Log in

No account? Create an account

Give 'Em Hell, Kid.

To Steal a Kiss From Borrowed Lips

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.

To Steal a Kiss From Borrowed Lips

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
Bob (favorite)
Title: To Steal a Kiss From Borrowed Lips [Standalone]
Pairing: Frank Iero/Bob Bryar
Rating: NC-17
POV: Third
Summary: Frank is currently on tour with LeATHERMØUTH, and Bob comes to see him at the Chicago show. (And we all know what happens when there are pretty boys in the front row!)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words, and the idea. Unfortunately I wasn't at the Chicago show, so none of this fic is based on any real experiences. Well, except for the ones that exist in my mind. :p
Author Notes: Written for the Frankie to my Bob, with love. (To the End. ♥)

To Steal a Kiss From Borrowed Lips

September 3, 2008
House Of Blues - Chicago, Illinois

"Jesus Christ, I must be dreaming," Frank beams, as he's unexpectedly swept off his tired feet. "You are a sight for sore fucking eyes, you know that?" he adds, while allowing himself to be wrapped into one of Bob's infamous bear hugs.

"Dream of me often, do ya?" Bob teases, as he hugs Frank tighter. He's probably crushing the kid to death, but Frank doesn't seem to mind.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Frank fires back, as he loops his arms around Bob's neck. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he continues excitedly, his words muffled slightly against the silky curtain of Bob's hair. It's been far too long since the pair have seen each other, and even longer since Frank has been held like this. It feels really nice, and fuck, he's missed Bob.

"Dude. You're in fucking Chicago, man. Did you honestly think you'd get away without seeing me?" Bob says, his voice cracking slightly as he sets Frank back down.

"Bob," Frank's voice is firm, yet the smile doesn't leave his face. "You just had wrist surgery. You're supposed to be taking it easy, or is that still not in your vocabulary?"

"Nope," Bob grunts, giving Frank a look that pleads him to stop worrying so much. "However," he adds, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, "I am learning how to jerk off with my left hand."

"Now that's what I call accomplishment," Frank giggles, as Bob takes a step back. For a couple of seconds he doesn't say anything else, he just admires. Bob's hair has gotten even longer, but it suits him. He looks good, and Frank kind of wants to hug him again.

So he does.

"C'mere," Frank grins widely, as he wraps his arms around Bob's solid frame. In the seconds that follow, he plants a sloppy kiss against Bob's cheek, and curls his hand around the back of his neck. Fuck, he wants to do so much more, but he knows he can't. Not now, anyway; things are different. Plus, Frank's not even sure that Bob would want that anymore.

The back story on Frank and Bob is that for a while now, they've had this unspoken thing between them. Since the Projekt Revolution tour, to be exact. It all started one night in Detroit, when Frank and Gerard basically aired their dirty laundry right there on the live Myspace stream. Up until that moment, or really, until Lindsey (or LynZ, as she's better known) came into his life, Gerard had always been Frank's. It's just how it was, and that was that.

There was even a sickening nickname for what they were: Ferard. Like they weren't even separate people anymore. Bob hated every fucking second of it, but there wasn't much he could do. He was powerless to stop it, so he took it like a man and kept his thoughts to himself. Not that Bob is much of a talker anyway, but he definitely knows when to keep his mouth shut.

After that fateful night in Detroit, when Frank crawled into his lap sporting a bruised face, and wounded heart, Bob broke. He had to do something, even if it meant he would end up having to find another band to drum for.

"Fix it," Frank had said, though Bob wasn't even sure where to begin. However, his anger and general disdain for Gerard was swelling in his gut, and threatening to claw right through his skin. "Please, Bob. Just fucking fix it. Make it go the fuck away," Frank pleaded, as he buried his sweet little face against the side of Bob's neck.

Frank wasn't the only one who ended up with a bruises that night. Later that evening, Gerard's usually pristine face was sporting it's own patch of multicolored skin, just under his left eye. It all happened so fast. In fact, to this day, Bob still doesn't know exactly what happened.

One minute Frank was curled up in his lap, and the next, Bob was a man on a mission -- invading dressing rooms and tour busses, until he sought out his prey. Bob and Gerard didn't speak for nearly two weeks after that, but it was Gerard who finally ate the first slice of humble pie. Things eventually returned to normal, but admittedly, Bob lost quite a bit of respect for Gerard.

It was that night in Detroit though, that Bob and Frank finally crossed the fine line between friends and lovers. After his little 'talk' with Gerard, Bob returned back to their bus, and wordlessly crawled into Frank's bunk. The knuckles of his right hand were blossoming with blood from where the dry skin had split. Frank didn't even need to ask why though; he knew.

"Jesus, Bob ...," he had said, while quickly wrapping Bob's hand with the T-shirt that he yanked off his own body. "Are you okay?" he asked, while curling his small frame around Bob's larger one. Of course Bob wasn't okay; Frank knew that, but "Oh hey, is our frontman still breathing?" was a conversational disaster waiting to happen.

"I'm fine," Bob assured, as he effortlessly shifted their positions so that his back was pressed against the back wall of the bunk.

"You're bleeding," Frank protested in a small voice, as he fit himself perfectly into the curve of Bob's body. Bob is so beautiful that Frank couldn't stop himself from touching. He knew he shouldn't, but under the circumstances, he needed to. Slowly, he reached a shaky finger out to trace the firm line of Bob's jaw.

"I'll live," Bob promised, his familiar blue eyes boring into Frank's as he leaned in and touched his lips to the bruise on Frank's forehead.

It was all a blur after that. When Bob pulled back, there wasn't more than a two-second lapse before Frank was just on him. Their mouths collided roughly, as Frank wedged a hand between their bodies, and got Bob off easily. It was quick, messy, and not at all like either of them ever imagined it happening, but it was real. That's what counted the most. Bob came within seconds of Frank touching him, and then he shoved Frank flat on his back so the favor could be returned with Bob's mouth.

That was how it all began.

Back to the current story, Frank can't help the way his thumb trails lightly over the nape of Bob's neck, and rubs gently. He knows he should be pulling away, but he just can't seem to. Bob's lips are no more than a fraction of an inch from his own, but luckily he somehow manages to keep any lines from being crossed. So far.

"I really fucking missed you," he whispers, his smile widening as he loosens his grip on Bob. "Like, you have no fucking idea."

"I think I do," Bob blushes noticeably, as Frank pulls back, and catches the beers that James tosses his way.

"Here, man; have a drink with me before we go on," Frank says, as he untwists the cap, and hands Bob the beer.

"To old friends?" Bob suggests, while accepting the drink, and raising it high.

"To best friends," Frank counters with a smile as their bottles clink together.


LeATHERMØUTH is absolutely nothing like My Chemical Romance. The music is aggressive, but beautiful in it's own way, and Bob is nothing short of impressed. He's caught bits and pieces of their set before, but mainly during practices when he was too busy taping up his wrists to pay close attention.

Within the first two minutes, Bob makes an interesting discovery. Frank Iero, LeATHERMØUTH's frontman, is not the same Frank Iero who plays rhythm guitar with My Chem. Bob has never met this Frank before, but he definitely likes what he sees.

All of Frank's inhibitions (not that he has many) seem to melt away the second he takes the stage. This Frank has a gravely voice, and a dirty mouth that Bob wants to kiss raw. Admittedly, he can't understand a single fucking thing that Frank is screaming, but he doesn't need to. He can feel the music hammering deep within his chest as he edges closer to the front of the stage.

The venue is surprisingly much emptier than Bob would have figured, given that Frank has such a voluminous fanbase. Granted, a large portion of the crowd are Reggie fans, whom may or may not have ever heard of Frank Iero.

By the second song, Frank has the entire audience held captive, Bob included.

"If you know the words, get the fuck up here and sing along. If you don't, get the fuck up here and make them up," Frank shouts, as he segues into song number three.

The crowd is eating them up. Everyone's into the music, even though Bob's fairly certain that no one understands what they're hearing. It's the raw energy that has everyone reeled in, and Frank's got them all wrapped around his little finger.

During their last song, most of the crowd has turned into one giant mosh pit, so Frank seizes his opportunity to have a quick crowd-surf. He circles the small room quickly, before he's deposited safely back onto the stage.

"You guys are fucking beautiful," he screams into the mic, as he looks up and catches Bob's eye. "I want to fuck every single one of you," he continues, their gaze unbroken as he reaches out and grips Bob by the T-shirt. "Especially this guy," he growls, as he drops to his knees and pulls Bob down with him.

Suddenly, the air is filled with the unpleasant sound of feedback as the mic hits the ground, but no one cares. They're all too mesmerized by the fact that Frank is now straddling Bob's hips and kissing him like he might never stop. It's fast and rough, and Bob's pretty sure this has to be some sort of wet dream.

"Want you ... so fucking bad," Frank pants into Bob's open mouth as he pins him down and kisses him harder. This time, it lasts a good twenty seconds before he finally rips himself away, and crawls over to where the mic has fallen. He doesn't miss a single beat though. The band is still playing, so when he finds his cue, Frank picks up right where he left off.

Bob is unsure of what the fuck to do at this point, (given that he's still sprawled out on the stage) so he inches back and props himself up against the drum riser. His heart is pounding wildly, but he's too exhilarated to move.

The song ends finally, with Frank spitting water at the crowd, before the lights dim, and everyone takes their final bow.

Bob is still pressed against the riser.

Rob, Eddie, John and James quickly vacate the stage, but Frank stays behind to sign a few autographs.

Bob isn't sure if he should leave or what, so he just remains rooted to the spot as Frank finishes up. Once the fans have been appeased, Frank climbs onto Bob's back and demands a piggy back ride to the dressing room.


Backstage, Bob deposits Frank onto the first unoccupied couch he sees, before flopping next to him, and slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Wow," he says, and finally lets out the breath he's been holding. "That was one hell of a fucking show."

"Thanks, man," Frank turns to smile at Bob, before running a hand up his thigh and squeezing it.

"Guys, I think we should probably do a sound check before Reggie goes on," James pipes up, as he quickly downs his beer and gets to his feet. Notably, Frank has never seen James move that fast in ... well, ever.

"You got it," Frank nods, as he gives Bob an apologetic smile. "We'll catch up later, okay?"


"Frankenstein, you can sit this one out, buddy. Hang here with your boy, and just meet us on stage at ten, okay?" James's grin is bright, a little mischievous even, as the back room empties out quickly.

Frank makes a mental note to thank James later.

He doesn't even have time to protest, before Bob's got him pinned to the tiny couch. "I thought they'd never fucking leave," Bob laughs, as he leans in and kisses Frank thoroughly. It's fast and dirty, and all Frank can do is nod his agreement as Bob licks his way into Frank's mouth.

Frank lets out a sharp gasp between kisses, as he gets a fistful of Bob's hair and tugs it hard. "C'mere," he whispers, as he reaches up and claws at Bob's zipper. The tab is cool between his heated fingers, as he drags it down roughly and gives the denim a firm yank.

Not having the luxury of much space to work with, Bob manages to get his jeans about halfway down, before his knees buckle and he collapses in a heap next to Frank. "Don't you have like, a bus we could be doing this in?" he chuckles, as he rights himself and pushes the hair back from his face.

"Fuck that; I want you right here. Now," Frank demands, as he quickly strips from the waist down, and settles between Bob's thighs. They're even softer than Frank remembers, as he rubs his palms against them.

"Shit; what if someone comes back here?" Bob asks suddenly, as he remembers that, oh yeah. They're smack in the middle of the dressing room. Leave it to Bob to always be the practical one, even as his boxers are being forced down around his ankles.

"I don't give a fuck," Frank hisses, as he grabs another handful of Bob's hair and leans up to crush their mouths together. They connect roughly, as Frank reaches between them and wraps his fingers around the base of Bob's cock. He can feel it growing firm and heavy in his hands, as he touches him the way he knows Bob likes it. "Feel good?" he slurs, as his alcohol consumption starts to catch up with him. On stage he always accepts any and all drinks being shoved in his face, because it's hot as fuck, for one. For two, some nights he needs that extra dose of liquid courage to get up there and do his thing.

In response to Frank's question, Bob can only nod and breathe, while trying to remember the last time he felt this good. Frank's hand is pure magic on his dick, though Bob can't help but be a little selfish and wish it was his mouth instead.

"Mmm ... wanna taste you, Frank murmurs, as if he's somehow able to read Bob's mind. And hey, Bob is totally okay with that as long as it means he gets to fuck that gorgeous mouth.

"Oh God yeah," Bob cries out, as he arches his hips, and sifts his fingers through Frank's hair. The reality is infinitely better than any fantasy, as Frank slides his hot mouth down Bob's aching dick. From years of expertise, Frank has absolutely no gag reflex, and takes Bob as deep as his throat will allow. First and foremost, Frank is a voyeur, so the sounds that spill from Bob's lips are nothing short of gratifying. He relishes the way Bob writhes beneath him, while continuing to pull on hair sharply.

Oh yeah. Bob hasn't forgotten Frank's affinity for having his hair pulled.

"Jesus ... that feels so fucking good." Bob is completely breathless, but encouraging as he spreads his thighs wider, and rubs at the back of Frank's neck.

Frank knows when Bob is close to release, because he can feel the steady rush of blood humming against his cheeks, and the way Bob's stomach convulses. When that happens, he pulls off Bob's cock with an obscene pop, because he's not at all ready for this to be over. Admittedly, he'd love to finish Bob off right then and there, but time is short, and Frank needs to be fucked now. As horny as he is, he'd sooner cancel the show, than to go another second without Bob's dick buried deep inside him.

"Nnnnghhh .... Frankie," Bob whines against Frank's mouth, when Frank crawls back into his lap and leans in to let Bob taste himself. "Need ... you ...," he pants, as he reaches out to squeeze Frank's hips and hold him steady. He honestly can't remember the last time his dick has been touched by anyone besides himself, and it's complete sensory overload. He's not too sure how long he might last, but at this rate, it won't be long.

"This is how it's going to go," Frank is speaking against Bob's lips, while reaching down to resume rubbing him slowly. "I'm going to fuck myself on your cock, and you're going to tell me how fucking bad you want it," he continues, pausing only long enough to force his tongue into Bob's mouth again, and kiss him deeply. "Can you handle that?" he laughs, low and sinister, as he gets up onto his knees and slicks some of Bob's pre-come onto his fingers.

"Nnngggh ...," Bob grunts incoherently, while nodding his head and hoping he's making some sort of sense. He loves it when Frank takes complete control, and he's more than willing to be Frank Iero's bitch. He's also pretty sure that he's going to be the subject matter of some pretty lewd text-messages being passed between his bandmates, but he doesn't give a fuck. Frank is about to ride his cock while Bob watches, and oh God ... Bob has gotten off to that idea many a lonely night.

"I can't hear you," Frank snaps, while releasing Bob's cock and reaching between his own legs. He doesn't waste any time slipping two fingers inside himself, and scissoring them roughly. "How bad do you want it, baby?" he purrs against Bob's ear as he shoves his fingers deeper. "C'mon, tell me how bad you want to put your cock in my ass, and fuck me 'till I come screaming your name?"

"Jesus, Frankie ... fuck ... so fucking bad," Bob manages to choke out, as the words tumble frantically from his lips. Bob has never been too good with dirty talk, but Frank is even better than a paid professional. "You're so fucking hot," Bob breathes deeply, as he watches Frank grind down on his own hand. By this time, they're both dripping sweat, and Bob has never been harder in his entire life.

"Good boy," Frank teases, while gripping the front of Bob's shirt with his free hand, and yanking him forward. "Do you know how long I've been dreaming about this? Every fucking night, Bob. Every fucking night I've thought about you, and wishing you were inside me," Frank moans, as he frees his fingers, and drags his teeth up the side of Bob's neck, biting sharply.

Before Bob can even blink, Frank is straddling his hips again, and aligning their bodies so that Bob's cock is rubbing up against his own ass. Taking a deep breath, he then sinks down onto Bob's dick, and leans forward until they're kissing again. He lets out a guttural moan that Bob has definitely never heard before, as he rolls his hips and pants a whole myriad of obscenities against Bob's bruised mouth. "Fuck me, baby ... fuck me," he whimpers, as he rocks himself forward, and kisses Bob slowly. This time, his mouth moves gently against Bob's, as his shaky fingers rub at Bob's cheeks.

Bob has always loved the way Frank tastes. Like cigarettes and cheap beer, because Frank has never been too picky about what he drinks. "Mmmmm," he murmurs into the kiss, as he arches his hips and closes his free hand around Frank's leaking cock. "You're so fuckin' tight," he groans when the kiss breaks in favor of Frank sinking his teeth into the curve of Bob's neck.

It doesn't take long for them to build a steady rhythm. They're both so starved for each other's touch, that they're minutes (seconds, even) away from an earth-shattering release. "Almost ... there," Frank winces as he angles himself so that Bob's cock is pressing against his prostate. "Harder," he begs, as Bob quickly obliges and works his dick faster in synch.

"Nnnnghhh ... just like that," Frank whines, as Bob squeezes his hips and thrusts deeper.

Bob grunts something unintelligible as he feels Frank starting to come all over his stomach. "That's it ...," he hisses through clenched teeth, as he squeezes one of Frank's hips, and jerks him through the beginning stages of his release. He's about to come himself, but he wants this to be good for Frank, so he gives his hips a final roll, and makes sure he angles himself correctly. He's not sure how, but he miraculously manages to keep his own orgasm at bay for the time being, so that he can fuck Frank completely senseless.

In seconds, Frank is coming hard and frantic, while collapsing against Bob's chest, and pinning him to the couch. "Keep going," he orders, as Bob releases his dick and sucks in a sharp breath. "I want you to come inside me," Frank growls, as he grinds back down on Bob's cock and pulls him closer. The air is so thick and humid that Frank is considerably dizzy from the volcanic heat radiating off their bodies, but he continues to ride Bob hard and fast.

It only takes one more good thrust before Bob is coming in tandem, and whimpering Frank's name like the sweetest song Frank has ever heard. His entire body feels warm and loose as he comes deep in Frank's ass, with Frank biting down on his lip ring. At least two months' worth of loneliness and general separation anxiety seem to leave Bob's body when Frank collapses heavily against him, and wraps his sweaty arms around Bob's neck.

"Holy fucking Christ," Bob laughs shakily as Frank follows suit and peppers giggly kisses up his neck. "If I had known that waiting would make it that much hotter, I should have held out for the Jersey shows!"

"Oh right," Frank snorts, giving Bob a comical roll of his eyes. "Like you could stay away from me that long? You can't even quit smoking for like, what a day or something?" he grins, adding harmless insult to injury as Bob slides his arms around Frank's waist and pulls him close.

"You got me," Bob laughs, as he pulls Frank into another crushing hug. "You're even more addictive than smoking," he whispers sweetly against the shell of Frank's ear.

"So are you, Bob." Frank can feel the blush creeping into his cheeks as Bob's lips pay elaborate attention to the scorpion that's inked on the right side of his neck. "By the way," he adds, trying his best to suppress a giggle, "Thank you for not taking this blessed opportunity to make sickening 'I wish I knew how to quit you,' jokes," Frank smiles, as he squeezes Bob tighter.

"No problem man; I'm not into the gay cowboy movies," Bob laughs loudly, as Frank rolls off his lap. They locate their discarded clothing, and then make quick work of making themselves presentable.

Task completed, Bob heads for the cooler and grabs two more beers, while continuing to laugh to himself.

"Funny you knew which movie I was referencing though." Frank eyes him suspiciously as he smugly accepts the beer he's offered.

"Yeah, and you're the one who referenced it." Bob doesn't miss a beat as he takes a long pull from the icy beer and flops back down on the couch. "So if this is some sort of 'gayer than thou' type of accusation --" Bob doesn't get a chance to finish before he's cut off by an energetic flurry of pink.

"Bullfuckingshit! Like either of you two queens are stealing my title?" James huffs good-naturedly as he flounces in, sporting his signature Hannah Montana ensemble.

It's impossible not to absolutely adore James. He must have gotten changed on the bus, but Frank doesn't feel as guilty as he probably should.

"You know what the true irony of all of this is?" Frank observes matter-of-factly, as he happily crawls into Bob's lap and tangles their legs together.

"What's that?" Bob hums lazily, as he presses his face into the warmth of Frank's neck.

"The three of us put together are still significantly less gay than Gerard."


    AMAZING, SWEETIE! :) <3333
  • Loved this. So damn much.

    (now I have to find more Bob/Frank to read)
    • Thank you!! ^_^ I'm really glad you liked it, and if you check this journal's memories, there's some more Bob/Frank in there. ;)
  • I actully fuckin love you for this.
    It was exactly what I needed, it was just so hot and I loved, loved the beginning where they were all cuddly and daw and :D

    • Thank you!! :D :D I love cuddly!Bob/Frank too, which is why they always have to be cuddly at some point in any of my fics. However LM!Frank took over for a while, and he wanted some pure hotness. XD Thank you for the lovely comment! :)
  • hehe the last bit had me laughing really loudly

  • "The three of us put together are still significantly less gay than Gerard."

    OH SURE!!!

    You know what's the funniest thing, ever? I woke up with this "uh, I want a mental image/fic of Frank riding someone". YOU MADE MY DREAM/THOUGHT COME TRUE! YOU MADE MY DAY.

    You're my favorite person now.
    • *claps happily* Thank youuuuuu!! I'm really glad I could make your dream/thought come true! That's always a wonderful thing to wake up to. *offers hugs* Your comment made my day!! ♥
  • OMG !!!

    That was so fucking hot !!! *died from dehydration*

    Plus the end is made of win. lol
    • *offers beverage of choice and saves you from dehydration*

      Don't die on me!!! ;)

      Thank you for the lovely comment though!! ^_^ ♥
  • Frankie has a new band? this is interesting news....

    story = nghhh, omg, yes yes yes!
    • He's still in MCR full time, but in their off time, he's singing for LeATHERMØUTH. :) They're extremely different from My Chem, but the shows are really intense, and if they ever play near you, be sure to check them out!! :D

      And THANK YOU for the lovely comment!! I really appreciate it. :)
  • EPIC FUCKING SHIT. That is all.

    I have a question though. The James character mentioned, is that Reggie/Fluctuation's James Dewees or different James?
    • THANK YOU!! ^_^ ♥ That really means a lot to me. :)

      And yes, sorry if it wasn't more clear! I definitely meant James Dewees. :D James (for those that didn't know) is actually LeATHERMØUTH's drummer, and Frank is Reggie's bassist. :D
  • Nuuugh...
  • oh god...*fans self*

    and it's an added bonus with LM!Frank. Thanks for sharing. The slash world needs more BOB. <33;;
    • *fans you too* ^_^

      Thank you so much!!! Yes--the world definitely needs more BOB. Always. :)

      I'm really glad you liked it. ♥ :)
  • Nnng. Yummy.

    Last line made me laugh out loud.
    • GOOD!! XD I'm fond of humorous last lines, so it took me a while to come up with it. XD

      Thank you for the lovely comment. :) ♥
  • OH GOD Leathermouth Frankie and Big Bob, what fucking pairing <3
  • (no subject) -
  • umm. uhh. um.
    holy crap! this was...... yea
  • :O
    That was hot.
    And awesome.
    And sweet.
    And the last line killed me, because not even a Hanna Montana sweatsuit can amount to the gayness floating around in Gee-String :D
    Great job, I'm mem-ing it! :D
    • *DIES LAUGHING* GEE-STRING. Omg... thank you for THAT. XD.

      And thank you for the lovely review!! ^_^ ♥
Powered by LiveJournal.com