Current mood:	exhausted
Current music:	Motley Crue - White Trash Circus
Entry tags:	mcr: bob bryar, mcr: bob/frank, mcr: frank iero, my chemical romance

FIC: So Pretty, Baby-- MCR Bob/Frank
title So Pretty, Baby
author: lisa roquin
fandom: RPS- My Chemical Romance
rating adult
pairing/characters: Bob Bryar/Frank Iero (Gee/Lyn, Mikey/Alicia, Ray/Christa), Dixie.
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:
warning: slash, sex, crossdressing, fetishizing of women's underwear, restraints, toys, delayed orgasm, light D/s play, one ridiculously playful pup who butted in and got screentime.
author notes: for Etty Kay written for Sweet Charity
author's note 2: Children of the Night
word count: 7706



The only objection he had to the charity event they were ordered to was it was on his birthday. The last thing he wanted to do on his birthday was play nicely with cameras and shit everywhere.

Even worse, Brian came up with it a full five weeks in advance and had informed them that if Frank was too sick to attend, a nurse would be hired to sit with him so Bob could make his appearance. They. Were. Going. Brian said he had a nurse, as well as two sitters with references he'd personally triple checked and backgrounds he'd had fully investigated right back to the women's great-grandparents. They. Were. Going. And. They. Were. Going. To. Like. It. Or. Else. Playing hooky was not an option and punishable by being glared at all night by Atilla the Nurse Brian was sure to have reserved for Frank attempting just that.

When put like that? Not even Gerard was going to object to leaving the kids with a sitter for the night. And how could he really protest without coming across as the world's biggest goddamned ass. It was for Children of the Night. They all could get behind that completely.

The idea struck when the guys were starting in on costume ideas, trying to come up with some alternative to things Lyn, Alicia and Christa had come up with—sickeningly sweet couple-y matching costumes.

He called Brian with a grin playing at his lips. “Since Bob and I have to go as the single ones can we match just because so we aren't left out of the group thing if everyone kinda matches?”

“Fine, Frank.”

*

He put the bug in Gerard's ear.

Gerard loved it.

Mikey blinked, moved his head almost enough to be considered a nod, and resumed texting.

Ray thought it sounded a fuck of a lot better than Raggedy Andy or a sheep to Christa's Ann or Bo Peep.

Bob shrugged.

“Alicia says cool,” Mikey said not looking up from his phone's text screen.

That decided it.

They were going as 1920s mobsters and their molls, seemed appropriate, if a bit cliché, for a bunch of Jersey boys and one from Chicago anyway.


*

Lyn was the world's most awesome partner in crime. She really was.

She was also kind of evil, because she decided if he was going to do it, he was going to go all out. For the record, whatever the hell the depilatory cream she came up with was—it burned like a son of a bitch. She laughed at him and called him a baby, that it wasn't that bad. She laughed even harder when he told her she was evil and sadistic. She was. Especially since she made him use the depilatory a damned month before the costume party to make sure he didn't break out in a rash or something. Sadistic evil wench, but how did you argue with her? It also meant he would have to use the depilatory the day of or day before the damned shindig.

Gerard got in on the act being helpful too. And agreed that the depilatory cream was the most evil burning shit in the world. Frank blinked and just didn't ask. This was all done under the cover of and in the name of the best holiday of the year—Halloween. He could get away with it at the moment, and not be totally humiliated or Bob totally freak if he didn't like it. Gerard kind of had an 'oh shit did I say that' look creep over his face a couple seconds after the words were out. Frank just agreed and very, very studiously didn't ask.

Lyn laughed at them both.

She was really, really evil. Not just kind of. Awesome partner in crime, but totally and completely evil.

And whoever invented high heels? Better be roasting in hell. Seriously.

It took two weeks, nearly breaking both ankles a thousand times and jamming the living fuck out of his wrist trying to catch himself when he stumbled to master walking in heels. His feet felt like they'd been put through some sort of medieval torture and that didn't even touch the fact his legs hurt all the way up to his ass from walking in the damn things. Lyn laughed and swore you got used to it, she'd actually been shocked by his complaints because she couldn't remember not having some kind of heel on dress shoes, even low squarish ones on patent leather Mary Janes from when she was little bitty and the heels just got progressively higher as she grew up.

He told her to quit laughing. Girls got training-heels like she said and didn't go cold turkey into freaking three inch spike heels from tennis shoes, combat boots and occasionally loafers. He might have, kind of, sorta given Gerard a complex about the pretty little black patent leather shoes with pink-with-black-polkadot bows on the toe his mom had sent out for little Elaina.

*

Brian insisted they all had to meet at Riot Squad's office and they go in the cars and arrive as a group. He'd managed to beg whine bribe and blackmail invites for two other Riot Squad groups to this as well, which made one hell of a dent in both bands operating capital but worth it for the cause, and the exposure. Brian was Brian, it was all about the exposure, the cause was just a good bonus.

Brian stared at him for a second when he showed up with Gee and Lyn. “You're an ass, Iero.”

Alicia liked his shoes. Christa liked his purse. Gerard proudly told them he'd found both helping Lyn find Frank's costume. Lyn covered Gerard's 'oh shit did I say that' look with squealing over Alicia's new tattoo.

Ray told him he looked pretty. Mikey's eyes were cackling even if he didn't so much as twitch his lips.

Bob stared. His eyes started at Frank's feet and slowly, slowly, fucking slow as molasses moved up to the top of Frank's head inch by inch. His eyes moved down, back up, taking in every detail from the strappy high healed sandals, the silk stockings, the sequined flapper dress and little beaded purse, the bangles on his wrists, the scarf around his neck. Makeup and hair done by the hairdresser Lyn had hired to help them both.

The hairdresser had been kind of a bitch and eyed their tattoos a bit. Bob was eyeing him hard. Just staring. Enough so that Frank was kind of absurdly glad that Alicia and Lyn had so much ink themselves that he wasn't the only one in a nice dress and high heels with full sleeves inked on his arms. He could have kicked himself for that idiotic thought but yeah, rational was really out the window on any and every count tonight though.

Okay yeah, he was turning into a blithering idiot but Bob was staring. And also, the jock under the silk tap pants he was wearing under the dress, really totally the best call he's made in years. Bob was staring, and he shifted a little trying not to squirm, silk against his ass and the tops of his thighs. Yeah. Totally a good call on the jock for the party.

“No way, Bryar. You ruin Frank's makeup, I ruin your ass,” Lyn's voice broke the spell of Bob's staring and stopped his reach for Frank cold.

Lyn. Was. Evil.

*

Pissing in a dress was a pain in the ass. Making sure the dress didn't get in the way and...just god. The less said about that the better.

Ditto for the damn photos along the red carpet and the stupid ass entertainment reporters with their stupid ass questions.

He ended up dancing with Lyn most of the evening when Gerard got distracted in conversation with somebody dressed as Darth Vader, Frank didn't bother to figure out who was behind the mask. Their security stepped in and only let him have a couple dances with Bob—well spaced apart. Getting drunk was kind of out. Walking and dancing in high heels was hazardous enough sober as far as he was concerned.

The butterflies in his stomach he'd done his best to pretend didn't exist all evening mutated into rioting pterodactyls or something as the car dropped them off at the house Bob was renting.

“I—gotta go to the bathroom,” Frank blurted as they got in the door.

“Don't change,” Bob murmured so quietly Frank really wasn't sure if Bob actually said it or if it was wishful thinking on his part.

He wasn't going to change. He'd gotten up the nerve to out this particular kink to Bob under the guise of Halloween which was theoretically safe enough and could be laughed off as the day. He wasn't going to chicken out now. He was good about following through once he decided on a course of stupidity—or maybe bad was a better choice of word because half the time that stubborn follow through got him in all sorts of trouble. The damned jock was going though.

Hell would totally freeze over before he ever admitted his hands were maybe trembling a bit. He about twisted his ankle and killed himself getting the tap pants and jock off and the tap pants back on and garter belt readjusted

*

“Damn it, Dixie,” Bob grumbled nearly stumbling over the dog. “Leash, girl, get your leash and I'll take you out.”

Dixie tore off and could be heard barking excitably from the kitchen—at the broom closet near the back door where her leash was kept. Unless she'd learned how to open doors in the last few days, she wasn't getting the leash herself. That didn't stop the excited 'hurry up, c'mon,c'mon, hurry up, leash is there, c'mon, hurry up' barks and the click of nails against the floor with Dixie clearly all but dancing in front of the broom closet door in anticipation.

“See how I rate,” Frank laughed.

Bob snorted. “Uh huh. Who shelled out eighty bucks for a sitter for their dogs tonight?”

Frank rolled his eyes, he wasn't correcting Bob's guess on what he was paying the dog sitter Brian had found for him either. Dixie got along fine with his dogs, and all of them were pretty well behaved but they were mostly still young enough, or at least young enough acting, to revert to puppy chewing and racing around playing when in a group. He hadn't wanted to spend what was left of his birthday after the charity party picking up a disaster made from unsupervised tag, possibly Bob screaming about chewed drumsticks. Dixie liked fetch, drumsticks looked like sticks, and even better had a good dose of Bob-scent on them. Yeah, Dixie loved drumsticks. Daisy and Pepper would be all over that checking out what Dixie had and what was so cool about them or a few nervous puddles left by Daisy and Pepper at being left alone away from home.

“Just take her out back a bit?” Frank suggested. If Bob took Dixie for a walk right now he'd...probably have a nervous breakdown, or at least lose all his nerve and change into the pile of clothes that had migrated over here and taken up residence in the back corner of Bob's closet.

Bob grumbled the clothes needed put away right somehow—how the hell Bob kept neat freak tendencies after touring so long was beyond Frank—but left the pile as it was in the corner of the closet. Frank wasn't ready for them to be anywhere but a pile in the corner of the closet. For all he grumbled, it was mostly just Bob being a neat freak and a little reminding Frank to put them away when he was ready.

“Yeah,” Bob agreed, staring again.

“What?” Frank finally demanded.

Bob shook his head. “You could have warned me. Give Brian a heart attack sure, but you could have warned me.”

Frank raised an eyebrow and tried not to freak completely. “Good or bad?”

“Good. Once my brain was done being broken—or mostly done. But good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Dixie's barks from the kitchen took a whining note.

“Better get her outside before you think you need to scrub the entire kitchen floor before bed.” Frank rolled his eyes.

“Mmm,” Bob took a step closer, his hand cupped Frank's cheek as he leaned down. “No need to worry about your makeup now that Lyn's not around to kill me.”

Frank made a near laughing sound into the kiss, the pterodactyls rioting in his stomach settling down a bit. Just a very little bit. What the hell had possessed him to even think of... Bob's hand against his back slid the material of the dress, and the silk camisole underneath and DAMN. He supposed it wouldn't as obscenely noticeable if his skin hadn't been completely chemically burned of even the finest hair very nearly everywhere. Despite Lyn's laughing suggestion—uh just no, that shit burned.

“Dixie,” Frank reminded. He wasn't sure if that was meant for Bob or himself, but Dixie was working herself into a frenzy.

“Yeah,” Bob agreed and kept Frank tucked close to his side as they headed for the kitchen and out the back door. “Yard, Dixie.”

Dixie barked twice at Bob at revocation of her promised walking, though apparently yard was good enough and ran out the door, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the yard well away from the light by the back door.

“Think she called you an asshole,” Frank laughed.

“Yeah, probably. We can take 'em all to the dog park tomorrow or something.”

He actually managed the couple steps down out the back door onto the patio without twisting his damned ankle. His feet were killing him. The kind of really ridiculous nerves he'd been fighting all night exploded to full force, the slightly calmed pterodactyls thought it was Hell Night in Detroit in his stomach or something. Really ridiculous because this was Bob. They'd known each other how many years, lived together in vans way back and on buses touring for months on end? The guys had been about all that had held him together in the first days after losing Jamia. There were still days he couldn't believe she was gone over two years later.

It was Bob. You'd think it would be easier.

Sometimes it was easy. They'd been friends too long, been through too much shit together. Sometimes the fact they had been friends so long made everything that much harder. Nothing like totally fucking up one of your most important friendships, maybe all when the band was factored in and how tight everyone was, on top of a broken heart if things went to shit. And god knew they'd managed to almost fuck themselves and everyone up a million times in the last few months, mostly over-thinking really stupid shit or panicking when things seemed too easy. Thankfully Lyn, Alicia and Christa had figured things out, maybe before Bob and Frank had, and headed off any possible worried about the band freak outs from Gerard, Mikey and Ray long before the two of them had ever said a word about kind of getting together.

Dixie decided a few laps around the yard was in order once she'd done her business. Bob sat down on the glider and pulled Frank into his lap.

“She's hyper tonight.”

“Mmm, she missed playtime and walkies today. Just got set out back here.”

“Shame on you,” Frank shook his head. “What had you so busy you were neglecting poor Dixie?” he teased.

“There's this guy.”

“A guy?”

“Mmm,” Bob agreed and brushed a kiss across Frank's lips. “Totally hot amazing guy.”

“So what about this guy? And should I be jealous?” Frank managed to tease.

“Ass,” Bob snorted and brushed another kiss across Frank's lips.

“So what about this guy?”

“It's his birthday.”

“It is, huh?” Frank huffed.

“You really are a brat sometimes. The girls got something all Day of the Dead planned tomorrow night for your birthday since today was fucked up. We're supposed to be over to Ray and Christa's at like seven.”

Frank grinned. His birthday had kind of gotten lost in all of this. Okay, no, he wasn't fucking six or a spoiled asshole or anything but one of them even just saying happy birthday would have been nice.

Bob's hand rested on his knee and slid upwards, his touch careful and light not to snag the stockings somehow, dragging the skirt up with it to the tops of the silk stockings. “Jesus,” Bob whispered roughly.

Frank shivered at the fingertip sliding back and forth over the edge of the stockings, slipping over skin. “Like?” Frank managed to get out in a really small, kind of thready voice.

“Yeah,” Bob's voice a little raspy and ragged.

“Not weird?”

“Fuckin' hot,” Bob rasped and leaned his head forward, his lips meeting Frank's soft and reassuring, tongue sliding over Frank's lips. Bob almost growled as the kiss deepened, slow and easy, no rush despite the underlying hunger.

A ball was dropped on his lap and a nose prodded at his dick.

“Goddamn it, Dixie. Your face is not the one I want there.” Frank grumbled pulling back from the kiss and reaching to shove Dixie's head back.

Bob choked and managed to wheeze out, “Is that a hint?”

“Asshole,” Frank managed just barely.

Dixie whined and nosed at the ball she'd dropped in Frank's lap.

Frank reached and scratched behind her ears. “Yes, you're a good girl, you know it. You just wanna play.”

“So do I,” Bob murmured in Frank's ear.

Dixie whined. Frank almost did too.

Bob threw the ball, Dixie gave a fairly quiet excited yip and took off into the shadows of the yard again.

Frank tilted his head a bit as Bob kissed his neck, fingertip still teasing at the edge of the stockings.

“Oh...fuck,” Bob croaked as his hand slid a little higher under the skirt of Frank's skirt along the strap of the garter belt and ran into the lacy edging of the tap pants.

Frank shivered. And a ball was dropped on his crotch with a furry jaw planted on his leg. He grabbed the ball and threw it blindly, eyes locked on Bob's face. Dixie huffed and went back after her ball, not too thrilled with such a half-assed play time after mostly ignored all day by Bob's admittance but in the mood to run.

“Freaking?” Frank managed to get the single word out, all thoughts of passing it off as Halloween and part of the costume given up on. He was too damned nervous to manage the pretense.

Bob shook his head slowly, Frank nearly squirmed under the intensity of Bob's stare.

Dixie was back, ball dropped in Frank's lap again. Bob threw it, Dixie went running. “Not freaking,” Bob murmured.

The hand on Frank's leg moved to cup his cheek. The hand on his back rubbed, what was probably meant to be soothing but the movement caused the shift of the silk.

“Not freaking,” Bob repeated and leaned to kiss Frank again.

“There was this guy?” Frank prompted unsteadily against Bob's lips a few moments later.

Dixie was back with her ball. Frank scratched at her ears with a shaky hand then reached for the ball throwing it again. Dixie licked his hand and was off at a run after her ball.

“This guy that made you neglect poor Dixie today, that she didn't get her quota of walking and playing and is wound up now?” They weren't going to get a break until she was worn down enough to settle. She was a good girl, but she had her limits on good behavior and wanted to play too badly just now to give them any peace. She'd be whining at the bedroom door if she didn't get some of it out of her system.

Bob snorted. “Dixie is a spoiled little ass.” The spoiled ass in question back again with her ball, tail going ninety miles an hour at her name. “Yeah, you. You're a spoiled ass. Ain'tcha, Dixie? Yeah you are.” Bob said fondly and reached to ruffle Dixie's ears. Dixie barked happily around the ball in her mouth. Bob took the ball and threw it again. Dixie tore off with a happy yip.

“So what were you doing today?”

Frank's eyebrows raised as Bob blushed.

“Totally fucking humiliating myself maybe,” Bob whispered. “This guy—“

“What about this guy?”

“Totally amazing, gorgeous, wonderful guy, and it's his birthday.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, and kinda shitty birthday too 'cause there's this little Napoleon asshole.”

Frank smiled. “Brian has his moments.”

“That he does,” Bob agreed. Dixie was back for another pet and her ball thrown again. Frank was pretty sure she did a doggy eye roll at Bob stealing a quick kiss while their fingers tangled in her fur. If dogs could talk, Dixie would probably be giving them hell with a long list of how they were rotten peoples for not playing with her as much as each other or something.

“So what about this guy's birthday?”

Bob nipped at his bottom lip with a smile. “Swear you're six sometimes.”

Frank snorted. Bob's hand was back on his knee, sliding up under the dress to tease along the top of the stocking. He shivered a little.

“You're getting your cupcakes for breakfast,” Bob murmured.

“Cupcakes? You bought me cupcakes?”

“I made you cupcakes.”

“Are they edible?” Frank teased.

“Asshole,” Bob smiled.

“How many batches did you burn?”

“Shut up.”

Frank laughed.

Dixie was back for another round of pets and her ball thrown again.

“What else?”

“Surprises. You have to wait,” Bob shook his head.

“Evil,” Frank mock pouted.

Bob's hand slid a little higher on the bare skin of his thigh between the top of the stocking and bottom of the tap pants. “Skin's so fuckin' smooth.”

Frank swallowed. “Sensitive as hell,” he mumbled. As much from the fact he was pretty sure a layer of skin had come off with the hair as completely unused to there being absolutely nothing between his skin and what it was touching. It wasn't like he was the world's hairiest guy or anything but the difference was glaringly noticeable and kind of driving him insane with it being so foreign.

Bob's hand rubbed just a little.

Frank nearly rolled his eyes at Dixie back again but took her ball and threw it.

“This a thing?”

“No. Maybe. Kinda. Just a little one,” Frank hesitantly managed to get out, sure he sounded like a stuttering idiot. Hell, Jamia hadn't been real fond of this kind of thing for her she would have freaked out like...

“What?”

Frank shook his head.

“What?” Bob repeated.

Dixie was back and kind of huffed. It seemed she had given up on them actually really playing with her just now.

His feet hurt all the worse when he was back on them. High heels were fucking evil. They really were. Dixie was settled in the kitchen, and the door installed just for her that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house latched firmly. She had her food and water and a big pet pillow to lay on and a rawhide bone to chew on, radio left on quietly to keep her company.

“Tired?” Bob murmured as he wrapped an arm around Frank's waist.

Frank shook his head. “Past that a while back, wired now.”

“You looked gorgeous tonight. I think Christa's gonna kill me. She didn't get to dance much. Ray had to keep reminding me why I couldn't go cut in on you and Lyn,” Bob said ruefully and leaned his head down just a bit to kiss Frank.

The one and only advantage to the heels, kissing was easier while standing—but so not enough to make up for the fact the things were pure hell.

“Shoes are fucking killing me,” Frank muttered against Bob's lips as the kiss ended.

“They look painful,” Bob agreed.

“Trust me, they are,” Frank grumbled. “Lyn's evil and wouldn't let me wear flats.”

“Lyn's married to Gerard. For that matter Alicia's married to Mikey. The Way women are scarier than their husbands,” Bob smiled.

Frank grinned. Lyn and Alicia were great, Mikey and Gee were a couple really lucky bastards to have found them, but yeah, they were scarier than their husbands. And evil too, at least Lyn was.

Frank stopped short in the bedroom doorway. Candles sat on the dressers and nightstands waiting to be lit. Leather cuffs on the pillows, tied to the headboard with fairly short cords—where they were on the pillows was about all the farther those were moving anywhere. “Not sure if you're a closet romantic or a closet perv, Bryar,” Frank teased a little unsteadily.

Bob shrugged, tips of his ears red and cheeks just a little pinker than usual above his beard. “You always liked that one porno Cortez had with the co-eds jumping that guy and tying him up...”

Frank gave Bob an almost shy smile. “Gotta put this up or Lyn'll kill me.” Frank mumbled hands going to the bracelets he was wearing. Borrowed jewelry safely set on the dresser he headed for the bed and sat on the edge to get the shoes from hell off, not looking at Bob.

This...this was absolutely ridiculous. The pterodactyls in his stomach were back to full freaking riot. They'd danced around even getting together, and a hell of a lot of hurdles even getting that far. Not the least of the hurdles missing Jamia and feeling like he was betraying her even if she'd probably come back and kick his ass and haunt him if she could for that. Bob never having acted on an attraction to a guy before. Frank had never quite got the hang of anatomy being any sort of deciding factor when it came to being interested in someone, it really never had been way back when and then there was Jamia. The band and the guys and being friends for so long actually deterrents.

He was getting damned well irritated with himself for being such a twit.

He stood, and DAMN his feet hurt worse now that the shoes were off than they had all night. He nearly went nose first into Bob's bare shoulder. He'd missed Bob undressing in being a complete idiot. Bob looked almost shy and awkward for a second as his arms went around Frank. Well, at least he wasn't the only one kind of being an idiot tonight.

The movement of Bob's hand on his back caused material to slide. To hell with being a twit, it was his birthday and he was getting laid damn it. Okay, maybe he was kind of six in some ways but damn it! “Not freaking, huh?” he managed.

“Nope,” Bob whispered reaching for the zipper on the back of the dress.

Frank shivered a little as Bob slid the dress down his arms and it pooled at his feet. Bob kind of just stared for a minute before he leaned down and kissed him for a moment, his hand slid over the back of the silk camisole. Frank swallowed back a groan at the material's slide against his skin.

“Want the cuffs?”

“Yeah,” Frank managed, a little wide eyed and breath catching somewhere between frazzled nerves and anticipation.

*

The pterodactyls in his stomach were rioting worse than ever as Bob moved away, leaving Frank on the bed as he lit the candles casting the room in flickering half-light and shadows when the light was turned off. Frank was glad of the cover of—well, dimness and shadows at least. He was sure he had to look really fucking ridiculous. His arms resting above his head with the soft leather cuffs securely around his wrists. The ink on his skin absurd contrast to the black-lace edged wine colored silk of the camisole and tap pants, which lower on his hips than they were meant to be, and black garter belt and real silk stockings.

Bob stopped at the foot of the bed and just stared.

And STARED.

Frank tried to swallow, his mouth gone so dry with nerves it was impossible. His heart was spazzing out, trying to race and skip beats at the same time. His breath caught tight and sharp in his chest. The only part of him not completely freaking out that this could possibly be a really bad idea was his dick. A wiggle—nervous squirm—he couldn't quite contain shifted the silk of the tap pants. Yeah, his dick at least thought this was probably the best idea ever. The rest of him was headed for full blown panic attack as Bob just STARED.

“So fuckin' pretty, baby,” Bob grated out, sounding kind of dazed, his breath maybe a little heavy and voice maybe rougher and lower than usual.

Frank chewed on his bottom lip and if he hadn't been cuffed he might have been calling things off and running to the bathroom to hyperventilate and strip off what he had on.

Bob knelt on the edge of the bed and crawled up over Frank, looming over him on all fours.

“You okay?” Bob asked.

Frank nodded. “Yeah,” he managed to get out.

Bob lowered his head. Frank's breath caught as Bob carefully sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, licking at it with his tongue. Frank squirmed a little, hips rolling upwards into nothing but air, silk shifting against his skin and Bob was raised up enough over him that he was out of reach.

Frank managed to stifle the little noise of protest as Bob lifted his head up away.

Bob swallowed.

Oh god that staring was going to kill him.

“Got some other stuff,” Bob said quietly, so quietly Frank almost had to strain to hear him over the blood pounding in his ears.

Frank swallowed and finally asked “Other stuff?” what seemed an eternity and a few thuds of his heart later.

“Cock ring and butt plug?” It was almost a question, awkward and uncertain. Even in the shadowy flickers of light from the candles Bob's ears were dark enough Frank had no doubt of just how red they were. Bob was never exactly shy with Frank, sure as hell not a prude or anything, but hell would probably freeze over long before Bob managed dirty talk or phone sex or anything like that. Words that meant anything just were never Bob's favorite thing, especially when the risk of screwing them up was high and mixed with his aversion to dirty talk...Bob actually saying that much was something. But then again something like a far more likely look in the drawer and want to? wouldn't quite work with Frank cuffed to the bed and unable to do that.

“Fuck yeah,” Frank groaned with a restless shift that slid silk against skin again. “Yeah.”

Bob lowered his head again and Frank groaned into the kiss, slow and careful and hungry. His hips rolled upwards, continuously disappointed with nothing but air and the empty space Bob was keeping there raised above Frank like he was.

Frank made a sound of frustrated protest when Bob moved away to rummage in the nightstand drawer. A strip of condoms, plug and lube dropped by Frank's hip as Bob settled between Frank's knees—staring again, cock ring in one hand.

Frank fought not to squirm. His breath caught once again hot and almost painful in his chest, wishing Bob would goddamned say something rather than just stare. His arms tugged reflexively at the restraints, not sure if he wanted to cover himself or reach for Bob, naked and hard sitting between Frank's knees, but the leather cuffs, leather cord and headboard didn't give an inch.

“So pretty, baby,” Bob whispered. His fingertip slid down along the garter strap along the top of Frank's thigh. “Look so fuckin' hot like this.”

Bob's eyes trailed over him, so slow and intense Frank couldn't stop the wriggle. The single fingertip that slid up and down his thigh between the top of the stocking and the leg of the tap pants along the garter strap was driving him nuts. He rocked his hips up, the slide of silk against his dick at least some kind of friction, something and only served to tease and make him want that much more.

The bastard teased. The lightest of touches along the hem of the tap pants, over the front of them. Fingertips feather light and barely felt, just enough to cause the barest shift of silk against his skin. Frank groaned and rocked his hips up a little.

“You have absolutely no patience,” Bob whispered, fingertip tracing up the length of Frank's dick through the silk.

Frank bit his bottom lip, stifling a whine as shifted his hips into Bob's touch just a little. Patience? Patience?! Now? Yeah right. He'd been fighting nerves all day and now Bob was quiet and staring and fucking teasing with too soft touches that weren't much more than a tickle of silk against skin.

Bob worked the front of the tap pants down enough to fasten the cockring on Frank and then back up. Frank bit his lip as Bob's finger trailed back downward over his dick through the silk, cupping and gently rubbing his balls for a minute.

His hands grasped at the thin leather cord that held the cuffs to the headboard, about worthless for something to hold onto and steady himself even if the cord wasn't allowing any give, any real movement of his hands and arms. For all he was safely lying in the middle of the bed, it didn't change the sensation of near free falling as Bob's eyes roamed over him.

Bob leaned forward, on all fours over Frank once again. So close, so damn close, each shift trying to make contact caused silk and lace to slip over sensitive skin. Hyper-awareness of everything—Bob's gaze, his reactions and Frank's own nerves and self-consciousness—translated to nerve endings in overdrive under already sensitive skin.

Bob lowered his head. The kiss slow and unhurried, tasting, mapping, claiming Frank's mouth completely. Frank shifted restlessly, silk against skin driving each nerve ending a little crazier with each shift, the faintest scratch of lace against his stomach and chest on the edges of the camisole, along his thighs at the hem of the tap pants.

Frank whined, he was man enough to admit that was just a pure goddamned whine as Bob broke the kiss and shifted. Sharp quick nips along his jaw and throat, just enough to have an edge to them but not hurt, just enough to gain his attention. A needy, nervous shift slid silk against him, he was desperate for any contact and Bob, damn him, was still looming over him.

“Can you stand the plug too?” Bob asked, ears red as all hell, cheeks pink above his beard in the flickering light and shadows given off by the candles. “Want to touch and play with you a while—can you stand the plug too or that too much?”

Frank nearly moaned. Bob's words sending a wave of heat through him and ratcheting up every nerve endings awareness.

He wanted fucked damn it, and preferably right damn now. Bob's staring, and little teasing feather-light touches, and the silk against his skin that had been driving him insane all night and were no longer tempered by having to try to pay attention to surroundings and not humiliate himself at the party or the torture devices Lyn had thought were just so cute, also known as shoes no longer killing him. Yeah. Fucked right damn now would be good. He didn't want this over. Bob hadn't freaked or been turned off, but hell only knew when or if he'd ever get the nerve to do this again. He was also sure Bob was going to fucking kill him yet tonight. Nerves that had steadily built all day and exploded through the evening leaving him still wound up, scattered and jittery.

“Yeah. Yeah I can. Won't be too much,” Frank managed.

“Uh huh,” Bob raised an eyebrow.

“Want it,” Frank insisted.

“Okay,” Bob husked and kissed him again, staying far enough above Frank to drive him crazy.

Frank groaned as Bob sat back between his legs again. Tickle-light touches along his legs as Bob lifted first one then the other so his feet were against Bob's chest, toes curling over his shoulders.

The tap pants were worked down just enough in back, front catching on his dick, elastic stretched across the back of his thighs. His eyes drifted almost-closed with a swallow as a slick fingertip teased at his hole. He shifted trying to stretch toward that finger, get it in him. The leather of the cuffs were padded enough not to cut in but unforgiving and didn't give an inch, causing the movement to strain at his shoulders and arms. Each shift caused the camisole and tap pants to shift as well.

“Bob...” Frank complained with a moan.

Bob's other hand slid along the side of his leg, toying with the straps of the garter as that damn finger finally pressed into Frank. “Patience.”

Frank bit his lip. Fuck patience. He shifted trying to rock himself more onto Bob's finger, silk of the camisole sticking to sweaty skin, silk of the tap pants sliding against his dick, pull in his arms from straining at the cuffs. The evil, evil cord holding the cuffs to the headboard in his hands, taunting with its being too thin to grasp and hold onto for anything.

“Bastard, more,” Frank finally demanded. “Damn it, Bob.” His hips bucked as Bob's finger pressed all the way in and crooked.

Frank writhed. Feet braced against Bob he fucked himself on that single finger, no where near enough and the angle just perfect that each movement rubbed against his prostate. He closed his eyes, too raw, too exposed to stand Bob watching so intensely but it didn't do much good. Bob had a way of looking that could almost be felt.

A second finger added just as tortuously slow.

“That's it,” Bob rasped.

Frank whined and shifted his hips, legs tired from the unfamiliar heels all night trembling just a little.

“That's it, baby, fuck yourself.”

Frank groaned and did just that. Silk shifted against his skin with each movement, Bob's fingers angled just right in his ass to send him nearly into orbit.

“Please, fuck, please, Bob,” Frank gasped out, hands futilely hanging onto the thin leather cords that might as well have not been there. His breath came in ragged whimpering pants and his whole body shook, legs trembling and threatening to give out as he moved. Bob's fingers moving against his prostate with each and every wriggle, Bob's thumb pressed up behind his balls just right adding to that. The day of wound up nerves shattering into desperate neediness.

“You can take it, baby,” Bob rasped out.

Frank's whine turned into nearly a sob as Bob's fingers crooked just a little more. “Need to come—”

“Not yet.”

Frank whined in complaint as Bob's fingers slid from his ass, they hadn't been nearly enough but now he was left aching for them back, anything...

“Shh, shh,” Bob's hand slid over his stomach, maybe it was meant to be soothing but it wasn't. Hairless skin too sensitive, Frank too wound up, Bob's wrist too damned close to his dick and somehow managing not to touch, the shift to try to rub against Bob's arm only slid silk against his hard on.

Frank trembled, feet still braced against Bob's shoulders and ass up off the mattress as Bob reached for the plug and a condom, rolling it on then lubed it.

“Please, god—“

“Shh, shh, not done yet,” Bob rasped slowly pushing the plug into Frank.

Frank writhed and clenched around the toy needing more. It was thick enough to burn a bit going in, but not nearly enough and not what he wanted.

Bob nipped at his ankle once the plug was in and worked the back of the tap pants back up then set Frank's trembling legs down onto the mattress. Frank shifted, silk slid against him and Bob just stared, blue eyes practically burned over Frank making him want to squirm.

“Gonna fucking kill me,” Frank managed to get out, hands twisting, giving up on the cords and grabbing the pillow under his head, fingers digging in helplessly against the out of control freefall feeling in his chest and his gut.

“Nope,” Bob shook his head. And the asshole scooted back not closer. A fingertip slid lightly over the bottom of his foot enough to tickle and make him jerk reflexively.

“Bob!”

“Shh, shh,” Bob whispered roughly, fingertips sliding feather light over Frank's shins.

Barely there touches slid up his legs, danced along the edge of the stockings. The silk's stick-slide against sweat damp skin with every restless shift of his body was maddening. Every movement shifted the plug in his ass just a bit and the intensity of Bob's gaze had him wriggling as much as the fingers trailing over skin and silk on his legs.

“You're thinkin' too much, Frank,” Bob whispered.

Frank gasped out a sound close to a laugh, too breathless to quite be exactly as Bob moved over him once again. This time he he didn't hover out of reach. His weight pinned Frank to the mattress. Frank's grip tightened on the pillow under his head as he tried to shift his body against Bob's.

“So pretty like this, baby,” Bob repeated against Frank's lips before kissing him.

Frank moaned into the kiss and writhed up against Bob as much as he could.

Kisses were pressed along his throat as he struggled to catch his breath. Hands moved over him, knowing exactly what he liked and pushing him even further towards mindless need with the deliberate slow touches, some soft, some not, playing with the silk against his skin. Every shift, every roll of his hips up against Bob, desperate for some sort of friction that did little good with the damned cock ring caused the plug in his ass to move.

Lips and teeth and tongue, nips and kisses and licks, on silk, on skin. A litany of begging, pleading and cussing staggered through his head, flashes of desperation that spilled out of his mouth in broken gasps.

The sound that fell from him as Bob nuzzled mouthed at his cock through the silk of the tap pants was nearly a sob. Teeth scraped lightly over silk, over him.

“Bob!”

Bob moved back away, sitting on his heels between Frank's knees. If his hands were free Frank might have strangled him. Short, bitten ragged fingernails scraped lightly over his thighs between the tap pants and the stockings.

“Shh,” Bob reached for a condom.

Frank shifted, restless and needy, silent demand for Bob to hurry up and fuck him already. The plug moved causing him to groan. He whined a little as Bob scratched lightly along the garter straps before lifting Frank's legs to rest against his chest and shoulders and unfastening the straps from the stockings. The tap pants were worked halfway down his thighs.

Frank whined out a moan as the plug was slowly eased out of him. “Bob!” he nearly howled as the plug was slid back in. “Fuck me damn it,” he whined.

“I am.”

Frank trembled and shifted against the plug slowly moving in and out of his ass. “Please!” The need to come moved beyond ache into blind desperation all the worse for the little strip of leather that made it impossible. He whined and moved restlessly as the plug was finally dropped off to the side.

He moaned as Bob finally pushed into him, Frank bucked up straining,needing more now, not at Bob's careful, torturous pace. Bob pushed forward, leaning until the pull in Frank's legs and back would have been uncomfortable when not overridden by need and made breathing a little difficult. The elastic of the tap pants still bunched around his thighs stretched and dug into his legs. Frank didn't care, Bob was so deep in him. Slow, too slow and too careful, the angle had his prostate slid against with every thrust. Frank wasn't sure if the disjointed litany of fuck, now harder, goddamn please was only in his head or if it was spoken aloud.

“Please, pleaseplease,”he nearly sobbed. God he needed to come. Bob shifted his weight, almost too much on Frank, pulling more at his back and legs and making breathing more difficult for a second, but then the cock ring was undone and orgasm tore through him. Bob straightened up a bit, no longer bending Frank nearly in half, roughly grabbed his hips and pounded into him, coming moments later with a groan.

*

The cuffs were undone and Bob managed to kind of collapse to Frank's side, roll them just enough Frank was half draped on him, sweaty silk of the camisole clinging to him, the tap pants still halfway down his thighs.

“You okay?”

“Nnnn, let you know when my brain works,” Frank murmured into Bob's neck, almost petting Bob's chest his hands finally free to touch.