Title: Bob Knows
Author: Shazzy x_fangs_up_x
Warnings: Swearing, Fluff
Pairing: Bob Bryar/Frank Iero
Summary: And Bob knows, because Bob always knows. Frank seriously thinks he has some weird physcic, voodoo, ninja powers or something, because Bob knows things about Frank, like how he's feeling, before Frank even knows.
Disclaimer: Someone get me MCR for Christmas because, currently, I don't own them. Not real, sadly.
A/N: This is kinda a lot more rambling than I intended it to be but it sort of works =/
Frank likes to be pet. It's not like some strange fetish or anything, he just likes the way it feels. The pull of fingers slipping through his hair, sometimes getting tangled and tugging ever so slightly. The feel of nails scraping against his scalp. The gentle, massaging touch.
Frank just likes to be pet.
He thinks maybe he was a cat or something in his past life. Maybe a dog, because that would totally explain his love for them. Sometimes Frank wishes he was a dog. All dogs have to do is wag their tails, or whine in the back of their throat, or just stand there and someone will pet them. With humans, it's not so easy. But Frank has his ways.
It's the reason he spends so long washing his hair. Why he spends so long scrubbing it with shampoo, then conditioning it thoroughly. Why he spends so much time brushing it. Because it makes his hair soft and silky, and irresistable, even if Frank does say so himself. Really soft hair is easier to get people to touch, Frank has found.
Frank has different routines for every member of his band. Like with Gerard, Frank will make sure that he's distracted, painting or reading comics or something along those lines, and Frank will slip in beside him and curl into his sides. This is pretty basic Frank behaviour anyway, but then Frank will start rubbing his head into Gerard's shoulder and he won't speak unless spoken to, because a conversation's not what he's looking for. Eventually Gerard will get the hint, he knows the drill by now. He'll reach up and tangle his fingers in Frank's hair, dragging them through the soft locks gently, and Frank will let out a content sigh and squeeze closer to Gee. Then, while still absent mindidly petting Frank, Gerard will go back to whatever he was doing.
Ray's pretty easy to get through to. Frank just drops down beside him, usually when he's watching tv or a movie, and pats Ray's hair. Frank doesn't pet him, just pats his head gently, and then looks at Ray expectantly with wide eyes. Ray will smile, sometimes shake his head in silent amusement, eyes crinkling at the sides, and he'll lift his hand so Frank can position himself under it. Once Frank's positioned comfortably, Ray will drag his fingers along Frank's scalp, then move forward, then back again, and so on. It's not as sensual as Gee's soft, stroking movements, but it's something and Frank gratefully excepts it, slumping beside Ray to watch whatever the puffy haired guitarist is watching.
Mikey's a lot harder to get to cooperate, maybe the hardest out of all of them. Not because Mikey's mean and doesn't understand how much Frank loves, needs, to be pet. It's just that, Mikey's not overly affectionate. He has to be in the mood, so Frank chooses his moments very carefully with Mikey. Usually when Mikey's having one of his coffee moments, because yes, Mikey Way actually takes time out of his day to enjoy his coffee, thank you very much. Now, usually Mikey doesn't like being disturbed during his coffee moments, but Frank thinks Mikey finds it soothing to pet him, because whenever Frank slinks up beside Mikey, cocking his head to the side, Mikey will always (well, usually) guesture for Frank to sit beside him. Frank counts this as a win, and is right as once he sits, well lies with his head sprawled on Mikey's lap, Mikey's fingers quickly find their way to playing with Frank's hair. His fingers are always comfortably warm from grasping the coffee cup, and his movements are soft, but Mikey has long fucking nails and sometimes they scrape into Frank's scalp. Not that Frank ever complains.
But Bob. Bob's Frank's favourite, not that he'd ever admit this to anyone. Bob just knows, and Bob knows everything about Frank really. Bob knows when Frank wants to talk about something, when he wants to climb all over someone because he's consumed too much sugar at one go and he needs to burn some of the energy, when he gets scared after a nightmare but he doesn't want to admit it, or when Frank just wants to cuddle because he's lonely. And Frank does get lonely. He likes affection. Craves it even, which may tie in with the whole 'Pet Me' thing. He likes to be close to be people, likes to let people know he loves them through physical gustures and for the action to be reciprocated. Frank doesn't like to be alone and sometimes he feels so alone. A lot of people fail to notice this about Frank, even Gerard. They think that because he's constantly surrounded by people on tour that he couldn't possibly get lonely, but he does. And Bob knows, because Bob always knows. Frank seriously thinks he has some weird physcic, voodoo, ninja powers or something, because Bob knows things about Frank, like how he's feeling, before Frank even knows.
Bob Bryar, is just magic. In Frank's eyes at least. Full stop. The end. No room for argument. Or, maybe he's just an angel. Frank likes to think that Bob's his own personal gaurdian angel. When he's alone in his bunk at night, and he hears Bob shifting in his bunk, across the aisle, Frank will just smile at his ceiling and thank whatever God there is for giving him Bob. Because when Frank said he thanked God everyday for bringing them Bob, he wasn't lying. He does.
Frank remembers the first time he told Bob about his, well, thing, because Frank can't really think of a better word for it. Bob had only been in the band a handfull of months. Him and Frank were sharing a hotel room in some city, wherever, Frank's not too sure, and Frank was lonely. Because Frank just gets lonely sometimes, out of nowhere. It's kind of like a disease. So Frank creeped over to Bob's bed. It wasn't overly late, and Bob was still awake, scrolling through a magazine. Frank watched him lick his thumb and turn the page, focusing on the way Bob's tongue lashed out to slide over the skin. Then Frank clambered onto the bed and pressed his side against Bob's. Bob looked up, shockingly blue eyes meeting Frank's green ones in a silent question.
"Will you pet me?" Frank had asked, voice childish and unsure.
"What?" Bob had looked confused, but Frank could see the smile in his eyes and he quickly explained about the urge he got to have someone pet him sometimes.
"I know it sounds weird..." Frank had grasped Bob's wrist, lifting his hand towards Frank's own head. "But, it's..kinda like a comfort thing or...something, I dunno. It's a habit more than anything just...please, humor me?"
"Sure," Bob shrugged, as if it were nothing, and that twinkle of light glittered in his eyes as he grabbed Frank's shoulder and tugged till the guitarist was lying beside his thigh. Then, turning back to his magazine, Bob began to pet Frank with his free hand. He didn't pet like any of the others in the band, he pet like all of them, and differently. He started with soft strokes, then dragged his finger along Frank's scalp, played with the strands of hair beneath his finger, massaged paterns into the back of Frank's scalp and applied pressure on all of the sensitive spots which sent tingles racing through Frank's body. It was in that hotel room that Frank decided that Bob was the best at petting him. Ever.
So it's usually Bob Frank turns to, and Bob is pretty much the easiest of the whole band that Frank can get to pet him. Frank'll just plop himself down on Bob's knee, or slink into Bob's bunk climb all over him and Bob, Bob'll just know. And he'll shush Frank with a swatting hand, getting him to lie still before he begins gently petting his hair, switching between techniques. Frank will purr, low in his throat, and push himself against Bob, trying to mould thir bodies into one because with Bob, Frank feels complete.
Frank honestly doesn't know what he'd do without Bob, and he doesn't really care to think about it.