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Session 12

Chapter Text

Frank always packed a duffle.

It was a small black bag with a shoulder strap and a few pockets. He kept a couple hand guns loaded with the safety on at the bottom, and packed a change of clothes on top. It felt odd to travel anywhere without being strapped to the nines with guns and ammunition. It felt odder still to travel anywhere without his trademark: the skull he wore proudly on his chest. This was how he was expected to show up though, dressed in black and relatively weapon free.

Marc had different properties all over the city. He had hideouts, mansions, abandoned factories, businesses, homes, buildings. He was rich enough that if Frank took one step in any direction, he would be one step closer to a place Marc owned. They always met at the same spot, though. The repetition of it combined with the familiarity was good for Frank.

He could probably take a taxi or a bus, but Frank always walked. He put one foot in front of the other, always fully aware of each step. It helped to ground him. He would reach a point on the outskirts of town where he saw the mansion over the crest of a small slope in the ground and an anxious feeling would grow in his stomach. From that point up until he reached the front door was always the toughest because of how easy it would be to turn back. Frank never did turn back, though.

He always took a deep breath after he reached the door and before he knocked. Marc was always there waiting on the other side. The mansion had enough square footage that the sound of knocking could easily get lost, but Frank was never left waiting on the front step. Not ever.

"Frank," Marc greeted him, opening the door for him to enter further.

“One hundred and sixty.” Frank said suddenly, blurting the number out. Usually he waited until he was inside to report the total, but it just came tumbling out of his mouth.

Marc had a soft, calm expression on his face. He reached out to take Frank’s duffle bag and usher him in, but did not speak to reply.

They always went to the same room. Frank knew the way, but it was Marc who led them.

From the outside, the mansion looked like it had fallen into disuse, but inside, it was the opposite. The floors were carpeted, bright in color and always freshly vacuumed. The wooden railings on the staircases were always polished and dusted. Every room Frank had the opportunity to enter or see into looked inviting, like a place he could easily spend the night should he have to. Some rooms had a rather unfortunate scent of potpourri but he supposed that was better than mold or dust.

The room Marc brought him to was large. They had learned over time that they needed space and lots of it. Upon immediately entering, the room looked as if it was some sort of parlor. There was an ornate love seat of finely-carved brown wood and striped pink fabric cushioning sitting in the middle of the room. A mismatching wooden coffee table sat in front of it, both facing away from the door.

A glance to the right, and one would see the open entryway that lead into a separate, equally large section of the room. The two areas were split down the middle by a thin wall. The other section of the room had been empty the first time they’d used this space, but Marc had since brought in a bed for them to utilize. It was queen-sized but it looked small in comparison to such a large room.

The room was on the first floor so the carpet was solid under their feet. This was different than walking around upstairs where the floors creaked in places. There were windows hidden behind heavy maroon curtains. The floors were plush beige, and the bedspread on the queen bed was a dark navy blue. The walls were covered in intricate wallpaper, ornate designs of gold and tan. The color scheme in either side of the room didn't quite fit together but it wasn't jarring or abrasive, either. Frank had grown quite fond of the place, really, and even the mismatched colors and furniture felt welcoming to him.

There were a few things in either side of the room that stood out garishly, though. There were eye bolts that had been screwed in curious places along the walls and baseboards. In the bedroom portion of the room, there was a curved metal hook that descended from the ceiling; the type of hook one might hang meat from. It certainly did not belong here. Frank had been there to watch Marc install it, and it looked so obvious and odd and honestly quite ugly. They used it enough that it was necessary but Frank never looked directly at it if he could help it.

They always started in the bedroom. Always. Frank had asked, once, if it would be easier to start in the bathroom, but Marc simply told him no. They started in the bedroom, and that was that.

The very first thing Frank did was take off his clothes. He didn't strip naked. He went methodically. He untied his boots and slid them off his feet, and then he tied the laces together and placed them at Marc's feet; an offering. Frank took off his socks next. His bare skin on the carpet grounded him in the same way the steps he took to get to the mansion grounded him. He always took a second and drew in deep breath, feeling the way the carpet felt on his toes and the soles of his feet. It was important to be here and in the moment, because in the next few articles of clothing he would be surrendering himself completely.

Frank never wore a belt, so he simply undid his black jeans and pushed them to his ankles. After he stepped out of them, he folded them neatly and offered them to Marc. Marc took them graciously. Frank removed his shirt next, sliding it over his shoulders. He folded it and placed it gently on top of the pants in Marc's awaiting hands.

Last but not least Frank would remove his boxers, revealing his complete nudity to Marc. It was an incredibly vulnerable position to be in. It always made his stomach knot up to be bare and naked while Marc was still clothed. Frank did it anyway. He knew the feeling wouldn't last. He slid off his boxers, folded them, and gave them over. In this, he gave Marc all that he had.

"Well done," Marc complimented him, because that's what he always said. “Kneel."

Frank went to his knees in an instant.

Marc took Frank's clothes and his shoes and he took them to the foot of the bed. He got down on one knee and gently placed them under the bed skirt, putting Frank's things out of sight and out of mind.

Frank stared straight ahead. He wasn't allowed to look under the bed. It was more than just his clothes under there, Marc kept everything they might need under there. Frank had made the mistake of looking once. Not getting up and lifting the bedding aside and peering underneath, but glancing curiously as Marc went to pull something out. Frank had been punished severely for it and he had yet to make that mistake again. Whatever was under there was for Marc to know about, and Frank trusted Marc with this knowledge.

"How would you like to go out?" Marc asked him, returning to stand directly in front of Frank.

"Pills," Frank whispered in reply. "Please."

Marc nodded. He produced a foil and plastic packet from his pocket and pushed a short blue pill through the foil packaging. "This is half a dose; four hours."

Frank nodded in understanding, though his heart leapt to his throat. He opened his mouth, offering it to Marc. Marc placed the blue pill on his tongue and it began to melt.

It took a few minutes to work; it always did. Frank refused to acknowledge the effects, forcing his eyes to stay open even when they couldn't focus. His brain slowed to a slur. His chin kept meeting his chest again and again as he tried to keep his head up.

Marc got down to one knee before him and pulled Frank in to lean against his body. He gently rubbed Frank's back with a hand. "Shh," he whispered. "Let go."

Frank closed his eyes, and breathed in the soft, barely-there scent of Marc's aftershave. The world went black all around him, and Frank slept.

Chapter Text

Frank awoke gagged and bound.

For a second he struggled, and he struggled in earnest. He nearly snapped the fabric knotting his wrist together behind his back. His vision was bleary, blinded by white light. In his panic of not being able to see, he accidentally shoved Marc away from him.

"Frank," Marc reached out for his arm, wrapping his fingers tight around his bicep. Marc pressed his thumb into Frank's skin a little. "Relax."

Frank ceased struggling immediately. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose. Between his teeth, digging into the corners of his mouth, was a handkerchief that had been tied and knotted at the back of his head. Knowing Marc, it was likely all white fabric. Behind Frank’s eyelids, the world was bright yellow and orange. When he tried to blink his eyes open again, it was still too bright, and the white walls and tile of the bathroom blinded him. He kept his eyes closed.

"You've been asleep for three hours and forty-seven minutes," Marc told him.

Frank tried to take deep breaths through his nose but it was hard. He swallowed and nodded and tried looking around again. It was still too bright, but if he squinted he could catch glimpses of his surroundings. He saw he was laying on the tile floor and not in the tub.

"I've bathed you," Marc informed. "I've washed your hair. I've shaved most of you. I've dried you off. I'm just finishing up your arms."

Frank took in the information, and immediately the emotion of what was happening washed over him. Tears rolled from the corners of his closed eyes.

Marc gave Frank's arm a small squeeze, thumb gently pressing in. "Let it go, Frank," he whispered.

It was just preparation. This was the way Marc preferred him, clean and smooth, but it felt so much like care. Frank wasn't ready for care yet. He hadn’t earned care yet; care came after.

This part was always the hardest and most intimate for him, hence why he preferred to be asleep. Waking up and coming to terms with what had happened was always a struggle. It had to happen, but it was still hard. He let himself cry, and he let his chin quiver, and he wallowed in the self-pity and guilt of it knowing he would be absolved of these feelings soon enough.

"I need to continue," Marc explained patiently. "Can you stay still? I don't want to cut you."

Frank nodded, blinking his crying eyes open. He saw Marc sitting on his haunches. He had the mask on. It was pure white fabric that stretched over his face, the crescent of a moon just visibly stitched into the forehead. The mask utterly obstructed his features in a way that made Frank feel like he was dealing with a brick wall instead of a person. That was good, though. It was better that he had an immovable force like that of white cinder blocks than a face that showed sympathy and empathy and understanding. Frank preferred it this way, and Marc did, too.

After a moment, Marc continued his task. He had a straight razor in one hand, and with the other he slid his hand down Frank's arm to his forearm. He gently turned it, encouraging Frank to lay on his stomach instead of his side. Frank faced the tile floor readily, realizing this was the position he’d been in before he started panicking and struggling. Though he could not see any water, Frank heard the gentle sound of soft splashing and then the razor was at his arm. It slid smoothly over the back of his wrist, wet and warm, ridding him of his hair.

Frank was usually covered in quite a bit of hair. He grew beards very easily, his arms and legs were usually thick with it, and between his legs he was curly and black. It was Marc's idea to strip him bare. It made him feel more open, and more vulnerable, as if he had nothing to hide behind at all. Every inch of his skin on display.

The first time they had done this, Frank had been awake for it and it had been torture. If anyone else, for whatever odd reason, had tried to do this, Frank would have grit his teeth and bared it. With Marc it was different. Marc was loving and gentle. He did not cut, scrape, or nick Frank at all. He used warm water and soft touches.

Frank felt undeserving of such kindness. He had then, and he still did.

It had set his body aflame with panic and a need to get away. Frank had worked himself into a frantic bout of screaming and thrashing until he physically wore himself out that first time. In the end he had laid weeping openly while Marc bathed and shaved him.

After that Frank had tried to shave himself to be ready on arrival but it wasn't the same as Marc doing it, and honestly it was harder and he was inadequate at the task. Some day he hoped to be at a place where he could be awake and willing while Marc prepared him; they were working to get there.

For now, Frank didn't mind having things done to him while he was asleep. He felt bad for Marc for having to work with nearly two hundred pounds of unconscious meat and muscle, but Marc assured Frank that he could manage just fine. He gave Marc permission to do other things while he was unconscious, but Marc was disinclined. He had a strict schedule for things and preparation came first.

As Marc cleaned the hair away one swift stroke of the razor at a time, Frank worked through some of his emotions. Preparation was only just the tip of the ice berg, so to speak, and he needed to get himself together for the rest of the session. He fought past the feeling of being undeserving and by the time Marc was done, Frank had stopped crying.

He could feel that he was clean shaven all over. Not only on his arms where Marc had just finished working, but his underarms too. His legs, his chin, his chest, the soft trail of fuzz down his stomach that connected to black curls of pubic hair that were no longer there. His thighs, his balls, and even the cheeks of his ass and between them. It embarrassed him a little to know that Marc had studiously concentrated on such a personal and private part of his body. That was nothing compared to the humiliation that would come, of course, but for some reason this thought always made Frank's stomach twist with some measure of shame.

"You're finished," Marc said politely. He stood to put the razor - and apparently also a wash rag and basin of water - on the counter. He returned to squat where Frank's face was down against the floor, and he reached out to gently run his fingers through the remaining black hair on Frank's head. "You look much better completely bare."

Frank swallowed, an audible noise, but did not try and speak past the gag in his mouth.

"If you're no longer feeling sluggish, perhaps you can sit up?" Marc suggested.

Frank struggled to work his knees under his body, but once he got there he pushed himself up to sit on his heels. Even kneeling, he was taller than Marc was squatting, and he had to look down to meet Marc's white mask.

Marc reached out quietly to wipe away Frank's tear tracks. "Are you ready for preparation to continue and the session to start?" he asked.

Frank felt sick. He nodded.

"Is the number you reported to me earlier correct? One hundred and sixty?"

Frank nodded again.

One hundred and sixty.

By his estimation, he had taken out a hundred and sixty members of the mafia since he had last seen Marc. He didn't keep an exact tally; he had tried keeping count and found that it significantly increased his risk of death during firefights. Instead, he estimated. A hundred and sixty was pretty close.

"You're not overestimating, are you, Frank?" Marc asked him. His tone was that of someone expecting the truth to come out rather than that of someone accusing Frank of lying. "It's only been a few weeks since our last session. Can it be that you've killed so many people?"

Frank bit hard on the fabric of his gag. The part in his mouth was wet and soggy from spit. He nodded his head yes.

Marc nodded. "Well. We usually round up to the nearest hundred, but we've been rounding up to two hundred an awful lot lately haven't we? Today I am going to make an executive decision and round down."

Frank felt like he had been punched in the gut, and immediately his cock jerked to attention.

The number was more than just his kill count. The number correlated in very important ways to various different things during his session.

One hundred people meant one quart, two hundred people meant two quarts, so on and so forth. The quarts represented the amount of fluid he was expected to take during his preparatory enema. Marc preferred him clean both inside and out.

Quarts didn't necessarily mean water, though.

The four quarts was water, yes, plain water with a pinch of salt at body temperature. Three quarts was water too, but mixed with a bit of soap and cooler in temperature. The soap itched and irritated him, and the tepid temperature of the water produced extra cramping. Two quarts, the enema Frank was subjected to the most often, was milk and molasses. The two food substances mixed together created a horrifying amount of cramping.

The three and four quart enemas were exercises of pain and retention. There was no retention involved with milk and molasses, only pain and violent explosive reactions. It was as embarrassing as it was painful. Frank was usually forced to endure the two quarts one pint at a time. Marc would expect him to hold a pint for at least a minute before letting it go, and even one minute of being full of milk and molasses was a struggle.

Milk and molasses was nothing compared to one quart, though. One quart enemas were Castile soap enemas, and for Frank they were a nightmare. The soapy solution caused irritation to the intestinal lining which produced not only terrible cramps but actual forceful contractions. His body would spasm, trying to force the enema out. It was more painful than all the other enemas he was forced to endure. Frank hated one quart enemas. He hated them.

Frank looked down at Marc and nodded. He had killed a hundred people. He needed this. He needed a punishing enema to help him feel right again. His cock thickened at the thought, and shame washed over him.

"Crawl to the tub. Lay your chest on the edge," Marc instructed.

Frank went readily, doing precisely as he was told. He crawled into place and bent at the waist, resting his chest on the flat edged lip of the porcelain tub. He could see the bottom of the tub was still wet from the bath he'd been given while unconscious. There were small suds of soap bubbles still popping here and there. He distracted himself by watching them and listening to Marc work.

Frank could hear the sink running, and the shuffling of Marc's feet, and other subtle movements here and there. He heard the sound of the cupboard under the sink open and close. He grew a little nervous waiting, and pushed that feeling back down.

His mouth went dry when the water stopped, and his cock hardened further.

There were a few more noises still; the gentle sloshing of water, Marc's arm moving. Then Marc approached where Frank was kneeling, footsteps drawing closer one by one. Frank was on his knees with his back straight. Marc had easy access to Frank's ass, and reached between his smooth cheeks to smear cool lube on Frank's hole. He pushed one finger in, quickly. Frank had no time to react to the sudden invasive feeling before it was gone, and all he felt was slick and wet instead.

Something in Frank’s chest, and his cock, swelled with humiliation.

Marc went back to the sink and stood there a moment. Frank's nervousness fluttered in his stomach, and he glanced anxiously over to where Marc was standing.

"It's at a hundred and seven," Marc said. He had a small black rubber bag sitting in the sink, bulging with its liquid contents. A fat thermometer was sticking out of the top. The larger volume enemas were delivered in a red rubber bag and Frank had learned to hate bags of both color. "Once it cools by a few degrees, I'll administer it."

Frank nodded, appreciating the information. He saw a small red rubber bulb sitting on the counter as well. He knew from experience it was only ten ounces or so, and that it was filled with soothing plain water that would help wash out the soap afterward. It gave him a little comfort to know that that was waiting for him. Frank took a few deep breaths and turned to stare at the tub.

The enema would go by fast, he lied to himself; he would hardly even feel it.

After a few minutes, Marc took the bag from the sink and brought it over to where Frank was kneeling. There was a long black hose attached with a white nozzle at the end. The nozzle was thicker than necessary, an adjustment Marc had likely made himself. He pointed the nozzle towards the tub and released a clamp on the hose, letting the air filter out. Frank watched a small amount of water splatter on the side of the tub before Marc clamped the hose off again.

He took the nozzle into his hand and moved to kneel by Frank's waist. Frank heard the slick sounds of lubricant being added. He felt so sick. He didn't want to do this. He knew he needed it, but he didn't want to endure it. He let out a breath, shaky with fear, and closed his eyes. His cock was rock hard against his stomach.

Marc lined up the fat, bulbous head on the nozzle with Frank's entrance. He paused for one second with the nozzle pressed against that tight pink pucker before quickly pushing it in. It pinched, a sharp shrill pain. Frank's cock pulsed, a fresh wave of blood filling it, and he grunted. Marc didn't let up, shoving the enema nozzle deeper and deeper despite the discomfort. Frank could feel his body swallow the widest part of it, and it hurt like hell.

Marc gave him a polite pat on the behind. "Well done."

Marc himself held the bag in hand, high over Frank's head. He reached down to where the clamp was located on the hose. "Take a deep breath," he instructed Frank.

Frank couldn't force any air in or out of his lungs. He heard the click of the clamp.

"You may scream," Marc allowed.

There was a half second where Frank didn't feel anything at all, and then it hit him.

He screamed and screamed and screamed.

The Castile oil burned. It rushed into Frank stinging like antiseptic on an open wound. All at once he could feel his insides respond. His hole twitched and spasmed, flexing as if he could possibly force the nozzle out. His bowels convulsed as if they could put the fire out. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he screamed so hard drool poured in one long strand from his gag to the tub.

With the other enemas Marc administrated, Frank barely noticed the water trickling into him until he'd had a good quart or two. The temperature of the water or milk usually so closely matched the temperature of his insides and it wasn't until he was full to the point of cramping and pressure did they start to become punishment. Castile oil was different, it was an irritant. It was like swallowing poison, only the other way around. The lining of a colon was just as sensitive to irritants as a human eye. Frank really would rather have poured Castile soap in his eyes than this. It hurt deep, deep within him as the water and oils of the soap spread deeper and deeper into his body.

It was burning, stinging, convulsion-inducing pain, but through it all his erection did not flag. He needed this, and the pain he was feeling was deeply seeded with the act of orgasm. The two went hand in hand.

The enema bag gurgled to show its emptiness. A quart was so small, after all, it did not take long for Frank's body to swallow the enema. Marc knelt down to set the empty black rubber bag on the tile.

"Shh," he soothed, reaching under Frank's body to gently press at his belly. Frank felt a little full, he supposed, but the feeling of a quart of liquid inside of him was nothing compared to the burning that raced through him. Marc gently dug his fingers in to different parts of Matt's abdomen and rubbed soothing circles into his stomach, alleviating some of the pain. Occasionally his hand would brush close to Frank's cock, but he didn't touch it; not yet. "You will hold the enema for five minutes. Your time begins now."

And so the waiting game started. Frank considered himself to be a pretty patient human being, but this was different. Each second was a blinding pain. Bee stings would be less painful than the way this soap stung his insides. His hole and bowels continued to convulse with the pain of it, needing to push the water out. His screams turned to sobs, incoherent thanks to his gag. He fought against the bonds of his wrist, still tied behind his back, trying to distract himself with some other pain.

Five minutes passed by in the span of five hours, and when Frank had finally held the enema for long enough Marc gave him a gentle pat on one of his ass cheeks. "Well done," he commended.

Frank sobbed in reply.

Marc's fist circled around Frank's cock, hard and waiting. Frank had been so distracted by the pain inside of him, he had not realized how badly he wanted to come. Just the feel of a warm hand had his back arching up, and that made the soapy water slosh around inside of him in a most painful way. Frank screamed in frustration and agony.

"Hush," Marc soothed him. He tightened his grip and started working Frank's cock in quick, methodical strokes. It was easy to coax an orgasm out of him, he was so desperate for some type of release. Frank came very suddenly, a splatter of white jizz shooting out of his cock. He whined as he climaxed, and his body clenched tight of its own accord.

Clenching up with Castile soap and the fat enema nozzle inside of him was terrible and painful and the pain of it sent the aftershocks of his climax into overdrive, more intense waves of orgasm crashing over him, making him scream. Marc stroked him through it, more come spurting from his cock. It was more exhausting than it was pleasurable.

When Frank was done coming, Marc reached for the black enema bag and plucked it up from the tile. He placed it gently on Frank's tied together hands. "Open your fist. Hold this," Marc instructed.

Frank forgot how to work his hands for a moment, and his fingers twitched before he managed to grasp the black rubber.

"Up," Marc instructed, helping pull Frank up to his feet. Frank struggled to maintain position and ended up standing in an awkward squat. The change in kneeling to standing added the element of gravity to the need to evacuate his bowels and he sobbed again, pained and struggling.

Marc led him two steps to the toilet and Frank sat heavily. With his hands tied behind his back, he could not pull out the nozzle, so it was Marc who reached between his thighs to wiggle it free. Shame licked at Frank, burning him just as badly as the Castile soap had.

Marc pulled the nozzle out incrementally and a rush of soapy water filled Frank's rectum where it had not been before causing him scream. The rest of the nozzle slid free with another hard tug and the Castile soap water exploded from Frank. It burned going out the way it had burned going in. He pushed the godforsaken liquid out of him, straining till he was empty again. Even still, his insides burned. Castile soap did have one good side, at least: it filled the whole bathroom with a sharp clean and fresh scent.

When he was done, Frank felt worn down and weak.

"Back to the edge of the tub. Rest your chest on the ledge," Marc ordered, giving him no time to relax. He took the enema bag from Frank's grasp, prying from his fists, and brought the whole thing – bag, nozzle, hose and all – to the sink.

Frank clambered in an ungainly way back into position. The potency of the soap was mostly gone, but some of the sting was still there.

He heard Marc lube up the tip of the red enema bulb on the counter. Marc approached quickly and pushed the bulb's nozzle into Frank's hole, sensitive and raw from the stinging pain of expelling the soap. Frank whined. At least the bulb's tip was small and slid in easy.

Marc squeezed down on the rubber bulb and forced lukewarm water into Frank's body. It was cool and soothing and Frank groaned openly from the relief. When the contents of the bulb were emptied into Frank, Marc pulled it out. Frank's hole suckled a little, a curious wet squelch.

"Hold it," Marc ordered.

Frank did. It was a lot easier than Castile soap. For a second time Marc reached underneath him and gently pressed different areas on Frank's belly, urging the water deeper in places to better clean out the oils of the soap.

"Crawl back a foot or so," Marc instructed, and Frank did. He pulled away from the edge of the tub. Without that edge to rest on, he struggled to keep position. "Now bow your head. That's it." Marc continued his instructions as Frank brought his head to the floor. This left him in a rather compromising position with his ass in the air, and it forced the small amount of water inside of him to trickle in deeper. His softened cock hung limp between his thighs, pointing to the tile floor.

Marc left him there to refill the bulb from the tap. He inserted the tip into Frank's hole and squirted more in. It was cool and welcome. Frank had stopped crying, though he was still in quite a bit of pain.

Marc had him hold the plain water for a few minutes before expelling it. They repeated this again and again until the water ran clean and Frank's insides stopped burning. Marc sat with him after administering one last squirt of the enema bulb. As Frank slumped, weary, on the toilet Marc sat beside him on the tub's edge. He patiently for Frank to finish releasing all of the water. In the same way he had pressed and rubbed Frank's stomach while taking the water, he pressed and rubbed different areas and worked backward, encouraging the water back out.

Every time Frank thought he was empty, another gush of water would escape him. He wished there was a faster way to do this; he wanted to be done. He was literally and figuratively wrung out from the whole ordeal.

After a good twenty to thirty minutes of nothing, Marc stood. Frank was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. His asshole stung, and his insides itched, but he hurt a lot less. He could easily sleep like this.

Marc reached between his legs and wiped him with toilet paper. Frank was unable with his arms tied, and physically too tired to move. He groaned in embarrassment, instantly feeling another burst of shame. It was only water, but still the act itself was humiliating. Marc seemed not to care.

"Sit here," Marc ordered. "Stay and don't move."

Frank nodded. He would.

Marc left him then. Franked blinked out at the bathroom floor. The red bulb was still sitting down there, and there were a few drops of water in odd places. His own come was on the tile floor too. His orgasm had been one of pain and ache. He was so glad that this was done, and they could move on.

Chapter Text

When Marc returned to the bathroom, he had two things in his hands. One was a collar, the other a plug.

He set the plug on the edge of the tub, and Frank tried not to look at it. It was black in color, long and thick. He wasn't sure if he has worn one this size before, and he was apprehensive to try it. There was a time when he wore plugs no thicker than his own thumb, thinking that they were too big. Things had certainly changed since then.

While Frank was unfamiliar with the plug Marc had chosen, he knew that collar like the back of his hand. It was black leather with a metal clasp in the back and a metal D-ring at the front of it. The insides were lined with something soft. It was the same one they had used since their first session together. Frank had given the leather a bit of wear and use and he was quite fond of the feel of it now.

Marc set the collar on the side of the tub next to the plug. Frank wasn't ready to wear either. Not yet.

"Stand up," Marc instructed.

Frank gave him a look and a groan, and Marc went to help pull Frank to his feet. It was a little odd, as Frank was quite a bit taller with much more muscle and yet he was the one struggling. Frank had been forced to endure a punishment enema, and he'd been drugged prior so it was understandable that he was a little sluggish on his feet.

Marc helped Frank shuffle and turn around. When he was facing the toilet, Marc reached around for Frank's cock, grasping it firmly in hand. He aimed it and gave the instruction: "Go."

Frank felt a rush of shame. Being watched never made going to the bathroom easy, but he tried anyway. He managed after a few long moments. Thankfully Marc was always patient with him during preparation. Frank emptied his bladder, adding it to the rest of enema water he'd emptied from himself earlier. Instead of two shakes when he was done, Marc wiped the head of his cock clean with toilet tissue and flushed everything away.

Marc took Frank by the wrist and led him to the sink. "Careful," he murmured. "Watch your step." He pointed to the wet spots on the tile, and nudged the enema bulb out of the way with a toe.

Frank was slow moving, and not just because he was still a little unsteady on his feet. He didn't want to get to the sink. Marc was going to make him look in the mirror and he didn't want to look in the mirror. He knew he had to, but he didn't want to. As reluctant as he was, he still followed. He steeled himself with each step, preparing for what he would see in his reflection.

When he stepped up to the counter he did not look at himself, he looked at the sink. The black enema bag was sitting in there, waiting to be cleaned and put away. Frank could smell the sharpness of the Castile soap and it actually made his stomach cramp in response.

Marc was standing just behind Frank. He leaned over, and it was a bit of a stretch, but he managed to grab the collar from the edge of the tub without stepping away. "Look up," Marc instructed once he had the collar in hand. "Look at yourself."

Frank could feel his heart stutter step in his chest. He looked up though he wished he didn't have to. He lifted his chin and found his own eyes in the mirror. Immediately he began to cry. He looked pathetic. The fabric of his gag dug into the corners of his mouth in an unbecoming way, and there was drool on his chin. His eyes were red and puffy. He was bare and naked and completely exposed. He didn't even have hair to hide behind because Marc had shaved him so thoroughly. He looked absolutely run down, like a horse that had been whipped long past its death.

His chest rose and fell in a quick sob. He wanted to turn away.

"This is who you are," Marc told him. "This is the face of a man who's killed a hundred and sixty people."

Frank saw in the mirror who he really was. He was weak and pathetic, run down by this war he was waging on those who had wronged him. It was not the fact that he’d killed so many that hurt him, but the fact that he felt he had to. His war was endless, and in that moment he saw how lost in it he was.

Marc reached up to wrap the collar around Frank's throat. He tightened the leather so that it was just slightly too tight, not enough to do any damage but certainly an inconvenience. "You belong to me while this collar is on, and while you're mine I will help guide you."

Frank cried as he nodded. He wanted it, so badly. Marc was like a bright light, a beacon that guided him. Relief washed over Frank as he felt the leather on his neck. He needed this. He needed to give himself over to someone else, if only for a little while. He was on the front lines every second of the day, but with Marc he could take a step back and breathe.

With the fastening of that collar, the sessions truly began, and as the clasp closed around Frank’s neck he felt at peace.

"Bend over," Marc ordered.

Frank was glad to obey. He would rather not look at himself another moment longer anyhow. He bent at the waist and leaned entirely on the bathroom counter. The marble countertop was cold under his skin, but he didn't mind the sensation.

Frank heard Marc step aside for a moment, and when he returned to his spot standing behind Frank, he reached over Frank's head to lift something from the counter. Frank did not have to guess what it was because he heard the sound of the cap clicking and the squelch of lubricant that followed.

"Spread your thighs," Marc ordered, urging one of Frank's feet out further by tapping it with his own. While Frank's feet were bare, Marc wore finely polished shoes, and the feel of them was quite impersonal on the soft of Frank's skin.

Frank spread both his feet out father, widening his legs and giving Marc easy access to his already used hole.

Marc reached between Frank's cheeks and gently spread lubricant over the pink pucker with the tips of his fingers. The lube was cold, and Frank was quite glad to feel it cooling him from the abuse of the Castile soap and the enema nozzles he'd endured thus far. Marc pushed his two lube slicked fingers into Frank's ass, and Frank's body admitted both easily. It did feel both sudden and odd enough that he gave a gentle grunt.

Marc pushed and pushed his fingers in, pressing them all the way in up to his knuckle. "You're running a bit warm inside," Marc said thoughtfully as his fingers probed Frank's opening. "If you began to feel feverishly overheated, or a worsening burning sensation, you must use your safe gesture. Do you understand me?"

Frank nodded as well as gave a verbal confirmation, a muffled affirmative sound. They used safe gestures along with safe words because Frank was so often gagged.

With two fingers stuck up Frank's ass, Marc reached out with his other hand. He turned on the sink and adjusted the faucet's handles until it was pouring out cold, cold water. Frank had a clear view of the running tap from where his head was laying on the bathroom counter. Marc had set the plug down somewhere out of sight and moved to pick it up again. He placed the black cone under the stream of water.

"I'm going to make an executive decision to cool the plug a little. The silicone won't maintain the temperature inside of you, but it'll go in slightly cold," he explained.

Frank saw the plug closer up now that it was sitting in the bowl of the sink before him. It was awfully big. It was the size of the thing that concerned him, not the temperature. Just when anxiousness began to flourish into something more in his stomach, Marc's fingers slid out of Frank's ass, distracting him. Marc pushed them back in again and slowly began fucking Frank open.

Frank had learned that he liked being fingered. He had never known this about himself until they had started these sessions. The sessions weren't about achieving orgasm of course, they were about finding resolve. Orgasms were often simply a side effect. Even still, with those gentle fingers easing in and out of him in a smooth rhythmic fashion, it brought his cock to attention. He couldn't get hard again so soon after that last orgasm, but he did twitch involuntarily.

Marc added a third finger, and it pinched a little but Frank accepted that with relative ease. They worked through the pain of it with continuous finger fucking until Frank could feel no ache at all. Marc's motions made wet, slick sounds. Frank could hear the noises over the steady stream of water beside him. It was hypnotic in its own way. After all he had been through so far Frank readily closed his eyes. He could have very easily drifted off then, if Marc had not stopped his finger fucking.

Marc used his free hand to turn off the running water. He found the uncapped tube of lube and brought it to hover over where the plug was standing upright in the sink. Frank opened his eyes to see a clear white gob of lubricant oozing down, landing on the point of the plug. Marc set the lube aside and reached down using his palm to spread the messy lubricant all over the length of the silicone.

Frank closed his eyes again. He willed his nerves away. He didn't watch as Marc lifted the plug from the sink, but he could hear the sounds of movement and motion.

There were a few seconds where Marc's three fingers were extracted from the hole of his ass, and the tip of the plug was put there in place. It was surprisingly cool. It did not penetrate so much as nudge gently against his opening.

"Deep breath," Marc instructed.

Frank drew in a deep breath through his nostrils.

Marc gave no instruction to exhale, but Frank did on his own after a few seconds. Just as his lungs were empty and he was about to breathe in again Marc plunged the plug in. Well. Most of it.

Even after all their training, Frank jolted in response. He tried to bare down as much as possible to open up his hole and allow better access, but fuck the plug was so big. It hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. He made a muffled noise of pain, jerking his shoulders. It was too big. He had been filled so suddenly by the length of it that he could swore he felt the tip right up in his guts, though that couldn't be true because it was only a few inches long. Frank could feel his hole stretched taunt around the width of the plug and he was sure there was no way it could possibly stretch wider.

"Almost there," Marc informed, giving the plug another shove. Frank screamed at the pain of the force Marc was using.

Marc was in relentless, pushing and pushing, increasing the terrible pressure until suddenly something popped and Frank swallowed the plug whole. He screamed again, fresh tears filling his eyes. He felt stretched so wide, and his too-stretched hole throbbed in the worst way.

"You need this," Marc reminded him, nudging the plug deeper for good measure.

Frank's cock twitched and his stomach twisted and he knew it was true. He moaned low in his throat, voice thick with guilt. It felt like the plug was about to split his body open at any second. He wanted it out of him but he knew it was true. He wanted this pain, intimate and deep, humiliating and terrible; he needed this.

Marc pulled open a drawer under the counter and took something out. "Vaseline," he explained as he uncapped the jar. He rubbed his fingers in it and smeared a small amount on Frank's asshole where it was stretched around the plug. Apparently it was a helpful and preventative measure but touching something so sore and abused made Frank groan.

When Marc was finished, he wiped his hands on a towel. He brought a wash cloth over and wiped away the excess lube from Frank's ass cheeks, from the soft strip of flesh where his balls met his hole, and even from where a long gob of it had dripped down his hairless testicles. Marc abandoned that washcloth for a fresh, clean one and leaned over the counter to clean the drool and tears from Frank's face.

"Preparation is over," Marc told him.

Frank sniffed and nodded against the cold bathroom counter.

"We're going to walk across the hall, and there will be an hour and six minute lull before the sessions continues."

Frank nodded at that too. The time, one hour six minutes, was no doubt derived from his one hundred and sixty reported kills. He was ready to continue.

"Can you walk?" Marc asked.

In the case that he couldn't, Marc would make him crawl, slowly. Crawling didn't seem as though it would be much easier, but Frank had learned that with a fat plug shoved up his ass most things were easier than walking. He thought he could manage and so he nodded yes.

Marc reached out for his wrist, helping Frank to stand up straight. The motion of righting himself shifted the plug inside some, and it was really rather painful. He squeezed his eyes and willed himself through it. Heavily leaning his weight on Marc's shoulder they took it one slow step at a time. Thankfully the room they were going to was just across a four foot hallway, and then it was twenty-six steps to reach the love seat with the brown wood and pink cushions.

Frank was breathing heavily by the time they reached the door to the room, and he was panting when they got to the love seat. His breath was coming short and quick, chest riding and falling rapidly. Marc helped Frank kneel between the sofa and the coffee table. The change in position sent his spine as stiff as a rod but he eased into it, relaxing slowly. His ass was sore as hell, and his cock was embarrassingly hard.

Marc sat down on the sofa, seeming a little beat himself. He had done a lot of work as well, after all. He had moved Frank's unconscious body for a solid three hours, bathing and shaving him, plus he'd administered a handful of enemas, collared and plugged Frank, and he'd lent both emotional support and rock solid stability along the way. The lull would be good for the both of them.

Frank crawled forward, lodging himself between Marc's thighs.

"I'm going to remove your gag while you recoup. No speaking allowed, understand?" Marc was already reaching out for the tie in the fabric at the back of Frank's head.

Frank nodded gently.

Marc untied the handkerchief and pulled it away from Frank's mouth. He tossed it thoughtlessly aside, focusing his attention on his task. Immediately he cupped Frank's cheeks in his hands, and brought his thumbs to the corners of Frank's mouth where the gag had dug in. He rubbed gentle circles in his skin, soothing it a little.

"Jaw stiff?" Marc asked.

Frank gently shook his head no.

Marc nodded. "Open your mouth anyway."

Frank opened his mouth wide, stretching his jaw quite long before easing up and settling his mouth at a comfortably open resting place.

Marc's one thumb softly stroked over the inner corner of Frank's mouth, so gentle that it almost tickled in an odd way. Frank didn't like the feeling of it. His eyebrows dimpled in concern. Marc caught on quickly and pushed his thumb deeper into Frank's mouth, passed his teeth, brushing over the flat of his tongue. After a moment of curious exploration Marc pulled his hands away entirely.

"Close your mouth, rest your head. Time begins now."

Frank laid his head down in Marc's thigh and closed his eyes at once. He could taste Marc's thumb on his tongue. It was clean tasting and oddly comforting.

Before Frank had blacked out from the sleeping pill, he had caught a scent of Marc's aftershave. Here, with his face practically pressed against Marc's crotch, he could smell the scent of him again. It wasn't aftershave, though; it was more earthy and musky. Marc must have sweat a little during all the preparation.

Frank inched forward, pressing his face deeper against Marc's package, nuzzling the fabric of his fine white pants. Marc allowed it, and even brought a hand to stroke through Frank's dark black hair.

Frank could see patterns move behind his eyelids. He was aware that his throat was a little dry, and that his arms had grown a little stiff from being behind his back so long. His wrists hurt a little but that was likely his own fault from straining against his cloth bindings. His cock was hard between his legs. It wasn't aching or begging to be touched, just engorged and thick. Mostly he was aware of the ache in his ass from the impossibly big plug Marc had forced inside of him. His hole pulsed in time with his slow heartbeat, a dull thud of pain that started in the stretched muscles of his hole and radiated deeper and deeper inside of him with each passing second.

It hurt, but he needed it.

Frank could not sleep like this, but he drifted sleepily, floating in and out of awareness and dreams.

Chapter Text

"Frank," Marc smoothed back Frank's hair. "Time's up."

Marc had been giving him updates throughout the lull in activity. He would quietly inform Frank of the amount of time they had left in a smooth, even voice. They had learned from past experience that this made it easier to get moving again when the time was finally up.

Sometimes the countdown made Frank nervous, less like a gentle reminder and more like a doomsday clock. He had confessed this early on to Marc during after care of a previous session, and Marc explained it to him another way. The time was not counting down to his doom, but a count bringing him deeper and deeper into the correct headspace. With each minute that passed Frank should be resigning himself over to Marc.

It was still hit and miss, of course. Frank was finding himself less and less unnerved by it as their sessions continued. Thankfully, he was not nervous now. He felt how he was supposed to feel; resigned to whatever Marc had in store. The key was to hold on to that feeling, which was always so much easier said than done.

Frank sat up slowly, blinking his eyes open. He felt stiff. His knees hurt from holding his weight for an hour and his arms were feeling tight in their position behind his back. His ass especially was hurting, but he paid it no mind. He looked up at Marc, trying to intuit something from the mask of white fabric about what they would be doing next. It was an impossible task. It didn't matter anyway. It was Marc's job to know before hand, and Frank's job to endure during.

"Stand up," Marc instructed.

Frank struggled a little but he got up on his feet by himself. The plug shifted in an uncomfortable way inside of him, reminding him just how long the damn thing was.

When Frank was standing, Marc gave a second order. "Turn your back to me."

Frank turned to face the coffee table he'd been sitting on the floor next to for so long. He kept his chin lifted high, but looked down at the wood with his eyes. He'd been tied to that coffee table with rope before. He'd been made to kneel on it while being whipped and beaten too. There were still marks in the finish where he had dug his nails in, trying to control himself.

The last time he had been here, there had been no coffee table at all. Marc had gagged Frank, bound his wrists to his ankles, shoved a five inch vibrator inside of him and used his ass cheeks as a foot rest while Frank screamed through orgasm after orgasm. After a while they started to hurt. It reminded Frank of the same way blisters formed, by being rubbed red and raw and sensitive beyond measure. Frank never wanted to feel the delicate trembling of a vibrator for the rest of his life. Just the thought of it was making him feel raw and worn out all over again.

Marc reached out to hold both of Frank's forearms together in one hand. With his free hand he went for the cloth knotting Frank's wrists together behind his back. He untied it carefully, letting the cloth fall away. Marc took Frank's wrists in each of his hands. Slowly, slowly, he eased them to Frank's sides. It was an odd feeling, and the tightness in his muscles did not decrease any.

When Frank's wrists were resting at his sides, Marc let go. "Flex," he ordered. They had previously established that this did not mean flex his muscles, but instead to flex the dexterity of his wrists, and the joints of his elbows and shoulders. Frank did as he was told, moving his arms until the tension in his muscles released a little.

"Any pain?" Marc asked.

Frank shook his head no, as he'd not been instructed to speak.

"You can feel each finger?" He continued.

Frank was almost tempted to wiggle each one in order to know for certain. Instead he curled them into fists. He nodded again.

Marc was likely going to tie him up again, hence all the questioning. If Frank reported any odd, inexplicable pain or numbness, Marc would change his plans and opt for something that required less bondage.

In all the sessions they ever did together, plans had only ever been changed once. Sometimes Marc made executive decisions, but those were minor changes. He always announced an executive decision to change the plan, giving Frank ample opportunity to use his safe word, or gesture to opt out.

During one unique preparation, Marc had tried out a new form of rope work that covered the length of Frank’s forearms. It had actually been rather enjoyable to be bonded that tightly, but his arms had gone wholly numb. Marc had intended to string Frank up from the hook in the bedroom and cane him, but they both decided against it. Instead Frank was made to plant his hands against the wall and stand on his tip toes. Every time the heels of his feet touched the floor he received another lash from the cane. It had been one of their more brutal sessions, but he was grateful for it in the end.

Marc surprised Frank by suddenly touching the end of the plug, a small black bulbous obtrusion that was literally sticking out if him. Marc didn’t do any obnoxious tapping or painful shoving, but still Frank could feel the touch travel through the silicone and nudge deep into him. He swallowed a grunt and clenched his teeth.

“Any concerns about this?” Marc asked.

Frank hesitated. He could nod his head yes. He could tell Marc how big it felt and how much it hurt to wear. Instead he shook his head no. The plug was supposed to make him feel stretched and full. There were no real concerns; nothing felt actually wrong about it. He knew Marc had a limit of time with these things. He never liked to leave plugs in for more than three hours. Knowing that made Frank feel safer wearing it.

“Cock hard?” Marc asked, gently touching the curve of Frank’s ass, palm sliding over the smooth skin.

Frank actually had to look down to check. He was at half-mast. He shook his head no.

Marc stood, then. There was so little distance between the coffee table and the love seat that he crowded quite close to Frank, the soft fabrics of his white clothes touched Frank’s bare skin. “Make sure it is by the time we reach the bedroom.”

Frank swallowed. The entryway into the bedroom section of the room was only twenty feet away. He had a few go-to things in his mind that usually worked for him, and he started thinking through them immediately. The fact that he would be walking into some new kind of pain helped as well.

Marc reached up to grab Frank by the back of the neck. His fingers slid over the leather collar, reminding Frank that it was there. He used this grip to lead Frank into the adjacent part of the room. Together they walked, and by the time they reached to spot where Frank had started the session by taking off his clothes, his cock was indeed hard.

“Stay here,” Marc ordered, abandoning his hold on Frank’s neck. “Keep your eyes ahead. Don’t speak.”

Marc’s voice was already traveling further away from him, and the sound of his footsteps were lost in the carpet. His last words came from over near the bed. Frank faced forward, having no intention to look. He could feel a little nervousness bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he took a deep breath and willed it away. He focused on the sounds he was hearing, and harkened back to the calm he felt sitting on the floor between Marc’s knees.

Though it sounded like Marc had set to work retrieving quite a few things from under the bed, he walked into Frank’s line of sight with nothing but a length of white polypropylene rope. It was wound up for storage, and already Marc was unwinding it. He let the slack fall to the floor. 

“Hold your hands out,” Marc ordered as he worked. He paused in his unwinding to reach out and correct the positioning he wanted Frank’s hands to be in. He adjusted it so that Frank’s wrists were three inches apart, and his palms were facing each other, sticking straight out in front of him. 

Then, with section of the rope Marc form a loop. He slipped the large loop around both of Frank’s hands and began to work diligently. He wrapped Frank’s wrists, distributing the rope evenly, covering a good three or four inches of skin. He wrapped the rope between Frank’s wrists as well and created a knot there, one that could bare weight. The look of the rope-work was not unlike a pair of handcuffs though thicker in all aspects.

Marc gave the excess rope hanging from Frank’s wrists a sharp tug. The knot in the middle took the brunt of the tug and it didn’t hurt Frank’s wrists in any way. Marc was checking his work, making sure the pressure would be applied in the right places. Frank knew, all at once, that he was going to be strung up. He tried to will away his nervousness again but he found he couldn’t this time.

“Relax,” Marc whispered, as if he could sense Frank’s uncertainty.

Frank swallowed but did not say anything. Apparently his manner did not change enough for Marc’s liking, so Marc gently held the fingers of one of his bound hands. “Frank. Relax. You need this.”

Frank nodded in understanding. Marc was right. He did need this. He wanted this. He took in a deep breath.

Marc helped Frank walk from where he was standing over to where the hook in the ceiling. Marc positioned him to stand perfectly under it, and even stepped back to make sure everything was just right before he gave the next order. “Raise your hands. Slowly. Put them above your head.”

Frank did as he was told. His arms were still a little stiff from earlier, and he knew this was not like to make them any less so. When his arms were deemed to be in the proper position, Marc took the excess slack and tossed it over the curve of the hook. When he pulled, Frank’s hands were yanked upward by the rope and his arms grew taut. Marc pulled again, harder, and the pull on his wrists was so that Frank needed to stand on the tips of his toes in order to be comfortable.

Marc brought the end of a rope to an eyehole in the wall. He took his time and tied it securely. When he was finished, he gave the length a tap, and it was stiff and tight. “Try giving it a tug.” He told Frank.

Frank did just that, attempting to pull down with his arms. It was secure. 

He could have gotten out of it; not because Marc hadn’t done a good job, but because Frank was the Punisher. He had to know his way out of situations like this, or he would never survive his war. He’d been tied up so many times by assholes trying to interrogate him or torture him, and this pulley system would be a piece of cake in that type of situation. The point of what they were doing here and now wasn’t for Frank to try and escape. The point of the ropes and the hook was to keep him relatively in place while the session ensued. If Frank wanted out, all he had to do was say his safe word and Marc would cut him loose. He didn’t need an escape plan. It was nice not to need an escape plan. Frank felt oddly safe like this.

“Good,” Marc nodded. “Are you ready to begin?”

Frank nodded too. He never really quite felt… ready. Still, he wanted to continue.

Marc stepped away from where Frank was suspended and walked over to the bed. Whatever he wanted to use for the session was sitting on top of the bedspread. Frank was allowed to look now; it was only under the bed he wasn’t allowed to see. He held his chin high and stared at the opposite wall instead. He didn’t want to know. Marc knew, and that was enough. Sometimes there were shapes that stood out obviously against the dark blue covers that he could not help but noticing. Whatever they would be using today was black and maybe silver, but the details were lost in the dark colors melding together.

When Marc returned to where Frank was strung up, he had two different items in his hands, both of them small enough that Frank really had to look to see what they were. One he recognized as a black leather cock ring, the kind that snapped into place as opposed to a rubber or silicone one that would stretch. They had used cock rings before, and often. He would be surprised if he wasn’t made to wear one, in all honesty. 

The other item was similar, but more of a cylinder than a ring. It too was black leather, but it was nearly two inches where the cock ring was barely two thirds of an inch. The leather appeared to be thicker, and stiffer as well. Frank supposed it was more like a leather cuff than anything else, only much too small to wrap around any part of his body, including the shaft of his cock. He wasn’t sure what Marc was going to do with it.

Frank had to wait a little longer to find out, because Marc was putting on the cock ring first. He shifted Frank’s balls out of the way and slid the leather into place just behind where they were hanging. He wrapped the ring around the shaft of Frank’s cock at its base and snapped it tightly into place. It was a snug fit, but not entirely uncomfortable. It was just a sort of pressure, similar to Frank’s collar, carefully reminding him it was there.

“Do you know what this is?” Marc asked, turning the little leather cuff over in his fingers a few times. His masked face tilted up at Frank for a moment, in time to see Frank shake his head no.

All the items they used were on a preapproved list, of course. Frank was open to nearly anything Marc wanted to use. He had few hard lines, if any. All the items kept under the bed were items that Frank was okay with using during their sessions. Some of them he was unfamiliar with, sure, but he knew enough about what they were to know his body could handle it. Marc always eased him into something new, which helped.

“This,” he gestured with the cuff. “Is aptly named, the ball stretcher.”

Despite the ring that had just been snapped around it, Frank’s cock twitched a little at the words. His tongue felt suddenly thicker in his mouth. He looked at the cuff again, understanding it a little better.

“Not very eloquent-sounding,” Marc said derisively. “It doesn’t need to be eloquent though, does it? It just needs to get the job done.” He reached out gently for Frank’s balls again. He wrapped a finger and a thumb above his testicles, cinching around the soft flesh of Frank’s sack. It pinched enough that Frank arched his back in response, his face twisting into a dour expression. “Hold still.” Marc murmured. He pulled down, stretching Frank’s nuts in an impossible and utterly uncomfortable way.

Frank wanted to squirm. Marc just kept pulling, and pulling, and pulling, exerting the exact same amount of pressure but the pain of it grew worse and worse and worse. The muscles in Frank’s legs began to tremble, already tense from being forced to stand on tip-toe.

He was just about to buck his hips, or squirm away, when Marc wrapped the leather cuff around the stretched flesh of his balls and snapped it into place. The snapping was the worst part, because he had to squeeze quite tightly for the snaps to click. Frank let out an involuntary noise and immediately stifled himself. He wanted to scream. 

When it was done, he looked down. He saw his sack pouching out from under the leather cuff, quickly becoming red in color. It made his cock and balls look ugly, and it hurt like hell. The top edge of the cuff was digging into the soft underside of his cock too, as if he didn’t have enough pain to deal with.

“Hold on.” Marc hurried to the bed and back again. He returned with another leather cock ring, like the first one Frank had been made to wear… but smaller. It didn’t look as though it would fit around his own thumb, much less anywhere else, but of course he was wrong. Marc wrapped it, small as it was, just under the head of Frank’s cock. It dug in quite a bit, but it snapped into place. “Ah. There we go.”

Frank closed his eyes. He could feel his blood sluggishly trying to force its way past the tight leather rings. Every heart beat made a different part of his cock or sack ache.  Frank realized in that moment that he was shaking all over. He tried to breathe in through his nose and out his mouth but he wasn’t sure he could. He was holding in a scream.

He was holding in a scream.

He didn’t want to hold it in anymore; he wanted to let it out, but he was terrified of the words he might shout, if any. That was one of the worst, most embarrassing parts to all this; when he started blubbering like a fucking idiot.

“Yellow,” Frank whispered instead of screaming. His voice shook as he spoke. For good measure, he snapped his fingers again and again. They didn’t make a popping noise, more like a dull thud, but he did it anyway.

Marc’s back straightened all at once and he reached out, gently touching Frank’s side. Normally he grasped for Frank’s arm and pressed his thumb in to ground Frank a little, but with Frank’s arms extended above his head, that was a bad idea. He pressed his thumb against one of Frank’s ribs instead, showing Frank he was right there with him. “What’s wrong?” He asked immediately.

Frank shook his head, afraid he might cry. “Please… I need a gag. Please.” He didn’t want to do this without one.

Marc nodded. “Okay, Frank. Deep breath. Just breathe for me. I’ll get you one.”

Frank gulped at the air, trying to show that he was listening. It wasn’t working. The only thing that comforted him was seeing Marc step away, watching him walk to the bed. If they were still in session, Frank wouldn’t have been allowed to watch this happen, but he’d used his safeword and game was now suspended. If he’d said the word ‘red’ instead of ‘yellow’ Marc would be untying him and bringing him down right now. Frank wanted to continue, he did; they didn’t need to stop… he just wanted to continue with a gag. That was all.

Marc pulled out a clear plastic storage case from under the bed. He kept everything neatly arranged and Frank was pretty sure there were multiple storage cases under there. There had to be. He pulled out a gag and quickly closed the case, pushing it back under the bed. He walked over to Frank, clearly brandishing a ball gag. It was Frank’s favorite, and just the sight of it was calming. The ball in the middle of the leather straps was hard black silicone, just over an inch and a half around. It was on the small side for a gag, but Frank preferred it that way.

“Just relax,” Marc instructed. “Take another deep breath and I’ll put it on.”

Frank could actually breathe now, so he drew in a nice long breath let it out. Marc had to stand up on the tips of his own toes in order to reach. He held the ball up for Frank’s lips, and Frank gratefully took it into his mouth. Marc pulled the leather straps around and buckled the gag in to place. 

“Better?” he asked.

The relief that washed over Frank was unreal. He still hurt in so many ways and in so many places, but it wasn’t as bad now. He nodded his head. 

Marc stood back, and they both took a minute to adjust. “Would you like to continue?” he asked. 

Frank nodded again. 

Marc grasped for Frank's balls, ball stretcher and all. Just touching them was enough to make Frank's groan, but when Marc squeezed them tightly he received a strangled cry in response, muffled heavily by the gag.

"That's it," Marc encouraged as he tugged on Frank's sack and then tightened his grip. "Let it out."

It felt good to cry out, and Frank was comforted by the ball in his mouth, stifling him from begging or sniveling or anything else exceptionally pathetic.

Marc eased up and let go after a moment, and the relief was exceptional. Frank did not have much time to enjoy it, because the next thing he felt was a stinging slap to the tender flesh of his testicles where they were protruding from the bottom of the leather cuff. His back arched and he let out a noise. Marc slapped him again, and then again. Frank's cock and balls proved to be a moving target, and it didn't help that Frank was squirming in pain, but Marc did not cease. The skin he was hitting was so sensitive that each slap stung in a way that made Frank's eyes water.

"There..." Marc gripped his cock too hard and gave it a rough, dry stroke and let go. "Nice and warmed up." He accented his words with another quick snap of his wrist, slapping Frank's cock one last time.

Marc left him hanging there, cock and balls still smarting from the pain, and walked over to the bed. He returned with his hands full. Frank saw rope and metal and he knew he was in for it, whatever it was.

Marc knelt down and carefully splayed a few items out at Frank's feet. Frank could not see past the width of his own chest to look at what was placed on the floor, but he knew it didn't matter. The items wouldn't stay on the carpet for long; they'd be used to torture him in some way.

Marc picked up something that looked exactly like a carabiner though smaller. It was metal, and black in color. He brought it between Frank's legs, and Frank could quite clearly feel Marc's warm hands moving against the insides of his thighs. Marc shifted his sore balls inside the metal carabiner, hinged and snapped, but Frank felt nothing. Marc picked up a second carabiner; this one he seemed to hook into the ball stretcher, and again Frank felt nothing. He expected the cool metal to surprise him, or to feel a sharp snap of pain, but nothing came.

Frank looked down, concerned, and watched as Marc lifted a final carabiner. He brought it to the leather cock ring strapped just under the head of Frank's cock. It appeared there was a way to secure the carabiner into the cock ring. When it was secure and in place, Marc gave the carabiner a tug, and with it Frank's cock was tugged down as well. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel all that pleasant either. Frank swallowed the spit building in his mouth, mind racing, wondering what would happen next.

"This is your first time using weights," Marc said thoughtfully. He picked up a black string no more than a foot long with a chrome metal ball attached to the end. He stood up and showed Frank how simple and basic it was. "I'd have liked to make you wear sixteen pounds, but we'll start with six. This is a three pound weight, Frank. Do you see?"

Marc was holding the string up above his own head and the ball was dangling near his face. It looked so small, but Frank had no doubt it weighed exactly that much. Frank nodded.

"I'm going to tie this one on, and you tell me if it's too much."

Marc knelt down again, reaching around for the carabiner he had first clipped into place. Frank didn't feel anything at first besides the gentle movements of Marc's hands. Marc finished tying the string and slowly lowered the weight. The string grew taut, and then began to tug. Frank felt the pressure of it, and it forced his cock from pointing up to sticking straight ahead. The weight of it grew heavier and heavier until Marc was holding it no longer and instead it hung on its own. Frank felt every ounce of the weight. The leather cock ring was suddenly so tight, digging into his soft skin. He groaned.

"Alright?" Marc asked.

Frank nodded.

"Heavy?" he continued.

Frank nodded again.

"How's it feel when I do this?" Marc asked him, giving the weight a push. Suddenly it was swinging back and forth, shifting and tugging down on his cock in a different ways with each swing. Frank shook his head vehemently and whined. He'd rather have it still.

"Oh, then you're really not going to like this." Marc picked up the weight in the palm of his hands, lifted it not a few inches, and dropped it.

Frank screamed.

The feeling of the weight dropping was sudden, but not sharp like the pain of Marc's slaps. It was a dull thud, strenuous and horrible. Marc went reaching for the weight again and Frank struggled away, dancing back on his tip toes. The meat hook his hands were suspended from kept him relatively in place but he managed to step a foot or so back. Marc's face might have flashed with disappointment, but his mask hid his emotions. He reached out for the string of the weight and yanked hard. A new, more intense pain blossomed at the base of Frank's cock, and he cried out yet again.

"Stay still," he said in a clear, calm voice that brokered no argument. "You have two more weights to wear. Any movement and you will regret it."

Frank didn't doubt that. He tip toed back into his proper place and stayed there, breathing heavily through his nose.

Marc made him wait a moment before he went to pick up the next weight. He looped the string through the carabiner attached to Frank's ball stretcher. Frank began whining in fear. Marc eased the weight slowly downward, and Frank began to feel the heaviness of it. More and more it pulled down on the ball stretcher, squeezing his nuts in a terribly painful way. Unbidden tears fell from the corners of his eyes. It hurt so much. It pinched in the worst way and added to the pain that was already radiating out from his cock ring. Feeling the full weight of it was agony. He moaned low in his throat, willing his body not to tremble from the pain less he send the two weights hanging from his cock and balls knocking into one another.

"There. How's that feel?" Marc asked.

Frank wept openly and shook his head.

"Only one more weight left, Frank." Marc reached out to gently pat his thigh. "I know it's tough, but you can handle this. I promise you. You'll be better for it when this is all over."

Frank had a hard time understanding what Marc was saying. He could hear the words quite clearly but his cock and balls hurt so much that nothing else mattered.

Marc quickly and efficiently tied the last weight to the carabiner at the head of Frank's dick. He lowered it slowly and gently. The weight of it pulled down on Frank's cock so much that even though he was erect, it pointed down to the floor. This did nothing to help the pain of the leather rings and cuff digging into his sensitive skin. His moaning continued non-stop. Each beat of his heart sent a pulse of pain radiating through his cock. It was endless and constant, a dim, dull ache that would not leave him.

Marc stood and took a long moment to admire his work. The black leather, the metal carabiners, the lengths of string, and the three chrome weights hanging side by side between Frank's knees. They were swaying ever so slightly, put to motion by Frank's bedraggled breathing and slight trembling.

"Frank," Marc spoke to him in a calm voice. "We're not done."

Frank shut his eyes and big tears squeezed out. He was moaning and could not stop but now he moaned harder.

Marc stepped up to him and gently placed a hand on his torso. His fingers spanned the length of Frank's ribs, and one of his thumbs pressed gently into his skin over a rib bone. Frank focused on the soft feeling of Marc's touch, trying his damnedest to push the pain from his mind.

"I need you to stop moaning and take a deep breath before we continue," Marc told him.

Frank knew that the longer that took him, the longer he would be strung up and weighed down and let to suffer. Soft noises still managed to escape him but he did stop moaning. He took one shaky breath after the other, forcing air into his lungs.

"There," Marc nodded. "That's it. Nice, deep breath."

He waited patiently for Frank's breathing to even before he took his hand away and stepped back. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled something out. Frank blinked through his tears, trying to see what it was.

"This," Marc explained as he brandished something white cylindrical in his hands. Frank thought it looked like plastic, but he wasn’t sure. "Is an invention of SpectorCorp."

He gave a flick of his wrist and it extended like that of a police baton. Frank immediately felt unwell. His breathing hitched and his chest felt like it was about to burst. "Shh, hey," Marc put the baton in one hand and reached out for Frank to touch him in his usual grounding way. "I'm not going to beat you with it. Relax."

Marc never lied to him during sessions, but Frank's mind couldn't connect those words with what he had seen and his chest heaved in a sob. His face felt red and hot. His balls hurt so fucking much. He was crying and moaning again and he couldn't help it.

"Frank. Look at me. Watch what I'm doing." Marc reached for the thickest end of the baton and gave it a twist. Immediately it began to humm. The opposite end of the baton, where it was smaller with a rounded point, grew purple.

Frank's mind whirred, but he couldn't quite fit together all the pieces.

"This is technically a stun gun." Marc informed him. "But unlike stun guns I can set levels. The highest setting will incapacitate you. The lowest won't cause you any pain. I'm going to let you feel the lowest setting now."

Frank tensed and tip toed back, which set the weights swaying. He cried out, panicking, but Marc swiftly stuck the tip of the baton to his skin anyway. The baton touched Frank's thigh and Frank keened out a high pitch wine, expecting a shock. All he felt were soft tingles. It was less painful than the electric shocks he got touching a door knob after walking on carpet.

"Frank?" Marc's voice was kind and patient. "Take a deep breath, alright? Allow yourself to be receptive to what you're actually feeling, don't get caught up in your thoughts."

Frank swallowed and nodded. He was normally so much better at this. This was two new things in one session though, he was allowed to be at least a little frazzled. The weights and ball stretcher were both a new experience and excruciating, it was hard to think past them.

"Close your eyes," Marc ordered.

Frank did.

"Clear your mind," Marc continued. "All the fear and anticipation, I want you to get rid of it."

Frank was nervous about the baton, but he gave that nervousness away. It was Marc's responsibility to wield the baton and use it knowingly. Frank need not concern himself with it. It would be used on him in a way Marc deemed necessary, and he would endure. He breathed through his nose, and even though his body was still tight from being strung up, he felt more relaxed.

The pain in his cock and balls was a constant agony, but if he cleared his mind enough it almost blended seamlessly with the quite of his mind.

"I'm going to turn the level on the baton up higher," Marc told him then. "Not enough to stun you, but enough to cause some pain."

Frank nodded solemnly, he needed it.

"Sixteen shocks," Marc continued, though his voice sounded far away.

Frank knew that the number was connected to 160 somehow but he pushed that thought away. Clear mind. He had a nice clear mind. He wasn't thinking of anything. Behind his eyelids the light of the room was dull orange and in the blank orange-ness he settled.

The first shock literally turned his body stiff. It ripped a scream from his throat. This was not the pleasant buzzing he felt a moment ago. It was less painful than the stun a true stun gun would give, but it stung like a bitch. Marc had delivered it to the top of his thigh. The muscles in Frank's whole leg had straightened all at once and now they twitched and pulsed painfully as the after effect of the shock coursed through him.

His body had reacted on its own to the electricity and since he'd jolted so suddenly, the weights hanging from his cock and balls bounced a little. It was torture in its purest form.

Frank cried, but he kept his mind clear. He did not anticipate when the next touch of the baton would be. He waited, hanging from his wrists, open and receptive to the pain.

The next shock was in the soft of his inner thigh. Again it stung, sending white hot pain flashing through him. His body jolted, his muscles contracted. The weights bounced, his cock and balls were assaulted with pain, and he screamed again. It was muffled but raw, the brutality of what he was feeling rang clear as a bell in his voice.

The next shock came and he could scarcely feel it. He knew it had landed on his other thigh but it did not affect him in the way the last two had. He did not feel weighed down, or tied up. He felt open and empty. There was a complete lightness to him. When Marc shocked him again he felt as though it was some other person being forced through the pain of it, not him. His cock did not ache, his balls were not stretched, his wrists were not tied, his ass wasn't filled, and he was not being shocked. He was floating listlessly, only vaguely aware of movement around him and slight pressure on his skin.

Frank drifted, and sensation passed over him like a soft breeze. He felt everything and nothing. Time meant nothing.

"Frank," Marc's voice came to him like filtered through water. "Frank."

Frank thought he felt a hand touching his face but it was so light and gentle it couldn't have been a real sensation. His eyes rolled as he tried to open them.

"Last one, Frank. Are you ready?"

Had they gone through fifteen of these? Frank decided he didn't care. He separated himself from Marc's words and drifted off again.

The head of his cock suddenly felt warm, and an ache blossomed in his balls, even here in his listless floating. Frank made a noise, wishing the pain away.

The orange behind his eyes slowly fuzzed away to blackness.

 

Chapter Text

Frank came to on the bed. He knew it was the bed on account of how he was laying down on something soft, and how comfortable he felt.

"Hey." Marc's voice was soothing and calm. "You with me, Frank?"

Frank felt a hand on his upper arm; Marc's thumb was gently pressed against his skin. Though he hurt all over, Frank focused on this. He tried to speak but his voice was raw. He tried to nod but his head felt fat and heavy. He must have managed to nod a little though, because Marc gently squeezed his arm.

"Good. Just relax."

It was easy to do.

"You've been out for fourteen minutes." Marc told him.

Out, Frank had learned, did not necessarily mean blacked out. He didn't remember anything after the warm ache in his dick, but there were plenty of times that his mind was black and Marc told him he still moved and struggled and moaned. That's what out was, Frank supposed. Being there without really being there.

"I brought you down and untied your wrists. I took the cock rings off, and the ball stretcher. I took your ball gag. I removed the plug."

As Marc filled him in with everything that had happened in the last fourteen minutes, Frank went through a mental checklist in his head. It was true he was laying, and no longer suspended. His wrists were on opposite sides of his waist and not tied together. His cock felt light, and his balls definitely hurt but they didn't feel stretched. His lips were closed, and his ass felt achingly empty.

Even though there was nothing immediately causing him pain, there were still residual aches from what he had gone through. His cock and balls especially hurt, his shoulders too. There were muscles in his thighs and the ass of his cheeks that felt overworked, like he'd worked out too hard. His asshole was raw and angry with him.

He groaned softly.

Marc squeezed his arm.

"It's okay. You're right here with me, Frank, and I'm going to take care of you," Marc promised him.

Frank could feel Marc's body closing in around his own. He was being held; cuddled.

Frank could not stop the sleep that overcame him.

He woke to the feeling of Marc gently shaking his shoulder. "Frank? Frank sit up."

Frank struggled to awake further. Moving was so painful, he didn't want to. He struggled wholly, so Marc helped him.

"There, that's it." Marc encouraged. "Can you open your eyes?"

They were crusty with dried tears, but Frank blinked them open. The lights in the bedroom had been turned down, and it was comfortably dark, which made it nice and easy to open his eyes.

Marc had his mask off. He was holding a cup of water in his hand, and he brought it up to Frank's lips. Frank tried to raise a hand to hold the cup himself but his arms were so damn heavy. He had no idea how dry his throat was until he took a first sip, then it was with determination that he gulped the rest down.

"Easy," Marc murmured. When Frank was done he tossed the cup aside. It was plastic and empty, so it didn't matter. Frank was what mattered, and it was clear in the way Marc was looking at him. "You were asleep for eight minutes there, I think."

Frank still wanted to be asleep. "...tired," he grumbled. His eyes were losing focus, so he closed them.

"Now that you've had some water, I'll let you rest," Marc allowed. He shifted on the bed, and when Frank opened his eyes it was in time to see Marc gently draping the comforter over him. It was pleasantly warm. Frank had no idea why he felt so cold.

Marc moved to crawl under the covers beside him. Where Frank was laying with his head in the pillows, Marc was sitting with his back against the head board. He pulled Frank close and Frank readily laid his head in Marc's lap. Marc's fingers began massaging one of Frank's shoulders, gentle and soft. He soothed away some of Frank's pain, and Frank fell asleep to the feeling of fingers working the tension out if his muscles.

When Frank woke a third time, he felt sore. Impossibly sore. His head was pounding and his throat was raw. His every muscle screamed at him. His cock was burning, his ass pulsing with pain. He had fallen asleep with his head in Marc's lap, but now it was resting among the pillows. Carefully he moved to sit up. The room was dark.

Frank struggled onto his feet. His thighs ached unbearably with each step. In the entry way to the other half of the room he paused and collected himself. He could hear Marc's voice out in the hall. He was drawn to it. When he opened the door to the hallway the glaring light of it blinded him. He leaned against the door frame, breathing heavily.

Marc turned suddenly, realizing he was there. "Frank?" he hurried to Frank's side, hefting some of his weight, helping him to stand.

Frank wondered who Marc was talking to, but his throat was too raw to ask. "Bathroom," he said instead.

Marc walked him across the hall to the bathroom. The whole place was cleared as if the preparations had never happened. The tub had been wiped dry, the floors were clean. There were no enema bags or nozzles. Marc brought him to the toilet. Frank was still naked so all he had to do was grab hold of his cock and aim, but his dick was sore and raw and pissing felt like burning fire.

"Fuck," he groaned as he went. He didn't entirely empty his bladder, just enough that he didn't feel the need to go. It hurt too much for more than that. When he looked down he saw the head of his cock was red and throbbing. The sight of it made his chest hitch up.

"It's okay," Marc reached out for his arm and squeezed. "You were floating pretty far, Frank. I don't think you remember. I gave you a shock on the head of your penis."

Frank had finished with the toilet so he stumbled back to lean against the wall. He was catching his breath, wracking his mind to try and recall that happening. He had felt his cock burning. If he concentrated hard enough it was almost like he could remember it. "I came?" he asked, realizing this as he spoke.

Marc nodded. "Pretty hard to do with a stretcher and weights on, but you did." He hesitated, and then spoke again in a softer voice. "It was amazing."

Frank felt an odd swell of pride in his chest.

"C'mon," Marc gave his arm a gentle tug. "Let's go eat."

Frank was always hungry after a session.

He flushed and washed his hands, and then, with an arm wrapped over Marc's shoulders, they walked the great length of the hallway to the kitchens. It wasn't usually well-stocked, but it was such a large kitchen area that it almost seemed ridiculous that it should be. Marc kept the essentials, and that was all that mattered.

Frank sat down at the table, wincing heavily, and Marc got him a glass of water. It was nice and cool. Even knowing it would be painful to piss out later, he swallowed it gratefully.

"How long was I asleep?" Frank asked. His voice was still pretty hoarse from screaming, but it proved easier to speak now that he'd had something to drink.

"About four hours and forty minutes. You were really wiped out," Marc said as he turned on the stove and began to heat a can of soup in a pot.

Frank still felt wiped out. He might need a day or so to recover from this one. He felt his eyes closing. His mind was alert but his body was so tired.

Marc walked over from the stove and stood behind him. He reached out to gently run his fingers through Frank's dark hair. "How are your arms?" he asked.

Frank considered. "Sore."

"Nothing a standard citizen would be concerned about?" The distinction was important because as the Punisher, Frank was used to a lot of pain. He didn't have the luxury of going to the hospital for anything. If something was really bothering him, Marc would look into fixing him up.

He sometimes wanted to call the Night Nurse so she could have a look at him but Frank wasn’t so keen on the idea. Her prices were expensive as it was, and bothering her about vigilante related injuries was one thing, but sex stuff? Forget about it.

"No," Frank shook his head. "Feels sore but okay."

"And your wrists?" Marc asked, combing Frank's hair back with his fingers.

Frank subconsciously gave them a flex. "Little stiff," he shrugged.

"I massaged them quite a bit while you were asleep," Marc admitted. He stepped away to check on the stove, and Frank suddenly craved his touch.

Frank look down at his hands, imagining Marc caressing them kindly. His chest filled up with some unknown sensation, like he might cry or laugh or something.

"Thighs?" Marc asked.

Frank had to swallow the lump in his throat. "Sore."

"I used the baton on them a lot. Go easy on the running these next few days," Marc suggested as he pulled down a bowl from the cabinet.

Frank gave him a look, and even with his back turned Marc caught it. He laughed to himself as he ladled soup into the bowl. "Do some stake-outs instead. Stay home. Clean and oil all your guns."

Those may have just been jokes but it was that type of thing that Frank appreciated. Marc understood him and where he was coming from in all of this. He nodded, supposing to himself that those were both viable options.

"Ass?" Marc asked, bringing the bowl of soup to the table for Frank to eat. It was thick and chunky with hunks of meat and a good creamy broth.

"Which part of it?" Frank asked, accepting a spoon from Marc. His hole and cheeks were aching.

Marc smiled. "I think you were completely out but I shocked your ass cheeks quite a few times. The muscles will be sore a few days." He moved to sit down at the table near Frank. He watched him eat.

Frank had soup in his mouth so he just nodded to show he'd be wary.

"And the plug I gave you was really big. You might want to give yourself a couple week's rest from assplay," he continued.

Frank nodded again. He didn't fuck around with his ass, not unless Marc was the one doing it. He didn't go home and shove things up there. He didn't even jerk off. There were no worries about that.

Marc continued. "And eat some healthy food, not just MRE's. Those enemas really cleared you out. Anything greasy is gonna feel like a stomach flu."

Frank winced. "I'm eating."

"Yeah, and I give a shit about what's going to happen to you after you leave. So if I gross you out while you're eating, I don't care." Marc's tone was level, and surprisingly loving despite the way those words could have sounded. He reached under the table to gently touch Frank's thigh. It was soothing and welcome.

Frank couldn’t help thinking, in that moment, that Marc was just different without the mask on; softer, somehow. He appreciated both sides. This was the only person in the world Frank allowed himself to be vulnerable and open with. The masked man with intensity and focused, and the unmasked man with kindness and care were both equally as important.

"Alright," Frank gave in. "What else do I have to remember? Drink lots of water, I know." They went through this every time, he knew the drill by now.

Marc nodded. "Your cock might hurt the next few days, balls especially. Erections might be painful." He sounded like a pill commercial. "Take some painkillers Frank, just some over-the-counter stuff."

Frank sighed and showed he agreed by nodding yet again. "Is that it?"

Marc patted his thigh. "That's it."

Frank ate the rest of his soup in comfortable silence. He was a little embarrassed about the way Marc so casually talked about personal parts of his body and how they would feel in the upcoming days. Every time he swallowed a mouthful of soup, his adam’s apple would bob against the collar still around his throat, reminding him that the session wasn’t quite over. Sessions involved after care; this was all part of it. Frank would have been mortified and angry if Marc was talking about his body like this without that collar on, but as it was, he accepted it and continued eating.

When he was done with the soup, he felt a little better, though more awake and more acutely aware of what ached and what didn't.

"Want to lay down a while?" Marc suggested, standing up to take his spoon and bowl.

Frank shook his head. "I've got irons in the fire."

"You always have irons in the fire." Marc pointed out. "Come lay with me for a few minutes."

Frank stood, a little uneasy on his feet, and shook his head. "I’d like my clothes back."

Taking his clothes back truly meant their session would be over. Marc seemed disappointed but he nodded.

Together they walked to the front hall where Frank's duffle was sitting. His clothes had been moved from under the bed to sit beside his bag. Frank took his time, carefully getting dressed. He was putting himself back together, becoming who he really was again. The clothing strengthened his resolve and when he stood, he stood with confidence.

"Let me at least give you a ride?" Marc suggested. He walked up to where Frank was standing and reached around to the back of his neck. He unbuckled to collar and slid it free. It felt odd to be without it. Frank ached for it, for a moment, before he collected himself. He had places to go, people to kill.

Frank accepted Marc’s offer for a ride.

Marc's car was so high tech, rigged with SpectorCorp electronics, that it drove himself. Frank and Marc piled into the back of the white car together. Frank always gave him a different address, not quite comfortable leading Marc straight to his hold in an abandoned part of the subways just yet. He gave Marc the cross streets a couple blocks away from a station. That would be close enough. Marc punched the address into the GPS of his phone, and the car drove by itself. It still freaked Frank out a little bit, but they'd never crashed so it seemed fine.

It was dark outside, and that wasn't just the tint of Marc's car windows. Judging by the amount of cars and people on the streets, or lack thereof, Frank guessed that it was past midnight. The soft rumbling of the car lulled him and he leaned heavily on Marc's shoulder.

When they reached Frank's stop, Frank didn't want to move. "Circle the block," he said.

Marc programmed it into his phone and the car obeyed. He wrapped an arm around Frank's shoulders and Frank leaned into him, breathing in his scent.

"You can stay at my place," Marc suggested.

Frank wanted to so badly in that moment, but he knew he couldn't. If he gave in to that, he might never leave Marc’s side.

"I've got a war to fight," he murmured.

"Okay, soldier," Marc murmured softly, fully supporting him. "Go fight it, then."

When the car pulled up to the corner a second time, Frank forced himself to turn away from the comfort of Marc's grasp and climb out of the car. It was colder outside than he expected it to be.

"Call me if you need help, or anything else." Marc said to him.

Frank nodded. He was grateful for Marc, and how understanding he was.

He was grateful for Marc, for everything.