Work Text:
When Frank crash-lands on earth, he makes the most of it. Sure, his home planet is destroyed, he's likely the only survivor, and sometimes he stares at his communication console - in patched together pieces, sitting in Bob's garage - and thinks about all he's lost, but generally he just hangs around with Joe, bugs the crap out of Bob, and commiserates with the dog about how much they both want to eat the cat. Sweet, delicious cat.
"I could make a really tasteless pussy joke here," Bob says, barely looking up from the morning paper.
Mr. B narrows his eyes, yawns and starts licking his paw, taunting Frank with his tasty goodness.
Frank says, "It's not my fault. It's like when you see a chicken."
"Actually, no. When I see a chicken I don't start drooling."
Frank swipes at his mouth. There's just a little wetness. Barely worth mentioning. "Those big things, then," he says. "Cows."
"Pretty sure I don't find imagining my food with faces at all appealing," Bob says.
Frank rolls his eyes. "I'm not arguing with you about this. You're too irrational. You're like Mikey. I'm not going to eat your cat." Even though it's almost like Mr. B wants him to eat him, what with all the sashaying and tail-flicking.
“Joe's cat,” Bob says, “you’re not eating Joe's cat,” because Bob's still a little weirded out about the whole shacking up thing, and Frank usually finds that hilarious when he isn't defending his right to eat cats.
"Damn straight you aren't eating my cat," Joe yells from the kitchen. "Don't make me lock you in the laundry room again."
Frank makes a face. "I don't see why you can’t get me some baby cats. I'll eat them in the garage." Baby cats are all tender and their fur doesn't stick to the roof of his mouth.
"You're sick," Bob says, pointing a judging finger at him.
"Have some sensitivity for my culture, dude," Frank says. And, seriously, cats weren't half as prevalent on Melmac as they are here. It's like the entire planet is encouraging him to eat cats. Spay or neuter your cat or let Frank eat them, geez.
Bob rustles his paper meaningfully. "Not gonna happen."
Bob is a spoilsport. Frank shares a look with the dog. The dog's tongue lolls out of his gaping mouth and he plops down on his ass to scratch his ear. A-men, dog. Amen. "You and me, dog," he says, nodding. "We understand each other. We're eye to eye on this."
Bob says, "That sounds about right," real low, under his breath, because Bob is an ass. It's one of the things Frank loves best about him.
*
Frank does the laundry when he's home alone because he likes the dryer and the way the towels all come out so very soft if he remembers to double the Downy. If his planet hadn't blown up, he'd probably want to live here anyway, if only for the overabundance of cats and fabric softener.
He snuggles down in just-laundered towels and naps and wakes up to Gerard's gigantic eyes and tiny nose and messy hair.
"Hi," Gerard says, smiling down at him.
Frank yawns and then goes completely still, because the cat is curled up with him in his nest of warm comfortness and Frank's stomach growls.
Gerard's eyes widen in visible panic. "No," he says, flapping his hands around, looking like he wants to snatch up Mr. B - but Frank knows he won't because then he'll start sneezing and hacking and getting snot all over everything. "Bob'll kill me if I let you eat his cat."
"Joe's cat," Frank says. Joe's cat stretches and rolls over and bares his tummy. Joe's cat has a death wish. "Hang on a sec," Frank tells Gerard, without looking away from Mr. B. He's a speedy little thing, though, so when Frank lunges Mr. B. takes off for the living room and the living room couch. Frank hasn't figured out how to get him out from under there yet.
Gerard makes, "Oh, oh," noises, and says, "This is why no one ever invites you anywhere, Frankie."
"You lie, I'm awesome." Mr. B. is just out of reach, crouched, staring at him. Damn it. He shifts back and looks up at Gerard. "Hey." He waggles his eyebrows. "You wanna check out my spaceship?"
*
Frank likes Ray because Ray has awesome hair and makes him peanut butter and fluff sandwiches and sometimes he'll bake him sugar cookies in the shape of cats with multi-colored sprinkles and silver beads for eyes. 'Nuff said.
The problem with Ray is that he always brings Mikey with him, and Mikey's been this calm, blank kind of angry with Frank ever since he'd tried to eat Bunny. It was only the once, and only because Bunny hadn't been wearing her superhero costume or the booties. Frank'll choke on that shit, otherwise. Besides, Mikey's cat doesn't look half so appetizing as Mr. B.
Mikey stares at Frank with big creepy eyes and hogs all the cookies and smirks at him when Ray just ruffles his hair fondly. Ray, unfortunately, likes Mikey best.
So Mikey is totally Frank's arch nemesis.
Except for when he lets Frank sprawl all over him on the couch. He's got boney legs, but his fingers are always nimble and soothing, and Frank likes when they rest lightly against his neck.
*
"Bo-ob," Frank says, swanning into the living room, then stops when he spots Bob and Joe, swallows back the so you totally weren't into that lawnmower, right, because I accidentally spilled lighter fluid all over it and I might've been smoking and it might've went up in a spectacular foooom!! of flames.
Bob and Joe are asleep on the couch, tucked into each other, one of Joe's arms hanging off the edge at an awkward angle, like maybe it'll be numb and tingly when he finally wakes up. Mr. B. is perched on the back, staring unblinkingly at Frank.
"You're lucky I think they're so cute," he tells the cat in an almost-whisper.
The cat starts kneading the microsuede with tiny, sharp claws.
The dog, stretched out on the floor in front of the TV, lets out a heavy sigh and a fart.
Frank giggles.
Seriously, if he had to crash-land anywhere, he's glad it was Bob's backyard. Truthfully, he's not trying so hard to piece his spaceship back together.
Mr. B's eyes slit nearly closed, just a gleam under double-lids.
"You'd totally miss me if I was gone," Frank says. The other way around, too. Maybe. Maybe some days Frank's slow to chase on purpose.