Current mood:	exhausted
Entry tags:	mcr: bob bryar, mcr: bob/gerard, mcr: gerard way, my chemical romance

FIC: Never Been Kissed (well,not sober)--MCR, 15/mature Gerard/Bob
Title: Never Been Kissed (well, not sober)
author: lisa roquin
rating: 15/mature
fandom: My Chemical Romance
pairing/characters: Bob/Gerard, Mikey/Alicia, Ray(/Christa), Frank(/Jamia), Matt(/random females),
disclaimer: lies, fiction, untrue. completely and totally made up. I know no one, know nothing of their personal lives. I make no claims of knowing much of anything.
summary: of all the things his brain could settle on to obsess about as distraction from everything else: sex, and very separately, Mikey
warning: angst, depression, substance abuse issues, mild (mostly suggestive) sexual content, set Sept 05-Jan 06
author notes: written for Strina for Sweet Charity. Hopefully the kind of realistic angst hits the spot? My appologies for being so ridiculously late on this.
Thanks to gwionfawyr, wolfenverde & ink_on_the_page for the checking my sleep deprived coherency on this. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Wordcount: 5100+



At first it wasn't anything he thought about. It was hardly anything important. Hell, it barely qualified as a piece of trivia. Getting from one day to the next, from one minute to the next was about all he could deal with thinking of. One foot in front of the other and make his way through the show, the interview, from the stage to the bus—anything more than that was too much. That was too much but there wasn't a choice but to do it.

Otter was gone. Bob was there.

Bob—Bob was...

Bob was Bob. Bob didn't kill Frank for climbing him. Bob was better about being quiet and deliberately not noticing when he was shaky. He'd just sit there and be Bob and only pause a second in fiddling with the text screen of his phone or the game he was playing on his game boy and give Gerard a glance. Sometimes he'd just pat Gerard's head, other's he'd kinda push Gerard's head toward his shoulder and tell him to take a nap he looked like shit.

Ray worried. He tried not to but sometimes his worried and supportive was just too much to deal with. Frank worried, wound himself up and tried to entertain. Mikey was his little brother, sometimes the little brother factor was just too much especially if Mikey had been drinking or was wound up at something and worried.

Ray and Frank were the best friends a guy could ever have. Mikey was his brother, his best friend, he couldn't imagine being able to do any of this without Mikey, without Ray and Frank and Brian and now Bob and even Matt and Worm.

***




“Thank fuck we getta sleep tomorrow,” Frank muttered as he flopped into the little booth, his head tilted back against the bus window and elbow rested on the table.

Ray went for the mini fridge and pulled out five bottles of water unceremoniously tossing them without warning at the others without a word of warning. Frank caught his. Mikey almost did, it bounced off his hand and rolled along the floor of the bus which caused Mikey to curse, slide off the couch he'd just sat down on and crawl after it. Bob caught his and immediately dropped it in favor of catching the water bottle that would have hit Gerard in the back of the head—Gerard being distracted by watching Mikey and trying not to laugh. Ray rolled his eyes and sat down in the booth opposite Frank.

“Only another week,” Mikey said.

Gerard eyed Mikey a little oddly. Mikey sounded a bit off to him even if he couldn't quite put his finger on how.

“Then three weeks,” Ray grinned.

“Three weeks I'm not getting out of bed unless Jamia decides she absolutely has to go to work.”

Mikey smirked and kind of snickered. Gerard thought Mikey sounded a bit more mean than amused.

Ray just grinned a little more stupidly. The same stupid grin he'd worn when Christa had made it out to the tour. Christa had managed quite a bit when they'd been within a day's drive of New Jersey. Her schedule of three twelve hour shifts on, three days off gave her a day to drive, a day and two nights out and day home, more if she managed to trade a day and get an extra day or two out if they were close enough and had a hotel and day off.

Jamia hadn't been able to get out to the tour even once this time. Frank would probably tie her to the damn bed to make sure they got every second they could—no, he didn't just think that. He...needed to bleach his brain or something.

“I got plans tomorrow,” Mikey smirked.

“I don't want to hear them!” Ray said with a look of mock horror holding his hands out in front of him. He was mostly joking.

Mikey's grin turned positively evil.

Gerard really didn't want to know if Mikey's plans were with Pete or with the one Avenged Sevenfold tech. Alicia? He thought that was it. Or maybe both. No, Gerard didn't want to know. He really didn't like that look on Mikey's face, either. He kinda wanted to blame Pete, but he knew better. Mikey seemed like he was dancing around the edge of one of his more out of control, sometimes flat out nasty and mean funks despite all the smiles and giggling that...Gerard thought was almost a little too much, not just being a happy drunk.

He was willing to admit he might be paranoid and obsessing. It was a distraction from how much he wanted a drink sometimes. It was pretty much unavoidable on a tour like this. Like the one idiot who honestly hadn't thought, or maybe hadn't known better offering Gerard a beer, then managing to stumble and spill the damn cup on him the week before. Two hours of his clothes reeking of beer had been nearly enough to drive him out of his mind but he hadn't been able to get to the damned bus to change.

Worrying about Mikey was a sure distraction from obsessing over how damn long it had been since he'd gotten laid. It didn't work all that well. It seemed like the more he tried to avoid thinking about that, the more he was tripping over people making out or having sex.



***


Gerard absently answered the hotel room door frowning at the sketchpad in hand.

“Gee, man, you mind switching rooms?” Matt asked, almost cringing. “You're by yourself right? Mikes is—”

“Yeah, out elsewhere for the night,” Gerard looked up. He smiled a little absently at the girl behind Matt. “You're sharing with Bob this time?”

Matt nodded.

“Gimme five minutes, we can switch,” Gerard said and shut the door in Matt's face. Matt wasn't going to complain about him being rude. Mikey wasn't going to be back to the room. He'd said that, hell he hadn't even bothered to bring anything off the bus but what he could shove in his pockets.

He growled at the repeat knock on the door.

“Switch keys now? We'll be back in about twenty, give you time to clear out and us to get something to drink.”

Gerard nodded and grabbed the keycard off the dresser, “Here.”

“Four down on this side of the hall,” Matt said handing his own keycard over to Gerard and pointing.

Gerard shoved his few things in his bag. He really hadn't brought anything much in, overnight bag which was pretty well filled with sketch pad and pencils, his laptop and phone. He had a maybe clean, at least cleaner, t-shirt and his toothbrush in there and that was about it.

He headed down the hall, resolutely not thinking of what Matt was up to that prompted the room switch, or what Mikey was up to that left Gerard basically on his own to facilitate the room switch easily enough. Or how wrong he thought Mikey was kind of getting.

He needed to work on his latest comic idea. Something. Anything. ANYTHING to get his mind off of sex. His dick had really gotten to be a pain in the ass about managing that lately. Anything to keep himself from worrying about Mikey, to keep from thinking how badly he wanted a drink, or get laid. The get laid part took him right back to wanting to get drunk even worse because sex was usually fogged in nothing less than a six pack from the loss of his virginity on and the older he'd gotten the more booze and assorted substances involved. Hell, who knew if actual sex even happened beyond fumbling around half the time. It had been hard to tell more and more often when he'd been waking up clothes undone and not exactly on with huge blank spots in memory including who the hell was beside him fairly regularly and fucking shaking with need for alcohol or his next line or something.

When Gerard let himself in the room Bob was on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows. His jeans shoved down just enough that Gerard could see the pale skin of one hip. Bob's dick well obscured from view because it was down a sound tech's throat, who was kneeling on the floor in front of the bed.

“Just dropping my shit. I'll..go have coffee,” Gerard said quickly and did exactly that. It might not have been the best for his laptop but it landed sort of softly on top of his duffel. He didn't care. He got the hell out of there. Knowing what Bob looked like when he was really into the blow job he was getting didn't help the fucking ridiculous mess in his head a damn bit at all.


***


Mikey and sex.

He was sure a shrink would have a lot to say about the two subjects he was obsessing on, even if they were totally completely different topics in no way connected.

The three weeks off were hell. Alicia had time and followed Mikey home. They'd come over for pizza and movies one night. He'd come back from the bathroom to them making out hot and heavy and Mikey's hand up her shirt. They left not long after. Gerard didn't mind seeing them go even if he was kinda shit at keeping himself occupied and not obsessing. That night really hadn't helped much on the obsessing about Mikey or the obsessing about sex.

Mikey's eyes were kinda glazed and Mikey was...off. Weird off.

He really wanted to blame Alicia, or maybe Pete for how weird off Mikey was. He also really wanted the thought Alicia had nice tits out of his head, and that little purr she'd made when he walked in on her and Mikey making out was kinda, really fuckin' hot.

His mother tried setting him up with the daughter of some woman whose hair she did. That was a fucking nightmare that just barely lasted the length of the drive to an utterly forgettable movie, the movie and drive to drop her back off.

His mother then tried setting him up with the son of another woman whose hair she did. Gerard forced himself to go to the guy's apartment. He escaped fifteen minutes and several gropes later claiming he'd eaten something bad for lunch.

As much puking as he'd done when he was drinking and using he'd almost destroyed his gag reflex along with his teeth from the stomach acid coming back up. He could pull off a pretty impressive fake near-puke. He probably could have made himself puke if the guy hadn't backed off and agreed that yeah he should go if he wasn't feeling well.

He wasn't quite that desperate to get laid yet. The guy was some kind of freaky cross between Bert and the blonde on Queer Eye in behavior, and maybe possessed by a crotch-obsessed octopus.

His mother was upset with him. She vowed never to try to help him meet people again if he was going to embarrass her that way. He managed not to say “THANK GOD!” aloud. Her embarrassment wasn't enough to stop her from fussing that Mikey had found a nice girl (with nice tits and a sexy purr his very unhelpful brain supplied) and she worried about him. He seemed so lonely and depressed.

He'd never been so happy to get out on tour again.



***



The universe hated him.

Really, really, really fucking hated him.

Mikey was more...off. Gerard tried to tell himself it was his imagination. That his little brother had grown up and changed while he was too fucking shitfaced for years to notice, but that didn't sit quite right. Still Mikey's times of being so quiet and staring off into space, sometimes angry sometimes just...something quiet and undefinable that chilled Gerard and he couldn't say why exactly. Only that when he looked that way, Gerard got really fucking irrationally scared of maybe losing his little brother somehow.

Mikey also had lots and lots of phone-sex, the hotel nights they'd roomed together and he thought Gerard was asleep were hell.

The night he shared with Frankie wasn't any better, Frank had been half drunk, just enough that he hadn't really cared if Gerard was awake or not even if he'd ducked into the bathroom to call Jamia. Frank really failed at the concept of quiet.

He gladly agreed to Ray's blushing shuffling question if would he mind taking off for an hour because he wanted to call Christa the time they'd ended up rooming.

He'd walked into Matt's rather active sex life no less than seven times, in some odd places actually. Matt seemed to maybe have dated the one merch gal for a bit, at least Gerard stumbled across Matt and her three times in a row of the seven.

And yeah, it was kind of the most porn played on tour ever, or at least it seemed that way.

Still the tour was...was good. He managed to make a nuisance of himself with the crew, watching, learning, getting ideas because someday they were going to headline the stadiums, it was going to be their shows not Green Day's. Someday really damn soon.

Bob broke off the...well, mostly convenient fucking with the sound tech that he'd fucked on Warped and was with them on this because the tech fell hard for one of Green Day's lighting people like day three out.

So at least he had company that wasn't rushing off to make obscene phone calls or get laid. Bob was kind of picky even for convenient fucking and no one else around really was all that that much Bob's type.

Bob annoyed the sound people more than Gerard annoyed the stage hands and lighting techs. They got chased out of the way together quite a bit. They also got yelled at by security more than once (or you know more than a thousand times) for sneaking out for cigarettes and no one knowing where they were, though by week two of the tour if both Bob and Gerard were missing the search immediately went to alleys behind hotels and venues and outside by buses at stops to refuel or eat. Worm threatened to get them kid-leashes and told them they were getting worse than Frank.

The running away and hiding for a smoke game was a bit lame and really fucking twelve years old but it was a distraction. It was better than obsessing over Mikey or sex. And obsessing over Mikey or sex was a fuck of a lot better than some of the dark spirals his head tried to go to, sorting shit from back when he was drinking and using.

He almost broke one night. He had no fucking clue where they were or what he'd even been thinking. Someone—who he didn't know. Someone with a local venue? Some fan partying with the crew?—Someone handed him a fucking wine cooler and he just kept walking right back to the room with it in hand.

He'd been sharing a room with Bob that night. Bob had been the one to walk in and find him holding the fucking wine cooler—goddamn motherfucking pansy ass WINE COOLER—and him shaking and nearly hyperventilating. So fucking tired. So fucking sick of the clawing in his gut of wanting a drink, of wanting to get wasted and just fucking forget everything. Of nerves before heading out on stage, of worrying about Mikey who he was getting more and more sure wasn't right. Of..of..fuck he didn't even know. Bits and pieces of things not quite remembered, replays of old interviews, catching sight of a youtube clip of himself just fucking fucked up beyond belief that he wanted to die just watching it.

Bob took the wine cooler without a word and poured it down the toilet, tossed the bottle in the trash and somehow settled them both on the bed, sitting up against the headboard with his head on Bob's shoulder watching something on the TV that weirdly had American accents though god knew what it was other than obviously a movie or imported TV show.

Bob didn't ask. Didn't tell the others. Maybe he stayed closer for the last three weeks of the tour but Gerard really didn't mind the guard-dogging. It was better than being alone with his mind going a thousand miles an hour.

The closer they got to home and the more serious the phone calls to Alicia got, Mikey seemed better. That helped too.


***



Home in time for Christmas and two and a half weeks down time before heading out on the road again, then another couple weeks break before they were to head out to California to work on the new album.

Christmas sucked. No Elena. He doubted he'd ever completely get used to that.

Mikey had been there on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day but had gone to fucking Missouri to be with Alicia and her family for the rest of their down time, all two weeks of it.

Frank made no bones about the fact he intended to be spending every single second possible with Jamia, around holiday shit that she didn't do but like Italian Catholic relatives were listening to that. So there were holiday gatherings at least on Frank's side to make appearances at and probably fair amount of guilt-tripping and ass-chewing over not going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve at the very least. Gerard was kind of stunned he had no idea about Jamia's family. He assumed there were holiday type appearances to make there too even if she didn't do Christmas or any holiday much. He probably should know what Jamia's family did in general. More lost in the haze of the last few years.

Ray had family shit and more family shit, and even more family shit and Christa. He did know Christa's family had about as much family shit as Ray's did, because Ray had gone on about it and some Aunt or Great Aunt or Christa's mom's cousin or something, whoever was an annoying old bat. But yeah, family shit right and left for Ray, and Matt too for that matter.

Brian was—hell who knew. Brian was somewhere working and possibly trying to see if he could get his ulcers to reproduce like Tribbles or something.

Bob was in Chicago.

He had plenty of invitations to hit a bar and hear a band or New Year's parties. Some he regretted turning down not up for a bar or New Year's bash because the invites were from people he liked, not least of which was for Frank and Jamia's New Year's party. Some were from people he really never wanted to speak to again if he didn't have to and would have looked for an excuse even if he had been up to going out.

As far as his mother was concerned he was busy and had accepted invitations to a few different things instead of holed up in his apartment. He was not up to dealing with a couple more aggravating members of his own extended family.

He didn't let the break being lonely and totally sucking get to him. He didn't. He worked on his comic idea, sketching and...and he had the notebook full of squiggles and blind doodles to prove it. That totally counted as creative thought processes even if it looked like a toddler's scribbles.

He absolutely did not spend his time holed up in the living room of his apartment pacing and feeling sorry for himself and lonely. He most certainly did not spend any time obsessing over how long it had been since he'd gotten laid or the fact that the only kiss he could think of he didn't have so much as a couple beers in his system, which had been enough back then, was the time Sheri Green dared Katy Vitek to kiss him by the swings at recess. That had been in second grade, it didn't count.

He didn't, absolutely did not, ever jerk off thinking about how Bob looked leaning back on his elbows while he was getting blown. Not once, and certainly not so many times that an oversexed teenage rabbits on speed and viagra might be a comparison. Nor had he before this break. Nope, nope, not at all.

He didn't count how many times he just burned for something to drink. He was never going to admit how much he stared at the phone considering calling his therapist and crying about a massive swing of depression and he desperately needed something for that, or better some Xanax or valium for paralyzing major anxiety attacks even set up some phone appointments to get the prescriptions. He finally buried the phone in the closet so he didn't have to look at it.

Christmas and the whole break just plain sucked.

His throat was still raw from too many cigarettes, even for him which he didn't think was possible. Not to mention hissing, ranting and just plain talking to himself aloud simply for a voice in the air. Cussing himself out for thinking half the shit he wasn't going to ever admit he had. His eyes were bloodshot and had dark rings under them which got really fucking worried looks from all of them. It didn't help he was twitching and jittery from gallons upon gallons of coffee. He actually found out there was such a thing as too much caffeine, even for him.

In some ways on the road was easier even with the booze and shit right there, it wasn't on the bus and the guys would kick his ass. His mind could be kept occupied with the next show, the next stage and its quirks and problems if it was a venue they'd been before, the next interview. Monotonous and frustrating and at times infuriating but it was something to focus on, something to concentrate on and not obsess over...no, he wasn't going there again.

It was so much easier when he was busy, when he had something to concentrate on even if it was trivial anal-retentive bullshit to occupy his mind. He had to say he was glad he had barely been past the worst of the DT's when he'd gotten back on stage the first time after he cleaned up. He honestly didn't remember that show either. It had to have sucked, but some of the shows when he was using had sucked too. When he'd gotten past just trying to make it from one hour to the next and actually have the fact holy fuck he had to go out there and put on a show, he already had been for weeks. No one had thought he sucked, or at least not any worse than in the past. The world hadn't ended.

He was really glad he hadn't had time to think about going back on stage. Too busy trying to stand up and breathe and make it through the next minute or hour and remember lyrics to really think about it.

“You look hung over, you stupid fucker,” Frank accused when they got on the bus.

Mikey glared. Ray, Matt and Bob all looked worried ready to get pissed at the drop of a hat.

Gerard shook his head. “Not sleeping for shit is all. Been awake about three days, not on a goddamn thing but coffee and cigarettes. Just...had too much time to sit and think.”

“You could have...”

Gerard let Frank's fussing and Ray's wash over him. All the things he could have done. Called them, gone to see the one band, whatever the hell it was with Frank and Jamia, their new years party, gone to the movies with Ray or Ray would have come over and hung out a while.

“Nah, I wasn't going to fuck up anyone's holidays.”

That brought another round of fussing and cussing from Ray and Frank. Mikey just glared more. Matt eyed him worriedly and Bob just...stood there.

He wondered if they actually believed him. It was the truth though goddamn it.



***



“Hey.”

Gerard nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard Bob come into the lounge from the bunks. He shifted glad of the sketchpad laying forgotten on his lap. Really glad.

“Hey,” Gerard yawned as Bob sat next to him.

“You look like shit, Gee.”

Gerard snorted, a choked little giggle escaped. “Just fuckin' tired. I'm not using, I didn't slip. Probably look better if I did.”

“Probably,” Bob agreed. “You need some sleep though.”

“Yeah.”

Bob glared. He plucked the pencil from Gerard's hand and tossed it toward the television. Bob's hand moved up and cupped the side of Gerard's cheek and pulled Gerard's head onto his shoulder.

“Sleep, Gerard, or I'm going to wake Frank up.”

Gerard choked out another strangled giggle, as threats went that was ridiculous and actually pretty damn effectual. Frank was always hyper at the start of a tour and Frankie fussing was something to run and hide from. He learned how to fuss and guilt trip from an Italian mother after all. Though Frank's version had a lot more “you fuckin' idiots” and whacks that left bruises.

Bob heaved out a sigh a good half an hour later. “You're not sleeping.”

Gerard fought back another strangled bordering on slightly hysterical giggle. Hell no he wasn't sleeping with his head on Bob's shoulder.

“Please tell me that you're not like stuck on the physics of telekinesis for a comic character,” Bob said warily.

Gerard thought he maybe went over the top the last hotel night before Warped ended way back in September. Bob tracked him down in remarkably short order after Gerard had walked in on Bob getting blown accidentally. In an effort to dispell awkwardness that was mostly in his own head over his reaction, Gerard had started a frantic babble about a possibly telekinetic character and how to work out the believability of the character that had left Bob cross-eyed and maybe a little traumatized.

“Uh, sorry?” Gerard winced. It must have been bad if Bob was bringing it up now. That had been September. This was January.

“Yeah,” Bob snorted. “Why'd you and Matt switch that night, anyway?”

“I had the room basically to myself,” Gerard snorted. “Matt got lucky.”

“Get kicked out of your room for that and walk in on...” Bob sounded a little horrified. Bob got kind of overly conscious of asshole-ness since he was still the new guy, sorta. They didn't think so, but Bob still acted like he thought so sometimes. And, even Gerard had to admit, even when they were getting along Bert could pull some spectacular asshole-ness not meaning to, just kind of not thinking. Bob was like Ray too in that the manners and normal-people behavior he was raised with kind of stuck, at least more than it did with Frank.

“And Frankie going on about getting home. And Mikey—I don't even want to imagine. Even Ray being a bit of an idiot about getting home.”

Bob was quiet for a long while, that he was waiting for something was proven when he finally said “And?”

And I haven't gotten laid since I got sober, or even ever fuckin' kissed anyone sober, Gerard thought exhaustedly. Fuck, he was tired enough he felt almost drunk. He really just wanted to sleep and not think for a while.

Bob's breath caught, then he made a too-high choked squeaking noise.

“I didn't say that out loud...” Gerard whispered horrified.

“Okay, you didn't,” Bob agreed his voice less than steady.

“Fuck,” Gerard whined and moved to sit up straight. Shooting himself sounded pretty good right now, and he wasn't sure he was just embarrassed. He kinda actually thought so for a minute, not for the first time even sober, and that scared the shit out of him really.

“Gee?”

Gerard reluctantly looked at Bob, who had a strangely intense look on his face.

“Not pity. Get that through your thick fucking skull, not pity,” Bob all but growled.

Gerard blinked and wondered for a second if he maybe dozed off, or said something he shouldn't have.

“Not pity,” Bob repeated almost a shaky whisper this time and even in the flickering light given off by the TV Gerard could see the blush creeping up Bob's cheeks above his beard. Bob blushed ridiculously easily, and Frank was lucky to be alive as often as he merrily pointed that out and teased.

“Okay?” Gerard murmured confused.

Bob leaned in and....

the fucker KISSED HIM!

Soft scrape of beard and the cool of the lip ring. Bob's hand on his cheek.

Gerard froze in panic. He'd had more wet dreams than he would ever, ever admit, and probably couldn't begin to count about this happening. It wasn't a go with oh wow, now it's happening it was freeze in total fucking panic and forget to breathe.

“Not pity, I promise, Gerard,” Bob whispered against his lips.

Bob was maybe trembling a little too.

“Good I—” What the hell did you say to that, this? His brain was misfiring and he kind of wondered if he hadn't finally cracked and was hallucinating.

“Okay?”

Gerard managed to squeak out “Okay.”

Bob's lips were against his again. This time he responded, hesitant, mechanical, fucking totally irrationally terrified at first but god he'd obsessed until he was nearly phobic, not that he'd admit that aloud.

Bob tasted like cigarettes—and hot chocolate. He was pretty sure he didn't—drool or otherwise totally humiliate himself. If he did, Bob didn't seem to notice or maybe his brain was misfiring as badly as Gerard's was. Bob kind of seemed to be almost trembling as much as Gerard.

“You're a good kisser, Gerard,” Bob whispered, breathless when the kiss finally ended.

Gerard's only breathing was fast and shaky as he managed to laugh out, “You too, Bob.”

“You okay?”

“No, but better,” Gerard blurted before he thought. He scrunched up his face in a wince.

“Good,” Bob said simply.

Gerard swallowed and laid his head on Bob's shoulder. Bob shifted just a little to get more comfortable.

“Mikey's—”

“Got you, me, Ray and Frank to catch him,” Bob murmured. “He seems better. Alicia's good for him.”

“Yeah,” Gerard whispered.

Silence was comfortable and familiar. Not even the fact Bob had kissed him made it weird.

“Fuckin' lonely and tired,” Gerard whispered a long while later.

“So lean and rest, Gee,” Bob murmured.