Shuddering at the gruff, hot voice whispering in his ear, Frank drew his bottom lip to his teeth and knocked his knees together as if too ashamed to part them. If he wasn’t on the floor, completely bare, and seated in front of the full-length mirror he kept in his bedroom, perhaps he’d be more inclined to actually obey the request.

“Need you to open up for me, honey.”

The man had been incredibly patient with him until now.

Frank stared at the mirror, trying to match his own breathing with the steady rise and fall of the chest against his back. In lieu of the curse that sat on his tongue, his boyfriend’s name tumbled past his quivering lips softly.

“Danny...”

Perched behind Frank, his legs on either side of him, Danny simply hummed in response. The infamous serial killer was dressed down in a hoodie and cargo pants instead of his usual leather get-up, and his face was devoid of his creepy-ass mask. His gloved hands were settled at Frank’s waist to keep him from wriggling free. The combat boots he always wore dug firmly into the carpet.

The fact that Danny was fully clothed—the discordance between his all-black attire and Frank’s pasty, tattooed skin—was what made this as hot as it was.

The hard cock pressed up against his lower back was rather telling of that.

“I want to see you,” Danny cooed as he slid a hand up Frank’s smooth torso, his fingers splaying against his chest. He bumped a boot against one of Frank’s bare feet purposely, placing his chin atop his equally bare shoulder, twisting his expression into something that could only be described as a frustrated pout. “Would you really deny me that? ‘Cause that wouldn’t be very nice.”

Forced to look at his own nude reflection, Frank flickered his blue eyes up and down the glass pane of the mirror. His skin was a little flushed here and there, particularly his neck and face. He wasn’t able to get a good look at his cock, concealed by his clenched thighs, but he could feel how achingly hard he was without needing to.

Timidly, after a few contemplative seconds, Frank shook his head in response and breathed deeply before parting his legs, allowing them to fall open and go limp against Danny’s own.

The way Danny’s eyes snapped down the mirror hadn’t gone unnoticed by the teen. At that moment, underneath the killer’s hungry gaze, a wave of self-consciousness washed over him. A pair of gloved hands were quick to grab the undersides of his thighs before he could clamp them shut again, leather-clad fingers indenting the pleasingly plump flesh.

“Ah, ah. I’ll have none of that,” Danny reprimanded lightly as he lifted Frank’s legs, slinging them over his own. He was exposed in a whole new light in this position; gave his pervert of a boyfriend the perfect view of everything.

Though, of course, nothing Danny hadn’t seen before.

The ceiling bulb hanging above them caused the adorned tip of Frank’s cock to glint.

“Why’re you doing this? You see me naked probably every fuckin’ day, dummy,” Frank said finally. He puffed his cheeks in a flustered huff, averting his gaze away from the stupid mirror.

“Not like this,” Danny replied, and Frank’s poor heart skipped in his chest at how his voice dropped a level or two. Softer, he added, “Never like this.”

“I don’t think I– ah,” Frank’s words veered off into a breathy moan when something wide and wet made contact with the sensitive, delicate skin of his neck.

As soon as Frank darted his attention to the dreaded mirror again, a set of eyes locked with his. Slowly, drinking in the boy’s expressions, Danny dragged his tongue up the length of Frank’s tattooed throat. The way the man was looking at him, paired with the teasing onslaught to his neck, compelled his body to react, sending a shockwave down his spine. His cock visibly twitched.

“You can fuss all you want, but I know you like being wide open for me like this,” Danny spoke against Frank’s skin, planting a kiss where his tongue ended its trail. His hot breath ghosted across his saliva-slickened skin.

Without tearing his eyes off their reflections in the mirror, Danny dropped one of his legs slightly, subsequently lowering the leg relying on it. Frank felt as Danny shifted subtly, obviously trying to situate himself better. The outline of an erection, distinct and prominent, had been wedged against his back the entire time. An agonizing reminder that Danny was just as turned on as he was.

Frank decided then and there that he needed to get Danny’s dick out so he could feel the weight of it in his hand. Anticipated the heavy slap once it was freed from its confines. But, before Frank could act upon his intrusive thoughts in unconcealed desperation, Danny growled low, as if he could read the teen’s mind, “I know what you want, but you’ll take what I choose to give you.”

Still holding Frank’s thigh in a bruising grip, his gray eyes glued to the mirror, Danny angled his hips barely. The clothed cock he so desperately craved—the only cock he had ever allowed to penetrate him and slip into his body—pressed against him shamelessly. It evoked a pitiful moan all the same. Frank was getting a painful taste of what he truly wanted, what drove him up the walls with need, yet it was out of his reach until he proved worthy of having it.

In this moment, Frank was utterly powerless.

“Be a good boy for me and you might get a reward,” Danny purred.

Meagerly, all the boy could do was whimper in response.

Danny slipped his arm around Frank’s middle, leaving a gloved palm to rest against his flat stomach, dangerously close to his protruding member. A kiss—a tiny little thing—was planted close to Frank’s skull tattoo. Once upon a time, seemingly a lifetime ago now, Danny traced every intricate line and loop with his fingertips and tongue until each detail was etched into his memory.

Then, one evening, as Danny fucked his throat in reckless abandon, he told Frank that it was the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

“What–” Frank gulped when his voice came out too hoarse. “What do you want me to do?”

Danny hummed like he was pondering the question, which couldn’t have been the case; the man never had to think about shit. Always knew what he wanted. He spoke into the crook of his neck after a moment, “Touch that pretty cock of yours.”