InsaneJournal

FIC--Make It Up As They Go pt 2/2
Make It Up As They Go
MCR
Frank/Jamia, Frank/Bob, Bob/Frank/Jamia, Bob/Jamia
full header/part 1


*

His leg is throbbing despite the pain pills he'd taken not even an hour ago, along with the antibiotics and a couple tylenol on top for his fever. Not even the good shit was making much of a difference in the throbbing in his leg, or the throbbing in his head. And the fucking icepack made the chills from the fever that much worse, and he really kinda wanted someone to shoot him. The fucking photo shoot had gotten done. That much time on his feet, he was wiped, he was hurting, he kinda really just wanted to roll over and curl up and cry until the fever killed him because the fucking icepack was fucking cold and he was aching from head to toe and his leg throbbed and...

“Hey,” Frank said softly as he came back into the bedroom. Hotel at least, he wasn't sure where the hell they were or what the hell they were actually doing. Publicity shit? Interviews? Something -- he didn't really care. He just knew they were done for the day and he didn't have to play for two more days. Which was good, because he really didn't think he could at the moment. It was a suite this time. A single room and a double room with a little living room thing in between. Ray had one bed in the double room. Mikey and Gee sharing the other.

He weakly raised his hand up in response. The fucking icepack in his mouth made it a bit impossible to talk.

Frank crawled into the bed, carefully on his uninjured side and curled around him. “You're a fucking idiot.” Frank said softly, reached to pet his hair and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “A complete fucking idiot.” Frank settled down, head on his shoulder.

He ached everywhere. Chills and, oh Christ, his head. His leg was a constant agonizing thrum. He didn't want touched, didn't want anyone near him, just wanted left the fuck alone and die in peace thank you very much. That didn't stop him from summoning the energy somehow to put his arm clumsily around the smaller man curled into him. Frank just being there helped, which was fucking terrifying beyond belief but he was too miserable to really dwell on that.

“Frank, you left your phone out there. It's Jamia.” Ray said.

Ray's odd look took a moment to figure out. Huh. His hand had slid under Frank's shirt, resting on the bare skin of his side. If Ray was staring that much over that, he'd hate to see Ray's reaction if he ever actually walked in on something.

“Hey, babe,” Frank murmured into the phone. “Yeah we made it through the shoot. Got his meds in him and put his stupid ass to bed.”

He slid his hand out from Frank's shirt and gave a very weak attempt at swatting Frank's ass. Didn't work all that well, his hand landed on Frank's ass and just sort of stayed there. He didn't have energy it took to move his hand again for a bit—not after the photo shoot and whatever the hell the fever-haze of an ordeal that day had been.

“Jamia wants to talk to you.” Frank said. He mananged to raise an eyebrow. “Well, she wants to tell you off, actually.” Frank admitted.

Ray really stared as Frank carefully shifted around, draped himself so very carefully on his chest. The icepack taken and slid to the side of his neck for a minute and the phone held to his ear.

“Jamia,” he managed.

”When I get the chance to get out there I am going to just beat you, Bob Bryar.”

“Sorry.”

”You know they can get another fucking drummer. Someone for a few weeks or some damned thing.”

He winced. Yeah, they could. They'd already gotten him. He knew that.

”We can't get another Bob though, dumbass,” she continued, the anger barely covering worry and shakiness. ”We kinda fucking need our Bob. So goddamned STOP. Do what you're supposed to and just stop it.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled a pained tired guilty sound that wasn't exactly a sigh. “Jamia,” he repeated.

“Please, stop. Please. Stop being so fucking careless with yourself, you're killing the guys with it, you're killing us with it.” He's pretty sure she's been waiting a while to say that, but Frank's calls to her had been away from him so she hadn't had the chance yet.

“Yeah, sorry.” Sentences were too fucking much work, but hopefully she got what he meant. That he'd try to be better, and while not really giving a flying fuck about what happened to him, hurting them, hell, hurting her was kind of unthinkable and she sounded so hurt and worried, and fuck only knew what Frank had all babbled at her when he'd slipped off for smokes and phone calls the last few weeks. Hell, that he was even anywhere near Frank was bad enough. Hurt her too fucking much with that. That she had phonecalls from thousands of miles away that were Frank hyperventilating over him was kind of fucking—she didn't deserve that.

”Let Frankie take care of you and fucking behave.”

“Will. Promise, J'mia” he whispered. She sounded so fucking small and worried and it was his fault. “Sorry.” And he was. Sorry he was too fucking weak, that he couldn't let go of what he had with Frank, hell that he even let it start in the first place.

”The guys need their Bob. We need our Bob. Now get some rest.”

Frank took the phone back at Bob's look and the fucking icepack to keep the fever from frying his brain back in his mouth. And Ray still standing there staring and yep, still looked totally fucking pissed.

He closed his eyes. Frank's soft murmuring as he spoke to Jamia buzzed at his ears. He didn't bother to attempt to make his brain focus enough to try to decipher what the sounds meant. Frank soothing her a bit, he could hear just how much Frank loved her in that tone. Still couldn't figure out...even after this long just--why?. Why the hell would Frank even look twice at him, let alone look twice at him when there was Jamia?



*

“Ray—goddamn it—the fuck?”

That wasn't directed at her, but she could about guess. “Frank, put Ray on and you get some rest too. Give Bob a kiss for me and both of you get some rest.”

”Jamia?”

“How are my boys, Ray? Really, how are they?” she asked softly. God. God. “They sound so wrecked.”

”They're fucked up.” Ray said shakily. ”And this is kinda fucked up –I—why what? I..goddamn it we're looking like maybe things are shaping up again and...”

She groaned. “Frank's with both of us. He's with me, but he's with Bob too when you guys are out. It's...Jesus Ray. Frank's been into Bob since he did sound in goddamned Europe. They've been together since...since fuck Warped two years ago just after Bob joined up with you guys. Well, maybe not quite, they danced around it a while but yeah..”

”Why the fuck didn't they say anything?”

She shook a little. God no. Don't. Not now. Not with her boys so far away. Not after fucking everything. Don't let this be what tore it all apart, destroyed her boys. Frank would be so fucking devastated, and Bob just might give up and die literally. He wasn't too far from it as it was with the staph infection for fuck's sake. She gave a bitter little laugh. “Look how you're acting now, Ray. What the fuck would you have said if Frank bounced up hey guys I'm with Bob, and Jamia knows and is cool with it and no I didn't break up with Jamia?”

”So you're just totally cool with your fiance fucking around on you?”

“Don't you DARE ever say that to them, Toro. Don't you fucking DARE. I will hunt you down if you do. Frank is not fucking around on either of us. Everything's always been upfront. Every thing. Fuck I knew Frank was interested in Bob before Frank figured it out let alone before he asked if it was okay with me and made a move on Bob. Bob hasn't done a damn thing to screw me and Frank up. Hasn't taken a damn thing from me. If anything it's better because Frank's better with Bob. When I get to get out to be with you guys or Frank's home, he's not wired up to the point he takes days to unwind before we can just enjoy being together. Bob loves Frank just as much as I do and he—he'd never fuck us up because that'd hurt Frank. Bob is the one that kept it quiet, fucking scared to death. Scared you'd hate him, or think Frank was a fucking asshole or god I don't know. Bob's kinda stupid sometimes. But he's a good guy. He's good for Frank. And how Frank is since he's been with Bob, it's that much better when he's home with me.”

”That's--” Ray broke off.

Yeah. She understood the lack of words. She really didn't have any either. “Yeah, weird. Yeah, we're kind of figuring out as we go. Yeah, some days it's fucking rough but no worse than it is with just with me here and Frank on the road. Different, but no worse. They're in no shape for you to rip into them now. Bob'll just curl up and fucking die and Frank will just goddamned break. They're not going to fuck up the band. They're not. They want it just as bad or more than you do. Both of them.” she swallowed. “Please Ray, don't hurt my guys. Don't...”

Ray was silent for what felt like an eternity and tears stung at her eyes. She knew Frank. She knew Bob. This...this could fucking kill them. Oh god.

“Two years?” he finally asked.

She swallowed. “Well, it was there, they danced around it a while. But yeah, it's been...been almost, in there. They took so fucking long because of me and to be sure and...it's not. Frank loves Bob just as much as he loves me, and Bob loves him. Bob's good for him. It's not...I don't know what the fuck it is, but I know what it's not and it's not stupid it's not just for something to fucking do, it's not them being assholes, it's...”

”Yeah-- yeah, I—yeah,” Ray still sounded kind of shocky but the other stuff, the stuff that could have destroyed her guys seemed to have slipped out of his voice. ”This-- this really okay with you? Not just going along--”

“Yeah. Tough sometimes but yeah, it's really okay. Dunno what the hell or where we're ending up but it's...” she broke off. How the hell to explain any of it when half the time she didn't get it herself. Frank was hers. And Bob was kinda hers too, at least because he was Frank's. And hell, she'd caught herself getting jealous of Frank a couple times. Because Bob was so fucking solid and calm and as much as she loved Frank, as much as it really kinda wasn't possible to exist without him anymore, that solid and calm was appealing. Would be nice to lean against sometimes..

“Just—threw me.”

She laughed. “Not as much as it threw us.” because yeah, that just wasn't possible from where she was sitting and she couldn't really even fucking explain what was going on, or where it was going or...anything. And if there was maybe just a slight hysterical edge in her voice, she was fucking allowed. She couldn't go to her boys. And they were all sorts of fucked up at the moment and...just damn it.

“Yeah, I bet.”


*

He'd always been kind of self-conscious about his weight, but, this was actually kinda new. Hell, he didn't think he'd been this thin since he'd been maybe fifteen, or at least not this pants size, thin wasn't quite the right description for the kid he'd been back then but still. The fucking staph and meds and fever kind of melted him away to nothing. None of his damned clothes fit, his Black Parade costume kinda made him look like a little kid playing dress up or something it hung so badly. The pants all had to be taken in, kind of a lot.

Shows were still wiping him out. Unbelievably. It was taking forever to get his energy and strength back. The few times he'd talked to Jamia since the night Ray kind of freaked a bit on them, she'd chewed him out royally that no, he wasn't going to get his energy back if he kept pushing to a few light years beyond exhaustion constantly.

He collapsed into his bunk, aching and exhausted and he didn't know what the fuck was up with his wrist lately but goddamn it was already getting old.

The last few months had been fucking long. They'd had a little bit of something that resembled a break over the holidays. The handful shows they'd done in Europe, A handful more back here before that, then a little time at home and get recovered from just everything of the last damned year and now they were on the road again with the Black Parade tour.

Chicago had been lonely. Had been fucking miserable. Frank had called a few times, just on cloud nine home with Jamia and the dogs and this and that and the other thing. Skeleton Crew and Leathermouth. Gerard, and Mikey and Ray had called too. But Frank's calls yeah, they'd gotten him through, even as much as they kinda made it worse because he had no fucking right to miss Frank so goddamned much, to catch himself getting jealous of Jamia when she had him away so much.

Frank had eyeballed him hard when they headed out two weeks before.

He'd lost more weight when he'd been alone in Chicago. He knew it. And knew Frank saw it even if the rest of the guys might not have really noticed. He hadn't eaten much, hadn't slept much, had ended up with a horrific case of the flu on top of that.

“I'm going to bed.” Frank announced, his voice drifting back to the bunks.

Someone mumbled and agreed they were beat. Maybe two someones. James and Matt?

“That's Bob's bunk,” James' voice, mostly just baffled.

“Dude, old news. Those two are about as married as Frank and Jamia are.” Matt's voice. “They've been together practically since Bob signed on. Nothin' to freak over. But if I have to listen to you two, you're going to pay.” He could hear the grin in Matt's tone.

“What? We have to listen to your porn.” Frank teased. And a minute later a stripped down Frank was in the bunk with him. Frank looked at him almost nervously.

His breath caught, he shifted just enough to kiss Frank, just a brush of lips, but yeah, he needed this, needed Frank. Even if all they did was sleep, which yeah, even as beat as he was he could be up for more than sleep. It'd been too damned long. They'd never said a word on room draws at the hotels. And Frank hadn't crawled in his bunk like this before. The guys had all known since Ray found out, and it seemed Matt had maybe since almost the get go, but who knew, and it didn't matter because Matt would never say shit. Any initial worry or freak out had been diffused once the guys figured out they were just the same as always.

God knew he'd wanted to speak up, at least get it switched so he could room with Frank the single hotel night they'd had in the last two weeks but. It wasn't his place, he couldn't. Frank followed when he would have pulled back, deepening the kiss. His arms tightened around Frank.

“No more damn it.” Frank whispered into his neck. “Not ashamed of you, of us. I love you too, damn it.”

He tightened his arms around Frank just a bit more. “Love you,” he managed. And fuck it hurt. And he couldn't let go, couldn't stop this. He just wasn't that strong. He was just...screwed. Completely.

The guys didn't say a goddamned word that Frank didn't sleep in his own bunk again for that leg of the tour, the four more hotel nights they had it hadn't even been a question that he and Frank would share a room, nothing was said, they were just left off the drawing for who got what room.

Frank was looking forward to Projekt Revolution. A small bus, Jamia and the dogs out for the entirety of it. Honestly, Frank hadn't shut the hell up about it.

“Hey,” Frank murmured as he slipped next to him and leaned against the side of a building.

He thought it was a radio station. Interview shit at least. But Gerard was the one they wanted to talk to and Ray's turn to shadow Gerard, the rest of them had to show up for the picture shit a little earlier.

“Hey,” he returned and took a drag off his cigarette.

“Gimme one, asshole.” Frank said exasperatedly when the puppy eyes were pointedly ignored. Frank had promised Jamia not to buy more than two packs of cigarettes a week but he hadn't promised not to bum cigarettes from Bob and Gerard.

“She made me promise not to give you anymore. Get it yourself.” he said with a soft smile at Frank's frustrated noise and eyeroll. Frank's hand in his hoodie pocket and pulling out two packs of cigarettes.

“I love you.” Frank said and opened the box of Marlboro reds, putting the other pack back.

“Clerk was deaf or stupid or something.”

“Or I've been driving you batshit enough to risk the wrath of Jamia.” Frank mumbled as he lit up.

“Gee. You need 'em.” he said.

Gerard honestly was getting a little weird over Mikey getting married in a few days if everything went off. Mikey married and Mikey leaving the tour for a few months. Matt had muttered it was like some insane chick flick with the overly-hysterical, blubbering mother-of-the-bride driving everyone and their dog batshit only with more eyeliner and body oder and less old lady dresses. Which, honestly, Gerard wasn't quite that bad, quite. But touring without Mikey was about as scary of a prospect as going on stage sober the first time for Gee, and he was kinda really getting on their nerves.

Frank was automatically taking the role of Gerard distracter. Ray and James were on keep Mikey-From-Freaking-Out-Or-Strangling-Gerard duty. He and Matt had been more toward the Gerard side of things helping distract Gee and keeping Frank from injuring himself in the line of keeping Gerard distracted.

“What?” he asked finally, unable to stand Frank's staring any longer.

“Did—did I do something to piss you off or something?” Frank asked his voice small and he seemed to shrink, the sheer volume of space his energy took up drawn inward and fading.

“No,” he swallowed. “I'm not pissed.” He couldn't be pissed. For fuck's sake it was Jamia and the recording and everything else had been such a rough go and Frank fucking just beamed when he was around Jamia or had spoken to her on the phone. He was being a goddamned idiot, because he'd known from the outset he'd signed on for this, and fuck he still couldn't imagine letting go until Frank told him it was over but still...it hurt. He was missing Frank already.

“Then what?”

“Just—already missing you.”

“What?” Frank gasped panicked.

“I don't sleep 'til you crawl in the bunk, even if I go to bed earlier. Gotten so used to you there.” he whispered. “I'm just being stupid.”

Frank shook his head, expression completely agonized. “Miss her so bad when I'm with you, miss you so bad, went fucking nuts missing you when I was home and you were in Chicago even if even...I--”

“Be right there, just you know. Not going to have to miss me this time.” he swallowed.

“I can't. Fuck, if I had to choose—I can't. I can't choose. You're both—everything.”

His heart skipped a beat and tried crawling up his throat or some fucking thing. He knew Frank loved him. But that...he didn't realize Frank loved him that much and fuck if Gerard didn't get a grip pretty soon he was going to have them all turning into girls, or at least he could blame Gerard for his foray into stupid sappy thinking. “I'm not asking you to. I'm –just being a sullen ass.”

“You kinda have the right.” Frank snorted.

“No I don't.” he shook his head. “I knew. I mean...she was first. It's not like I--”

Frank swallowed and leaned against his side.

Matt, James and Ray were left on their own dealing with the Way brothers that night. He and Frank hit their room at the hotel and locked the door. Time 'running out' for at least this turn together and neither of them could hide from it.


*

She was greedy and selfish. And she knew it.

She monopolized Frank the first week she was with them. The bus to themselves with an actually bed sized bed instead of a bunk. Frank. Damn she was kind of surprised she could walk. Frank was insatiable, almost desperate and she'd missed him too damned much to do anything but enjoy it.

She meant to try to –hell she didn't know what. She kind of wanted to pretend and ignore and she couldn't. When they spent time with the band, Bob was there and Frank alternately climbed all over Bob in the annoying six year old on a sugar high way, picked, and was just a goddamned ass in a pigtail pulling sort of way or he held her close and tight and...she was kinda surprised Bob hadn't just decked him one. God knew she was about ready to.

Whatever she'd intended kind of got lost because Frank was damned good at distracting, especially with his mouth and hands and...

She slid her finger over the new tattoo as she tried to get her melted brain into something resembling coherency.. Small. A little bitty bumblebee high on his thigh, almost to his groin. Really not a place it would be seen or be photographed by some fan and have the internet wondering what the hell. B, or bumblebee- bee as it was, for Bob. She knew Frank. She didn't need him to explain. He looked at her all wide-eyed. He hadn't told her about that one. And she hadn't commented—even by way of a finger touching it until now. She didn't have to ask what it meant. She knew Frank too well. She was inked onto his skin in too many places, too many ways not to realize exactly what that little bee was and what it meant, just how irreversible and permanent that little bee was even more than the ink of the tattoo. Some people wore their heart on their sleeve. Frank inked his soul all over his skin even if it wasn't recognizable to the world at large what it was and what it meant.

“I'm fucking him up. I'm fucking him up so bad. I'm fucking me up. Pretty sure I'm fucking you up too and...” he swallowed.

“Frankie?”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much I can't stand it sometimes. And I'm missing him so much I'm about fucking sick and he's like thirty yards away and I see him all fucking day. And I miss you like crazy and fucking high for hours after I talk to you and fucking dream about you when I'm sleeping next to him. I can't—I can't fix this. I can't choose. I--”

“Leaving in..what half hour? And have a Fifteen hour drive. Put your clothes on and go. Go ride with the guys tonight and send Bob over here. Okay? We'll all three talk tomorrow night but..just..” She figured they probably could go on like this. Work out some stupid fucking timeshare while she was with them this summer. A couple hours here, a few hours there that Bob and Frank could have time to themselves, privacy.

While she might be jealous as hell of the pure amount of time at least in the same place, she knew Frank and Bob. She knew the time they actually got to themselves was minimal and likely interrupted by one of the guys (Gerard) sticking his head in the curtain of the bunk or knocking on the hotel room door or someone hunting them down for sound check or an interview or something.

She didn't want a fucking timeshare. She was enough of a realist she could live with one. Bob and Frank both enough of realists they could. They were all, maybe, hopefully realists enough to make something else work.

Frank would never ever dream of asking. And Frank would probably ask a million years before Bob.

*

“The fuck?” Matt stared as he opened the door of the bus.

“BOB!” Frank bellowed.

“Huh—shit wha?” he hurried out from the back shirt in hand because he had been headed to his bunk and maybe try to sleep. Gerard stared and tilted his head. “WHAT?” he snapped at Gerard.

“You're riding with Jamia tonight. She wants to talk to ya.” Frank swallowed and bit his lip. “I—”

He tugged his shirt on. “Frank?”

“I-- I have no fucking clue.” Frank whispered. “But, please?”

“Yeah. Okay.” he swallowed. No was kind of not an option, at least not as far as he was concerned but god he'd love to say that. “It's okay,” he murmured, even if he had not the slightest fucking clue if it was or not, but he wouldn't fight with Jamia, wouldn't hurt Jamia and Frank knew that. He leaned down and kissed Frank, hungry and possessive, half terrified he wouldn't have what little right he sort of did now to do that by the time the night was through. It took him a minute to realize what it was he tasted in Frank's kiss, for it to sink in that it was Jamia. And the images that conjured were more than a little hot and he willed his dick to fucking forget those images because he had to go talk to Jamia even as his tongue chased the hints of her taste on Frank. “It's okay.”

“Here, man,” Matt had grabbed him a clean shirt, a couple packs of cigarettes, his lighter and his phone.

“Thanks,” he said. “Be okay.” he pressed another quick fast kiss against Frank's lips and ran for the other bus because Worm was there for double checking and... “Worm, is there a beer anywhere you can grab? Frank needs one, his boyfriend's spending the night with his fiance.” Gerard's squawky freakout-voice carried to him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Gee.” he muttered under his breath.

Jamia was waiting, watching, opened the cracked bus door to let him on, and he could have kicked himself for the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “That's where that shirt went. I liked that shirt.” It looked better on her, too big and hanging down past the tops of her thighs, obviously in use as a nightgown.

“Well, Frank stole it from you and I stole it from him. It's mine now.” she shot back with a kind of disbelieving nervous laugh.

“That's okay, looks good on you.” Oh fuck he did not just say that, did he? Why didn't he just say he could still almost taste her from Frank's kiss for fuck's sake. “Nice bus.” That wasn't much better. Jesus. He...

He hadn't been on it. Hadn't “come over to visit” or what the fuck ever.

The dogs were there sniffing and apparently decided he was just hot stuff and tried to maul him with affection. Jamia calmed them down and made them lay down. And...fuck the bus started moving.

*

Oh God she.. yeah, she'd lost her fucking mind, and maybe her nerve because, shit. “C'mon sit down, beer?”

“Fuck yes, please.” he whispered shakily. He headed for the kitchenette table, which was kinda only logical since the dogs, spoiled asses that they were, were piled all over the couch in hopes one of their humans would come sit with them.

She pulled two bottles from the little fridge and sat one in front of Bob.

“Uhm, you mind?” he held up his pack of cigarettes.

She shook her head. Her gripe with Frank smoking was how fucking often he got respiratory infection, bronchitis and pneumonia with his decided lack of an immune system not that it bothered her.

“Let me get the ashtray. I told Frank I threw it out.”

Bob snorted. “He doesn't sneak that much. He tries.”


*

He couldn't help but look as she stretched to get the ashtray from the high shelf she'd stuck it clear in the back of. The shirt rode up giving him a peek of cotton panties. Kinda blue/greenish. Gerard would surely have a better color name than that but...like Gerard was ever going to see Jamia's panties. Fuck...

Yeah. He'd lost his mind. Drink, goddamn, he needed a drink. He twisted the cap off the bottle of beer and tried not to look. He failed spectacularly, but he tried. He took a long swallow and looked. She might be short and little but nice legs, nice ass. And the panties really were a pretty color.

*

Goddamn it where was that fucking thing? Where the—there it was her finger tips brushed the ashtray. She stretched up on tippy toe and though maybe she should have just had Bob get the damn thing. Frank was like all of a freaking inch taller than she was—she was used to stretching and climbing for herself because it was, well, kinda pointless to ask Frank when he was home, he wasn't going to have much better luck than she was.

She got it. And turned with it in her hand. Fuck it. She'd never been one to beat around the bush. Never been one to play games. She liked things up front and laid out. That didn't necessarily make them easier to take or figure out or deal with, but she could not fucking stand games and tiptoeing around crap. “You want to have a threesome?” she blurted.

Bob choked, beer flew all over hell from his nose and mouth, the bottle dropped on the table and spilled everywhere.


*

He struggled to breathe, his eyes burned from the gulp of beer that had mostly went up his fucking nose—and then coughed and sneezed out all over Jamia. The rest of his beer dumped all over hell and soaking his goddamned pants and shirt as well as the table.

Her timing was a fucking dangerous as Frank's.

She grabbed his clean shirt, which had landed in the seat next to him, he'd still been holding it and mopped up first his crotch, and then the table with it as he struggled not to hyperventilate. Bad enough he'd been checking her out, because hell—the thoughts and images put in mind by kissing Frank, well, yeah. And the hot won out at least as far as imagining sex. The sex part wasn't a problem all around, he was pretty sure of that or Frank would have never had the okay to even dream of...

This wasn't just sex and it would be so much fucking easier if it was. But he wouldn't be sitting here with beer soaked pants with the woman he'd just spit beer all over, who happened to be engaged to his lover, if it was just sex. “Like-- for a night?” he managed to get out. And gratefully took the unopened beer she'd gotten out for herself. He took the cap off took a quick swallow before she could say anything else to make him choke. She got herself a beer.

A night? Oh fuck he couldn't he just-- he liked her too much, Frank loved her too much. Too see them for a night and have it driven home how much he was the interloper in all this oh god no. Yeah, the image of her and Frank was hot, and he—admittedly was looking like a world class dick when she was trying to get the ashtray but..

“No. I mean like—forever. Instead of me and Frank and you and Frank it's be meandfrankandyou.” she blurted. “I mean it it wouldn't change too much, would it? We get along and—well, I-- the thought of you and Frank, kinda nice imagery and –okay hell, I'd have no problem fucking you.”

He choked again and eyed her as he took a gulp, hoping she didn't kill him by saying something else before he swallowed his drink.


*

She grabbed another beer for herself and sat on the other little bench seat at the kitchenette table.

She hurriedly took a drink. Oh for fuck's sake...did she actually just say she wouldn't have a problem fucking him. Well, she wouldn't. He was hot, in a quiet way that kind of snuck up on you. “I—god. Do you like women?”

Bob made a strangled sound and swallowed. “I—I've been with a helluva lot more women than men.” he managed.

She raised an eyebrow. “Like that means shit sometimes. When it's safer and easier and if you can get it up for a woman doesn't mean you like them.” She had him there and he knew it. She wasn't letting him weasel out of answering. She also knew the fifteen or so—okay maybe a lot more like or so but carried well enough fifteen worked to say—pounds she'd put on the last year didn't really help, even if Frank didn't even seem to notice. Frank, both of them falling apart at that goddamned Mansion. Mikey's break down had wrecked both of them—scared for the band, for Mikey for Gee. Then the goddamned Burn and staph and..hell.

Bob shrugged and took another fast sip of his beer. “I—yeah, it kinda used to be that way. Still careful when I was with the Used but they never gave a flying fuck. The guys...” he shrugged again. “I—yeah, mostly horny and I could so I did because that was kinda the only option sometimes but there've been some I've honest to god wanted, and was turned on by. And you pretty much caught me checking your ass. Hell yes I could I—yeah. I like women enough, and you in particular.” He blushed and stared down at the bottle, his voice so soft and rough. “You're gorgeous, you're smart and funny, and fucking fearless and keep up with him and keep him on his toes and why the fuck he even thought to ever look anywhere else let alone me...I--”


*

He broke off and picked at the label on the bottle. His mind struggled to catch up with the surreality of all this.

Yeah. They got along. She—she called him. Had since that first time at Paramore, Lately it'd been at least once a week, even when Frank had been home and he'd been in Chicago over the break they'd had. Emails once or twice a week. And it was the most fucked up, dancing around almost being friends. Hell a couple times they'd ended up with three way chats on laptops and watching the same movie which had been—strange but good. They kinda were sorta headed that direction. Maybe.

Sex. Well. That wasn't any sort of fucking problem. His dick was embarrassingly on board with that idea even in cold beer soaked jeans at the moment. And...

“Frank didn't put you up to asking, did he? If he guilted you, even just by being stupid into this, I will beat him. That is so fucking unfair to you I--. You know I'd let him go if you asked. If you said you just couldn't stand it I would. I'd fight the fucking world but not you. Never.” he whispered.

She reached across the tiny table and put her hand over his. “He didn't. He wouldn't ask this in a million years. I've been kinda half thinking but—it's that or we draw up a fucking schedule while I'm out here and we kinda work on that. He misses you, and you're miserable even I—I hate watching you both like that even if I've been a fucking greedy bitch for a week and a half and--”

“You –he's your fucking fiance, Jamia. You're not a greedy bitch for grabbing what time you can when it's kinda fucking hard for you two not in the same state most of the time.” he said incredulously, looking at her hand over his instead of at her.

“Yeah, I-- I wanted him to myself a bit and it still wasn't right because it's not just us. It's not—it's not separate enough anymore just to be the two of us, you're part of it anyway and..I don't want to draw up some sort of fucking time-share. I mean we could and we'd probably be okay. As long as the two of us were okay Frank would be. Even with all his hearts and flowers and tattoos—and it's not just my tattoos. All I had to do was see that bee and know what it was, who it was—he's enough of a realist. We'd do okay. But...”

*

She broke off as he looked up at her finally. She kinda, really wanted to crawl in his lap and just hold him, he looked so fucking terrified. At least as terrified as she felt.

“You really think—think we can make it work? Because trying to go back to this or a fucking schedule if it doesn't--”

“Yeah. Yeah I think we can. I think it's worth trying and doing...It I mean it's not going to be all that easy but..” she swallowed. “What do you want?”

“I want the three of us.” Bob answered without hesitation, even if his voice was shaky and he flat out looked scared to death.

She smiled and squeezed his hand and gave a sigh of near relief. Ground rules were good they both agreed. Neither of them really had a fucking clue where to start on that. Slow and careful? That was practical and also probably really fucking unlikely. They knew this was going to be tough, it would be under most any circumstance let alone theirs. The craziness of their lives just in general.

Little things though, like Bob needed to call her too. Not just her making the effort, and it wasn't just bullshit, she liked him, she worried about him too.

“It wasn't my place,” Bob looked at her. “I--”

She bit her lip and squeezed his hand. “Your place now. C'mon we're both beat and there's –just going to have to play it by ear. Let's go to bed.”

“My pants are totally fucking soaked.” he said.

“Frank's stupid shorts? Those'll probably work.” The long basketball shorts were about ten sizes too big on Frank, even with the drawstring cinched as tight as he could get it they were usually in danger of falling off him.


*

He felt his cheeks heat as she handed him the shorts and said it was kinda fucking ridiculous to play shy. And it was. Really because, well, yeah. The shorts were easily going to fit, loose on him even. He could feel her watching as he stripped down to skin because goddamn his jeans and shorts were soaked with beer and changed into Frank's basketball shorts.

It was just fucking awkward but anything else was kinda fucking ridiculous. She'd been right, there was enough to make this three because he did care about her, liked her. It wasn't—oh god what the fuck were they doing? This was probably the worst fucking idea in the world but really—it seemed the only thing really to do.

“Would you kiss me?” She asked when they were settled into bed.

His hand was shaking as he reached and pulled her close, his heart was trying to pound right out of his chest, and god he couldn't say no.

*

Shit, Bob Bryar could kiss. And she was so nervous it was just stupid. She sure as hell hadn't been no blushing little innocent when she and Frank got together, but it had been years since she'd kissed anyone but Frank. And the bit of weight she didn't let get to her, not with Frank, kinda suddenly was more ridiculously important than anything in the world in a really awful way and just starting with the beard, and the lipring which Frank's was gone and the fact Bob was like, almost half a foot taller than Frank and, shit the man could kiss.

Strange, and kinda scary in a fucking hell am I really doing this sort of way because it had been years since anything was new like this, unknown like this, but good.


*

He didn't realized what woke him up right off. He figured he was allowed to be a little slow because it wasn't every day he woke up with a woman pressed against his side and her leg tossed over his.

“Mmrrph,” she growled sleepily.

“I'll get them if they'll let me. Where are their leashes?” The bus was still, the dogs were awake and whining.

“Drawer by the fridge.” she yawned and stretched just enough to kiss his jaw. “Come back, then. Grab Frankie if you see him.”

“Okay,” he kissed the top of her head, mostly just because he could.


Frank and Gerard were outside the bus smoking. The dogs about yanked off his arm forgetting the need to do their business for a moment in trying to all pounce and lick Frank at once.

Frank crouched down and hid in the dogs for a minute, then looked up worriedly at him. Frank looked fucking wrecked, on the edge of breaking apart.

“Uhm...I'm gonna go try and get a bit of sleep.” Gerard said eyeing him warily.

“We're fine, Gee, we're fine.” he said.

“Uhm okay, good. Uh yeah good.” he hurried off. Gerard did have more tact than they cared to credit for him at times. He really did, maybe clumsy about it, but he did. It was kinda that when he didn't it was fucking spectacularly noticeable.

“Those are my shorts.”

“Yeah, my jeans got beer spilled all over them when Jamia gave me a heart attack,”

“Bob.”

“You're not losing us.” he whispered and watched the shudder go through Frank. “You're not.”

Frank swallowed and nodded.

Not another word was said as they walked the dogs around the parking lot. The circus of a a festival tour like this already waking up. Stages and shit being set up. There was always movement, always shit to be done or ways to kill time the minute the buses parked, the only truly still time, kind of weirdly, was on the road.

Frank fed the dogs when they got back and looked around.

“We just talked, mostly—I did kiss her. She asked.”

Frank's eyes widened, he would have laughed if he wasn't about ready to start shaking and maybe fucking faint or some shit. He rubbed his wrist almost welcoming the flare of the ache, the carpal tunnel or whatever the fuck that had been acting up more and more and the added sharper ache of the dogs yanking on their leashes earlier, hyper and trying to run when he sure as hell wasn't going to. Frank looked somewhere between coming in his pants at the thought of the two of them doing anything together and breaking down and crying or fainting or just having a nervous breakdown of some sort.

“Bob?” Frank swallowed.

“She suggested well—all three of us together, instead of the two of you and the two of us. And kinda worked out how, if, that we can. That we've got enough that it wouldn't get fucked...and...fuck.”

Frank shook.

He carefully reached for Frank and leaned down and kissed him softly. “I--”

Frank clung. “Thought I was going to lose one of you, both of you, something” he whispered.

*

“Not gonna lose us, Frankie.” Bob swallowed and held Frank tight.

She moved and pressed against Frank's back, kissed his neck. Her hand snaked past Frank and reached for Bob's hip. “Not going to lose us.”

She about died laughing at the faces that greeted her that night when she hopped the My Chem bus that night. They'd been looking at her guys oddly at sound check and through the set there were a few glances snuck but most of the day the three of them had been tucked away with the dogs, some kissing and touching and mostly just trying to work things out. Ray, Matt, James, Gerard and she was pretty sure that was MSI's bassist.

“Is-- is everything okay?” Ray asked, genuinely concerned. “You've all kinda looked...uhm..”

She gave a tired smile. “Hashing things out is all, Ray, if you guys don't mind me once a week...be crashing in Frank's bunk or Bob's whichever's less disgusting.” It had been a long fucking day, it really had. But good, right. The right time. All of them where they could do this and it be good. They had all summer, learn how to make this work. How all the pieces fit.


“No that's—that's fine.” Gerard said a little overeager and a little too wide eyed.

“No body's fighting or breaking up or anything?” Matt asked.

“No.” she shook her head and bit her lip. “I'm Jamia.” she held her hand out to the woman by Gerard.

“Lyn,” the woman offered.

“You're MSI's bassist right?”

“Yeah.”

She managed not to raise an eyebrow as Lyn leaned a little more toward Gerard. They looked kinda cute together, she hoped it wasn't some sort of leftover stupid from Mikey getting married and mostly at home even if he and Alicia were going to be out for a few days the next week.

“Jamia?” Ray asked really trying not to get pushy or freaked.

“It's fine, Ray, seriously, we were just hashing things out. Bob and I settled what we could last night and we all talked today and kinda figured out what's going to work right now and playing it by ear from here out. I'm not leaving Frank. Bob's not leaving Frank and we're not making him pick or some fucking thing which would screw everyone up. It's—three now. Gonna take a while and some work and we're kinda going with the guys get one night and Frank and I get one night and Bob and I get one night, the rest of the time it's the three of us. Got shit that needs figured out yet but...just don't have a heart attack. The guys are okay. We're all okay...”

The only comment was Matt's “About freaking time.”

“We weren't there yet.” she shrugged trying not to get wound up and defensive. “It woulda fucked all of us and everything up.”

Lyn looked up at her confused. “Can—I ask or is it not my business.”

“Nothing we want advertised but well...I've been with Frank over eight years. Bob's been with Frank almost three. Just to the point something had to change somehow now.”

“Oh. That's cool.” the smile was big and sincere and sweet and Gerard's dopey grin at Lyn so “awwww isn't she cute” it was really beyond ridiculous.

“Here. Frank's ipod he left it out here from last night. You're going to want it.” Matt said. Gerard went absolutely beet red.


*

It wasn't perfect, but it was better, it was good.

He kinda really hated standing back sometimes, but fuck knew when there was someone with a damn camera phone around. Still he didn't have to stay that far back. It was okay to put his arm around Jamia's shoulder and her lean into his side as they laughed at Frank and the dogs or Frank and Gee. And if Frank hopped on his back and nuzzled at his neck and kissed his cheek before stealing his cigarette like the damned monkey he really, really could be, nothing was thought of that either. It wasn't so much standing back as keeping up appearances of same old same old .

Standing back protected them. Protected Jamia even if she'd probably try to castrate both of them if they said that. Protected the guys and the band too. But, yeah.

He wasn't the worlds biggest fan of dogs, but he got used to them. Jamia had them well trained even if Frank tended to spoil them and wind them up. Frank got used to tag team bitching about the trail of shit he'd leave in his wake. Jamia teased she had no problem getting used to someone that could reach the high shelf, but she was going to train him to put the seat down if it killed him. Frank had that lesson learned already, and if she could get it in Frank's head, she was going to get it in his. There were little things, but no drastic surprises, the lines had blurred so much over time that they both had heard of the other's quirks through a Frank filter long since.

The guys rolled with it easily. Really they hadn't expected them not to. Not their guys. The only real concerns they had were both him and Frank okay and not hurt.

Not perfect, awkward trying to figure out what was okay, what was too soon, what the fucking hell they were doing. Jamia's philosophy of make it up as they went along, as long as there was no bullshit and stupid, they were honest, they'd do okay. And kinda, really, the best place in the world to wake up, was tangled up with the two of them to the sound of one of the dogs scratching and whining at the bedroom door.