"Hello, Bart."
"Oh my g- fuck!"
Bart didn't have time to react as he was swiftly pinned to the bed. Instead of the fight or flight response he was supposed to get with such an intrusion, he instead felt the thrill build up inside of him as his wrists were immobilized by the man on top, his fingers intertwined with his. How long Bob had been waiting for him in his room and where he had been hiding, he had no idea. The bastard had been quiet as a cat, too. This nightly visit was a nice surprise, bringing with it the exciting danger of being found out. Bart knew he had to keep quiet, at any cost.
"Have I told you how much I love seeing you like this?" Bob murmured, looking down at him almost tenderly in the dim glow of the nearby lamp.
"Underneath you, you mean? Yeah, I kinda figured that out already," he whispered offhandedly.
"At my mercy," he drawled back, stroking his fingers and visibly enjoying his advantageous position. Bart didn't move, he only wanted to let Bob move him or tell him what to do, at least until he found a nice opportunity to piss him off. It was all about their game of cat and mouse, what fun would there be if the helpless mouse didn't mock the fierce cat every once in a while?
"So this is my punishment?" He quipped.
"No, this is," Bob casually stated before pulling the covers away to reveal his bare torso, and leaned forward to handle Bart's hands. The blond simply let him, and within a few seconds his right wrist was tied tightly to the bedpost, soon followed by his left. Both his arms were now bound upwards to the bed, with very little leeway to move them around. Apparently, Bob had been well prepared.
"Now this is a sight to behold," the redhead complimented with a satisfied grin.
Bart challenged his gaze. "Take a picture, why don't you?"
"Don't tempt me..." He hissed, stroking his face. "I wonder how long you can remain silent until I make you wake up the whole house with your screams."
Those words, coupled with the idea they conveyed, it didn't take much more for Bart to feel his blood rush downwards to his crotch. "You know I can easily escape, right?" He scoffed arrogantly.
"Oh no, you cannot," Bob assured, pulling on his arm for good measure. The rope hurt his skin, sending weird, unexpected signals to Bart's brain. "Besides, do you even want to, I wonder?"
The younger man was about to answer when something brushed against the bulge in his pyjama shorts and he let out a quiet gasp. He gazed up at Bob, into his thirsty eyes, and realized he couldn't suppress his smile. It was all too good, it wasn't fair. The maniac had just found out a new way to drive him completely crazy and he was about to make good use of that knowledge.
"Not... Not really," he eventually confessed.
"As I thought."
The redhead gave him an evil smile, reaching down with his hands and Bart looked away. He bit his lip in anticipation as he felt his shorts being slowly pulled down, the cool ambiant air hitting his growing boner. He tried to move his arms out of reflex but to no avail, he only made the rope securing him to his own bed shake a bit and cut his bloodflow for a second. He felt powerless, and now all he could do was wait and endure whatever the man had in store for him, all in the silent dead of the night. They would dance once again, Bob as the director, Bart as the lead act, being played around like a puppet. He even had the strings to match, this time. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something – anything – to focus on, but the deep voice came back to haunt him right above his face.
"Are you mine, Bart?"
"Y-yes," he breathed out.
"Tsk, I want you to say it," he insisted, his tone sharp and stern like a knife ready to draw blood.
It was difficult to think, let alone speak, but Bob was staring at him expectantly and his fingers were grazing his erection, tickling the head. Was it part of the madman's game, or a matter of consent? Bart had no idea, and for once he loved not knowing. Bob was looking right at him with dangerously mad-looking eyes - the former clown's assistant could be scary when he really wanted to. But Bart knew, or he certainly hoped, that he would never revert back to his homicidal tendencies. It only added to the thrill of their sexual encounters.
"I'm... I'm yours, Bob," he replied.
"Perfect. Now, be a good lad and keep quiet."
He braced himself, ready for the worst – or the best - when Bob moved his head down his body. He bit his bottom lip, bit it hard when a very skilled hand began masturbating him agonizingly slowly, a familiar routine that held much promise. Bart wiggled uncomfortably, moving the only parts of him that were somewhat free; his legs and feet were stroking the other man's, an effort on his part to be active in their secret activity. Teeth were scraping his neck, kisses were raining down his skin – he was the center of Bob's attention. His breathing became hitched but he knew he could restrain himself enough, at least for the time being.
Growing impatient, he lifted his pelvis to feel as much of his body as possible, and to encourage him to jerk him off harder despite the risks, but that only caused a sharp pain right under his chin. Bob's free hand reached up to his neck at lightning speed, and his long fingers were pressing against his throat. Bart took a tedious intake of air and blocked his breathing, hoping the wail lost in his throat would subside. The pain – he didn't know that in Bob's care it would become a powerful source of pleasure. It wasn't really surprising, given that Bart could get hard at the mere voice of the one man who wanted him dead.
He pulled on the ropes desperately, his wrists twisting around pointlessly and painfully. He felt helpless, like a child again at the hands of Sideshow Bob trying to murder him in his nightmares. His heart was racing dangerously, blood pounding in his ears, ecstasy like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The older man eventually loosened his grip, and Bart slowly breathed out and looked up defiantly at the sadistic bastard above him.
He wanted him so badly. Bob was still taking good care of him, fondling his erection and stroking his neck where it still hurt a little, but he knew they couldn't take it too far. He couldn't swallow his moans much longer. He didn't even want to restrain himself, but he had to. He couldn't let everyone in the household know something so perverted and wrong was going on. But it was insanely hard, he let out a few groans here and there, while Bob remained silent as a tomb as he showered him with his twisted attention. It became all the more difficult to remain silent when Bob licked the side of his neck, leaving it wet and cold, and nibbled on his earlobe, the swaying motion of his hips against his sending waves of euphoria in his entire body.
"As much as you long for me, I long for you..." Bart heard him murmur very close to his ear, his low-spoken words of shameless desire crawling into his brains and making him all his, his toy, his puppet, his instrument of lust which Bob took exceptionally good care of.
"Bob..." he forced himself to whisper, a bitter but necessary replacement for his voice as he forced his eyes shut. "Bob... Bob... Bob..."
"Ah-ah, careful," his tormentor cut him off quietly. "Someone might hear your delightful pleading. You don't want your family to find you like this with me, do you? What would they think, I wonder?"
"Fuck," he almost said out loud when he saw that the maniac's face was mere inches away from his, his eyes shining with the fire that was burning inside both of them. He wanted to whine, he wanted to voice his bliss to the man who was bringing him to a near-orgasm like he did when they were back in his house, because he knew Bob would get off to it, but he couldn't.
They both started to pant, intoxicated by the rush of lust and the danger of being found out. His cock was throbbing eagerly in Bob's hand, the excitement was too much for Bart, it had to end.
"Stop... Bob, wait, stop..."
As in a broken spell, Bob's body pulled away in an instant and swiftly untied him, freeing both his arms. Bart was left to lie on the bed with his shorts pulled down, trying to catch his breath and rubbing the pain off his wrists. He turned his head to look at Bob who was getting to his feet without a word. He wondered if he was mad at him for stopping it all, but he just couldn't bear any more from him. Pulling his pyjama back up, he turned to lie on his side and now could fully appreciate Bob's presence in his bedroom. The redhead pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and opened the window. He didn't make any sound while walking around, making Bart wonder how he could manage given his shoe size. He rested his long figure against the windowsill, lit up his cigarette and started smoking, blowing the smoke out the window.
"Sorry..." Bart said quietly after an unbearable moment of silence as his excitement subsided.
"Don't be," Bob replied calmly, albeit with an audible tinge of remorse. "I'm the one who is sorry for taking it too far."
"Are you kidding?" Bart scoffed at him. "I needed to stop because I was about to be real loud."
Bob stared at him with his head tilted slightly to the side. "So you enjoyed it?" he asked.
"Fuck, man. I didn't know I'd get a kick out of that... kind of stuff."
"Good lord, Bart. You've turned deviant," Bob said with a crooked smile.
"You're the one talking."
Bart felt strange. Now that he had time to think about it, Bob obviously craved him in a controlling sort of way, yet as soon as he asked him to stop, he did, with no questions asked. Was that feeling safety? Knowing he could trust him with no bound, even when he willingly put himself under his domination, was there even a word for it? It was all still very new to Bart, unspoken rules the former criminal abided by and respected for the sake of their respective enjoyments.
"Do you still hate me?" Bart blurted out without a second thought.
Bob's smile faltered. He cursed himself as he was probably messing everything up. The older man took a long drag of his cigarette and puffed it out the window without taking his eyes off him.
"What do you think?" He eventually replied.
Bart rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I don't 'think', Bob. How's that?"
The man at the window took another puff, obnoxiously dragging on the conversation even more. "No, I no longer hate you, if you needed confirmation." The blond dropped his head back onto his pillow, debating whether he was satisfied with the answer, when he spoke again. "What about you, Bart?"
"No," he answered in an obvious tone. When the silence grew too thick, he decided to speak again. "But... Are you still obsessed with me?
Bob let out a chuckle. "In a way, yes, I am. How ironic."
The blond frowned in confusion. He wanted to dig further in, hoping to find out how he felt. If that mattered at all. "How so?"
"It took years for me to overcome my fixation on you," he started slowly, careful with his words. "And now, I might never let go of you."
Bart's heart skipped a beat; that man acting so genuine around him was a unique sight. Whatever he meant by that, it only meant good things. Didn't it?
"I missed you when you were away," he blurted out again. Hell, he didn't want to beat around the bush, there was no point in that right now.
Bob took his time to respond - out of surprise by the statement, or perhaps looking for the right words. Trying to read his expression didn't help.
"So did I," he eventually replied, turning his head to look out the window, moonlight reflecting off his wild red hair. He eventually took a final long drag of his cigarette and turned back to him. "Where is your secret ashtray? I'm sure you're hiding one somewhere."
"Second drawer." Bob opened the drawer to a nearby dresser and smirked when he laid eyes on the inside of it. Bart realized he had just directed him to where he also kept condoms, lube and other embarrassing stuff. "Uhm... you weren't supposed to see that."
The cigarette butt was smashed and put away with the others the young Simpson had been secretely smoking, without any comment on the other man's part. He wondered what he was going to do, now that he'd been properly punished.
"Can you stay?" Bart asked.
"I wasn't going to leave."
His heart tightened when Bob walked up to the bed and silently gestured him to scoot over to make room for him in his bed. The tall man took off his shirt and pants, much to Bart's entertainment, and gave him a sly smile when he noticed he was staring at him. He then turned off the small lamp and slid under the covers right next to him. Bob pulled on his arm to turn him around, and Bart found himself with his back against his chest, covered by his arm and leg in a possessive embrace.
"Sarah knows about us," he whispered. "Well, she suspects us."
"Oh, now you're just asking for it, Bart," Bob threatened in his ear.
"Maybe I'm just asking for your attention."
"Then I shall give you plenty."
.
Bart woke up hours later when the sun hit his bedroom walls. He groaned tiredly; he didn't want to wake up this early on his day off. He lazily reached out for his phone and frowned when he noticed he had received a strange text.
"This is my number. Rename it as you like, but please nothing obvious. I will see your pretty face at the café."
Oh, wow, Bart thought. Bob had actually given him his number. If that wasn't a huge step forward, he didn't know what was. Looking at the empty side of the bed, he resented him for leaving without warning. He read the text again, and again. The last sentence was probably there to tease him, but Bart couldn't help but imagine Bob saying it to his face, with his deep seductive tone like a crooner from the 1920's. He thought for a minute, carefully choosing a secret name, and eventually saved the number under the initials "BT". His finger hovered over the stupid little symbol of a heart, but he ignored the intrusive thought. "BT" it would be, it was enough and not obvious, he thought as he reread the text a couple of times.
Bob was right. Maybe he really did have a sentimental side.