Slayer'verse: Demons, Slime, and Other Facts of Life
Fandom: HSM with some BtVS lore mixed in and Bandom (MCR)
Pairing: Bob/Frank
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,752
Spoilers: nope
Warnings: Explicit sex and a bit of dub con.
Author's Note: Beta by saekokato ‘cause she’s awesome like that.
Disclaimer: HSM is that of Disney and Ortega. Buffy is that of Joss. All bands are that of themselves.
Summary: There was a slime demon in the basement.
Demons, Slime, and Other Facts of Life
Taylor stands in the middle of the kitchen, covered head to toe in slime and other excretions from the demon that had tried to take up residence in the basement. She looks lost. It’s her first demon, and it’s also her first slime demon. Those were two that Frank knew she’d come up across at some point, but he didn’t think she’d deal with them at the same time. Slime demons were, like, for the pros. Taylor’s not a pro yet, just a really kickass amateur, but she’s going to be fucking awesome once under Frank’s tutelage. Frank fucking rocks.
“Slime fucking sucks in the desert,” Bob says to Taylor. “We have a hose out back, or you could just jump in the shower fully clothed. It needs to be taken care of before it hardens into a shell.”
Frank watches Bob mother Taylor, who’s still looking a little dazed. It’s kinda cute. Frank had never thought about having kids before. Well, he had, but he had been young and stupid and a sophomore in college, thinking that he was going to be a punk rocker and a psychologist and marry Jamia and have two-point-five kids. Now he’s rethinking the kid thing, because he has a kid now. It’s his job, yeah, but he really likes Taylor. She’s a good kid.
Bob can worry about Taylor being clean. Although, Frank realizes that Bob’ll probably dole out some of Frank’s clothing for Taylor to change into. Frank needs to be clean as soon as humanly possible, and then he needs to look up a stronger protection charm for their house. There’re more demons in their future: they all want a piece of the Slayer. Leave it to the WC to skimp out on protection. Frank giggles to himself. Stuffy old Brits probably thought abstinence was the best protection.
Bob turns to Frank and frowns.
Frank loves how Bob always knows what he’s thinking.
“C’mon, Taylor,” Bob says, glaring at Frank. “Let’s set you up upstairs. You’re Frank-sized.” He drags Taylor up the stairs.
“Fuck you too, Bryar,” Frank shouts cheerfully after them. Bob’s totally awesome with Taylor. They totally have a kid together, and it wasn’t an ass-baby. Frank’s glad that they don’t even have to deal with adoption papers or stretch marks. Because Bob would totally make Frank the bitch, so there would be stretch marks all over his fantastic ass and his swallows.
With Bob taking care of Taylor, teaching her proper clean-up after tangoing with a slime demon - as opposed to the unorthodox clean-up Bob and Frank usually engage in - Frank heads outside to hose himself down.
He strips down to his boxers and props the hose up on the top of the fence. The water is freezing, but this demon’s slime is water soluble and slides right off. It’s better than that one in Snowflake when Frank couldn’t even suck Bob off after chiseling him free. And now he can’t suck Bob off, because they have a kid… who they can send back to her parents. But only after they make sure she’s not traumatized. Seriously, how do parents have more than one kid when they can’t send it off to have sex? Okay, maybe Frank shouldn’t have phrased it that way. Because Taylor is not allowed to have sex. Okay, so that was a lie. Taylor deserves time to unwind and someone to unwind with… Frank just didn’t want to know about it. And it had be someone who wouldn’t end up on the wrong side of a pair of fangs. Both sides being the wrong side.
Once he’s clean, Frank heads back inside. Taylor’s standing in the middle of the kitchen again, wearing Frank’s favorite shirt and jeans. They’re too big on her, jeans pooling around her ankles and shirt sliding off her shoulder. Bob’s still covered in slime, talking softly to Taylor about the nature of demons, and Frank realizes that he should be the one doing that.
“Hey, Bob,” Frank says. “I’ll take it from here.”
Bob gives him a very sarcastic look. “Put some clothes on, Iero. You’re not scarring our Slayer.”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “Please, I’m sixteen. You act like I know nothing about men.”
“You hear that, Bob?” Frank asks with a sharp grin. “Our baby’s all grown up.”
Taylor grumbles but leaves it at that. Usually she puts up more of a fight, but hey, first slime demon.
“Frank, put some clothes on and drive Taylor home,” Bob says.
Frank’s about to protest, but Bob’s giving him a smoldering look that means they’re going to be spending the rest of the day in bed - if they make it that far - even though it’s two in the afternoon. He races up the stairs and shucks his boxers in the hallway in a damp heap. He doesn’t even bother to put on a new pair of boxers under his jeans and throws on a wifebeater.
Frank breaks the speed limit and three other laws dropping Taylor off at her house.
He tells her to call if there are any problems. He doesn’t say that he probably won’t pick up.
He realizes he’s a bad Watcher, but seriously. Bob’s promising to sex him up good. Frank’s not about to pass that up.
Bob’s still wearing the slime when Frank returns, and just that is enough to curb his enthusiasm.
“Bob? You’re not clean,” Frank says slowly. “Is there still a decapitated slime demon in our basement too?”
Bob doesn’t answer. He crowds Frank right up against the door, and Frank never, ever, fucking ever thought he’d turn down Bob when sex was on the table. Or being offered.
Frank just hopes that there’s little else than Bob being too wound up to shower. Hopefully, that means Bob disposed of the demon, ‘cause Frank is not looking forward to that.
“Not until you’re clean, asswipe,” Frank says firmly. He shoves at Bob’s shoulders. Bob is significantly taller than Frank and has about fifty pounds on him, but Frank is wily. He’s not at all surprised that Bob doesn’t budge, but it gives Frank a chance to duck under his arms and out into the living room.
Bob turns around. “You’re turning down sex, Frankie?” Bob sounds like himself.
“Only until you’re clean,” Frank says.
“I’ve been dirtier.” Bob’s pupils are blown wide, and Frank’s never seen that expression on Bob’s face before, even that first time. Even all the other times. Like when Frank just kinda spent four hours after a hunt exploring Bob’s body with his tongue. Bob had made various heated expressions and sounds of appreciation. None of them had been at all like now.
“And I’ve made you shower before letting you fuck me,” Frank points out.
“I’m just going to make you dirty again.” Bob is too determined to listen to Frank, advancing on him. And if Bob needs to fuck whatever it is out of his system, Frank supposes it might make up for that time when Frank had double teamed Bob. It’s only that Frank doesn’t know what exactly is wrong with Bob, and there is no way in hell he’s just going to let anything happen until -
Bob corners Frank against the couch, pushing him down and straddling his hips. And maybe it’s okay if Frank lets Bob fuck this out of his system. Frank could do some research once Bob’s passed out. Whatever’s going on with his body is making it work overtime, so Frank figures that maybe Bob’ll crash. Hopefully.
Bob’s slime-covered clothing rubs up against Frank’s clean clothes, and that’s just nasty.
“Naked,” Frank insists, tugging at the hem of Bob’s shirt.
Bob pulls at the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head, and he throws it to the floor. His pants and boxers follow shortly after, and he makes quick work of Frank’s clothing as well, pulling his pants and boxers open.
Frank barely has time to inhale before Bob crushes him against the couch and kisses him brutally. Bob has a death grip on Frank’s hips, fingers digging almost painfully into Frank’s flesh as their teeth bang together with a clack. It isn’t so much as kissing as it is war.
Shit. Bob has no control.
He’s been intense before, but this is different, and Frank will be damned before he lets Bob have complete control of this situation when he clearly has no control over his body.
Frank is able to flip Bob around on the couch - with Bob resisting for most of the way. But when he sees Frank sink to his knees, he stops struggling, and his hands wind themselves in Frank’s hair.
“Pull,” Frank orders, looking Bob dead in the eye.
Bob’s eyes roll back in his head, and he shoots his wad all over Frank’s face.
“Jesus, fuck,” Frank mutters, licking Bob’s spunk off his lips. He’s about to wipe the spunk off on his shirt, but Bob tightens his hold in Frank’s hair and pulls him close. Bob licks Frank’s face, and it’s so not hot, because Bob is slobbering all over, but Frank lets him continue. Bob needs to let this run through his system, and Frank’s had worse things on his face. He lived in a van with the Way brothers.
Bob’s practically gnawing at Frank’s face, and Frank’s pretty sure his face is a sticky mess. Bob presses Frank down back to his dick, which hasn’t flagged at all. Frank knows exactly what to do with it.
He sucks in Bob’s dick all the way down to the hilt and swallows.
Bob shoots down his throat. Frank chokes a little.
Jesus. Bob’s never had that short of a recovery period, and Frank’s insulted that he hasn’t been able to use any of his mad skills. Frank has mad blowjob skills.
Bob is still hard.
Frank’s phone rings. It’s probably Mikey, because Mikey has awesome timing like that. But Frank still has Bob’s dick down his throat, so he doesn’t answer. Frank is going to give Bob a proper blowjob if it kills him.
Frank holds down Bob’s snapping hips. It’s not like Frank needs to try hard to please Bob. Frank still feels skeevy, though, which is a rare emotion when he has Bob’s dick in his mouth. Usually it’s pride.
Frank swallows around Bob’s dick, and Bob growls and pulls himself out of Frank’s mouth.
“Wha- ” Frank begins.
“Gonna fuck you,” Bob promises. He tightens his grip on Frank’s hips and tries to manipulate Frank’s pants all the way off and flip Frank at the same time. Bob’s fingers aren’t dexterous enough to do either task particularly well.
Frank, however, has other ideas. If Bob has no control over himself, there is no way in hell that Frank is going to let Bob fuck him.
“I’ll fuck you instead,” Frank says.
Bob growls again. Frank’s pretty sure it’s more possessive than pissed off.
Frank doesn’t wait for Bob to respond verbally. Hell, Frank’s not even sure that Bob can respond verbally. He wraps his hands around Bob’s hips, fingers digging into Bob’s ass.
Bob seems to like that, so Frank continues: he walks his fingers into the crack searching, rubbing in tight circles. Frank barely has the tip of one finger inside Bob when he shoots again, all over Frank’s chest.
At this point Frank doesn’t even care. He does care about Bob face planting into Frank’s chest after shooting all over it.
Frank heaves Bob off his chest and checks to see if he’s still breathing and if his pulse is regular. With the exception of Bob’s pulse being jackrabbit fast, everything seems relatively normal.
Bob is out. Frank rolls him over so that the spunk doesn’t stain the couch and fetches paper towels from the kitchen to clean up. Bob sleeps through the entire thing. It figures. Frank does all the work and Bob… okay. That’s not usually how it goes, and Frank should probably call Brian to see if Bob’s ever had a reaction like this before and he should call Ray as well to see what the hell kind of slime demon does that to a person. And Bob had better be okay after this.
That was the unsexiest sex Frank had ever had. And it was with Bob. Oh woe of woes. They’re going to have to do something creative next time to make up for it.
Frank’s phone beeps at him, and he remembers that someone with horrible timing had called.
The message is from Taylor, and Frank feels a little guilty because maybe Taylor was affected by the slime monster, too. That would be a horrible triple whammy: first demon, first slime demon, and first sex-inducing slime demon.
Frank listens to her message. Taylor’s voice is tight as she explains the facts very scientifically. She sounds a little embarrassed and a little annoyed.
She ends the message with, “You’d better find a way to fix this, because there is no way in hell that I’m going to hook up with my ex-boyfriend.”
Frank calls her back and before she can yell at him, he apologizes. “Sorry, Bob was infected too and was very, very demanding.”
“I hate you,” Taylor says. “You have no idea.”
“Are you okay now?” Frank asks. “No hooking up with ex-boyfriends?”
“No,” Taylor says. “I have fingers and a vibrator.”
“I didn’t need to know that,” Frank says. “I don’t tell you about my sex life.”
“Frank,” Taylor says dryly. “You tell me way too much about your sex life.”
“Eh,” Frank says. Taylor does have a point. “Not all slime demons are like that.”
“Good,” Taylor says curtly. “Is Bob going to be okay?”
“I need to do some research,” Frank says instead of answering. Unfortunately his Slayer is too damn smart for her own good.
“You don’t know is what you’re saying,” she translates.
“I’ll let you know,” Frank promises. He hangs up before Taylor can press him for details. Or growl menacingly at him. Sixteen-year-old girls were very good at being evil.
Frank calls Brian before he calls Ray.
“Frank?” Brain asks. He doesn’t sound like he wants to speak with Frank. Actually.
“Did I interrupt your Special Husband Time?” Frank giggles.
“What do you need, Frank?” Brian growls.
“Hi, Frank!” Gerard says. His voice is really close to the phone. Yeah, Frank is totally cockblocking Brian.
“Hi, Gerard,” Frank returns. “Bob’s in trouble, I think.”
Frank hears an “oof” and Brain asks, “What’s wrong with him?”
“There was a slime demon,” Frank starts.
“We’ve dealt with those before,” Brian reminds him crossly. “If that’s the only - ”
“It made everyone involved really horny. Except me,” Frank interrupts.
“…What?” Brain says.
“Bob was very single-minded, came, like, three times, then passed out,” Frank says. “Have you guys ever come across something like that before?”
“Personally? No,” Brian says. “That’s really fucked up.”
“So it’s never happened before?” Frank asks. “Should I take him and my Slayer to the hospital?”
“Oh, God! Please tell me you didn’t - ”
“Not with my Slayer! Jesus, Brian! She’s fucking sixteen!”
Brian just laughs.
“God damn it, Brian,” Frank grumbles. “Are they going to be okay, you fucker?”
“Let me, Gee, and Ray run our sources,” Brian says. “I’ll call you back.”
Brian hangs up before Frank can protest.
Frank weighs the pros and cons of checking the basement to see if the slime demon is still there. He decides that he doesn’t want to risk Bob being exposed again.
The slime demon is still in the basement.
Frank spends the time it takes Brian to call back hacking up the slime demon and then burning it in the backyard. It smells rank.
The demon is smoldering and Bob is still out when Brian calls back. He’s laughing his ass off, so Frank figures Bob can’t really be in that much trouble.
“He’s going to have one hell of a headache and be thirsty as fuck, but Bob’ll be fine,” Ray ends up saying because Brian can’t control himself.
“Thanks, Ray,” Frank says. He hangs up before Ray can hear his sigh of relief.
Frank sends Taylor a text telling her that she and Bob’ll be fine.
He sits down next to Bob on the couch and waits for Bob to wake up. Then he decides it’ll take a while and grabs a book. Research. And when Bob wakes up… Frank smiles to himself and pats his dick consolingly.
Pairing: Bob/Frank
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,752
Spoilers: nope
Warnings: Explicit sex and a bit of dub con.
Author's Note: Beta by saekokato ‘cause she’s awesome like that.
Disclaimer: HSM is that of Disney and Ortega. Buffy is that of Joss. All bands are that of themselves.
Summary: There was a slime demon in the basement.
Demons, Slime, and Other Facts of Life
Taylor stands in the middle of the kitchen, covered head to toe in slime and other excretions from the demon that had tried to take up residence in the basement. She looks lost. It’s her first demon, and it’s also her first slime demon. Those were two that Frank knew she’d come up across at some point, but he didn’t think she’d deal with them at the same time. Slime demons were, like, for the pros. Taylor’s not a pro yet, just a really kickass amateur, but she’s going to be fucking awesome once under Frank’s tutelage. Frank fucking rocks.
“Slime fucking sucks in the desert,” Bob says to Taylor. “We have a hose out back, or you could just jump in the shower fully clothed. It needs to be taken care of before it hardens into a shell.”
Frank watches Bob mother Taylor, who’s still looking a little dazed. It’s kinda cute. Frank had never thought about having kids before. Well, he had, but he had been young and stupid and a sophomore in college, thinking that he was going to be a punk rocker and a psychologist and marry Jamia and have two-point-five kids. Now he’s rethinking the kid thing, because he has a kid now. It’s his job, yeah, but he really likes Taylor. She’s a good kid.
Bob can worry about Taylor being clean. Although, Frank realizes that Bob’ll probably dole out some of Frank’s clothing for Taylor to change into. Frank needs to be clean as soon as humanly possible, and then he needs to look up a stronger protection charm for their house. There’re more demons in their future: they all want a piece of the Slayer. Leave it to the WC to skimp out on protection. Frank giggles to himself. Stuffy old Brits probably thought abstinence was the best protection.
Bob turns to Frank and frowns.
Frank loves how Bob always knows what he’s thinking.
“C’mon, Taylor,” Bob says, glaring at Frank. “Let’s set you up upstairs. You’re Frank-sized.” He drags Taylor up the stairs.
“Fuck you too, Bryar,” Frank shouts cheerfully after them. Bob’s totally awesome with Taylor. They totally have a kid together, and it wasn’t an ass-baby. Frank’s glad that they don’t even have to deal with adoption papers or stretch marks. Because Bob would totally make Frank the bitch, so there would be stretch marks all over his fantastic ass and his swallows.
With Bob taking care of Taylor, teaching her proper clean-up after tangoing with a slime demon - as opposed to the unorthodox clean-up Bob and Frank usually engage in - Frank heads outside to hose himself down.
He strips down to his boxers and props the hose up on the top of the fence. The water is freezing, but this demon’s slime is water soluble and slides right off. It’s better than that one in Snowflake when Frank couldn’t even suck Bob off after chiseling him free. And now he can’t suck Bob off, because they have a kid… who they can send back to her parents. But only after they make sure she’s not traumatized. Seriously, how do parents have more than one kid when they can’t send it off to have sex? Okay, maybe Frank shouldn’t have phrased it that way. Because Taylor is not allowed to have sex. Okay, so that was a lie. Taylor deserves time to unwind and someone to unwind with… Frank just didn’t want to know about it. And it had be someone who wouldn’t end up on the wrong side of a pair of fangs. Both sides being the wrong side.
Once he’s clean, Frank heads back inside. Taylor’s standing in the middle of the kitchen again, wearing Frank’s favorite shirt and jeans. They’re too big on her, jeans pooling around her ankles and shirt sliding off her shoulder. Bob’s still covered in slime, talking softly to Taylor about the nature of demons, and Frank realizes that he should be the one doing that.
“Hey, Bob,” Frank says. “I’ll take it from here.”
Bob gives him a very sarcastic look. “Put some clothes on, Iero. You’re not scarring our Slayer.”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “Please, I’m sixteen. You act like I know nothing about men.”
“You hear that, Bob?” Frank asks with a sharp grin. “Our baby’s all grown up.”
Taylor grumbles but leaves it at that. Usually she puts up more of a fight, but hey, first slime demon.
“Frank, put some clothes on and drive Taylor home,” Bob says.
Frank’s about to protest, but Bob’s giving him a smoldering look that means they’re going to be spending the rest of the day in bed - if they make it that far - even though it’s two in the afternoon. He races up the stairs and shucks his boxers in the hallway in a damp heap. He doesn’t even bother to put on a new pair of boxers under his jeans and throws on a wifebeater.
Frank breaks the speed limit and three other laws dropping Taylor off at her house.
He tells her to call if there are any problems. He doesn’t say that he probably won’t pick up.
He realizes he’s a bad Watcher, but seriously. Bob’s promising to sex him up good. Frank’s not about to pass that up.
Bob’s still wearing the slime when Frank returns, and just that is enough to curb his enthusiasm.
“Bob? You’re not clean,” Frank says slowly. “Is there still a decapitated slime demon in our basement too?”
Bob doesn’t answer. He crowds Frank right up against the door, and Frank never, ever, fucking ever thought he’d turn down Bob when sex was on the table. Or being offered.
Frank just hopes that there’s little else than Bob being too wound up to shower. Hopefully, that means Bob disposed of the demon, ‘cause Frank is not looking forward to that.
“Not until you’re clean, asswipe,” Frank says firmly. He shoves at Bob’s shoulders. Bob is significantly taller than Frank and has about fifty pounds on him, but Frank is wily. He’s not at all surprised that Bob doesn’t budge, but it gives Frank a chance to duck under his arms and out into the living room.
Bob turns around. “You’re turning down sex, Frankie?” Bob sounds like himself.
“Only until you’re clean,” Frank says.
“I’ve been dirtier.” Bob’s pupils are blown wide, and Frank’s never seen that expression on Bob’s face before, even that first time. Even all the other times. Like when Frank just kinda spent four hours after a hunt exploring Bob’s body with his tongue. Bob had made various heated expressions and sounds of appreciation. None of them had been at all like now.
“And I’ve made you shower before letting you fuck me,” Frank points out.
“I’m just going to make you dirty again.” Bob is too determined to listen to Frank, advancing on him. And if Bob needs to fuck whatever it is out of his system, Frank supposes it might make up for that time when Frank had double teamed Bob. It’s only that Frank doesn’t know what exactly is wrong with Bob, and there is no way in hell he’s just going to let anything happen until -
Bob corners Frank against the couch, pushing him down and straddling his hips. And maybe it’s okay if Frank lets Bob fuck this out of his system. Frank could do some research once Bob’s passed out. Whatever’s going on with his body is making it work overtime, so Frank figures that maybe Bob’ll crash. Hopefully.
Bob’s slime-covered clothing rubs up against Frank’s clean clothes, and that’s just nasty.
“Naked,” Frank insists, tugging at the hem of Bob’s shirt.
Bob pulls at the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head, and he throws it to the floor. His pants and boxers follow shortly after, and he makes quick work of Frank’s clothing as well, pulling his pants and boxers open.
Frank barely has time to inhale before Bob crushes him against the couch and kisses him brutally. Bob has a death grip on Frank’s hips, fingers digging almost painfully into Frank’s flesh as their teeth bang together with a clack. It isn’t so much as kissing as it is war.
Shit. Bob has no control.
He’s been intense before, but this is different, and Frank will be damned before he lets Bob have complete control of this situation when he clearly has no control over his body.
Frank is able to flip Bob around on the couch - with Bob resisting for most of the way. But when he sees Frank sink to his knees, he stops struggling, and his hands wind themselves in Frank’s hair.
“Pull,” Frank orders, looking Bob dead in the eye.
Bob’s eyes roll back in his head, and he shoots his wad all over Frank’s face.
“Jesus, fuck,” Frank mutters, licking Bob’s spunk off his lips. He’s about to wipe the spunk off on his shirt, but Bob tightens his hold in Frank’s hair and pulls him close. Bob licks Frank’s face, and it’s so not hot, because Bob is slobbering all over, but Frank lets him continue. Bob needs to let this run through his system, and Frank’s had worse things on his face. He lived in a van with the Way brothers.
Bob’s practically gnawing at Frank’s face, and Frank’s pretty sure his face is a sticky mess. Bob presses Frank down back to his dick, which hasn’t flagged at all. Frank knows exactly what to do with it.
He sucks in Bob’s dick all the way down to the hilt and swallows.
Bob shoots down his throat. Frank chokes a little.
Jesus. Bob’s never had that short of a recovery period, and Frank’s insulted that he hasn’t been able to use any of his mad skills. Frank has mad blowjob skills.
Bob is still hard.
Frank’s phone rings. It’s probably Mikey, because Mikey has awesome timing like that. But Frank still has Bob’s dick down his throat, so he doesn’t answer. Frank is going to give Bob a proper blowjob if it kills him.
Frank holds down Bob’s snapping hips. It’s not like Frank needs to try hard to please Bob. Frank still feels skeevy, though, which is a rare emotion when he has Bob’s dick in his mouth. Usually it’s pride.
Frank swallows around Bob’s dick, and Bob growls and pulls himself out of Frank’s mouth.
“Wha- ” Frank begins.
“Gonna fuck you,” Bob promises. He tightens his grip on Frank’s hips and tries to manipulate Frank’s pants all the way off and flip Frank at the same time. Bob’s fingers aren’t dexterous enough to do either task particularly well.
Frank, however, has other ideas. If Bob has no control over himself, there is no way in hell that Frank is going to let Bob fuck him.
“I’ll fuck you instead,” Frank says.
Bob growls again. Frank’s pretty sure it’s more possessive than pissed off.
Frank doesn’t wait for Bob to respond verbally. Hell, Frank’s not even sure that Bob can respond verbally. He wraps his hands around Bob’s hips, fingers digging into Bob’s ass.
Bob seems to like that, so Frank continues: he walks his fingers into the crack searching, rubbing in tight circles. Frank barely has the tip of one finger inside Bob when he shoots again, all over Frank’s chest.
At this point Frank doesn’t even care. He does care about Bob face planting into Frank’s chest after shooting all over it.
Frank heaves Bob off his chest and checks to see if he’s still breathing and if his pulse is regular. With the exception of Bob’s pulse being jackrabbit fast, everything seems relatively normal.
Bob is out. Frank rolls him over so that the spunk doesn’t stain the couch and fetches paper towels from the kitchen to clean up. Bob sleeps through the entire thing. It figures. Frank does all the work and Bob… okay. That’s not usually how it goes, and Frank should probably call Brian to see if Bob’s ever had a reaction like this before and he should call Ray as well to see what the hell kind of slime demon does that to a person. And Bob had better be okay after this.
That was the unsexiest sex Frank had ever had. And it was with Bob. Oh woe of woes. They’re going to have to do something creative next time to make up for it.
Frank’s phone beeps at him, and he remembers that someone with horrible timing had called.
The message is from Taylor, and Frank feels a little guilty because maybe Taylor was affected by the slime monster, too. That would be a horrible triple whammy: first demon, first slime demon, and first sex-inducing slime demon.
Frank listens to her message. Taylor’s voice is tight as she explains the facts very scientifically. She sounds a little embarrassed and a little annoyed.
She ends the message with, “You’d better find a way to fix this, because there is no way in hell that I’m going to hook up with my ex-boyfriend.”
Frank calls her back and before she can yell at him, he apologizes. “Sorry, Bob was infected too and was very, very demanding.”
“I hate you,” Taylor says. “You have no idea.”
“Are you okay now?” Frank asks. “No hooking up with ex-boyfriends?”
“No,” Taylor says. “I have fingers and a vibrator.”
“I didn’t need to know that,” Frank says. “I don’t tell you about my sex life.”
“Frank,” Taylor says dryly. “You tell me way too much about your sex life.”
“Eh,” Frank says. Taylor does have a point. “Not all slime demons are like that.”
“Good,” Taylor says curtly. “Is Bob going to be okay?”
“I need to do some research,” Frank says instead of answering. Unfortunately his Slayer is too damn smart for her own good.
“You don’t know is what you’re saying,” she translates.
“I’ll let you know,” Frank promises. He hangs up before Taylor can press him for details. Or growl menacingly at him. Sixteen-year-old girls were very good at being evil.
Frank calls Brian before he calls Ray.
“Frank?” Brain asks. He doesn’t sound like he wants to speak with Frank. Actually.
“Did I interrupt your Special Husband Time?” Frank giggles.
“What do you need, Frank?” Brian growls.
“Hi, Frank!” Gerard says. His voice is really close to the phone. Yeah, Frank is totally cockblocking Brian.
“Hi, Gerard,” Frank returns. “Bob’s in trouble, I think.”
Frank hears an “oof” and Brain asks, “What’s wrong with him?”
“There was a slime demon,” Frank starts.
“We’ve dealt with those before,” Brian reminds him crossly. “If that’s the only - ”
“It made everyone involved really horny. Except me,” Frank interrupts.
“…What?” Brain says.
“Bob was very single-minded, came, like, three times, then passed out,” Frank says. “Have you guys ever come across something like that before?”
“Personally? No,” Brian says. “That’s really fucked up.”
“So it’s never happened before?” Frank asks. “Should I take him and my Slayer to the hospital?”
“Oh, God! Please tell me you didn’t - ”
“Not with my Slayer! Jesus, Brian! She’s fucking sixteen!”
Brian just laughs.
“God damn it, Brian,” Frank grumbles. “Are they going to be okay, you fucker?”
“Let me, Gee, and Ray run our sources,” Brian says. “I’ll call you back.”
Brian hangs up before Frank can protest.
Frank weighs the pros and cons of checking the basement to see if the slime demon is still there. He decides that he doesn’t want to risk Bob being exposed again.
The slime demon is still in the basement.
Frank spends the time it takes Brian to call back hacking up the slime demon and then burning it in the backyard. It smells rank.
The demon is smoldering and Bob is still out when Brian calls back. He’s laughing his ass off, so Frank figures Bob can’t really be in that much trouble.
“He’s going to have one hell of a headache and be thirsty as fuck, but Bob’ll be fine,” Ray ends up saying because Brian can’t control himself.
“Thanks, Ray,” Frank says. He hangs up before Ray can hear his sigh of relief.
Frank sends Taylor a text telling her that she and Bob’ll be fine.
He sits down next to Bob on the couch and waits for Bob to wake up. Then he decides it’ll take a while and grabs a book. Research. And when Bob wakes up… Frank smiles to himself and pats his dick consolingly.