Flesh and Blood (Sequel to Poison'd Crüe)

Twenty-Two

Transitioning from being on the road back to being home definitely wasn’t easy for Bobby. He spent the first week unable to sleep at Night when his mate and sons were abed, not just ’cuz of his squirmy lil girl, but ’cuz he was used to being up most of the Night. He’d try going to bed when Nikki did, only to just lay there resisting the urge to toss and turn till he finally decided to just get back up. Keeping the older bassist up when he was tired wasn’t his goal, so if he’d to stay up half the Night, entertaining himself downstairs, he’d rather that over having to deal with a cranky mate.

        Zep and Aidan weren’t quite sure what to make of their mama not getting up till between Noon and two every afternoon since they were almost always awake between seven and eight in the Morn. The older bassist tried to explain that he was used to staying up at Night, so it was hard to go back to staying up during the Day at the drop of a hat. It’d take Time for him to make the adjustment, but he’d make it eventually and be able to spend more Time with them.

        About a month after concluding the Native Tongue tour, the younger bassist was finally back on a more normal schedule. It wasn’t completely normal since he was roughly thirty-four weeks pregnant now, and usually more uncomfortable than he wasn’t due to his advanced pregnancy. That was really the only reason he managed to get outta having to get back into the studio immediately–that, and ’cuz the band decided to layer each part of a song after recording it individually instead of recording a whole song at once.

        “Oooh, I’m ready for this lil girl to be born,” he groaned as he settled on the couch.

        “I’ll bet, sweetheart,” Nikki chuckled, muting the strings of the guitar he was monkeying around with. “You’re almost due again, after all.”

        “She likes using my everything as a dance studio, and my bladder as a soccer ball,” the younger bassist laughed.

        “At least we know she’s gonna be an active lil booger,” his mate said, grinning.

        “Gods, not like that till she’s at least sixteen!” Bobby laughed. “We don’t need grandkits when she’s eight!”

        “I’ll chain her to the basement wall, if she thinks she’s gonna do that!” the older bassist swore. “Ain’t nobody defiling my lil girl like that so young!”

        The younger bassist couldn’t help but grin at him, loving when they got to just sit around and cut up together as much as when things turned raunchy after Dark. At the moment, the boys were upstairs for their nap and he just wasn’t feeling up for a romp–not that Nikki was, either. His mate was trying to relax after having to go in and finish up some mixing and mastering on Mötley’s long-awaited sixth album, which was due for release in roughly a month.

        Bobby was glad to hear that they’d gotten John Corabi–whom the older bassist called Crab–as their new front man while Poison was finishing up Native Tongue and subsequently touring. While he liked Mötley’s earlier Sound, he honestly thought this guy fit them and their style better. He’d a deeper, grittier voice that seemed to match his mate’s Dark, morbid mind better, if he were to give his honest opinion.

        He was still amused by how Nikki swore up and down he’d to smack himself wide awake every Time he walked into the studio, especially after Poison headed out on their tour. As much alike as he and the new Mötley front man looked from behind with their similar heights and Dark, wavy or curly hair that reached their nipples, give or take a couple inches, he could see how he’d mix them up, if he was still half-asleep. The younger bassist knew that the second he caught the other guy’s scent, though, he’d be able to tell the difference–wide awake or dead on his feet–without having to question it. Still, it was funny to imagine his mate literally smacking off what he kinda thought was a Dream, ’cuz he’d missed him so much.