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“This is preposterous,” Bob hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. “Release me at once, you insolent little - ”
“Little what?” Bart interrupted, stepping closer, grinning from ear to ear. “C’mon, Bob, don’t leave me hanging. I’m dying to hear what you’ve got to say. Or - ” he paused, feigning a dramatic gasp, “ - are you too frustrated to finish that sentence? Hmm?”
The man’s expression soured, fury tempered by wounded pride. A thousand barbs sat poised behind his teeth, but he refused to hurl them – withholding the satisfaction Bart so clearly craved. Silence, he decided, was the sharper blade.
But Bart wasn’t deterred. He circled the chair slowly, his sneakers scuffing against the floor in a way that grated on Bob’s nerves. And Bart knew it.
Sideshow Bob seethed, his elegant frame bound tightly to the chair, the ropes digging into his usually immaculate tailored suit. His hair, a wild dishevelled mess of untamed curls. “Disgraceful”, he cursed his rotten luck, chest heaving with indignation.
“You insipid, cretinous devil-spawn!” he bellowed, every syllable cutting, venomous, and with razer-sharp deliverance. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? I am not some plaything for your juvenile antics!”
His mortal enemy came to a halt in front of him, arms behind his back, tilting his head with exaggerated smugness. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” Bart assured, successfully masking the nervousness curling in his stomach. “And you’re just mad ‘cause your big evil plan backfired. Again.”
Bob’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Bart giggled. “I mean, how could I not?”
The boy, ever the provocateur, leaned in. He could feel the pure hatred radiating from the older man’s skin and bet all his cards that if Bob had even a fraction of mobility, he wouldn’t be breathing right now. “Funny how the tables turn, isn’t it?”
“You’re making a grave mistake.” Bob warned, his voice a simmering growl of loathing and unspent rage. “Untie me this instant, and I might consider sparing you.”
Bart laughed to will the fear away, reminding himself that the man was completely under his control. “Ahah, big talk from the guy trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey! Face it, Bob. You’re not in charge anymore.” He winked, playfully.
Just as Bob opened his mouth, ready to unleash a string of withering invectives, Bart's fingers began to subtly press along the ropes binding his arms and legs. Bob’s retort died mid-breath.
“You know,” Bart mused, his voice raw, unintentionally charming, “for all your big talk, you’re kinda cute when you’re all tied up like this… All vulnerable. Nothing but bark - and no bite.”
Bob’s entire body coiled tight. The boy’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk. Fingers trailing lazily over the ropes - like he had all the time in the world - a teasing, snake-like glide that sent a jolt of something wretchedly unwelcome down Robert’s spine.
Bart’s T-shirt hung loose, the fabric shifting as he moved, revealing glimpses of his collarbone, the faint dip of his chest - taunting in its carelessness. That infernal, glowing tongue of his, lolling with self-satisfaction. His feather-light touch - a mockery of tenderness.
The man forced his mind elsewhere, grasping for something - anything - to quell the way his body reacted against his will. He envisioned breaking Bart apart, piece by insufferable piece. Wrapping his hands around that scrawny neck, watching the bravado vanish with each tightening pulse of his grip, until there was nothing left but blessed silence.
“Bet you’re not used to that, huh? Mr. ‘I’m-so-much-better-than-everyone’?” Bart’s voice was pure amusement, his fingers tiptoeing their way toward Bob’s chest. “It’s kinda poetic, don’t you think?”, their faces mere inches apart now.
Fury rose like bile in Bob’s tightened throat. He jerked his head away sharply, gaze burning a hole in the farthest corner of the shed. “Don’t be absurd,” he spat, incensed, tone soaked in disdain.
But it was too late, he could feel it. The telltale warmth creeping over his skin, a humiliating flush that had no business being there.
And Bart? He laughed. Because of course he did.
“God, you’re insufferable,” Bob ground out. Seething at both the situation and himself. Fingernails dug into his palm. Oh, the second he got free…
“And you’re …” Bart started, until something caught his attention.
“Hard?”
Bob froze. His heart pounded in his chest.
“No,” he thought, “he couldn’t possibly know.” But when he saw Bart’s widened eyes dropped pointedly to his lap, the heat in his cheeks deepened.
Oh, no.
When Bart finally cut the heavy silence, a very questionable grin found its way to his lips. "Would you look at that…" he leaned closer to inspect, without a single hint of shame.
Swallowing dryly, Bob attempted to defy physics by squashing himself back against the chair, in a futile effort to create distance between them. "That is a preposterous thing to say!" he retaliated with fake moral outrage.
"Nice try, Bob," Bart countered, crouching down. "But you really gotta stop underestimating me. It’s getting embarrassing at this point."
As Bart reached out, his hand grazed lightly against Bob’s knee. The touch was innocent enough, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through the man.
"Tell me," Bart pondered. "Are you like this because of me?"
The words turned to ash in Bob’s mouth. No rational justification would make this situation any less… catastrophic.
Bart’s fingers trailed up Bob’s thigh. "Not gonna say anything? Cat got your tongue?" He sent a spirituous smile to his attempted murderer. "That’s fine. Actions speak louder than words, right?"
“Bart,” Bob finally managed, his voice strained. “This is - you’re - this is beyond inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” Bart repeated, puzzled. “Bob. You tried to kill me! Like, a bazillion times! I think we’re waay past ‘inappropriate.’”
The lad’s hand slid higher, brushing against the unmistakable bulge. Bob’s breath got caught up in his throat.
“Wow,” Bart curiously spied Bob’s reactions afresh. “Been holding back on me, huh?” He bit his rosy lower lip before venturing, cheeks turning pink. “Big bad Sideshow Bob - hard as a rock, over a ‘brat’ he thought he could outsmart.”
Utterly humiliated, Bob could only watch as Bart’s gaze fixated once more on his ever-growing arousal. A newfound glee in his lovely doe eyes at the sheer fun he was having from the novelty of it all. This was anathema.
He loathed every second of it.
Loathed the boy.
Loathed the way his own treacherous body began to ache - not for it to stop, but for Bart to continue.
“This is beneath me...” he lamented, more to himself.
Bart’s response was to press his whole palm firmly against Bob’s crotch. “I don’t know about that. I think it’s right where you belong.”
Those words broke the haze. Reality reasserted itself like a slap across the face. He fought once more against his restraints, each tug cutting deeper. The boy, damn him, had done a surprisingly commendable job.
“You’re delusional if you think this will end well for you!" he growled threateningly.
“I don’t, but... from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re enjoying it plenty. Or -” Bart paused, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of Bob’s trousers, “- maybe I should say, from where I’m touching?”
“The brazen little degenerate grows more impudent by the breath! Have today’s standards of discipline truly eroded to this appalling degree?”
As if capable of reading Bob’s mind, Bart’s mischievous smirk deepened. His fingers traced the outline of the man’s belt and proceeded to unbuckle it with deliberate slowness.
“Stop this nonsense at once!” Bob demanded, as he tried - and failed - to suppress a shudder.
“Nah,” Bart shrugged with a flushed smile. “I don’t think I will.”
The younger lowered his boxers, exposing the long and fully erect member completely, seemingly mesmerized.
Bob’s skin flushed with volcanic heat, a rising tide of embarrassment and fury igniting each nerve from collar to crown.
Every fiber of his being screamed furiously to unleash hell upon the brat. How he prayed this was merely a waking nightmare, a deranged figment of the subconscious, a fever-born hallucination sprung from the recesses of his overtaxed psyche.
“Hmm…tell me, Bob -” Bart began, his voice leaving no doubt about how painfully real the situation was. The blond sank to his knees, settling himself in the middle of Bob’s thighs, putting on his most convincing act of feigned submission. “- how many times have you dreamt about this?”
A strangled sound clawed its way out before Bob could stop it, and shame struck like a whip. With barely a breath between, his mask snapped back into place. Face hardening into stone.
“Never.” he snapped, as if the word itself could salvage his dignity.
“Never?” Bart’s blue eyes sparkled with false naivety. “You’re such a bad liar, Bobby. Because I’m pretty sure you’ve thought about it.”
Soft fingers circled along Bob’s inner thighs. The blood-filled member ached involuntarily.
“Like, right after you came back to try and kill me, just now? I bet that was just a cover. Deep down, you wanted me to do… this.” His fingertips cupped the head, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the reddened glans – oh, so sensitive from need - earning a low, involuntary groan that escaped the man’s throat.
Robert shook his head, denying it even as his body fully betrayed him. “No. I would never-”
“Liar.” Bart leaned in, his lips brushing closer to the head, teasing but not quite kissing. “Just look at you… come on Bob, admit it.” gaze flirting through eyelashes, his voice hot against the man’s shaft.
A hitch in his breath, a tremor in his chest - Robert stared, stunned. Bart’s audacity had always been alarming. Reckless. But this? This was beyond bold. It was madness. And Robert, for all his flaws, had principals. Lines he would never cross… Didn’t he?
“Don’t tell me you have never fantasized about this.” Bart’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Having me on my knees for you…?”
His fingers stroked ever so gently through the man’s length, playing with the foreskin - lips brushed onto the head and he granted a gentle lick.
If Bob’s face had any more blood left to rush to it, it did - burning scarlet as his eyes twitched, like he could somehow un-feel the electric desire raging through him.
“I- I haven’t-” Bob stammered, his protest weak even to his own ears.
“Alright then.” The boy stopped. He parted contact, leaving the man’s aroused member to the cool air.
A bead of sweat traced down Bob’s temple as he regarded Bart with a gaze equal parts dread, equal parts lust.
Bart sat back onto the floor, facing the man from below, one arm erring smugly over his upwards knee, and looked at him with a half-smile. Waiting.
Bob parted his lips to speak, but hesitation held him hostage.
“So?” Bart incentivised.
“So- what, Bart?” Bob protested, his baritone roughened by desire.
“Say it. I want to hear you say it.” The boy demanded.
“I- I am not going to beg!” Bob gasped, every word weighted with indignation.
“Sure, you are,” Bart encouraged, slightly parting his plump lips, lovely pink tongue peeking out between a row of pretty white teeth and gum. “Just say the words.”
The ex-con’s eyes followed Bart as he advanced. Teasing. Crawling towards him with those dilated bright blue eyes, sparkling with a - oh, so charming - mixture of feigned innocence and whimsical mischief. That ever-present, wicked grin playing at his lips, a devilish flourish painted across his striking, youthful features. A tousled strand of spiked golden hair fell rebelliously across his side.
“Mark my words, Bart - I will make you regret this.” Bob spoke with the cadence of a threat, yet the hollow timbre in his tone revealed a man already conceding.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” Bart reassured, his chin resting lazily in his palms, elbows settled comfortably on Bob’s lap.
Bob’s chest heaved, his spirit torn apart. “Bart, I - please…”
Bart’s eyes sparkled with triumph, lips opened into a broad smile. “I didn’t quite catch that. What was it you wanted?”
A guttural groan followed. Robert could hear his pride shatter into a thousand pieces. “Please, Bart… let me finish…”
Bart let out a gleeful chuckle, revelling in the rare, delicious satisfaction of watching Sideshow Bob plead.
“That’s what I thought.” he giggled.
Whatever Bob had meant to reply, was cut off by the shiver that flashed through his spine, as Bart wasted no time to bring Bob’s cock fully into his mouth. Tongue swirling over his length, voraciously.
Oh, lord.
Bart’s wild movements sent waves of pleasure back to him. Bob’s head fell back, his fingers and toes curling as pleasure coursed through him. Tension dissolving into heat.
“This can’t be happening” Bob thought desperately, as his hips moved slightly towards Bart, seeking more.
Temptation turned to torment, exquisite and intense.
Starting crudely, Bart intertwined the tease with shallow sucks and gentle licks, gradually increasing the pressure and perfecting the technique. Each motion working his way up and down the shaft. Hands joined in, massaging Bob’s balls while he bobbed his head.
Wherever his tongue found skin, the fire followed - blazing trails that refused to fade - heat curling low, fierce, and impossible. Every kiss like wildfire spreading through. Bart’s mouth, his fingers, exploring - taunting - pushing him to limits he hadn’t dared confront.
Bart popped him off grasping for air. His breath came in raged gasps. They both gazed at each other - eyes glazed with lust - and on that moment no defence was left between them. Only want. Bart seemed to be waiting for approval. Bob’s restrained expression pleaded for continuation - Bart smiled.
Once again Bart met Bob’s length without shame, without hesitation, he engulfed him as far as he could manage, the heat of his mouth so vile, so delicious. He moved with the same energy and vigour of Bob’s boiling blood. Sucking - faster - heating rapidly.
The ropes around Bob’s wrists strained as he fought against the pleasure building frantically inside him. A shudder coursed through his body making him bite his lower lip. Bart took the hint, sucking him faster, tighter.
“Bart-”
He breathed out his name - rough, hoarse, almost broken.
Like a sin he couldn’t swallow.
Damn it…
He couldn’t deny it any longer.
There was no strength left to pretend this wasn’t real. Or wanted.
A thin thread of saliva run down the side of Bart’s lips. Muffled licking sounds filled the air. As his nemesis-lover’s mouth was engulfing his throbbing member, he would get glimpses of his deep-pink tongue peeking through.
That devilishly delicious untamed tongue could reach him where no one else could - a tongue he wished to fight, to tame, to drink from, like the finest nectar of the gods – that was now dancing with him. Tasting him. So willing… so, utterly, intoxicating.
Bart sucked vigorously, increasing the rhythm - the heat. His tongue a burning chimera against Bob’s oversensitive skin. Using his hand to work the last inches at the base that his throat couldn’t take.
Bob’s vision blurred, drowning in the steady, merciless rhythm. The rising pressure threatened to consume him.
Each blow brought him nearer. His body trembling on the verge, overtaken by sensation.
Too much. Too fierce. Too good.
As he was about to alert Bart - it was already too late. A strangled sound escaped him, his body arched, and the release hit violently the back of Bart’s throat, making him gag.
Bart’s eyes fluttered shut as he took - through long, vigorous spurs – all the seed that Bob had to give. Swallowing what he could manage, Bart then started to pull back ever so slowly. His breaths came in ragged gasps.
With flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, Bart looked up at Bob from in-between his legs, a mixture of pride and something softer in his gaze - maybe exhaustion, perhaps enjoyment - a victorious smile plastered across his semen-soaked lips.
Bob’s chest heaved, his head slightly bowed looking at Bart between half-lid eyes. Without thinking, his hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Bart’s face, gently.
Bart froze, eyes widening in surprise. He jolted up and stumbled back, putting distance between himself and Bob.
“W-what the hell? You - you were supposed to be tied up!” he embarrassedly took an arm to his mouth cleaning the remains of bodily fluids. The fabric over his genitals unequivocally tented.
Bob gifted him with the faintest smile, the look in his eyes unreadable as he watched Bart stumble over his words.
“You might have won this round, Bartholomew, but the game is far from over.” a hint of danger played in his deep baritone.
Bart’s heart was racing. His defiant nature quickly returning as he backed toward the door.
“D-don’t think this changes anything. Next time you try something, I’ll be ready. And you’ll be the one begging for me, again!”
And with that, he turned and fled, leaving the man there.
Robert’s smile remained, as he re-composed himself, tucking his shirt gently - his eyes resting on the door from which Bart just left. “We will see, Bart. We will see.”