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Frank had a lot of big talk about women, but Roy had never actually seen him with a woman whose company he wasn't paying for. Roy figured Frank was some kind of bisexual, because no straight man talked the way Frank did. Roy wondered over it at night, whether Frank knew what he was doing. If Frank were really flirting with him, or if it was some strange game to keep Roy on his toes. Or off-balance.
Roy felt disappointed when he saw the cigarette down to the filter. He pulled out a fresh one and lit it with the dying, and buried the corpse in the ashtray. He opened his legs a little wider as he leaned forward, and when he relaxed again he felt the soft rustle of the sleep pants against his skin. His hand fell deeper into his lap as he held the other poised with the cigarette.
He was surprised to find himself semi-hard. Was it because he had thought about Frank? His partner's grinning face flashed through his mind. He felt himself curiously. He thought the length and heft of his dick in his hand felt satisfying, and he held it comfortably for a while, smoking.
Idly, Roy found himself dredging up Frank's voice. Saying mundane things to him, greetings, questions, signal words. He thought about the kind of high he felt when things went just right and Frank would turn to him in delighted victory and give a knowing wink.
He also thought about Frank acting reckless and arrogant, getting them caught and tanking the job. He thought about Frank's face when he scolded him. Roy found his dick swelling.
Roy looked at the phone. What was that supposed to do? He asked himself. He didn't know. He just had the thought: call Frank . He scoffed. He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. For what? For sex? That's what you want? So? What's wrong with that? It's disgusting. It's not always.
Roy sighed. By the time his mind had rode through the spiral, he was no longer hard. He was too tired even to smoke another cigarette, so he went to bed.
_
Sometimes, Roy would surprise him. Frank figured he had the man pinned by now. Knew all his moves, all his plans, he practically knew how Roy thought at this point, not that that was anything pleasant.
When Roy came into the office- he usually did- things were good. They had built a partnership, and they damn well better have because Frank had certainly been at it long enough. Long enough that I might miss that boring old fuck.
Roy surprised him sometimes, like when Frank would ask him for a cigarette and, instead of just handing over his pack like a normal person, Roy would simply hold his hands up in a silent invitation to search him for it. Frank learned quickly where Roy kept his cigarettes- left breast pocket- but everytime Roy's arms went up he acted like he'd completely forgotten.
It was a weird relationship, Frank would admit, but everything he did was fucking weird. That's why he liked Roy. He was weird too. Don't say you like him.
Frank sighed. He laid on the sofa in the office- where he had once jerked off thinking about giving Roy a more thorough pat down- and tossed a stress ball in the air, catching it before it fell into his face. He didn't like it when Roy wasn't here.