Work Text:
Title:Wrist Risk
Pairing:Bob/ Frank
The adrenaline from the show was still buzzing through everyone. Gerard was still jumpy when he got off stage, hopping down the hallway leading to the break room. Frank was swaying side to side, Bob listening to his rapid stream of concious half heartedly. Mikey had disappeared the second they were off, but they were sure he just went to the fob bus, Wentz following in his step. Ray had stayed behind to talk to a techie, and now was running back to Gerard, his hair flying behind him. Gerard just chuckled, his hopping reduced to a jittery fast walk. When they finally arrived at the green room, they just stood around, not wanting to get too comfy. Apparently, they still had a signing afterwards, and no one wanted to lose their energy; otherwise, no way in hell they would make it through. Every one was pretty much quiet, that is except for Frank, who was still talking a mile a minute, this time about fucking cereal. "I mean, who the hell eats cereal with water? Uh, gross. Like, get some damn almond milk, you hippie! Am, I right or no?" Bob didn't even answer before Frank started up again. Bob rolled his rolled his eyes affectionately, once again tuning his friend out. He just wanted this night to be over. His wrists were throbbing, and he was starting to get a killer migraine. Frank seemed to realize (halfway through his rant) that Bob was rubbing absently at his temples, eyes clenched shut. He stopped talking and just stared at the other's demeanor. His face was red, even for having just come off stage. His lips were scrunched tightly together, eyes clenched shut. Frank's eyebrows knitted together wondering what the hell was wrong with him. "Bob?" He looks up briefly, hand still rubbing, "Are you okay, man?" Bob nodded yes, but perhaps a bit too quickly. The sudden movement caused a subsequent chain reaction of looks of pain to flit across the blonde's face.
No, he was definitely not okay.
Just then, Brian poked his head into the room, signaling it was time to go meet some fans. But Frank just stood there, staring after his band mate, wondering if he was getting sick or something. "Hey, you getting sick or something?" Frank blurted, his skill for being subtle still needed some fine tuning. Bob looked at him briefly, before shrugging his shoulder and looking ahead. "Wrists and headache, is all. I'll live." "Oh, your wrist is hurting again? Will you be able to sign?" "I'm FINE, god dammit" Bob murmured. He followed the rest of the band out into the hallway. Frank stayed behind briefly, wondering why the hell he was babying the drummer. He was a grown ass man, he could take care of himself. Frank rolled his eyes at himself and left, preparing himself for the onslaught of teenagers.
The bunk bed was a very welcome relief to Frank's ass. He felt a deep ache all over and just wanted a real shower and maybe a cigarette or 3. Frank scratched at the dried blood from the photoshoot they just got back from.
The red stuff was freaking everywhere, and just made him feel even dirtier. Why the hell hadn't they had some freaking showers available AT the shoot? Sure, they weren't Queen, or anything, but they weren't some small indie band anymore. They were My Chemical Romance, for fuck's sake. Frank huffed quietly, as he pulled another blood flake from his chin."Blood, blood. Always, with the damn blood. Are there no more original photo shoots out there?" Gerard groused. Frank felt the bed above him shift as the singer climbed into it. "I mean, really? What the hell?" Of course no one answered. Everyone else was too tired. But Frank still found himself nodding along, sleep right at his heels.
Frank rose from his bed a bit later, fumbling in the dark, as the urge to piss had gotten too strong. As he emptied his bladder into the tiny restroom toilet, he let his head fall back heavily, eyes closed. It wasn't until he was walking back to his bunk did he hear it. It sounded like whimpering, like a quiet moaning. But not the type of moaning he liked, more of a distressed noise. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Frank quirked an eyebrow, giving into his curiosity as he followed the broken sounding noise. What he saw surprised him. There on the small kitchen floor, sat Bob. He as craddling his wrist in his hand, the light from the fridge showed he had a cold beer lying against his limp wrist. The blonde was mumbling softly. "Bob?" His head immediately snapped up, surprise apparent on his face.
Before he could get up, Frank kneeled beside Bob, setting his hand onto his shoulder. Bob visibly flenched, shoulders tensing. "Hey, don't be like that. I let go the wrist thing before, but I shouldn't have. You're really hurting right now, right?" Frank didn't really expect an answer, so he was surprised when he heard, "I don't like people worrying over me, you know that. I'll be fine." Frank wanted to slap Bob for his nonchalance. "No, your wrists are fucked up! Either you let me take you to see someone, or I'm ratting your ass out. Don't think I won't." Bob blinked up at Frank, and could see he was dead serious. After what felt like an hour, he finally grunted, "After tomorrow's show. It's the last one for this week." Frank wanted to argue, but he did make a good point. "Okay." With that, Frank sat all the way down, his head leaning on Bob's shoulder. Bob didn't say anything, just switched out his now warmed beer can for a more frosty one.
Turns out, Frank never had to drag Bob to the hospital himself, seeing as fate was a complete asshole. During Turnstiles, Bob's wrist gave out on him, and he let out a mighty yell. Everyone on stage just stopped and looked. All except Frank who was running over to Bob's hunched over body. "Bob! Someone get a fucking ambulance!" he yelled. the audience's fervor was getting out of hand, as some people screamed for Bob, other's, for the concert to continue. Frank looked down on his... friend, and saw he was passed out, then he looked at the man's gnarled wrists. "Jesus Crist, dude"
It took some convincing, but Frank was finally able to get into see Bob alone. Turns out, he had to stay for awhile. Bob argued to be released, claiming he was fine, but Frank just pushed his stubborn ass back onto the bed. "The doctors say if you leave, you'll die" frank started, his open palm pushing onto Bob's chest. He ignored the feel of Bob thinly covered chest, and instead focused onto his sharp eyes, "I can't... fuck, I can't lose you. So please, don't be an asshole, okay?" Bob smiled ruefully, and just nodded. He closed his eyes, and settled back down. "Good boy." Now that his hand was planted on him, Frank didn't want to remove it, relishing in the touch. Frank felt like a perv when his pinky grazed the other's nipple, but that didn't stop him from grazing it again. Eyes focused on Bob's face, Frank got more ballsy, and started circling his areola, not being able to stop now that he started. He bent down and mouthed at Bob's juttin Adam's apple. Bob's mouth dropped wide, and his eyes shot open. "Fr-" just then Bob's hips bucked, and Frank leaned back to stare in awe as he started writhing on the hospital bed. Frank stopped his movement, worried that they were heard. But on a quick glance around, he saw they were in the clear. He turned back, and stared into Bob's blue eyes, feeling his face heat up quickly. Bob smiled and shook his head. "Taking advantage of the crippled, Frankie?" he asked breahlessly. Frank smiled at the nickname, and shrugged his shoulder. "You didn't seem to be complaining" he whipsered. Bob chuckled and stared at Frank, a look of comptemplation sitting there. He then clicked his teeth and stated, "Thanks for caring about, you know... I've been an idiot. I guess I owe ya, eh?" Frank just smiled wider when Bob continued, "Maybe when my wrist is better, I can show you my appreciation." Bob smirked then, and Frank couldn't help the butterflys he got in his stomach. "Why wait? Your mouth is still working right?" Frank was not sure if he was actually joking or not. Then again, if Bob offered... Bob, just rolled his eyes and huffed, "Perv" but he couldn't help the smile on his lips, and the soft blush gracing his cheeks.