finally the edge of his stressful day has worn off.



"Yo, pizza's on it's way," Frank informs him, as he sets the opened beer in front of Bob, and proceeds to stretch across the couch, with his head perched cautiously in Bob's lap. He realizes he's treading on thin ice here, but sometimes Bob doesn't mind. Frank hopes this is one of those times. Things have been different lately though, he's noticed, except he can't exactly pinpoint it. A prime example, would be right now actually. Particularly the fact that Bob doesn't usually appreciate being turned into a human pillow. He doesn't seem to be complaining now though. In fact, he even slides an arm around Frank's shoulders, and absentmindedly plays with Frank's hair.



"That feels good," Frank purrs, as he gently rubs Bob's thigh.



Bob doesn't answer, but he doesn't stop either. He tries his best to focus on the TV screen, and pretend he's actually watching the movie. What he's really doing is taking a mental tally of all the times that Frank makes cute little whimpers or noises. There is also an ugly tension building in his stomach, and he's not sure what to make of it.



They remain like that for the better part of an hour, until the pizza finally arrives.



"I got it!" Frank jumps up and races to the door before Bob can even blink. In minutes, he's back with the entire box of pizza, the bottle of coke he'd ordered, and a roll of paper towels.



"All the essentials huh?" Bob notes, while flipping the box open.



"Precisely. Plates are for pussies," Frank nods, while selecting a slice for himself and taking a bite.



"Damn I missed Jersey pizza," Bob says, while reaching for a second piece.



"I won't say I told you so," Frank interjects, while wiping his hands and taking a long swallow straight from the coke bottle.



"Good, then I won't kick your ass," Bob replies with a smile, as Frank drapes himself back across his lap.



"Move over, man. You're totally hogging my couch," Bob teases, while giving Frank a playful shove.



"Oh, well excuuuuuuse me; I don't mean to cramp your style," Frank hisses, as he stands up quickly and heads for the recliner. He knows that Bob is just being facetious, but a small part of him actually feels crushed. "I'll just be over there if you need me," he adds in a small, dejected voice as he slides past Bob.



"Like hell," Bob pipes up, and lunges forward, his strong arms circling Frank's waist, while pulling the smaller man onto his lap. "Your ass isn't going anywhere," he adds, giving Frank a warm smile.



"Oh? Since when are you in charge of my ass?" Frank counters, while looping his arms around Bob's neck. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he can feel tiny goosebumps on his arms. It's been a long time since someone's made him feel this way, and he's loving every minute of it.



"Well I'm not, but I like having you here," Bob admits softly, his eyes downcast, as he plays with the zipper on Frank's hoodie.



"Awww, are you getting all mushy on me, Bryar?" Frank is amused and delighted, in equal proportion. He's not quite sure what's gotten into Bob, but he likes it.



"Maybe. What are you gonna about it?" Bob blushes scarlet right to the tips of his ears, even as he tries to be his usual badass self. His efforts are lost on Frank though, because Frank knows he's all talk.



"This," Frank grins, while leaning closer. Bob can almost see the little animated light bulb flashing over Frank's head, just before their lips touch. Bob isn't protesting. Not when Frank's tongue slips into his mouth, and certainly not when he's panting Bob's name between their lips like the sweetest song Bob has ever heard.



Several seconds lapse before they finally pull apart, and Bob is heavily feeling their loss of contact. "So." he says, his eyes shining happily as he hooks his thumbs into Frank's belt loops, and tugs him close.



"So." Frank parrots, twisting his tiny hands up in the excess fabric of Bob's shirt. "That was new," he adds, while straddling Bob's hips.



"Yeah," Bob nods, while reaching out to touch Frank's cheek. "It was. Now let's make it old by doing it again," he suggests, while slipping his fingers into Frank's choppy hair, and using it as leverage to guide their mouths together. The kiss is slow and sweet, with just the right amount of tongue, and the blissful way Frank bites at Bob's lip ring. In short, this is Bob's version of heaven, and Frank is his punk-rock angel.



"This isn't gonna get weird is it?" Frank asks when they come up for air, while settling himself comfortably against Bob's chest. "I mean, you're not going to regret this, are you?"



"Don't," Bob says softly, as he shakes his head, and fans his fingers across Frank's cheek.



"Don't what?" Frank's eyes are wide and candid, and his lips have molded into a pout so adorable that Bob can't resist kissing it. It's just a light brush of his lips across Frank's, but it's enough to coax another pretty smile from his friend.



"What you do," Bob continues, which might be an explanation if Frank wasn't totally confused.



"Huh?"



"Overanalyze," Bob explains, with a slight roll of his eyes which does makes things a little clearer at least. "If I didn't want to kiss you, I would have tossed you on your scrawny ass, man."



"Are you insulting my ass now?" Frank feigns shock, while tipping Bob's face up, and capturing his lips in a squishy kiss. "Because, I might be kinda offended," he continues, while brushing the blonde fringe from Bob's eyes.



"Then I kinda might have to make it up to you, huh?" Bob whispers, while gathering Frank up in his arms, and only setting him back down when the soft cushion of his mattress is beneath them.



"Robert Cory Bryar, I'm shocked and appalled," Frank laughs when Bob crawls on top of him and tickles his neck with his beard. "Has this been your little ploy all along? To get sweet, innocent me into your bed?"



"Innocent? Oh right. Yeah, about that, I think your halo needs polishing," Bob grins, as he leans in to steal a quick kiss.



"See? I knew you totally wanted me," Frank makes a victory gesture, before wrapping his arms around Bob and pulling him closer.



"Yeah? What else do you know?" Bob asks, while pulling back and slowly unzipping Frank's hoodie.



"I know that I want you just as much," Frank growls against Bob's mouth, while simultaneously shedding his hoodie, and then kissing Bob roughly. The kiss lasts for a few good minutes, before Frank's sudden giggling causes Bob to pull back. "Sorry," he laughs as he gently rubs Bob's arm. "It's just that my mom was right," he explains as he giggles again and kisses Bob's nose.



"Am I going to regret asking why?" Bob huffs, while tracing his index finger along the scorpion on Frank's neck.



"Because you are a total flaming homo, man. Welcome to the club," Frank teases, while pulling Bob on top of him, and kissing the shock right off his face.



~*~



A/N: I know, I know. XD. I suck for stopping there, but I've been working on this story forever, and I was afraid it might be next Christmas before I finished. Besides, nothing wrong with a little shameless fluff right? ;)
  • you're like...my favoritest author everrr!

    all of your stories are entertaining and well written. and their conversations never fail to crack me up.

    simply put: this was amazing. :]

    sorry for the sucky comment, haha. it's ridiculously late so my brain is kind of just like "...HIYOUREAWESOME!" xD
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