FicWad

“Alright, what twat fucking put eggs in the toaster.” Bob walks into the room, angry to the point of being comical. In his right hand, he holds a blackened, rubbery substance. And in his left, he's got the toaster, hanging dangerously by its cord. Everyone looks at one another, accusing. It's like some kind of ghost has been pulling this shit, doing things from leaving wet puddles by the shower, to clogging up the toilet with Doritos. But this is just another thing that Bob has to clean up, and he is really, really not in the mood. “Who did it.” He repeats, glaring.

“I didn't do it.”

“Dude, I just woke up.”

“Didn't Mikey say something about toasters?”

“Hey! I was in the bathroom, asshole.”

You can pretty much insert the flying Sidekick here.

They had been on tour for three months running, and by the second or third week, any form of accountability was basically out of the window. The boys are all dirty, hot, and slick with summer heat. Someone had apparently shoved an entire sewing kit into the air conditioner, but whoever did it was going to probably remain unknown.

Frank sits up on the counter, drinking the last of the Coke Zeros. “Aw, shit, Frankie. You could have asked if anyone else wanted one.” Gerard says, looking into the fridge and settling for a Mountain Dew. It just isn't the same.

He looks halfway apologetic and offers Gerard the last, watered-down sip. Gerard shakes his head and cracks open his own can, reminding himself of the drunken days on tour where shit like the eggs in the toaster would be funny. Now they're just annoying. God, they're getting old – he's already 28, for fucks sake. Gerard runs his hands through his messy black hair and sighs. They all reeked of cigarettes and sweat. They needed a break.

“We're getting close to Louisianna.” Ray says, looking at his new TomTom with a certain fondness that only he would be able to muster. Bob is seriously starting to regret buying that shit for him at their last stop in Dallas. Everyone rolls their eyes; they've heard how many yards they'd be to the next show every two minutes. Frank hops off of the counter and throws the metal can into the recycling, and Gerard follows him suit – only his goes into the trash.

Frank must have a certain hearing where he can tell the difference between a can hitting the 'recycle' bin and the 'trash' bin, because he immediately whips around. “Gerard!” He cries, pulling the sticky can out from the pile of garbage. “You're contributing to landfills when you do that.” Gerard sighs and watches Frank pull off an old, slimy chip from the can's surface before placing it neatly in the correctly marked bin.

“Hey,” Frank says, then pauses. He's a little afraid to ask. “Whose turn is it to do the trash next?”

“Not me, man. I did it last time.”

“You're the fucking treehugger, you do it! I don't care about the planet!”

“Yeah, we're supposed to be an angsty band, Frank. You're ruining our image.”

“Didn't Mikey say he wanted to take out the trash?”

Mikey looks around for something to throw, but all he finds is a page torn from a magazine. As he pitches it hard, it falls pathetically onto the floor. Actually, it flutters. Bob points this out and Mikey scowls. “Aren't you a fucking poet.” He says. It's supposed to be mean, but it just kind of sounds like a whine. Everyone gives a collective sigh – they all love each other, but there are times where love and annoyance really do seem like the same damn thing.

It's three pm and Frank is already tired, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into Gerard's bunk. Frank usually sleeps there, since everyone decided his bunk should be top because of some cruel joke about Frank being short. Needless to say, it takes about ten minutes for Frank to maneuver his way in there. It isn't very nice, but a great excuse to sleep in Gerard's bed.

Seconds later, he feels warm breath in the hot cabin, hitting against his neck. Normally, this would be a great sensation, but he's sweating bullets and Gerard's hair is making his skin itch. “Gee,” He whines, pushing him off. “It's too hot.”

Gerard grins crookedly at him and disappears over the side of the bed, then coming back up with a small cup of ice cubes. Frank looks at him like 'yes, I knew there was a reason I loved you', because he was just wishing that he could stop being lazy enough to get some of those. Gerard just keeps the smirk on his face and puts the ice chips on his hot counterpart, watching them melt on his pale skin. The water pools against his tattoos and magnifies them, and Gerard moves the beads of water against his warmth. They burn up like firecrackers.

“Who the fuck took the last of the ice cubes and didn't replace them!” They hear Bob shriek on the other side of the thin curtain. Gerard giggles and presses a wet finger to Frank's lips, and he hides the cup as if Bob was in their cramped space now, accusing eyes on the red Solo. Frank licks his finger and Gerard puts an ice cube in his mouth, then presses his lips against Frank. They just enjoy the icy heat for as long as they can stand it before breaking off.

“Do you want to …?” Gerard asks, fingers trailing to Frank's inner thigh, brushing up. Frank gulps and nods, cooled off but still so, so hot. Gerard gives a happy clap while Frank rolls his eyes, and they start to fumble around helplessly. Gerard is trying to turn Frank over while Frank whines from being jostled, but the bunks not really giving them that option. But, with a little time and a copious amount of spilled ice, they manage to work themselves out. Frank just so happens to love that kind of heat, and so does Gerard, especially when its Frank's warmth all around him. He practically lives for those nights, but it's never really happened on the bus.

Outside, a full-on screaming match has ensued, Mikey in near hysterics as Bob takes his Sidekick and flips through his text messages. Ray's TomTom lost satellite connection and he's pissed, every so often egging Bob on to do read them out loud. He just didn't want to be the only one mad, and misery does love company. But God, who knew Mikey was so … technically vocal. They're all yelling loud enough to not be able to hear the quiet cries from the bunk area, or the sound of metal hitting against plastic. The two boys hardly have the guts to be loud, but there's no such thing as well-kept secrets in the 3 by 7 sleeping space they were allotted. But the other men don't hear a thing as they argue, and this is a good thing. For once, the curtained couple are happy for another bout of bickering.

“Next time you're on camera, I'm telling everyone you're screenname.” Mikey yells hoarsely, finally grabbing the phone out from under Bob's ass. “Fucking disgusting.” He mutters, cleaning off the screen before replacing it into his pocket. Mikey looks a little bit like an obsessive mother, the way he pats at his jeans with that protective love of a parent.
Bob snorts as he pulls out his own phone, seemingly uncaring. “Then I'll give the next fan girl I see your inbox, which I forwarded to myself.” He smiles at his own cleverness and Mikey looks horrified. Ray turns around to add something but it caught off-guard as his hand lands into a half-eaten cupcake.

“Who ate a cupcake and didn't clean it up!” Ray yells, then reaches for something to wipe his hands off. But someone forgot to get napkins at the last stop, so he's stuck with an awkward 'shit, what do I do' face and a handful of Hostess. “Probably Frank, he loves these.” He says mournfully, looking absolutely miserable as the sugar molds to his hand. He resolves the problem by using a potato chip bag and then washing his hands, but he still feels upset by the situation. People who don't eat a whole cupcake don't make sense to him, and someone who would want Ray to suffer like that is just wrong.

“Hey, where is Frank? And where is Gerard?” Bob suddenly comes to the realization that the two band members had totally disappeared, their usually loud presences suddenly gone and unavailable. Ray twists around, as if they're waiting to pounce on him from behind – it wouldn't be the first time something like that would happen. Moments after their absence is recognize, Gerard and Frank come through into the center room, flushed and smiling. Everyone looks disgusted because they realize what happened, that is until Gerard says; “We made a trash schedule, so we'll all know who goes when.” Then the thought of the two guys hooking up is forgotten and replaced by a need to look at the schedule in Gerard's hand.

“You made me take the trash every fucking day this week!” Bob growls, looking at Frank like he's the obvious culprit. Frank stares back mysteriously. “Never question toasters, and the paper won't question you.” He says in a throaty voice, pads of his fingertips touching one another. Bob rolls his eyes and slams the paper down on the table. “I'm taking a nap.” He announces, then walks back to the bunks.

Gerard and Frank go back to whining about the heat and making more themselves, and Mikey falls back into tune with the tapping of his keyboard. Ray's TomTom gets the signal back right before the cross the border, so he gets to make his big state announcement. Frank shifts sorely and lays flat on his stomach, and Gerard puts cold cans of Mountain Dew on his whining boyfriend's back, soothing. They stay like this for a few minutes before a disgusted yell can be heard from the back. “Who got fucking jizz all over my tee-shirt?” They can hear Bob scream, cutting through the lazy afternoon. Everyone exchanges glances, weighing the possibility of the blameshifting on each person.

“Mikey did it!” They all scream in unison, except for Mikey, who correctly said 'Frank'.

You can insert that thrown Sidekick here.