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Billy Russo was a goddamn brat.
Most people got distracted by the tall, imposing frame. Or the slicked back hair and neatly groomed beard. Or the face that fit right in on the cover of a fashion magazine. Most people didn’t look past the damn fine-looking surface, subconsciously scared of the power and danger coiling beneath, ready to strike like a snarling panther.
Some people found the sense of danger thrilling and tried to entice Billy to warm their bed, but he just used that smooth talking prowess that had them hanging on to every word, to reject them in a way that meant they still sighed in hope as he walked away.
None of those people were Frank Castle though.
Frank had known Billy for years at this point, and had loved him for just as long. As family, as his closest friend, and for the past few years, as a lover, partner, and as his reason to get up in the mornings.
And Frank knew Billy was a goddamn brat.
Frank knew that while Billy snarled, smirked, cut and shot down others with his words—and sometimes with actual weapons depending on who the other person was—with them it meant nothing. They were just pawns in whatever game he’d decided to play that day. They meant nothing to Billy; a man who had grown up not knowing what love was until Frank came along and made him see that he was worthy and deserving of it.
Billy had scratched and yelled and fought tooth and nail against it, scared to get hurt and abandoned again; but Frank was a stubborn sonofabitch and knew Billy was worth it. He would always be worth it. And so he held on with all he had, telling Billy again and again that he loved him and he wasn’t going anywhere.
And then one day, Billy finally believed him.
And from that point on, he became a fucking brat.
Or more likely, allowed his inner brat to run free after spending so long in a cage.
Frank tried not to let him see how fucking happy that made him. It would only encourage the bastard.
****
“Been a while, Red.” Frank huffed out as he slid along the faded and torn dark green of the diner booth; his lips quirking up in a sort of smile as he looked at the (for once) not-beaten-up face of Matt Murdock.
“Hey, Frank.” Frank couldn’t make out the man’s unseeing eyes behind his red-lensed glasses, but he’d bet they crinkled at the edges, because the smirking asshole actually sounded fond and happy to see him. Too many hits to head, clearly.
“Red?” Billy looked at him with a raised eyebrow, unsuccessfully masking the thread of jealousy that Frank picked out in his voice. Frank suppressed a grin.
“It’s a nickname. It was either that or Horns, and didn’t think that would go down too well.” Frank perused the menu feeling the weighty almost button-black gaze of Billy, boring into him as Frank didn’t give him his full attention. Billy may be a brat, but Frank was a full-grade asshole and he loved encouraging his lover’s brattiness to the surface, only to pin him down and make him behave later on.
“This is him? He’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” Frank turned to look at Billy after he decided he was going to have Ham, Egg and Chips with a Black Coffee, and hid his smile behind his hand as Billy was looking at Matt like he wasn’t sure if he should hit the guy, warn him away from Frank or deem him worth less than the shit that you’d never find on the bottom of Billy’s pristine shoes.
“I know, I’m a disappointment.” Matt sighed dramatically. “I don’t even have the thin whip pointy tail either.”
The fourth occupant at the table groaned and hung his head in his hands, like he’d had enough of his partner’s antics for three lifetimes, but still found them adorable at the same time. Frank knew the feeling.
Billy pursed his lips and hummed at Matt, deciding to reserve judgement until later, and turned to look at the man next to him. “And this is?”
“Foggy.” Frank murmured lowly.
“What?” Billy looked adorably confused. Frank didn’t tell him that though; he didn’t want to get stabbed before he’d eaten.
“His name’s Foggy.”
The blond lawyer peered out from behind his hands and waved awkwardly. “It’s Franklin, but everyone calls me Foggy.”
“So, you didn’t make that nickname up?” Billy flicked his gaze towards Frank. Frank shook his head. “Huh.”
They all sat in silence as Billy typed something into his phone.
“At least your nickname is factually correct around 131 days of the year.”
Frank snorted out a laugh, as did Matt. Foggy just gave Billy a flat look like he wasn’t the only one at the table who couldn’t kill someone with their bare hands in less than ten seconds flat (despite Matt’s prerogative not to). “Great, now there’s two of you.”
“What does that mean?” Billy asked, and Frank knew he was waiting on confirmation as to whether he should be insulted or not. Frank smoothed his hand along the solid warmth of Billy’s thigh and squeezed; both in affection and to stop him from doing anything hasty… like jumping over the table to attack their dinner companions.
“It means you’re an asshole like me, Bill.”
“Oh.” Billy sniffed, picking up the menu instead of any of the knives laying on neatly folded napkin beds. “Fair enough.”
“Did you just look that up on your phone, just to be a prick?” Matt asked, a faint smirk curling around his pink lips.
Billy didn’t even look up form the menu. “Yes.”
“No wonder Frank loves you.”
“And here I thought it was because of how much he loved fucking my ass.” Billy drawled.
Foggy choked on his own spit, obviously not used to dealing with Billy Russo and his dangerous mouth, while Frank just rolled his eyes. If they were asking for his opinion—which they clearly weren’t—he would have said it was a bit of both, along with a hundred other things. But they weren’t asking, so he just sat there and thought about how to deal with his brat when they got home.
“Unfortunately I can’t comment on your ass—” Matt pushed his glasses up his nose. “—but you don’t sound like someone who has a stick stuck up there, so I’m sure Frank does love fucking it.”
Foggy’s head hit the table with a loud thunk, and for once Frank thought the blond lawyer had it right. He rubbed at his eyes and regretted all his life choices that led to him thinking that letting Billy and Matt meet was a good idea.
They heard someone clear their throat, and Frank snorted seeing the waitress stood there ready to take their order; no doubt having heard the tail end of Matt’s last sentence. Billy and Matt just grinned at her with way too many shiny white teeth on show, and not a single fuck given, between them.
They put in their orders, and it wasn’t long before they were all eating.
Frank and Foggy seemed to have silently agreed to try and limit the amount of interaction between their two partners for fear of what could come of it; both of them interjecting with some comment or subject change when Billy or Matt got that smirking look on their face.
By the end of the double date (not that any of them called it that out loud, he’d been the Punisher for fuck’s sake, not some hormonal teenager), the wary truce between him and Foggy ended and they went back to being annoyed at each for petty (but Very Important™) reasons, but with the mutually agreed proviso that they’d team up again for any and all future instances where their personal pains-in-the-asses were within five feet of each other.
“See ya, Fogbert.” He grinned wolfishly as Foggy flipped him the bird. “See ya, Red.”
“Bye, Frank.” Matt said with a smile.
Frank curled his arm around Billy’s waist to rest on the jut of his hipbone—one of his favourite places to kiss—and Billy allowed himself to be pulled closer into Frank’s embrace. “You’ll do, Weather Boy.” The lanky brunet smirked as Foggy flipped him the bird too, and stomped away to go flag down a cab for him and Matt.
“I could like you, Murdock.” Billy gave Matt a sharp look; his hands in his jacket pockets, not one to touch anyone he didn’t want touching him (unless it was absolutely necessary). “Just don’t think you’re special because he calls you, Red, yeah? He’s mine.”
Matt barked out a laugh, and thankfully didn’t seem to be insulted, even as Frank felt the back of his neck flush at the rather unnecessary (but still fucking hot) possessiveness from the brat in his arms.
“Don’t worry. You can keep the grumpy bastard. He may be Foggy to you, but to me he’s my sunshine. Guess you feel the same way about Frank, hmm?” Billy stilled before giving a small nod, that Frank was certain Matt had sensed even though he couldn’t see it. The blind lawyer gave them both a lazy salute, and tapping his cane against the pavement, made his way towards Foggy and the waiting taxi.
“You didn’t need to warn him off.” Frank murmured; his voice a deep rumble in his chest. “You know I only have eyes for you, Bill.”
“I know.” He smirked at him, pressing a kiss to the underside of Frank’s jaw; giving no fucks that they were stood in the middle of the pavement.
“So, you were just being a brat then?”
Billy chuckled; slapping Frank on the ass and dragging him the way home. “What you gonna do about it, Frankie Boy?”
****
“Ugh, Frankie!” Billy moaned as Frank pressed him into their mattress. As soon as they’d pushed the front door closed, Billy had been on him; rucking up his t-shirt before he’d even shucked off his jacket, and nipping at his lips like he didn’t know how much Frank loved the sting.
Frank had pushed him against the hallway wall to bite at his pulse point, and smiled smugly against his long neck when he felt the thump of Billy’s heart pick up in excitement under his lips.
He’d shoved Billy towards the bedroom, and by the time their King bed came into view, both of them were naked; their clothes strewn all over the place, and Billy was just waiting for Frank to pounce.
And Frank didn’t like to disappoint his brat.
“You were such a brat today, Bill.” He growled against the nape of Billy’s neck; his solid weight making the other man’s attempts at bucking him off, pointless. Though they did cause Billy’s peachy ass to rub up against Frank’s achingly hard cock so it wasn’t all pointless. “Don’t like me giving someone else a nickname, huh?”
“No.” Billy turned his head and tried to snarl and bare his teeth, but Frank bit down on the crook of his neck, and he just moaned and went pliant instead. “Only me. You’re the only one I call by a nickname—” He mewled as Frank reached in between their sweat-slick bodies and pressed a slick finger against Billy’s quivering hole. “—I want it to be the same with you for me.”
Frank hummed in consideration, delighting in the drawn out groan that escaped Billy’s throat as Frank pressed into his tight heat with two thick fingers; his hole yielding to the insistent push with embarrassingly little resistance. Billy tried to buck Frank off again in an attempt to show he didn’t want this as much as he clearly did, but all he ended up doing was sucking Frank’s fingers deeper inside.
He's pretty sure, that hadn’t been an accident.
“You called Foggy by a nickname earlier.”
“Don’t mention him while we’re in bed.” Billy sneered, making Frank chuff out a laugh against the strong column of his neck. “And I only did it to try and make you jealous.” Billy hissed out in frustration; rolling his hips to try and get friction on his cock; Frank just pulled them both up—one hand gripping the now messy black strands of Billy’s hair, the fingers of the other roughly pulled from his slick hole—so he was sat back on his knees, Billy sprawled out on his lap.
“Didn’t work, Bill.” Frank tugged on Billy’s earlobe with his teeth as he grabbed the lube, slicked up his cock, and then lifting the other man up slightly, slammed him down on Frank’s cock.
“Fuck, goddamn fucking fuck, Frankie.” Billy wheezed out at being suddenly filled; his clenching hole trying its best to pull him in even deeper, giving away how much he liked being manhandled roughly.
“You don’t need to make me jealous, Bill.” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of Billy’s neck and breathed in his sweat, arousal, and the expensive cologne that always clung to his skin. “It’s only you. Always you.” He fucked up into Billy’s tight heat; each sharp press of his cock making the ring of muscle become soft and loose, like Frank was making himself at home.
And what a home it was.
“My baby boy Billy. My Beautiful love. My Bill.” He pinched Billy’s nipples as he fucked up into him hard; Billy’s arms draped around Frank’s neck; his lithe and muscled body an offering for Frank as he was displayed and open on his lap. He pinched one of the swollen, hard nubs again, then smoothed one hand down Billy’s quivering abdomen to wrap around his weeping cock; pre-cum dripping down the shaft as Frank kept thrusting up against his prostate.
He was a goddamn excellent sniper; he might as well put those skills to use when he didn’t have a gun in his hands.
“Frankie…Please.” Billy whimpered, giving in to Frank completely like he always did; knowing Frank would never let him go.
“My brat wants to come, huh?”
“Please.” Billy squirmed in Frank’s lap like he couldn’t work out what would make him come faster; fucking up into Frank’s hand or slamming backwards on his fat cock. “Please Frankie-Boy. Let me come, then fill me up.”
He collared Billy’s throat with his hand, and squeezed just hard enough to bruise. He felt the up-and-down pull of Billy’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed underneath his palm. He felt the moan vibrate up from his chest and out past his plush lips; rippling under his smooth, silky throat on the way. “So needy for it, aren’t you? Like you were just begging me with those big, galaxy eyes of yours to practically fuck you over the diner table earlier because you wanted me inside you—” He licked a wet stripe along the sharp line of Billy’s bearded jaw. “—and you wanted everyone else to know that only I get to fuck you like this.”
Billy keened as Frank pumped his cock, twisting his wrist around the glistening, velvety head. “Only I get to see you like this.”
He ran his hand up and down Billy’s cock as it gushed out pre-cum; so slick with pleasure from where Billy was doing his best not to come without permission; the obscene sounds from Frank’s hand competed against those of his cock as it slammed into Billy’s wet, swollen hole.
And yet still, the most beautiful sound to Frank was Billy choking out a whimpered, “Only you.”
Because Billy Russo might be a possessive brat who warned everyone else from getting too close to the only person he’d ever loved and who loved him in return, but Frank Castle was just as possessive over Billy—with his beautiful face, his snarky attitude, his talent with weapons, and his damaged (but not completely destroyed) heart that beat in his chest—and he thrilled in reasserting his claim, just as much as Billy thrilled at submitting to the claiming.
They were a pair of twisted fucks, no doubt about it, but they could definitely be worse, if they didn’t have the other to anchor them to sanity amongst the raging storm that was their lives.
“Come for me, baby.” He pressed his thumb into the soft underside of Billy’s jaw as he squeezed his neck and thrust into him hard. “Come for your Frankie boy, Bill.”
Billy’s breath hitched, and then he let out a guttural, loud moan as his cock spurted all over his belly and Frank’s fist; his ass clenching down over and over on Frank’s cock.
“Goddamn you feel better every time I fuck you, baby.” Frank growled, releasing his grip on Billy’s body and pushing him down into the mattress. His beautiful face all flushed pink, turned towards the wall and smooshed into the pillows, was slack with pleasure. Frank gripped Billy’s sweat-slick hair—a mess of strands rather than his usual neat style—and gripping Billy’s warm hip with his other hand, slammed into him roughly, chasing his own release.
Billy was an over-sensitized mess, but he didn’t tell Frank to stop or say his safeword that he’d had for years. He let Frank use his sloppy, loose hole for his own pleasure and Frank adored him for it.
He fucked for a few more minutes until his orgasm burned up his spine and his hips stuttered to a stop. He let out a rumbling growl as he came, filling Billy with his hot come; collapsing forward on top of him as he caught his breath.
“You’re the heaviest fucking blanket in the world, Frankie.” Billy grumbled in between panted breaths.
“Want me to move?” He’s not sure his limbs could move at that very moment as he’s pretty sure Billy had sucked his soul out through his dick with that incredible ass of his, but for his brat he would try.
“No.” Billy smiled sleepily when Frank pressed a kiss to his cheek in thanks. “You’re cleaning me up though.”
Frank huffed out a laugh. “You’re such a brat, Bill.”
“Yeah, but I’m your brat, Frankie-Boy.”
Frank hummed in delight and nuzzled at Billy’s neck; knowing he was the only one who Billy allowed to get this close—physically and emotionally.
“That you are, Bill. That you are.”
Yeah, Billy Russo was a goddamned brat, but if you asked Frank Castle, that wasn’t a bad thing.