skoosiepants | today is a fucking awful day for reasons I won't get into

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today is a fucking awful day for reasons I won't get into

Because it's kind of pathetic. Cheer me up? Drabbles welcome, encouraged even. Shall we just go ahead and make this a Bob/Joe love fest? Or even just a Joe love fest, because that would be made of baby seals.

This isn't really a Bob/Joe drabble, although there will be Bob/Joe in this fic, so it counts a little:

Andy - Andy the Vegan, who isn’t really a vegan, not anymore, anyway, because it’s tough to be a picky eater on Atlantis, but they named him Andy the Vegan to separate him from Andy the Butcher, even though it never really stuck with anyone other than Joe, who likes shouting, “Andy the Vegan!” because it’s the one thing that’s sure to get a rise out of the laconic biochemist – but, anyway. Andy twirls his pen between his fingers. It’s a space pen. Frank’s had his eye on it for a while.

Office supplies are kind of limited, and a pen that can write upside-down is coveted above most other things.

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Hmm. Bad day for you to? I know! Imagine Team Shep learning how to do NSA tour dance moves from like Justin, JC, and Lance. Joey stayed home to be with his daughter and Chris was off promoting ManBand.

*FLAIL*

A pen! You can use in space!

Because I should be writing an essay *facepalm*

Joe's got like ten minutes. Ten minutes and then he's going to be late and maybe Pete won't kill him, but Patrick certainly will. Will only hesitate because they do need another guitarist for the set.

But he's got Bob's hand wrapping around his hip, Bob's lips pressed against his. He's got Bob and Joe really doesn't want to let go.

He's kind of got a set to play, though. Thirty minutes of songs and then he can come right back, back to Bob's hands and his lips and Bob.

"Bob, Bob." Bob pulls away, gives Joe the look. He raises an eyebrow, makes Joe really just want to go back to that kissing thing, forget he ever said anything. But then he sees Patrick in his head, Patrick bright red and not happy the way he usually only gets with Pete.

"Let me guess," Bob starts, tone sort of hard, but Joe can see the smile in his eyes.

"Thirty minutes, man. I promise." And Joe is kissing him one more time, hard and needy, and Bob doesn't stop him, kisses him back. Then he's pushing him away, ignoring Joe's soft protests.

"Go play. I'll be here."

You'd think that throwing a party for a bunch of straightedge kids and recovering alcoholics would be low-key, but then you never would have met Bob's friends.

You definitely wouldn't have experienced Bob's friends with Patrick's friends and a handful of seventeen year olds that Pete may be either signing or fucking (Bob doesn't care).

Bob shuts himself in his room to wash the ketchup out of his hair (FUCKING Mikey and Alicia, they're made of EVIL) and just take five minutes the away from the insanity that has become his life in the last couple of years.

At least the insanity comes with inflatable cacti. That part kind of rules. Plus, you know, playing music that rules with guys who really are pretty awesome when they're not coming up with creative uses for condiments that are just meant to go on FOOD.

After he's scrubbed his hair down, he is rubbing a towel across his head as he opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small cigar box. It's kind of funny that he still hides his weed like he's fifteen years old, but it's really more habit than anything else now.

Bob is in the process of licking the rolling paper when his door opens slowly and a tangled, disheveled head peeks around the corner.

"Trohman," he acknowledges with his voice almost a growl. "If you have mustard behind your back, I swear to god that I will kill you with my MIND."

Joe's eyes widen a little and he hastily puts something down. "Totally not, dude. No way."

Bob rolls his eyes a little and laughs. "In or out, Trohman."

Joe's eyebrows pull together in confusion before he catches a look at the join that Bob is just holding up to his mouth. "Oh! Sweet. So in, man."

Joe shuts the door and bounds over to Bob, flopping next to him on the bed. Bob takes another deep hit and hands the joint over to Joe, their fingers brushing as Joe takes it and expertly pulls his own hits.

They pass back and forth in silence, Bob eventually laying on the bed next to Joe as they listen to the sounds of their lives. Gerard and Andy are now discussing the relative merits of Dark Horse's new series, Patrick is earnestly explaining his preference for atonal chord structures to a (presumably) interested Ray, and Jeanae's is sharply calling: "Frankie, NO YOU ARE NOT PUTTING VANILLA ICE ON THAT FUCKING STERO. I will stop fucking you for YEARS if I even hear strains of that shit."

Bob's either more high than he'd thought he was or he's getting softer with old age, but he feels a slow, small grin spreading across his face like molasses.

He's content.

"Hey, Bob," Joe says, his voice a little scratchy and soft.

Bob turns his head a little to the left, the comforter scratching along his beard as he looks at Joe.

Joe is propped up on one elbow, leaning toward Bob. Their lips touch before Bob realizes what's happening. A soft brush of tongue across his top lip makes his hands shake a little and a nip next to his lip ring makes them shake more.

Joe pulls back, smile blurred and slurred in the slight haze of smoke left.

"Nice party."

a look at the join that Bob is just holding up to his mouth

joint.

so, this may not cheer you up. like at all. but it is my birthday! and i am 21! and i feel like my joy should spread and take over the WORLD so that other people may be giddy and happy too! whee!

Also:

Let me show you Joe's sexy. Let me show you.

And here's some of Bob Bryar's hot on your bad day:

Oh hon.

I'm so sorry.

You want Joe porn?

Here we go:

--

Joe is pretty sure -- mostly sure -- almost one hundred percent sure that when he came in here, his pants were not around his ankles.

He's also pretty sure that Ryan Ross wasn't sucking his dick down his throat.

But then again, Joe can get around with unzipped pants. Getting around with an attached Ryan Ross is a different story entirely.

"So you're doing this," And yeah, he's trying to make conversation, because, uh. Ryan Ross happens to be quite skilled in the sucking-dude's-cocks-down-his-throat department, which, you know, is great information to have [and a tiny voice inside his head whispers something like, Pete was right], but it doesn't. It doesn't really --

Joe is having a hard time thinking, because Ryan Ross as cocksucker is one thing, but Joe didn't even think about his long, long, long guitarists fingers, and how one of them is just, just, just barely teasing at his ass.

Joe is fairly certain that he's actually coming his brains out. Or he would be fairly certain if he could think. As it is, Ryan is sucking with just the right amount of pressure, and pushing his fingers, up to two now, Joe thinks.

Would think if he could.

Joe comes, and Ryan swallows -- he fucking swallows, and Joe is really glad he's leaning against a wall and thus slide down it, because uh. He can barely stand.

"Wanna return the favor?" Ryan asks, and his lips are like, glistening -- glistening from Joe's come, and just.

Yes. Yes he does.

You probably already know this, but anyway...

Which Backstreet Boy is Gay (http://www.tlf.cx/backstreet/)

Hope tomorrow looks better for you. *hugs*

Jesus. Yes. AWESOME.

Brendon doesn't mean to, not really. It's just that, well. Sometimes when they have an early call and Zack is rubbing his eyes to rid them of sleep, Brendon thinks he looks kind of like a teddy bear. So one day he tackles Zack because he's Brendon and he's helpful in the morning. Except he doesn't expect Zack to stumble and fall. Zack doesn't trip. Zack doesn't even stumble. And Zack definitely doesn't tremble under Brendon's fingers and soft kiss to the blossoming bruise. He doesn't. Because he's Zack and he's solid. ♥

some of my favorite photos:

And of course all of those were originally uploaded by other people. :D

also working on some fic for you (and

eleanor_lavish who got overexcited when I asked for some prompts)...

So this latest thing that Bob finds in the middle of the hallway sends Bob over the edge. He’d pick it up and throw it into the dumpster if it wasn’t a person; and really, Joe all curled up against the wall like a portable, pot-scented air freshener, is more than a little endearing.

He picks Joe up and brings him into the bedroom, sets him down on the futon and then shuts the door behind him

Te he! Andy the (not so) Vegan with the awesome pen!

Also, the idea of more Bob/Joe kind of makes me glee!

God, the ManBand. How embarrassing is that, right?

SERIOUSLY!!! I had to add it!

DUDE! *hearts you so much*

you are my bob/joe hero!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 21 is AWESOME!

god, bob and joe. dude. no words.

guh. oh, that's nice *nodsnodsnods*

EEE! ZACK/BRENDON IS MY SECRET WEAKNESS!!

JOE!!!

ALSO: oh my god, BOB PICKS JOE UP!

Bob/Joe is the new black!

You'd think that Joe would have seen it coming, especially since it was kind of ... him. That did it.

Or whatever.

But really, Joe is as surprised as Bob when he finds himself leaning in again and swiping his tongue lazily over Bob's bottom lip, soothing the bite from two hours earlier.

Joe had been completely certain that ... whatever it was that had happened earlier was it. For the most part, he's really not that into dudes. He likes women, with the breasts and the hips and the softness and the harsh jagged laughs and smirks.

But Joe's eyes kept straying over to Bob during the rest of the night. And yeah, it might have been the high or the lazy summer night, it's not like Joe hasn't gotten stoned before and stared at Patrick's lips for half an hour. But somehow, Joe kept thinking back to the moment where Bob's breath had hitched when Joe kissed him on the bed, the look on his face when Joe grinned and rolled away toward the door.

Joe's seen longing before - he's in a band with Pete fucking Wentz, for G-d's sake - but Bob's longing, quickly covered, surprises him.

It must be that look, the swift intake of breath, the aura of confusion that Bob is just radiating that causes Joe to lean back in over a stack of dirty paper plates and kiss Bob again.

Because Joe's not stoned anymore. But he still wants to do this.

He's a little surprised, but pushes that aside for the time being. He has other things to be doing. Like pushing Bob into a room (Bob's room? Who cares?) and kicking the door shut with his foot as he fumbles with Bob's belt.

He can be surprised tomorrow. He's busy right now.

I pretend it didn't happen. It makes me happier. I would hate to kick him out of the Nsync reunion going on in my mind.

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