Frank had never been the most normal guy. When he was a kid, he was the weird sick kid. A teenager, the weird punk kid. It wasn't just his various medical issues and political opinions that made him weird anymore though, it was the way he wore a collar on his neck or on his ankle if he wanted to be discreet.

It's the way he likes to be petted.

The way he's a dog.

Sexuality and what gets people off hasn't been explored too liberally. I mean, it's 2006, the only places you can get that information are on forums or dirty, dirty fanfiction. Which are usually ill informed anyway. So when you jokingly called Frank a good boy and he visually blushed, you didn't know how to take it.

After a lot of research and communication though, and self discovery through Frank, a conclusion was reached. Frank was a puppy. And you took care of him. It wasn't even really sexual, emotional too. A good release, he says. You liked it too.

So that's why, right now, he is curled up and laying his head in your lap. Like a dog. With his little collar on saying his name because it made him happy. He made you happy. Even if he was a puppy. He looked up at you slightly. With baby doll eyes.

"I'm hungry..."