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Like Origami (the Not What You Thought Mix)

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No one spent more than five minutes with Frank before realising that he was an annoying shit. Bob wondered how anyone put up with him, he really did. At least, that's what he told himself as he pushed aside Frank's hand in his face and tried to concentrate on his book.

"Come on, I know you've done it before," said Frank, trying for a coaxing tone that just came off as whining. Bob huffed and turned in his seat, trying to block Frank out. It was impossible. He was fidgeting, almost vibrating with impatience, behind Bob.

"Jepha told me," said Frank. "He told me how great it was and you should do it with me too." Bob frowned at his book but didn't say anything. He remembered Jeph was fondness, but he didn't think it was anything worth bragging about. Jepha had been eager to please, pretty as hell begging, and he'd loved it when Bob manhandled him. Bob had fucked him hard, enjoying the contrast of his handprints on Jeph's white skin and black ink. It had been hot and fun, and Bob could admit he kind of had a thing for small, tattooed loudmouths. He pushed that thought aside. The next morning, Jepha had thanked him politely and given him a kiss before leaving, but it wasn't like the earth had shaken. He sighed and moved his arm away from where Frank was prodding at it.

Frank kept fidgeting, idly shifting to poking Bob in the shoulder. Bob contemplated locking himself in the bathroom, but Frank would find a way to be annoying even on the other side of a door. Hell, sometimes, Frank could be annoying on the other side of a fucking venue. Bob didn't even have to be able to see him to know that he was being irritating. The short glimpses he did get, of Frank talking, giggling and flirting, were enough to confirm this belief.

"Come on," wheedled Frank, "aren't I pretty enough for you?" Bob closed his eyes. That was not the fucking problem. He pushed aside the images of just how pretty Frank would be. He didn't need to think about it; he needed Frank to go away and let him read his book in peace. He needed to not do anything stupid; like fall in love, his brain supplied. He read the same sentence again, but nothing sank in any further than it had done the first five times.

"Bob!" whined Frank. Bob concentrated on the irritating sound of Frank's voice, the unattractive face he was no doubt making. Frank poked Bob harder in the shoulder, hurting him. Bob felt anger burning under his skin, mixed up with lust; they grew no matter how hard he tried to push them both away. Underneath was hurt that Frank couldn't seem to get that this wasn't a game, not to Bob, but he wanted to examine that even less than the lust or the anger. Frank jabbed him again. "Bob, come on, Jepha said you were good."

Bob's fingers wrapped around Frank's wrist and tugged, hard, before Bob's brain had gproperly communicated his intention to move. Frank was jerked off his feet, half into Bob's lap, half on the floor. Looking up, eyes wider than usual and hair hanging in his face, Frank licked his lips and was finally silent.

"And Jepha's recommendation is all that matters, right?" said Bob. He squeezed harder on Frank's wrist. "Is this what you want, then? To be on your knees for me?"

"Why not?" asked Frank. He'd covered up his moment of surprise, and his expression was stubborn. Bob knew he'd go through with anything Bob asked of him now, just to prove his point, prove he could. Bob knew that the right thing to do would be let go of Frank's wrist, push him away and get out. Anywhere would be better than here. He didn't want Frank in a fit of obstinacy, but anger was weakening that resolve. He wanted Frank, and it was as simple and as complicated as that.

"Do you even know what you're asking for?" Bob questioned.

"What?" asked Frank. "It's sex. You're hot, I'm hot; you're single, I'm single." He wriggled his hand in Bob's grip and looked up at him, nearly pouting. Bob wanted to point out all the ways that it wasn't just sex, but his anger boiled over instead and he shoved Frank backwards, standing up and opening his pants. Frank sprawled on his ass, mouth open and eyes fixed on Bob's hands as they worked on his belt and pushed down the denim of his pants. Bob grabbed a handful of Frank's hair and dragged him closer as he sat down again.

"Fine," he said. "Get me hard with your mouth." He urged Frank a little closer and let go, waiting to see what Frank would do. Frank looked up at him and his mouth opened. Bob cut him off. "I don't want to hear a fucking word out of you, unless you're telling me you want to stop."

Closing his mouth again, Frank shuffled closer, eyes fixed on Bob's dick. Bob couldn't see his face, so he wasn't sure if trepidation was making him slow. Bob wasn't very surprised he was going through with it, but he was surprised by how easily he was coming. Then Frank's hand landed on Bob's thigh and he slowly licked his way up Bob's cock. He was obviously not practiced, but he grew more confident as he licked and mouthed his way over Bob's skin.

As Bob felt his cock hardening and Frank's mouth opened over the head and sucked, he slid his hand back into Frank's hair. This touch was gentle, a reward of sorts, and Frank made a surprised little noise, like he hadn't been expecting tenderness. Bob's anger spiked again, but he kept his hand gentle. Of course Frank hadn't been expecting gentleness, or any other kind of loving. Bob wasn't sure Frank could comprehend that this might come with complications like emotions. He tugged a little and guided Frank up and down on his cock, fingers of his other hand coming down to stroke over Frank's cheek. For a wistful moment, he wanted this to be all about the complications.

"Good boy," he said, encouraging Frank to go just a little deeper. "That's right, so good, Frankie."

Frank shivered, visible through his t-shirt, and he whined a little and sucked a bit harder before pulling back and shaking off Bob's hands. He wasn't telling Bob he wanted to stop, but he wasn't sucking his dick anymore either.

"You want to know what happens if you're not good?" asked Bob. Frank didn't say anything, just tilted his head slightly. Bob shook his head and stood. "If you're not good, we stop," he said. He reached for the waist of his pants, hitching them up and holding them closed. He moved to shuffle past when Frank grabbed his wrist. Bob looked down at him, ignoring the swollen shape of Frank's lips.

"Jepha said-" started Frank, but Bob cut him off.

"So you thought this was all about me smacking you round?" Bob finished. He moved his free hand to the back of Frank's head and jerked back on his hair, hard enough to make Frank gasp and tears spring to his eyes. "It's not about the bruises, or the pain, or the motherfucking orgasms, Frank. It's about what you need, and what I give you." He let go abruptly and Frank sank down onto the floor. Bob stepped past him and headed for the bathroom.

Shutting and locking the door behind him, Bob looked at himself in the mirror. He felt like fifty kinds of fool for not taking what Frank had offered. Tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them back up, fingers clumsy on the buckle, he wondered if he should have just kept going. The anger was gone now; regret was setting in, cold and sharp. He couldn't imagine how bad he'd feel if he'd taken it further. He splashed his face with cold water and dried off, turning and facing the door. He had little expectation of finishing his book now.


Contrary to expectations, the room was empty when Bob emerged. He retrieved his book from where he'd dropped it and smoothed out a few bent pages with a frown. He should probably go and look for Frank and make sure he was okay, but he squashed his concern. Frank was probably off being an ass somewhere else and had already forgotten about those moments on his knees for Bob, looking so sweet with his eyes closed and his lips wet. Bob sat down again with his book and flicked through to the page he'd been on before. Settling into the rhythm of the words, he managed to clear his mind of all thought of Frank until the door clicked open hours later.

Bob half turned at the noise, stretching as he moved and realised how still he'd been sitting. He saw Frank close the door and lean back against it and turned completely to face him. He raised his eyebrow as Frank stood there and continued to stare at him. Bob wondered idly if he'd managed to break Frank with his cock and half smiled at the thought. Frank seemed to take that as some kind of permission and came further into the room. He stopped just in front of Bob, as still and tentative as Bob had ever seen him, though his eyes were focussing everywhere but on Bob's face. The calm was all nerves, then.

"We're going to try this again," said Frank. He glanced up at Bob from under his lashes, and the stubborness was still there. Bob didn't think he was doing this just to be stubborn, though, not this time. Whatever had happened in the last few hours, this wasn't Frank determined to go through with something just because he'd been told no, or just because he was being obstinate, or even curious. Bob wasn't quite sure what Frank did want, though.

"We are?" asked Bob, blinking as Frank dropped to his knees in front of him. Leaning in, Frank rubbed his cheek against Bob's belt buckle, eyes closed but face turned up enough for Bob to see the nervousness still, but also determination and desire there too. He ran his hand through Frank's hair and wondered if he should be tugging Frank up to his feet and demanding some explanations. He didn't want to, though. This was almost sweet, definitely not just Frank being an asshole. Bob was sick of resisting, and he wanted to see where this went. "Same deal as before," said Bob. "Be good, and I'll even let you come."

He could see the glimmer of a smirk on Frank's face, but also relief. When he got his pants open and down, Frank didn't hesitate. Licking down Bob's cock, swirling his tongue around the head, he seemed more assured than last time. Bob stroked his head and watched his hands unclench on Bob's legs and his face smooth out from worry and into pleasure. Thrusting a little, Bob felt Frank's fingers twitch, but he didn't move or try to stop. He looked beautiful with his eyes closed, utterly abandoned to whatever Bob wanted. Bob wanted to do everything, but he just twisted his fingers in Frank's hair and held him still as he fucked his mouth.

"You look so sweet," said Bob. "You're being so good." Frank moaned. Bob appreciated his efforts to keep his teeth out of the way, to use his tongue to make it better as Bob thrust harder, a little deeper. There was no tension in Frank's shoulders, no smirking or snarking on his face. He was solely focused on being what Bob wanted, and that made the moment even hotter for Bob. He thrust faster and Frank moaned again and took everything Bob gave him. Orgasm starting to smoulder already at the base of his spine, Bob rubbed his thumb over Frank's cheek, down his throat. He wanted to tell Frank how beautiful he was, how the sight of him like this was hotter than anything he could even have imagined, but he was too close already. Caught almost by surprise, Bob curled half over Frank and came hard, pulling back just before he fell over and barely managing to get to the ground without hurting himself.

Frank fell backwards, sprawled on the carpet. His eyes were still closed and the bottom half of his face was smeared with spit and come. Bob shuffled around to lie next to him and wiped over his face with his own sleeve.

"Was I good?" asked Frank. He opened his eyes; they were still dark, still needing. Bob tucked Frank's hair back so he could see his face properly. "Was I good?" Frank asked again. "You said." He poked at Bob half-heartedly, not fighting it when Bob caught his hand and squeezed hard.

"Yeah, you were good," said Bob. "You can come."

"Kiss me," said Frank. He tilted his head up, trying to get closer. "Please." Bob leaned closer, propping himself up on one elbow and using the other hand to support Frank just how he wanted him. Frank made a little noise into the kiss, halfway between a whimper and a groan. He was shaking with tension against Bob, his mouth soft and greedy. Bob heard the jangle of his belt buckle and the rasp of his zipper, but then Frank's hands curled into Bob's shoulders and Bob broke the kiss.

"Please," said Frank, and Bob smiled against his neck. When he wrapped his hand around Frank's cock, Frank groaned again, panting loudly and already urgent.

"I like it when you say please," whispered Bob. Frank's fingers tightened for a moment, but relaxed the next.

"Please," said Frank. "Bob, please."

If Frank had been beautiful on his knees for Bob, he was just as beautiful now, begging Bob for more. His eyes were closed and he was flushed hot, mouth still moving around words he didn't have enough breath to vocalise. He came quietly, sobbing gently through the aftershocks and not even noticing when Bob wiped his hand on his t-shirt. Bob watched him relax into the carpet and only slowly wind back up to awareness. It took longer than he expected, but he used the time to memorise the flutter of Frank's eyelashes and the satisfied, sleepy curve to his lips. Finally, Frank blinked slowly and yawned.

"Are you going to leave me alone to read now?" asked Bob. It was fifty questions wrapped in one, and Bob knew Frank could tell, just from the way he tensed.

"Am I going to have to do stupid shit to get your attention?" asked Frank. It wasn't quite the answer Bob wanted, but it was a long way towards it.

Bob considered Frank's question, but he knew what the answer was. Frank had his attention; had always had it. Perhaps this meant that maybe Frank would be wanting it for real now. He smiled. Maybe he was getting all the things he wanted today.

"Let's actually get on that nice comfy bed," he said. "Bunks are so uncomfortable."

Frank closed his eyes, but he smiled wide and happily. "Carry me, Bob," he demanded. Sitting up, and slowly getting to his feet and kicking away his jeans, Bob watched Frank and thought about all the possibilities.

"You realise that just because I didn't spank you before, it doesn't mean that I won't, right?" he asked. Frank's eyes opened and the look he gave Bob was masterly in its fake reproach. Bob laughed and held out his hands, holding tight when Frank put his into them and pulling him to his feet in one smooth movement. Then Frank was pressed against him, arms wrapped round him, and Bob looked down at the top of his head and held on tight.