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luxurychristmaspudding · 4 months

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summary: you’ve been serving frankie and his friends at your bar for months. despite your wishing and wanting, the shy pilot doesn’t work up the nerve to ask you out before santi introduces you to his buddy, joel.

swept off your feet by the sweet southerner, and charmed by pope, the boys come together to show frankie exactly what it is he’s missing.

read part 2, watch, here

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, maybe MFM?, sharing the luuuurve, praise kink, one (1) count of spitting in mouth, dirty talk, daddy kink (heavy, sorry lmao), oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), creampie, come eating, pussyjob?, so many orgasms i started to lose count, maybe a tiny bit of angst, m!masturbation, light choking, f!overstim, bad spanish, right okay we’re done.

wc: 14.7k. we aren't gonna talk about it.

an: this is fucking filthy. i’m sorry. don’t ask.

When you first started to hang out with them all, Will told you that Frankie was useless with women. What you didn’t expect was for him to be this fucking oblivious.

You had been bartending when you met him at a bar downtown - all industrial steel, burnished mirrors, and low light. Frankie and the boys would come in every so often, and you warmed to them immediately. It was hard not to. The four men were always respectful, always polite. They never overstayed their welcome, or their tolerance, and always asked how you were.

Of course, it helped that they were also handsome, and you quickly fell into the trap you were sure they wove for all hospitality staff. The lingering glances from their table, the crooked smiles at the bar. The competition they seemed to enjoy amongst themselves of who could lather you with the most attention.

Will and Benny did particularly well. The elder brother saved a special, particularly mischievous smile and a wink for you every time he came to order, and saved a special, bruising elbow to the ribs for his brother every time he caught Benny staring. Benny was always a hoot considering his sore ribs, the air never seeming to have been knocked from him as he chatted away to you across the polished wood.

But it was the quieter two, Frankie and Santi, who piqued your curiosity. Santi - often cool, detached; who offered little information in the way of his life but seemed to want to be wrapped up in yours. Who would watch you over the rim of his glass of whisky, drop his eyes to your lips, dip his mouth in a smirk, and say he’d see you later. And Frankie, who could do almost nothing but watch you from his corner of their booth, his Standard Oil cap sunk low on his brow, both hands around his bottle. His deep swallow when you’d catch his eye. The blush that would crawl up his neck, threading through his cheeks when you smiled.

Over the months they came to the bar while you worked there, the five of you became friends of sorts. Once in a blue moon turned into once every two weeks, turned into every Saturday night. And you made sure you were always there, sacrificing the time you would have spent surfing social media on your sofa for time spent flirting with your favourite regulars. Enjoying their eyes on you. Enjoying Frankie’s blush when you called him sugar as you asked if he needed anything else.

One day, you hoped he’d gather enough courage to give you the answer you hoped for.

You.

But he never did.

When the time came for you to move on from the bar, you made sure to let them know. Your new job further into the city was a step exactly in the direction you wanted to go, and though the men shared touching groans of disappointment, they congratulated you wholeheartedly.

They also invited you to their Saturday night drinks. You gladly accepted.

On your last shift, Will slid you Frankie’s mobile number, explaining that he was the most reliable member, the one most likely to know what was going on with the group at any given time. When you ribbed him about how he must always be on his phone, Frankie shyly admitted it was because he had a daughter. He was constantly on the lookout for updates, sweet little pictures and messages his ex would send over. They had a good relationship, and his kid - Lucia - was gorgeous. They just live a little far away, Frankie had admitted, a sad little frown glazing over his features.

You had softened to him even more, asking him questions about his daughter over the bar while you poured his drinks, propping your chin in your hand and listening to him as he continued to talk after you were finished. You found yourself trying to make Frankie laugh, to hear his sweet chuckle, to brush a touch against his arm, see the sparkle in his eyes beneath his cap - similar, you imagined, to how your own eyes glittered back at him.

The conversation only stalled when Benny called for him - Fish, where are those drinks? - earning himself a thump from Will, who muttered something about Frankie finally finding the courage and Benny’s big fuckin’ mouth. Frankie’s cheeks had heated, and he'd cleared his throat, thanking you before gathering all the drinks in his large hands and heading back to the booth.

What you had overheard heated the tips of your ears and rattled around your brain, looming in the back of your mind when you joined them the Saturday after.

But Will's words must have just been a silly little joke, because no matter how hard you try, Frankie will not bend. No matter what you wear, no matter what you do, the curly haired pilot remains firmly out of reach.

And it’s not like you don’t have fun together. You join them on nights out. You’ve been invited over for poker games and parties. You share glances with Frankie, jokes, tales, hell, sometimes he even puts an arm around you. But it’s always the same. The end of the evening is always frustratingly uneventful.

Crowded into sweaty bars and packed living rooms, you’re caught in a never ending circle of wanting and longing. Maybe that’s why, one night, you find yourself exchanging heated glances with Santi.

Frankie never really touches you beyond a hug and a kiss on the cheek when you arrive, and remains a staunch gentleman no matter how much he drinks. Santi seems to strive to do the opposite. He finds you in the kitchen one night, trying to cool off after watching Frankie laugh and lean into another woman’s conversation, feeling foolish, immature, but trying to blink away tears anyway.

He talks to you like you’re the only interesting person he’s ever met, standing a little too close for a friend, only moving away when you’re interrupted by one of Benny’s buddies searching for a beer. When you return to the living room, Frankie notices. Notices how Santi pulls you in close when you’re near, presses a kiss to your hair, places a casual hand on your knee when you’re sat next to each other. And how you let him do it.

When Santi drops you off at your house, he looks at your lips for a long time. His eyes are burning as he tucks your hair behind your ear and wishes you a good night. But he doesn’t go further.

It’s driving you fucking insane.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined the chemistry between the three of you before, so what was wrong now? Whose starting pistol were they waiting for? You can’t help your desperate huffs of frustration every time you close the door at the end of another night - alone, sopping wet, with only your hand to help.

Until one night, when you really believe, truly believe that it might end differently.

Frankie has been sat next to you in the booth all evening, laughing and chatting away. His arm is slung over your shoulder, his thigh against yours, your body pressed into his side. It feels good, it feels right, and he’s looking at you in such a way that you begin to teeter dangerously close to pressing your lips to his in the middle of the bar.

You and Frankie take the opportunity to talk about anything and everything. Catching up on your jobs, how he’s re-received his licence, your families, future dreams and aspirations. It’s almost funny how perfectly everything seems to realign. You think this is the turning point - this is when you realise how perfect you are for each other, this is when you take the leap. The only hiccup seems to be when Frankie says he’ll be away for the next three weeks - working, and then visiting Lucia. Your heart crumbles a little - just a little - before you try to sweep away thoughts of him dying in a helicopter crash or falling back in love with his ex. It feels like you’ve waited so long for this moment that the universe might just try and be that cruel. Just for shits and giggles.

But it won’t. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great.

Santi seems to notice. He’s quieter than usual, watching the two of you cosy up together. He looks pleased, if a little put out, and when he thinks you aren’t looking he exchanges a look with Frankie. A raised eyebrow, a dipped head. A fucking finally.

As you move to leave the bar at closing time, Frankie touches your arm.

‘Mind if I walk you home, querida?’ He asks, holding out your coat. You take it and swoop it on over your shoulders, grinning at him.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’ You say.

Frankie walks you home like a gentleman.

Too much of a gentleman.

You bump shoulders every so often, but he doesn’t move to take your hand. And he’s all bashful smiles and throaty laughter, compliments and flirty asides, but you return them tenfold, wrapped up in a blinding smile.

You’re making it easy for him. Obvious. But he still isn’t taking the bait.

Maybe he doesn’t want you.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, but it bounces around your skull the whole way home. And it rumbles even louder when you get to your door and he pulls you in for a hug, a light hand barely lingering on your waist, before he wishes you goodnight.

You stand there, a little dazed before your brain catches up and decides to deploy your last ditch attempt. Just to see. Just to find out.

He’s halfway down your front path when you call out to him.

‘Frankie. Do you want to come in?’

He turns, limbs coming to a clumsy halt. His brows are high on his forehead, mouth a little ‘o’. Then he frowns.

Fuck. You’ve never felt like such an idiot in your life.

‘I - er,’ he starts, and you look down at the floor, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the concrete. ‘I have an early start tomorrow.’ He says.

You look back up at him.

‘Sorry,’ he continues, ‘Any other time and I’d be - I’d be right there. Y’know. Just - timing, that’s all.’

You try to soften the bite that wants to creep into your words at his rejection, but barely manage it.

‘It’s cool,’ you say, trying to smile. ‘No worries. I just - I bought that film you said you watched the other day. Paddington 2? The one Lucia likes.’ A slow smile lights his eyes. ‘Just wondered whether you wanted to come in and watch it with a beer. But yeah. No worries,’ and then, because you just can’t help yourself, you add - ‘Wouldn’t have been any funny business, just so ya know.’

You force out a laugh, and Frankie drops his eyes. Disappointed, confused. You feel bad for a second, but then you remember how embarrassed you feel, how stupid. It makes your skin crawl. Nevermind.

You clear your throat.

‘Anyway. Get home safe, Frankie,’ you say, ‘See you soon.’

You rush in and close the door before he can reply.

---

Your phone buzzes with a text early the next day.

You open your eyes with a groan, clutching unseeingly at trinkets on your nightstand until your stomach lurches at the thought that it might be Frankie. You sit up to grab it.

It’s not Frankie. It’s an unknown number.

Hey. Do u want to head to the bar 2night?

You frown, confused, fingers dancing over possible replies before another text flies through.

Got a friend Id like u to meet.

And then another.

Its Santi btw. Cant remember if u have my no.

You breathe out, type a quick sure. Fuck it. What harm could another of Santi’s friends do to your pride? Your sex drive? What harm could a night with Santi do? You follow it up with -

Who else will be there? Are you setting me up?

You chew on your thumb anxiously, waiting for his reply.

Just the 3 of us. Might be ;)

You snort at his reply, shooting back -

God. Am I really such a charity case?

- before getting out of bed to make breakfast. Halfway through your pancakes, you get a text back.

Nah. Just cant stand seein a good girl like u go to waste.

You put your phone back down on the table, slowing your chewing. Good girl. The two words send a lick of heat curling up your spine. A good girl like you going to waste.

A slow, smug smile spreads across your lips. You pick up your phone again and begin to tap out a reply. A risky move, one which would surely harm your chances with Frankie, but fuck it -

If you don’t want me to go to waste, you could always have me to yourself.

You stare at the blinking cursor for a second before deleting the message, instead asking him for a time. No need to be hasty.

You don’t know what his friend looks like yet, anyway.

As it turns out, Santi’s friend might be exactly who you need to forget about Frankie.

Joel Miller is older, in his fifties. Greying, tall, broad, gorgeous, and a true southern gentleman to boot. The kind of guy - you imagine - who would drive you to work the next day if you couldn’t walk after seeing him the night before.

And it’s going well. Really well.

You, Joel, and Santi chat easily around your little table, swapping jokes, telling stories, brushing touches to each other here and there. Joel works in construction - runs his own company with his brother, Tommy - and has a grown up daughter called Sarah. He’s worked on Santi’s house - actually knows most of the group - but is usually too busy (or too tired, he tells you) to come out and join them. You think about how unlucky it is that he hadn’t come around before you made such a fool of yourself last night. And then you vow not to think of Frankie again for the rest of the evening.

Joel is easy to be around - warm, safe - earthy and masculine. And maybe it’s something to do with the way his chocolate brown eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles, but you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You can’t seem to stop thinking about what it would be like to run your fingers through his curls, feel the scrape of his stubble between your thighs, what his arms look like beneath his flannel, what his fingers - what his cock - would feel like inside of you. Something about the man is making your toes curl in your seat, and he hasn’t done anything more innocuous than thumb the charm hanging from your necklace. It’s agonising.

And to make it worse, Santi knows. You don’t know how, but he does. Maybe you’re just that easy to read.

In the blur of Joel leaving to go to the bathroom and get more drinks, Santi leans over to you.

‘What do you think?’ He asks.

You shrug, trying your absolute hardest to play it cool.

‘He’s nice. I like him. You should bring him out more often.’

Santi’s eyes glint with something molten, something teasing and knowing and sharp.

‘You want to take him home.’

You baulk at his words, cheeks flaming in response. You open and close your mouth as he leans in and laughs.

‘I never said that -’ you splutter, but Santi takes your hand.

‘You don’t need to, querida,’ he says, ‘I can see it written all over your face.’

You groan, forehead falling to his shoulder.

‘If it helps,’ he continues, ‘I think he wants to take you home, too.’

You look up from his shoulder into his eyes, and they glimmer back at you. You bite your lip.

‘Ya think?’ You ask.

‘Yeah, baby,’ he teases, ‘I do.’

You hum against him before tilting your face further back.

‘You know…’ you say, lips loosened by the alcohol. Santi tips his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. ‘'S not quite how I imagined the night would end.’

His lips quirk in a smile again. Ah, fuck.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I kinda thought you’d take me home instead.’

Santi chuckles and looks away around the room. When his eyes settle back on you, they’re black and burning.

‘I’ve thought about it,’ he says, scratching his beard, ‘A lot. But I guessed you were too caught up on Frankie.’

You freeze at his words and sit up straight, clearing your throat.

‘I don’t -’ but Santi shakes his head at you, cutting you off. He says your name softly.

‘I know about last night,’ he says quietly. Your cheeks begin to burn again, but this time for a completely different reason. ‘He told me about it after he walked you home. And I told him he was the biggest fuckin’ idiot I know.’

Despite yourself, you smile.

‘I’m not gonna take you home, baby,’ Santi continues as you watch him, curious, ‘Not right now, anyway. My shit is complicated enough -’ Santi cuts himself off with a sigh, and your brows bunch together.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask, your voice low and kind despite the fire sparking at his words.

Santi looks at you again, and whatever’s in his eyes looks too complex to divulge. He thumbs your knuckles, swirling patterns onto your hand.

‘Nothing,’ he says, but you frown at him again. ‘Just… stuff. Stuff to do with Frankie. It’s - complicated. I’ll tell you about it some other time. But what I wanted to say was - I wanted you to meet Joel. Because I think you’d be great for each other.’

Your jaw drops again, but before you can ask any questions, anything about his stuff with Frankie, Joel reappears with new drinks for the three of you. Santi gives you a tight-lipped smile, squeezing your hand before picking up his bottle. But you drop his gaze when Joel places a hand at the top of your back as he sits down.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ He asks.

Santi doesn’t leave early, but he doesn’t leave late, either. He stays long enough to know exactly where this thing with you and Joel is going, and then bails when he knows he should. Even if you still kinda wish he’d stay.

Even if you didn’t get the chance to ask him more about Frankie.

You and Joel linger for an hour longer, the ache in your core and the wetness in your underwear in response to him now almost impossible to ignore. Joel keeps a hand on your thigh. He sweeps a palm down your arm, tucks your hair behind your ear. And when the bell for closing rings out, he takes your hand and leads you out into the night.

He keeps a hold of your hand the whole way to your door.

When you get home, you turn to him on your doorstep. He smiles at you, taking you in through his eyelashes. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

You grip your keys tightly in your fist, the metal leaving marks and almost drawing blood as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You forget to breathe as his scent crowds your senses, as the scruff of his beard scratches your cheek. You want to lick his neck, find out if he tastes as good as he smells, want to know what it feels like to have him pressed against you, on top of you, under you, behind you -

Joel cuts through your thoughts with a low chuckle against your ear.

‘Breathe, darlin’.’ He murmurs.

You open your eyes, take a deep breath, and sigh a laugh as you look down at your feet.

He is still unbearably close, and you know, you know you shouldn’t, but you don’t know if you’ll ever see this man again, and everything Santi said at the bar, and the fact that you feel like Joel could make you come with just a flick of his wrist is likely what sparks your tongue to stutter out -

‘Do you want to come in?’

Joel looks down at you again, a fire alight in his eyes. The heat sends a shiver down your spine.

He doesn’t give you an answer. Just pushes your front door open, takes your wrist, and pulls you inside.

---

Being with Joel is great.

It’s amazing. It’s like you finally have someone who can keep up with you. Your brain, your days, your plans. It’s like someone plopped Joel Miller on earth with a little note saying he was yours.

In the three weeks after you first meet him, you share countless breakfasts and dinners and spend your weekends wrapped up in sheets watching reruns of Golden Girls. It’s so simple to spend time with someone who is so easy to be around, someone who just gets you.

Joel makes you laugh, makes you feel important, wanted.

And the sex is incredible.

Like nothing you’ve ever had with anyone else. He seems to know what to do, exactly how you want it done, every time - it’s effortless. And somehow, you seem to do the same for him. In fact, the only problems you seem to have found are his size (because he’s huge) and the fact that you can’t be inside each other all the time.

Which is why it takes so much effort for you to peel yourself away from him when Santi asks if you’d like to join him and the guys for drinks on Saturday. You give him an affirmative before promptly being distracted by Joel coming out of the shower.

You see his reply forty minutes later.

Frankie will b there. That OK?

You type back a quick -

Of course :)

- before getting on with your day.

Drinks are almost the same as usual. It’s surprisingly easy to slot right back into where you were. Laughing, chatting, joking with Will and Benny. What they’ve been up to, who they’ve been with. Questions you manage to dodge with only a knowing smirk from Santi to remind you he knows exactly who you’ve been doing.

Frankie joins in from across the table. He couldn’t meet your eye when you first arrived, but over the course of the evening and a few drinks, he seems to have relaxed enough to look at you. Really look at you.

Which is unfortunate, because you can still feel Joel’s come from earlier in the day seeping into your underwear.

At some point in the evening, Benny and Will make their excuses - they have a family get together tomorrow they can’t be too hungover for - and it’s just you, Frankie, and Santi left.

It’s easy for the most part. Santi bridging the gap so effortlessly that it begins to feel like nothing happened between you and Frankie at all. And it didn’t, you remind yourself. Nothing happened. And then you met Joel.

So why are you still thinking about it?

You try to distract yourself, lose yourself in the conversation taking place between the two men. Something about Star Wars, new castings they’ve chosen for a series coming out later in the year. You try to contribute as much as you can, but fail miserably, earning yourself a brief history of the franchise from Santi. Eventually you get him to ease off with a hand to his chest, laughing until he starts to giggle, too. He uses the interlude to get up to use the bathroom and get more drinks, leaving you with Frankie and his soft, brown eyes.

You peer at each other nervously from across the table. You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lip, as he chews the inside of his cheek before taking a deep breath and meeting your eye.

You feel your jaw clench.

‘About the other night, a few weeks back,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was a fuckin’ moron -’ he pauses for a moment, sweeps a hand over his face. ‘I’m real rusty at this. The whole dating thing. I don’t think I even realised what it was you were sayin’ to me.’ Frankie huffs a laugh. A horrible, anxious feeling starts to work its way up your throat. ‘But I -’

He’s interrupted as a bartender floats by your booth, sweeping up some of the empty glasses. You smile up at her and thank her sweetly.

Maybe you can stall whatever Frankie has to say.

She swats at the air with her free hand.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ she says, ‘Can’t let a thing like empties get in the way of a date like this.’

You smile at her and bite your tongue, feeling hot. A blush begins to claw up your cheeks as she winks at you both and swings away. Had she not seen Santi? And - fuck - now how do you brush this off with Frankie? How do you stop where this is going?

You turn your eyes back to him, and he hasn’t even flushed at the insinuation. Instead, he bites his lip, something which sends a jolt of heat to the space between your thighs. He scratches the back of his neck, and rushes out in a lowered voice that even though he’s busy with work at the moment, he’d like to make it right -

‘I’d really love to take you out this weekend.’

Your stomach plummets to your feet. Fuck.

Tears of frustration prickle in your eyes. A lump of panic settles in your throat, and you almost feel like you could run out of the bar. Why is he doing this now?

You take a deep breath and try to form the kindest smile, the most apologetic furrow in your brows that you can.

‘Frankie,’ you breathe, and already his face begins to fall. You lean across the table and take one of his massive hands. ‘I’d have loved to, but -’

He shakes his head quickly, trying to draw his hand back.

‘It’s okay,’ he begins, ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I must have just misread - I didn’t mean - I don’t want you to feel -’

But his interruption only serves to further spark the surge of irritation. You squeeze his hand tighter so he can’t rip it away and utter his name harshly. He stops immediately, his eyes whipping back to yours. Something stirs in you at his immediate obedience.

‘Listen to me,’ you say, shaking off your traitorous thoughts. ‘I’d have loved to. But I - I literally just started seeing someone, and I -’ you break off, groaning in frustration, ‘I don’t know if it’s serious, or if it’s exclusive, but he’s great, and I don’t want anyone - especially you - to get hurt by me being selfish or not knowing where things are at.’ You huff out a breath and meet his eye. He looks disappointed, upset even - but worst of all he looks understanding, almost grateful that you don’t want him to get caught up in this complex knot of wanting.

‘Frankie,’ you say softly, and try to smile, ‘I mean this in the least… damaging way. If you had asked me three weeks ago, when we were here last, I’d have said yes. In a heartbeat.’

Maybe it does make you an asshole. Maybe it does make you selfish. But it feels important in this moment to make sure that Frankie understands - you like him. You wanted him.

It’s just timing.

Frankie grimaces.

‘Fuck.’ He hisses. And when he tries to withdraw his hand this time, you let him. But you don’t look away.

A low light flickers in his eye. Something close to anger, you think - at himself, or at you, you’re not sure.

‘Is it -’ he begins, ‘Is it Pope?’

‘Pope?’ You ask, confused. Frankie shakes his head.

‘Santi. Is it Santi?’

You bark a laugh. You can’t help it.

‘Santi? Your Santi?’ you ask, bewildered. Frankie’s cheeks heat again. You want to put a pin in that, the flush at your, but your brain is suddenly so riddled with dredged up questions you can hardly order them.

‘What do you mean, Frankie?’ you ask, exasperated.

Frankie shakes his head again, realising his mistake, but you are beyond dropping the topic.

‘Frankie,’ you say, stern this time. ‘What do you mean?’

Frankie whips his cap off, runs an agitated hand through his hair, shifts his gaze around the bar for the other man.

‘He - he likes you, too,’ he says. ‘I was worried - worried he’d beat me to it ‘cos I didn’t ask before I went away. He said it was taking me too long to do - to gather the confidence to ask you -’ Now Frankie barks a laugh. ‘But it looks like we were both too late.’

You shake your head, the cogs in your brain turning slowly. How Santi looked at you was no secret. But if what Frankie was saying about how Santi felt was true, why had he introduced you to Joel? And if that was true, had you misunderstood what Santi said about him and Frankie? You feel your mouth open and close, but Frankie takes your silence to ask you another question.

‘Who is it?’

‘What?’

‘Who is it?’

You splutter over your answer, hesitating, stalling -

‘Frankie, how the fuck would you know?’

Because he would. And, rightly or wrongly, that panics you a little.

‘Is it someo-’

You cut him off, holding up your palm.

‘Frankie -’ you press a hand to your throat, feeling your rapid pulse. Fuck it. ‘I thought - I thought Santi was interested in you.’

Frankie chokes on his breath.

He stares at you, calculating something, breathing heavily.

‘It’s not - we’re not -’ he fumbles. You slouch back in your seat. Frankie’s eyes flutter closed. ‘We fuck around sometimes. And sometimes - sometimes other people -’ You groan, your head tipping back against the leather. Your head is spinning. ‘But we wouldn’t - I wouldn’t - fuck. I don’t want you to think that that’s what this is about -’ Frankie splays his hands in front of you. ‘God,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to explain any of this.’

The room suddenly feels too warm. You cradle your head in your hands, and stare at the way the table swims beneath you. What the fuck is happening?

You glance up at Frankie, but he’s watching you so intensely, so much concern and panic and want in his eyes that it makes you feel claustrophobic.

‘I need some air.’ You mumble across the table, and stumble out of the booth on unsteady legs. From the corner of your eye, you see Santi begin to cross the floor to return to the booth with drinks in his hands, see him watch you trip across the bar. In the back of your brain, you hear him call your name, but your hands are already on the handle of the front door, pushing it open and feeling the cool night air hit your clammy skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You fumble in your pocket for your phone and find Joel’s contact. You want to go home, and you want his help to forget about this. And, you think, you should probably ask whether he had any idea about Santi, or Frankie, or Santi and Frankie.

The call with Joel is quick, and he sounds appropriately concerned without needing to hear any details. He tells you to stay in view of the bar and to not move a muscle, and that he’ll be there in 10. You hope he can make it in five.

He’s too slow. After seven minutes, Frankie bursts out of the bar, Santi quickly following him.

‘Fish -’ Santi’s calling, but he catches himself when he sees you still standing there. Frankie screeches to a halt, too.

The three of you stare between each other, eyes wide, like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.

Frankie says your name before you shake your head - rushing out a not now, Frankie just as Joel’s pickup peels into the parking lot.

Frankie can’t see him with his back turned, but he sure does when Joel comes striding from behind the two men to stand at your side.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ he asks in his low, southern drawl, and you instinctively lift your mouth for a kiss before realising how cruel that would be.

Joel tenses as you withdraw, finally taking in the other two men.

‘Pope,’ he says with a nod, and Santi smiles weakly back at him.

‘Frankie,’ Joel says a little softer, ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Joel.’ Frankie says through his teeth, realisation burning in his eyes.

‘How ya doin’, kid?’ Joel asks him, placing a hand on your lower back. Frankie juts out his chin.

‘Fine. Great.’ He says, ‘I was just leavin’, actually.’ Frankie whips his cap off, runs a hand through his hair. His jaw is set, angry. He shakes his head at the ground. ‘I’ll see you guys around.’ He says to no one in particular, turning on his heel and fleeing towards the car park.

Santi and Joel meet each others’ eyes in some kind of understanding, and you look angrily between them. Being left out of the loop again was not feeling cute.

Joel sighs, wrapping his arm around your waist.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.’ He murmurs, but you lurch out of his grasp and turn on the two of them. They watch you, surprised.

‘No,’ you say, ‘Nu-uh. We aren’t going anywhere until one of you tells me what the fuck is going on.’

Joel and Santi look at each other, expressions unreadable.

Santi shakes his head.

‘Come back inside,’ he says, turning back to the bar entrance, ‘We’re gonna need more beers for this.’

---

When you get down to the root of it, the truth isn’t even that complex. That’s the laughable part.

The long and short of it is this. One: Pope knew Frankie liked you. But he knew Frankie moved slow. And he’d gotten tired of watching, of knowing he’d be a dick if he made a play instead. And he cares about you, his friend. Wants to see you happy. Enter Joel. Two: Santi and Frankie fooled around while they were in Delta Force. It’s not a secret, but it’s never really been discussed. Sometimes they still fool around, but it’s been less frequent as they’ve gotten older. As they date other people. Three: Sometimes, when those other people they’re dating are willing, they bring them in, and they all have fun together.

Something Santi would have been fine with if you were his. Something Frankie was less cool with doing if he’d made his move.

Santi admits that he’s likely just been a dick throughout the whole thing. You make him promise to do better over another beer. He does. He also now knows not to cock block his best buddy with a mutual friend.

And Joel feels kinda bad about that. Not bad enough to pump the brakes with you, but uncomfortable, sure. He’s had Frankie round for barbecues, he likes the guy. He’s sorry he whisked you away from him. But not sorry enough.

Joel hasn’t been involved in any of Frankie and Santi’s adventures, but it’s something he’s played around with before. He’s had threesomes, but he doesn’t really volunteer more than that. The thought ignites something deep in your belly and you file it away for another day, a different conversation.

Once it’s all explained and you’re laughing together again, everything feels fine. Normal.

Except you don’t see Frankie for weeks afterwards.

You drop him a text every now and again, just wanting to know whether he’s okay, but you hear nothing back. Santi tries to assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing for you to worry about.

But it still sits uneasy in your gut.

You see Joel almost every day. And Santi once a week.

The three of you meet for beers in a different bar from the one Santi meets Frankie, Will and Benny in - your bar. And you have fun.

It never goes beyond touches with Santi, though you find yourself wishing more and more often that it would. He rests a hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb swiping patterns over your flushed skin. Sometimes he has an arm flung around the back of your seat, sometimes rubbing the back of your neck, sometimes tucking hair behind your ear. He watches and stares and smiles and laughs at you and Joel, and you watch back with delighted curiosity. You like the way he makes you squirm while you sit next to the older man. And Joel loves to watch you squirm, too.

He loves getting you home and finding your panties soaked with arousal. He loves swiping two of his thick fingers through your folds with the front door barely closed, his hand shoved down the front of your jeans, your back arched already, a needy whine heavy in the back of your throat. He loves talking you through the things he’d like to watch Santi do to you, how good he knows you’d be for the two of them, how well behaved, how you’d take, take, take it, and how proud he’d be to show you off. My girl. He growls as he fucks into you at night. My girl.

And it suits you, how giving, how generous Joel is.

Seems to suit Santi, too.

At some point ideas had been swapped between you and Joel - some thinly disguised remark dropped by him over dinner one night had led to you picking at the thread and grinding him down over three days, trying to get to the bottom of it. He liked to share, he’d said. He liked to watch. He liked the control, and the pride, and the possession of it all. And goddammit, you liked the sound of it, too. Because after serious discussion - serious boundaries, limits, run throughs of possible scenarios, you talked through people who you wouldn’t mind trying it with.

And there was obvious one name you both settled on.

Santi.

And well, given his history, it didn’t take too long for you to convince him to join you.

And if it hadn't been for Santi’s suggestion, his knowledge, his understanding of his best friend, there’s a chance Frankie’s name wouldn’t have come up at all. You’re not sure if you’d have dared, considering how things were left. But, lo and behold, it does, and along with it the chance for him to see exactly what he's missing out on.

---

All the rules have been arranged for tonight, but the most important one, which you must remember, is that Frankie is not allowed to touch you.

At all. At any point.

You and Joel head to the usual bar to meet Santi and Frankie for drinks. You make sure to wear a dress which clings to your curves, dips at your cleavage, and settles just high enough on your thigh to be bordering on acceptable. And it must be more than acceptable, because Joel threatens to fuck you out of it three times before you leave the house.

It must be acceptable, because Santi cannot keep his eyes or his hands off you when you arrive at the venue, and Frankie from across the table cannot regain control of his jaw.

They both look good - you all look good - Joel with his hair combed back, a deep green flannel on, Santi in all black - and suddenly all you want to do is call the drinks off now and just head back to Joel’s. But the patience, the build up is critical. It’s foreplay.

Instead, you lean back in your chair, sipping on your cocktail as you take in the three men.

The conversation flows easily after a while. Joel is a master at it, weaving questions in and out, making sure to put both you and Frankie at ease. Besides, it’s been a while since you last saw each other. Not that either of you were any less eager for him to be involved. He’d been very keen, according to Santi.

He’s in dark jeans and a tight navy blue t-shirt tonight, his trademark cap confining his curls. He’s not dressed up, but he’s made an effort, and his shy looks across the table, his kind questions and easy jokes have begun healing the fractures of what happened weeks ago.

It doesn’t hurt that he and Santi had a good, long talk, and that you then shared a sweet phone call.

All the same, he sits opposite you, unable to touch you for the rest of the night.

Instead, he just gets to watch as Joel presses kisses to your neck, pulls you into his chest, skates his hands over your thighs - anything he can get away with doing to turn you on. And Santi isn’t far behind. Holding your hand on top of the table, bringing your knuckles to his lips, keeping a hand on your knee almost the entire time.

Your brain is a hot, buzzing mess by the time Santi checks his phone.

‘It’s getting late.’ He says, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Eager, no?’ You tease, trying - and failing - to cover the scent of your own desperate need.

‘Of course,’ Santi smirks over the rim of his glass, ‘But I’ll take my time with you.’

You try to laugh but fall back into Joel’s shoulder at his words, and the older man chuckles. He kisses your forehead tenderly. Frankie watches hungrily from across the table, the dark void of his eyes flicking towards his watch, desperate to leave.

When you do, he walks at a distance behind the three of you. You smile to yourself and sway your hips a little more for his benefit. And you swear you get a low whine as your reward.

---

You’re quiet the whole way home, trying not to clench your thighs too hard or rock yourself against the seat. You're so desperate for friction, for relief, that it’s hard for you to concentrate on what’s going on in the car. Hard for you to think of anything beyond Joel’s warm, heavy hand on your thigh as he drives.

He leans over to you halfway home, and whispers -

‘You’re quiet, baby. Everything okay?’

You flick a glance to him and find his eyes equal parts concerned and equal parts aflame. You smile.

‘I’m trying to be good,’ you murmur, ‘But you’re making it very difficult.’

Joel dips his chin in a smirk and squeezes your thigh, his fingers drifting dangerously close to your panties. You squirm a little in your seat, and it goads him to drift his hand further until it catches at the lace of the gusset. You gasp at the feeling, a tiny whimper making its way out from your lips, and all conversation in the back of the truck grinds to a halt. Your cheeks heat, and you turn to look out the window again, clamping your lip beneath your teeth.

No one says a word the rest of the way home.

Once you're all home, a silence settles around you. Everybody wide eyed, geared up, on edge. You’re not sure who to look at or what to say until Joel does it for you.

‘Upstairs.’ He commands, and everybody moves to follow him up the staircase. You keep your eyes on his broad back the whole way up, and once you reach the top, he holds his hand out behind him for you to grab. You do.

When you get to his bedroom door, Joel leads you in. You turn just as Santi crosses the threshold, as he pivots to Frankie behind him and says -

‘Kneel.’

Frankie glances at you, swallows, and returns his eyes to Santi. He drops down to his knees in the hallway.

‘Good,’ Santi murmurs, stepping forward to crouch down in front of him. ‘Do you remember the rules?’ He asks Frankie.

The younger man nods, his eyes dropping to the floor.

‘Yes.’

Santi nods once.

‘Good. Listen. And do not leave this spot.’

Santi straightens, turning his back on Frankie. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him on the floor - small, submissive - and you can’t help the little gasp you let out as Santi steps towards you and closes the door slowly behind him, leaving just enough of a gap so that Frankie can hear everything that happens but watch none of it.

Joel skirts his fingers down your waist and presses a kiss just under your ear.

‘You ready, baby girl?’ he rumbles. You turn your face to look at him over your shoulder, finding his eyes dark, a familiar power behind them. You nod.

‘Yes.’ you say. He nods, pleased, twisting to kiss your mouth before guiding you towards Santi.

‘Good,’ he says. He turns and moves towards the armchair in the far corner of the room, sitting heavily in it.

Santi steps towards you and gently takes your face in his hands.

‘You okay?’ He asks quietly. You nod.

‘Yeah,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’

Santi nods, his eyes searching yours for a hint of hesitation. You try to open up your mind to show him the excitement, the want you feel. Satisfied, he licks his lips.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks. You nod again, and Santi leans forwards, capturing your mouth in hard, slow movement.

Santi means to make a study of you, you think. His tongue is everywhere, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip, his hands gentle and then needy, already figuring out exactly what it is that makes you tick. And to make it even worse, every time you take a moment to catch your breath, he has that fucking smirk on his face. It’s infuriating, and you quickly need to find something which will wipe it off.

So you begin to undo his belt.

Pope huffs a chuckle against your lips, but doesn’t stop the work your hands are doing. Instead, he matches it with his own fingers.

With deft movements, he slips a hand under your dress and finds his way to your panties, touching you through the fabric. You groan against his mouth, and he smiles, ghosting over your folds. Not to be out done, you slip your hand into his jeans and palm him over his boxers. He hums against you.

‘Are we racing?’ He asks.

You cock your head to the side.

‘Thought you wanted to take your time?’ You quip back, and something flashes in his eyes.

He steps back.

‘Take this off.’ He says, tugging at the hem of your dress, and you pout at him.

‘Does that mean you take these off, too?’ You ask, tugging at his jeans. You’re pushing your luck, you know. But you think this might be easier if Santi undresses with you, if only to really see what you held in your hand.

Santi raises an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see,’ he says, ‘But you go first.’

You step back from him and glance at Joel, assessing. He nods at you, encouraging, and you pull your dress up and over your head. You stand before them in only your panties, and Santi takes a deep breath, biting his lip, smiling again.

‘Gorgeous, baby.’ He says. And you feel it. The way this man looks at you makes you feel weak, giddy - like your core is on fire.

Santi steps towards you to kiss you again, making sure his hand returns to where it had been, ghosting over your underwear. You groan into his mouth, impatient now, and his teeth scrape at your chin as he clicks his tongue. In answer, he sweeps your panties to the side, and grazes two digits along your slit. You moan loudly again, and Santi groans up at the ceiling.

‘Fuck, querida.’ He says, before stretching a thumb to your clit and sinking the two fingers deep inside you. You stumble against him as he begins to work you, breathing heavily against his clothed chest. You turn your face so your teeth can nip at his skin underneath.

‘Take - this - off.’ You hiss, and he laughs, slipping his fingers out of you with a groan to oblige. Santi removes his t-shirt quickly and chucks it somewhere across the room before pushing his jeans down and stepping out of them. He hurries to find purchase within your body once more, rocking you against him, curling his fingers deep inside you. His tongue returns to your mouth and you remember his hard cock in his boxers. You reach for it, but he blocks you with his arm. You whine.

‘Tan mojada ya, baby.’ He drawls. Santi removes his fingers from where they were curling inside of you and brings them to your mouth, tapping your lips. You open for him, and he presses them in, allowing you to swirl your tongue over them. You clean off the scent of your heady arousal as Santi watches you. He presses them hard, once, against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide for him.

He retracts his fingers.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs, and it goes straight to your cunt. You whimper a little, and he grins, stepping back and out of his boxers. ‘Take those off for me.’ He says, motioning at your soaked panties. You almost trip in your eagerness to do so. He retreats backwards until his calves hit the mattress, and he sits down before laying back, getting comfortable.

Santi watches you from the bed, laid out on his back. His lips curl as you rake your eyes over him - hands folded behind his head, his biceps rounding by his ears, his firm, strong torso spattered with dark hair, and his long, hard cock, bobbing and drooling as he takes you in.

‘Come here.’ He says.

You begin a slow walk to the bed, hesitating only for a moment as you crawl onto it and towards him. He licks his lips as you come closer, and you bite your lip back.

You feel unsure without being given specific direction, but you know that Joel will put you right if you step a toe out of line. So you place a knee on either side of Santi’s hips, and sink your heat down onto him as he pulls you forward by the back of your neck, searching for your lips.

You start to move, to adjust to try and let him inside, before Joel’s voice cracks like a whip out of the corner.

‘Either of us tell you you could fuck him yet?’ He growls.

You try to draw your mouth away from Santi to give your response, but he clamps your bottom lip between his teeth so you can go no further. You whimper and shake your head.

‘So put your fuckin’ hips back down. Y’ain’t earned it yet.’

Santi lets your lip go and flops back against the sheets with a shit-eating grin. You lower your hips again and place both your palms on his stomach, pushing your tits together. He eyes them greedily, reaching out and flicking a thumb over each nipple. You feel your pout grow, your brows drawn tight together and your bottom lip swollen, jutting out almost comically. Santi catches a glimpse of your face, and puffs out a laugh.

‘Poor baby,’ he coos, ‘Just wanna get fucked, don’t ya?’ You nod pathetically, but don’t dare move. He is achingly hard beneath you, his thick length resting perfectly between your folds. Santi lowers his hands from your nipples until he has them on your hips, and like he’s read your fucking mind, he begins to rock you back and forth.

A wanton, needy moan drools out of your mouth as your pussy wets him, fresh slick leaking out of your clenching hole. You wonder how much of this Frankie can hear.

Santi groans beneath you, watching the head of his cock disappear under you every time he slides you forwards. The pressure of him just against your lips is heady, and you watch as he guides you forwards just a little more, urges you to lean a little further forward until your clit catches on the head of his cock on every slide. You throw your head back, your fingers scratching at his torso, and he watches you. He whispers that you look so pretty like this, how he can feel you, look at how wet you’re making my cock, baby, can feel you twitchin’ on me already, angel. He guides you back and forth until you feel a heavy pressure begin to settle in your pussy, a burning beginning deep in your gut. Your moans become more frantic as you begin to plead with him, though you’re not sure what for.

‘Use your words, baby,’ Joel reminds you from his seat. ‘Ask Santi. Tell him what you need.’

You release a hot breath of air, biting your lip.

‘Gonna come, Santi,’ you tell him breathlessly, ‘Need to stop. Gonna come.’

But Santi just smiles sweetly up at you, his eyes heavy lidded. You pussy twitches, the knot pulling tighter. He reaches up with one hand and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Why would I want you to stop, angel?’ He asks. You shake your head. You don’t know. ‘Talk to me, baby.’ He prompts.

‘I don’t know. Haven’t been - fuck - told -’ you whimper. He nods, swallows harshly.

‘I want you to come,’ he tells you, ‘I want you to come now, and then I’m going to make you come again, and then as many more times as I see fit, do you understand?’

You groan and nod.

‘Yes, Santi.’

‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘And when I’m done with you, I’m gonna give you back to your daddy, and he’s gonna make you come as many times as he sees fit, too. Okay, baby?’

You clench around nothing, painfully, moving faster over Santi’s cock of your own accord.

‘Fuck. Yes, Santi.’

Santi settles his head back against the bed again, running his hands all over your body, anywhere he can touch you.

‘Go on, baby,’ he says, ‘Use me.’

Fuck, you groan out, tilting your hips to allow your clit to scrape down the underside of his cock at every pass. Without thinking, you lean so far forward that you plant a hand around the base of Santi’s throat to keep yourself upright, tightening your fingers over his pulse point. He lets out a strangled moan, his eyes fluttering closed, and you feel the pressure in your core build heavier and heavier until the white hot heat snaps. You throw your head back, coming with gasps of his name and loud moans, still rocking yourself back and forth, still squeezing over his neck.

Your vision is fuzzy and your breathing still feverish when Santi grabs at your fingers and pries them away from him. You flush at your carelessness, an Imsosorry rushing out as you stare at your hand in his. He shushes you tenderly, breathing deeply.

‘S’okay, baby,’ he says, ‘I like it. Don’t have a problem with it.’ He squeezes your hand, and then fixes you with a wicked, cruel look. ‘Just don’t wanna come yet, that’s all. Only so much a man can stand when I can feel you falling apart on top of me.’

You flush even deeper, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, laving hot, open mouthed kisses along the hard muscle there. He groans and chuckles against you, kneading your ass.

‘Want me to fuck you now, baby?’ He murmurs into your ear.

You whine against him, lick across his jaw.

‘Yes, Santi,’ you groan. ‘Please fuck me.’

Santi grips the hair at the base of your neck to pull you away from him, and you let yourself be led. He slides you off him, and rests on his knees before you. Your eyes dip hungrily to his bobbing cock, shining with your come, tip an angry red, precum dripping down its length. It twitches under your gaze, and you lick your lips.

Santi chuckles again, his hand still buried in your hair.

‘Dirty fuckin’ girl.’ He murmurs as he manipulates your body. ‘Turn around,’ he says, ‘Hands and knees, baby.’ You follow his directions, turning on the bed towards Joel before planting your limbs and curving your spine, angling your ass in the air. You’re not sure where you should look until Santi releases your hair and leans over your back, a hand on your hip.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he says into your ear, gripping your chin softly to angle your head. You look at Joel through heavy lidded eyes, only to find his are similar. ‘Keep your eyes on him.’

Joel is still fully dressed in the chair, head heavy against the back of it. His legs are spread wide, a hand on either arm, fingers spread and clenched slightly against the fabric. His jaw is tense, and you can see how his jeans strain over his cock - fully hard by the looks of it. You moan into the sheets as you watch him watch you. Santi kneels behind you, running his hands over your soft skin, as he dips two fingers through your folds, swearing softly.

‘She’s so wet, Joel.’ He whispers, and Joel’s eyes leave yours momentarily to see Santi hold his fingers up to the light, coated in slick. Joel’s hips move slightly, bucking into nothing, and he barely manages to grunt out a response. You wonder again how much of this Frankie can hear behind the door, whether he’s straining in his jeans just as Joel is, whether his ear is pressed against the crack just so he can hear what Santi is whispering to you both.

Pope grips one of your hips, and uses his other hand to line himself up at your entrance. He uses his tip to spread your slick around a little more until you whine again, fisting the sheets.

‘Please, Santi, please -’

And he needs no more encouragement, sinking all the way in on the first thrust. You cry out into the mattress, your sounds coming out choked, overwhelmed as he sets a relentless pace.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he hisses out behind you, neither of you able to get more words out.

You quickly lose yourself to the feel of him pumping in and out, every part of you wound up tight, hot. You can feel yourself squeezing him already, making his hips stutter. Joel notices, too. You wonder whether he remembers Frankie is outside, as well, because he manages to force out in a low grumble -

‘How does she feel?’

Santi gathers your hair up in a fist, bringing your face up from the sheets just so they can hear you better. He grits his teeth, tries to stutter out his answer -

‘So - fucking - good -’ and at this, a delicious smile sweeps across Joel’s face. He’s proud. You moan even louder and manage to garble out a daddy, which makes him positively grin.

‘Atta girl, baby,’ he says to you, before turning back to Santi, ‘Just good?’

You and Santi both hear the prod in his words, and it shoots another thrill through you to remember just how much control Joel has; how he wants him to tell him what he already knows, to prove that his worth.

‘Not just good,’ Santi groans, ‘Fuckin’ perfect. So tight. So warm. She’s clenchin’ me already, makin’ me feel like a fuckin’ teenager,’ he laughs around a puff of air, before leaning back into you. ‘Tómatelo con calma, hermosa - quiero que esto dure.’ You moan again at his words, as they spark the opposite of their desired effect.

‘Shit,’ Santi chuckles out, ‘God, Joel. Pussy like I’ve never felt. And so responsive, too.’ To prove his point Santi lands a firm smack on your ass and you yelp, pulsing around him, biting your lip. He moans behind you. ‘Don’t know how you ever get anything done,’ he bites out, ‘I’d never be able to leave her alone.’

You glow under Santi’s praise and Joel’s warming stare, and push yourself up loosely onto your elbows as Santi returns both of his hands to your hips. You push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Santi gasps, before reaching around you to rub desperately at your clit. Your moans bounce off the walls, sharp gasps and whines melting into begging -

‘Please, Santi - fuck - oh my god, oh my god, please - ‘m so close. So close -’

‘Gonna come again, baby?’ He coos from above you. You nod furiously.

‘Yes,’ you gasp out, ‘God, please Santi, fuckin’ me so good -’

With a grunt, Santi hauls you upwards so your back is flush against his chest. He fucks into you harshly, fingers still working your clit, his other hand pinching and twisting a nipple as he kisses and bites his way along your neck, you shoulder, below your ear.

‘Good girl,’ he says, and your head dips back onto his shoulder, mouth open in a sob because he feels so good -

Santi grips your chin again, yanking your face down and towards Joel.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he snaps at you, ‘You look at your daddy when you come for me.’

And you do. You can barely keep your eyes open as your body gives out, loud, broken moans escaping your mouth, Santi and daddy alternating somewhere in there as Santi fucks you through it, fingers still on your clit as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder -

‘Good - fucking - girl.’

And you see even Joel’s eyes close momentarily, his hands clenching to fists on the arms of the chair, a growl of desperation only you can hear tumbling out of his chest.

Santi is relentless as he chases his own release, but you’re so tight around him that he refocuses his efforts.

‘Again, baby,’ he orders, ‘Give me another. I can feel it. Come on. It’s right there. You gotta give it to me, hermosa -’

But you whine against him, twitching, trembling, sobbing through the overstimulation, unsure where the boundary between pleasure and pain is. You shake your head, try to catch your breath.

‘Too much, Santi, too much,’ you cry, ‘Can’t - don’t know -’

‘You can, baby,’ he breathes, voice like steel, and you whimper. That tone so similar to Joel’s, how he knows, how now Santi knows, that you can.

At his insistence, you tumble off the cliff again, weakly calling his name as a gush of arousal spills onto his lap, as you pulse and contract around his cock. He releases a strangled groan, his hips stuttering, his breathing heavy. He peers over your shoulder at Joel.

‘Where do you want it?’ he gasps.

‘Inside her.’ Joel growls, and you moan again as Santi sheathes himself to the hilt and comes and comes and comes. You feel him fill you, his dick pulsing and twitching deep in your pussy, and he sags as he begins to leak out. You both hit the mattress, Santi just about propping himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. You both breathe heavily for a second, until he moves your hair from your face and touches your cheek.

‘You okay?’ he rasps, throat dry. You chuckle breathily.

‘Yes.’ You sigh. Santi licks his lips and laughs quietly, too, shifting gently to slip out of you. You both groan, trying to catch your breath again. Your limbs are liquid, your body heavy, and somewhere in your dazed state you feel him dip a kiss to your shoulder blade before using his tongue to soothe the bite mark he’d left earlier.

You turn your face towards him as you feel his weight leave the bed. He smiles at you, muttering something about getting himself cleaned up before gesturing to the opposite way you're facing. You turn your head to find Joel, pulled to his full height, standing at the foot of the bed, still fully fucking clothed.

You slowly rise to your knees on the mattress, and Joel smiles at you, lifting a hand to settle against your cheek. You lean into it, turning your head to kiss his palm.

‘You okay, baby?’ he asks softly.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You breathe.

He nods, pleased.

‘Good. On your knees, on the floor for me, baby girl.’ He says.

You pull your languid limbs off the bed and settle on your knees on the floor, waiting patiently for him. You rest your palms on top of your thighs, tingling and relaxed, and wait for your instruction. It comes before Santi even leaves the bathroom.

‘Mouth.’ Joel says, and you shuffle forward towards him, hungry hands grappling with his belt as he chuckles down at you. ‘My eager girl.’ And you shine a blinding smile up at him.

You whip his belt off, launch it across the room, and make quick work of the button and zipper, pulling his jeans down his thighs so just his boxers are left. You lick your teeth at the sight of his barely contained cock, the front of his underwear stretched, the tip of his dick peeking from above his waistband, leaking and swollen. You rise up on your knees as you reach for the band, lifting your eyes to Joel’s as you pull his underwear down, smiling again as one of his big hands comes to rest at the back of your head, impatient already.

His boxers and jeans pulled down, you take Joel into your hand, pumping him gently before pulling the tip to your mouth, blowing on it lightly before pressing a kiss to the weeping slit. Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth, and presses his hips forward, sinking his cock past your lips. You take him gratefully, opening as wide as you can, your tongue soft and firm against him, tracing and twirling as you hollow your cheeks.

‘So good t’me.’ Joel breathes out, pushing a little further, just to hit the back of your throat and hear you choke lightly. You moan around his length, your eyelids flickering shut as he begins to fuck your throat slowly, making sure to feel every inch you allow him access to.

Santi emerges from the bathroom, and he can’t help but grin as he takes in the sight of you on your knees before Joel, swiping a hand over his mouth to try and hide his mirth. You flutter your eyelashes at him, and he shakes his head before crossing the room to sit in the chair Joel was in before. He crosses an ankle over his knee, leaning back to watch you both.

You hum around Joel and begin to bob up and down his length, using your fist to pump what you don’t have the patience to take in your mouth. Joel tangles his fingers in your hair and groans as he feels your tongue dip into his slit, slip over the sensitive spot on the underside of his head.

‘Fuckin’ hell,’ he grunts, ‘Putting on a show for Santi, are we?’

You smile wickedly around his cock, before taking him all the way to the base on your own. You hold your head there as long as possible as Joel chokes out moan after moan, and from behind you Santi mumbles -

‘Fuck, Joel. She’s leaking all over the floor.’

Joel huffs out a breath, pulling you off his cock. He peers down at you, eyes dark.

‘Are you, baby?’ He asks.

You wiggle your ass to feel what even you hadn’t noticed, too caught up in sucking his dick. A small puddle of you and Santi has been dripping down onto the hardwood where you kneel. More slick pulses out of you at the realisation.

‘Yes, daddy,' you sigh, and Joel’s eyes roll up into his head. He yanks your hair roughly to bring you to your feet.

‘Get up,’ he snarls, ‘And get on the bed.’

Joel all but throws you back on to the mattress, and it happens in such a rush that you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. You wrack your brain as Joel undresses before you, his eyes scouring your body, taking in the marks, the bruises already forming, how your hair is wet with sweat at the roots, how your pussy still drips onto the sheets -

And then you get it. Joel is getting off on it - on the thought of you being full, used, wanted, shown off -

Once he is down to just his skin, he crawls over you, lifting and pushing your hips to move you up the bed. He dips his head to lick and kiss and bite at your neck, and your hands flutter around him, touching him everywhere. His back, his arms, his neck, his face, scraping your nails down his exposed skin. He makes his way to your mouth, devouring you - all tongue and teeth until he rears back to look at you, sprawled and gorgeous below him.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he groans, ‘So perfect like this. Open your mouth for me.’ You do as he says, flattening your tongue out against your lower lip for good measure. He groans again, and then leans forward to spit in your mouth. You swallow it down hungrily.

‘Thank you, daddy.’ You say, and he leans back down to kiss you again before retracing down your neck, your collarbones, your breasts -

‘Such a good girl, rememberin’ your manners,’ he grumbles, ‘So good, takin’ Santi, look so good when you’re takin’ his cock.’ You whimper as he bites down on each of your nipples, soothing them with open-mouthed kisses. He kisses down your stomach, around your heat, nipping the inside of your thighs, making sure to leave marks, breathing hotly onto your skin.

‘But now you’ve made a mess, baby, haven’t you?’ He says. You mewl at the ceiling, clutching the sheets around you as Joel blows on your clit, hovering just above where you need him. ‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you, with a sharp slap to your thigh.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You cry.

‘And what do we do when we make a mess?’ He asks.

‘Clean it up, daddy.’ You pant.

‘Good girl,’ he coos, ‘Good girl.’ Before he licks a fat, hot stripe from your leaking hole up to your clit.

You gasp at the sensation, your back arching off the bed, the coil in your stomach already wound impossible tight, every part of your body still so sensitive. Joel works with abandon at your pussy, flattening his tongue to lap at you, tasting the mixture of you and Santi, slurping around your opening before focusing his efforts on your bundle of nerves, sharpening his tongue to work it in tight circles, then figure eights. Your hips buck strongly against him, and he secures a forearm against your lower belly to stop you struggling. He hums against you as your hand winds its way into his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp.

‘Daddy, daddy, daddy, so good - fuck - so good - tongue feels so good, baby -’ You babble to him, to yourself, and Joel lowers his mouth, working his tongue inside you, grinding his nose against your clit. Your shoulders shoot off the bed, and you pull his hair now, biting a curse between your teeth. Joel doesn’t let up for a second, just moves his forearm so he can force your upper body back down onto the bed. Your fingers loosen their grip on his hair, coming up instead to scrub at your face as moan after moan escapes you.

A groan echoes from the chair, and you flick your gaze behind you to see Santi watching greedily, palming himself through his boxers. The sight only serves to work you up more, your core tightening and tightening and tightening, an unbearable heat settling where Joel’s tongue is, but you need him deeper -

‘You close, baby?’ He mumbles against you.

‘Y-es.’ You force out, as he pinches your clit between his lips.

‘What do you need?’ He asks.

‘Fuck - your fingers, Joel, please -’

Joel obliges, slipping one, and then two digits into your cunt easily, fucking them in and out as he licks again at your nub, swirling and sucking and lapping -

‘Come on, baby,’ he groans, ‘Give me what I want.’

The forearm he has braced against your middle barely keeps your back on the bed as you come, hard and loud against his tongue. Your whole body twitches, so warm, as he laps and laps and laps at you, as you beg him to stop, to let you breathe for just a second - but he doesn’t, he never does, just eats until he’s had his fill, until he’s satisfied.

When he lifts his head from between your thighs, his beard and cheeks are glistening with your come. He releases his grip on you and begins to crawl upwards again, and you clamp your thighs shut to stop him from provoking anymore overstimulation. He laughs down at you, kneeling back to yank your legs back open with his strong hands.

‘We’re not done with you, yet, baby,’ he coos, ‘I ain’t had all my fun.’

You shake your head at him, pitiful, your lower lip jutting out. He pouts back at you.

‘You don’t want daddy’s cock, darlin’?’ He asks. You can’t even find it in you to hesitate.

‘I do,’ you cry, ‘Just don’t wanna be touched anymore.’

Joel nods at your words, strokes your cheek, kisses your forehead.

‘It’s okay, baby girl,’ he murmurs, ‘I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. Won’t make you come again if you don’t want to.’ Liar. He knows just as well as you do what his cock does to you. But still, he pauses, makes sure you’re looking at him. ‘Can I still have this pussy, angel?’

You blink up at him. Something warm curls in your stomach. Relief, you think, that he’s heard you, understands - that you know - even with Santi and Frankie here - you could stop this at any time.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You say.

He smiles, wraps you up in a tender kiss.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ He murmurs as he lines himself up at your entrance, and begins to sink in.

Joel tugs at the backs of your thighs, hitching them to your chest so he can watch as he splits you open. His eyes flick from your cunt to your face, the glistening slit stretching to accommodate him and the way your jaw falls loose in a silent ‘o’, your brows brunched, your eyes rolling and falling shut. The slip of him is sinful tonight - your orgasms leaving your body like jelly, Santi’s cock preparing you for Joel’s thickness. But he still moves toe-curlingly slow, inch after inch after inch providing a delicious stretch. He groans as he feels you flutter and tense and contract around him, still unable to breathe, unable to speak. Only he can get you like this - not a babble slipping past your lips, unable to do anything but feel him. Joel pants, moaning again as he bottoms out, tip kissing your cervix. He runs a finger over your cheek, letting you adjust further.

‘Talk to me, baby,’ he urges.

He rocks his hips back and forth, no more than an inch, but it punches out the breath you were holding.

‘Fuck, Joel,’ the whisper all you can get out. He smiles at you.

‘Yeah, angel?’

‘So big.’ you breathe, shifting your hips so he can sink even further in.

‘There she is,’ he huffs, pulling out again, ‘There’s my girl.’

Joel rocks forward again, and you cry out around him, the noise setting him off into a languid pace which allows him to hit every single spot inside you. You can’t bear to touch your own body, frightened of sending yourself into the void, but you do touch Joel. You clutch at his biceps, his tight forearms, nails leaving little crescent moons wherever you grip. You tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls, swipe the lines on his forehead, the stubble on his cheeks. He twists his head to kiss and suck at your thumb, and you mewl at him, eyes wide and glassy, so full of him you don’t know what to do.

You’re barely aware, even, of the slick sound of skin and Santi’s soft groans as he works his cock in the chair, caught up in the intensity of you and Joel fucking, his chest flushed and shining with sweat.

There’s still not a noise, not a peep from the other side of the door.

All you can hear is Joel; his deep breathing, low grunts and moans, his whispered praises, and the startlingly wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. You can’t stop the contractions that build inside you, and every time one ripples through your pussy Joel’s head drops a little lower towards your chest.

Your orgasm feels deafeningly close and impossibly strong, brought on by every shift of Joel’s dick. You try to breathe through it, your moans getting louder, soaking the room with sound, but it’s hopeless.

Joel dips his head to kiss you softly, swallowing your sounds for just a minute. When he pulls away, you teeter on the edge, everything feeling heavy and blurred and blazingly good.

‘Joel.’ You whisper urgently.

‘I know, baby,’ he says, ‘I can feel it. You’re taking it so well, sweet girl. So good f’me. I know it feels good. You can let go. You can do it. Come on.’

You all but scream against him, your orgasm ripping through your body, every muscle on fire. Your legs shake and your arms tighten around his neck as you shiver and twitch around him, and he moans, long and loud, like you’ve never heard him do before.

As he fucks you through it, the relief, the pleasure catches up with you, and tears swell and pour out of your eyes.

‘So good,’ you sob, ‘So good daddy, God -’

Joel coos back at you. ‘Atta girl, baby. Knew you could do it. Knew you could give me one more. And it was so pretty, baby.’ he grins at you, before picking up his pace. You whine beneath him.

‘’S okay,’ he promises, ‘Where do you want me, darlin’?’ and you huff at him, as if you could ever give a different answer.

‘Inside. Come inside me.’ You say. And Joel crowds you out, pushing all the way in so you’re moaning again, pumping in the deepest part of you as his hips flex against yours, his head in your shoulder. You stroke his curls, breathing deeply as he relaxes.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he mumbles against your skin. He pulls his head away, blinking. You giggle up at him.

‘Y’alright?’ you ask, and he smiles back.

‘Fuckin’ more’n alright,’ he laughs, ‘Are you?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘Real good.’

Joel slides himself out of you, both grunting at the loss, and he flicks a look over your shoulder.

‘You good, Pope?’ He asks, grinning at the other man. You twist your head to look at him too, giggling again when you take in his fucked out face, exhausted in the corner, his stomach covered in come. Santi can’t help but grin back.

‘Yeah, great.’ he answers wryly, and you giggle even more.

Joel laughs with you, rolling onto his back and pulling you against his shoulder, kissing your hair.

‘Did so good, baby.’ he reminds you again as you feel him begin to dribble out of you.

Santi stands with a groan, and makes his way back towards the bathroom, muttering something about having to clean himself up again.

You press your face to Joel’s neck with a smile, leaving soft kisses, only coming away when you hear the jingle of a belt buckle. Santi is dressing at the end of the bed, just short of pulling his top on. You frown at him.

‘You’re leaving?’ you ask. He looks up, smirking again.

‘Not yet, querida,’ he says, ‘Just cold. Besides, there’s still someone we need to look after.’

You watch him as he buckles his belt with baited breath, curious as to how this will play out. You aren’t sure what exactly will happen next - whether Frankie will come in, or who will… deal with him. Your breath hitches in your throat before Joel answers your questions for you.

‘Go check on Frankie, baby girl,’ he murmurs, stroking your hair back. You bury your face in his chest again, and breathe in deeply. You scrunch the sheets at his waist in your fist, and Santi chuckles at your reluctance to leave the bed. You plant a kiss to Joel’s exposed skin before pulling yourself away to sit up on the bed. Planting your feet and gathering your strength before standing. You pick up Joel’s flannel from the floor and slip your arms into it, bundling yourself against the chill you now also feel as you pad towards the door. You feel Joel and Santi’s eyes on you, silent, assessing.

When you reach the bedroom door, you touch it gingerly, breathing deeply. You feel… nervous. How would Frankie react to everything he’d heard? You knew he’d done things like it before, but you knew you would be so… angry. Jealous and frustrated. You bite your lip, and slowly pull the door back.

Frankie is exactly where Santi left him, on his knees a step back from the threshold. Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in.

At some point during it all, he'd removed his cap. It’s tossed on the floor a few feet away, and his hair is… fucked. Strands stick out on all sides, his curls mussed and frazzled. Sweat is gathered at his temples, and his skin has a warm, glossy sheen to it. All across his face, right down to the hollow of his throat peeking above his t-shirt. His lips are swollen and bitten, wet with spit as his tongue pokes out to lick them again at the sight of you, and his eyes… Eyes so dark they’re almost black, pupils blown so wide they just sparkle back at you. Deep, dangerous, and hungry.

He’s ravenous as he looks you up and down - your smooth skin, naked thighs, bare pussy - still dripping with come - up to your exposed tits, bitten and bruised, your neck, your face… totally fucked out, swollen lips, smudged makeup, your own blown out eyes. He moans as he takes you in, and you go weak at the knees at the sight of his hands raking up and down his jean-clad thighs. His dick is straining against the denim, against the claw of his zipper, and as you look closer, you see a wet patch much larger than just precum darkening the fabric. Your cheeks flush at the sight, at the knowledge - Frankie had come in his pants just listening to the three of you.

You breathe out shakily and get to your knees, so close to him you're almost touching. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, and he leans into it, breathing in and out deeply, closing his eyes.

‘You okay, baby?’ You ask him softly, voice low. Frankie groans again.

‘Yes.’ He croaks out.

You don’t know if you’re allowed, but you figure you’ll find out soon enough. You lean forward, tits spilling out of Joel’s shirt, and place your hands on his thighs. His breathing sputters, and his head drops forward, but not before you can catch his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. Just like you’ve wanted to, for so long.

He sighs against you, lips seeking yours. But he seems so exhausted, so on edge, that he can hardly pour any fire into it. His tongue searches your mouth, almost like a plea.

Please. Please.

As though he hears it too, Joel says quietly from the bed -

‘Help him, baby.’

You pull away from Frankie’s kiss and lean your forehead to his.

‘What do you need?’ You whisper.

He looses a ragged sigh, too turned on to even know himself.

‘Can I touch you?’ He breathes.

You nod, and he reaches out his hands - carefully, gently - to skirt over and up your waist, to touch your stomach, to skate over your tits. You wince, once, as he traces over one of your nipples, and he freezes. You smile shyly at him.

‘It’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘’M just sore.’ He nods, and continues to touch, caressing your neck, thumbing your jaw, your cheekbone, stroking your brow. He’s so tender, so Frankie, that you feel tears well behind your eyelids. As though he can sense it, tell the gravity of the moment, he drops his hands, skirting them along your thighs, drifting towards your hips, thumbs rubbing the sides of your tummy, before creeping towards your heat.

‘Is this okay?’ He asks.

‘Yes.’ You sigh, this time against his mouth, drawing his lips back to yours.

When Frankie dips one of his hands to sweep through your folds, you both moan. Low and long against each other.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes against you, stalling. Slowly, slowly, he brings his coated fingers to his mouth, so close to you that you can smell it, the mix of you and Joel and Santi, and he slips the digits between his lips. He holds your eye the whole time, devouring, tongue swiping over every knuckle, every valley, until they’re clean. He releases them with a pop. You groan, wanting him, impossibly, and you ask again.

‘What do you need, Frankie?’

‘You.’ He says. Frankie swoops forward again to kiss you, one hand now at the back of your head, one back between your legs, gathering the mess between your thighs. You rock against his hand as he parts you, feels you, and you reach forward for his belt, his button, his zipper, undoing all three in record time. You slip a hand into his jeans, under his boxers, impatient to feel him, all of him, and he gasps against you, stilling his movements. He groans your name, almost in warning.

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, stroking his hair soothingly, ‘You’ve waited so long, Frankie. It’s okay.’

You take your hand out from his pants, and join his at your pussy, just for a moment, just to collect what’s left and what’s already pooling from you again, before returning your hand to his cock, using the combined juices to move your hand easily up and down. Frankie moans brokenly against you, his body slumping forwards.

You can’t see him like this, but you can feel him - and Frankie is big. Not quite as big as Joel, but thicker and pulsing against your palm, already wet from his come and what you have just provided him. You swipe your thumb over his tip, collecting his precum to spread down his length, and he jerks against you at the movement.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he whispers, ‘I can’t, I’m not gonna last, hermosa -’

You shush him again, kissing at his temple, his brow, his cheek, before nudging to his lips.

‘It’s okay, Frankie,’ you say again. ‘I want you to come. You deserve to come. You’ve been so good for us.’

And it’s all Frankie needs as he moans loudly against your lips, body seizing and relaxing harshly against yours as he spills himself over your fist, over his jeans, over your thighs and the top of your mound. There is so much of him it’s almost comical, and you laugh softly as he finally starts to relax.

He looks up at you shyly, questioningly.

‘Look at you, Frankie,’ you breathe, and he flushes right to the tops of his ears. ‘So good.’ You murmur.

‘All for you,’ he whispers so only you can hear. He holds your gaze, trying to communicate everything he’s been thinking behind that door. ‘All for you.’

You lean forward and kiss him again. Try to forget, for now, the scratch of those unanswered questions, what it could all mean. Later.

‘Come on,’ you say, taking his hand and rising from the floor. He follows and returns your smile. ‘Let's get you cleaned up.’

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia x reader #joel miller x frankie morales x reader

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 24 days

Text

Impressions

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Notes: Idk y'all my brain spit this out. I haven’t written Will in, like…..100 years?

Rating: Mature - mostly for language

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, angst, fluff. Not beta-read.

Length: 7.5K

Summary: Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

GIF by charllehunnam

Your first impression of Will Miller is technically...Good.

It's from Benny, is the thing.

You hear the sweet and the sour, the grumbling when Benny is training at the gym alone in the mornings—"He's a hard ass, but he means well."

It's said with a little smile, with sibling love and familiarity that tells you that Ben and Will have told each other to go fuck themselves just as much as they've said that they're proud of one another.

Your second impression of Will comes from Terry.

Terrence Owen McLowery is your best friend, your informal trainee, and is currently ranked in the Middleweight division, just a few spots behind Ben Miller (but gaining, and fast). He's one of the few openly gay boxers in your area and in his division, something that he might get more hate for if he couldn't kick the shit out of anyone slagging his name off behind his back.

Terry gets to as many matches as he possibly can, even when he's not fighting in them. You try to join him as often as you can, but there are times when you just can't swing it. He likes to scope out the competition.

"I'm gonna be in there, kickin' their ass one day," He tells you, "I should clock their weaknesses now, not then."

He spends more time ringside than he does in the ring for the sake of observation. And he's seen the Miller brothers at fight after fight.

"You oughta see 'im," Terry says, a dreamy look in his eyes—and you don't know if he's talking about Ben or Will, but you kinda figure it's both. Look, you've met Ben, you wouldn't be surprised if good genes ran in the family.

"He's real level-headed, ringside, even when Ben’s in a jam," Terry adds, and you realize that he's talking about Will, "Kinda like you, but without the taunting."

You roll your eyes a little bit, "You told me the taunting makes you try harder."

"Hmph."

"And I told you a real coach wouldn't do that,” You tack on.

Terry doesn't hmph at that one. He doesn't like it when you point out that you're not a professional coach. You taught him the basics a long time ago, back when the two of you needed to have one another's backs on the playground—and you keep him honest when he's training up now. But Terry needs a coach that'll actually help him in the ring, not do what you do. And sure, you don't do the worst job, but Terry could go further with a professional.

Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

You’re at the gym early. Terry is supposed to be there, too, but he took a late shift at work and couldn’t drag himself out of bed. You don’t blame him—a body needs rest if you’re going to put it through its paces. You’re striding past the ring at the center of the gym when you spot Ben sparring with another contender in the middleweight division. You spot an error, one that Terry makes frequently himself, and call out,

“Pick up your right shoulder, Miller!”

The advice incurs a nod from Ben—and a glare from a golden-headed man standing ringside. Something in his cool gaze chastens you, and you hurry on toward the class you signed up for.

“What was with that guy?” You ask Ben later as you’re stretching.

“What guy?”

“Blonde, bearded…Glaring?” You remind him. Ben’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You mean Will?”

“That was Will?” You ask in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah. Glaring?”

“He looked like he was trying to melt me with his laser vision.”

It makes Benny’s laugh boom in the gym, and you glance around to see if you’ve attracted any attention. Sure enough, Will’s not too far off, his arms folded across his chest as he speaks to someone. His gaze darts between Ben and you, and his eyes narrow.

“Aaaand there it is again,” You mutter, drawing your legs back from the stretch.

“Hey,” You hear. You frown, turning back to the source, and find Will striding toward you. You’re about to offer your hand, to introduce yourself—in relation to Ben, or Terry, something—but he speaks again before you can get a word out:

“Ben’s got a fight coming up. He doesn’t need any glove bunnies distracting him.”

Your mouth was opened to speak, but now your jaw drops, a scoff of indignation flying out.

“Glove bunnies?” You repeat, stunned. Will waves you off.

“Whatever Ben does in his own time is none of my business, but when he’s here, and when he’s in the ring, he needs to be focused.”

Will doesn’t let you get in another word before he’s turning and walking away. You watch him go, stunned. Asshole. Asshole. As you turn to head into the locker room, you remember Ben telling you that he’s a hard ass, but he means well.

Well-meaning or not, Will Miller is a dick.

“There’s a man outside who’s looking for you,” You hear.

You glance up from your laptop, brows raised at your coworker. It couldn’t be Terry; he’d call or text you, not ask for you. And it can’t be…Actually, you can’t think of any other guy that would come looking for you at work.

“Did you tell him I was in here?”

“I said I wasn’t sure anyone by that name worked here and that I’d check,” Molly relays. You nod a little bit, muttering, “Solid,” before adding, “He say who he is?”

“Will Miller?”

You freeze, then, hands hovering over your keyboard. What the hell is Miller doing there? And how does he know where you work?

“Okay,” You nod, “Okay, tell him I’ll be out in a...A minute.”

“Sure.” Molly starts to drift away from you before she turns, half-jogging back to your desk.

“He is so hot,” She hisses. You can't help your grudging smile.

“Yes, he is.”

Asshole or not, you can agree that Will Miller is annoyingly, startlingly attractive.

The man that meets you outside is a far cry from the one who accosted you at the gym just a week ago. In a well-fitting polo and a pair of khakis, he looks more like a suburban dad than a hardened drillmaster. You stop just a few feet from the door to your office, arms folded tightly over your chest. He clears his throat, approaching you slowly and stopping just a couple of steps from you.

“Ben had a fight this weekend,” He says. Him starting that way makes your stomach swoop with fear. You immediately worry that something’s gone wrong, that Ben is badly hurt. But Will goes on:

“He kept his right shoulder up. That little tip saved his ass a few times.”

Your brows raise. You didn’t expect him to admit it, even if it did help.

“I saw Terry, too,” Will adds, “And realized precisely how and where I fucked up when he showed me a picture of you.”

Will doesn't look like he's trying to melt you with his heat vision anymore. In fact, he looks...Genuinely remorseful.

“I see,” You nod a little.

Will pushes a sigh out through his nose.

“I’m sorry for approaching the situation the way I did. And for calling you a, uh—”

“Glove bunny?”

He winces with the reminder. “Yeah. I didn’t have all of the facts. Even if I had, it was still the wrong way to approach the situation, and I apologize.”

You take a moment to drink in his face again, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. His blue eyes are soft where they were icy, and the once-harsh press of his lips is replaced with a regretful, almost contemplative pout. And then you nod a touch.

“I appreciate and accept your apology.”

Something akin to relief seems to wash over him, and he holds his hand out.

“I’m Will, by the way.”

“Will?” You repeat, screwing your face up in mock confusion, “Will...Will...That certainly sounds familiar.”

A smile tugs his lips up just a touch as he pumps your hand up and down.

“I train Ben Miller. I'm his brother,” He adds.

“Oh, that Will. Right, of course.”

You let his hand drop and folded your arms across your chest.

“Blank slate,” You add softly.

Will’s brows jump.

“Completely?”

“Well, Ben says you’re a hard ass and Terry thinks you’re dreamy, but I’ll try not to let their impressions color mine.”

“Pretty mixed reviews.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you exchange curious smiles before you nod over your shoulder.

“I’ve gotta get back to work."

“Of course.”

“See you around, Miller.”

“Seriously, Terrence!” You call out as Terry spars with one of the other gym members, “Is this prep or are you trying to waltz him into tapping out?”

Terry groans, reeling away from his sparring partner.

“God, you’re a bitch,” He grunts as he walks toward you, bending over for his water.

“And you’re a dumbass, Billy Elliot. Get back in there.”

“He’s holding his breath,” You hear. You turn back to see Will Miller coming closer.

“When he punches,” He clarifies.

“You can tell him,” You offer before you whistle sharply, stopping Terry from stepping more deeply into the ring. You nod toward Will and listen as he offers his tip. Terry takes his time listening, nodding, leaning against the ropes.

“...Think you got it?” You ask.

“Loud and clear,” Terry agrees before turning back to his sparring partner.

You glance over at Will, nodding your chin up. “Thanks."

“Sure,” Will smiles before walking away. Ben’s not too far away, working at a punching bag. You watch Will for a long moment before turning back to Terry in the ring. Terry ducks out of the way of an oncoming jab, and finds time to shoot you a wink before he turns back to his sparring partner.

“Terry—”

“Come on—”

“I can’t tonight, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow!”

“Just a few rounds! Come with me, see Ben in action—and see what I mean about Will ring-side.”

“You just want me to go because you think you’ll be much less conspicuous drooling over them if I’m there.”

“Maybe.”

“And for the record, you’d be just as conspicuous.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.”

“Come with meeee," He whines. "If you’re not there, I’ll curse out a redneck bigot and I’ll get in trouble for beating him up in the parking lot.”

“Well then you and the Millers can tag team.”

Terry groans loudly, tipping his head back. “Don’t. Don’t even think about putting ‘Miller’ and ‘tag team’ in the same sentence. My mind just went to about eight filthy places.”

“Just eight?”

“Alright, nine.”

“Terry. Sweetheart. Angel. Not tonight.”

“Four rounds.”

“No.”

“Two rounds.”

“Terry—”

“Ben’ll probably take ‘em down in one.”

“I’m sure he’d love that you have so much faith in his skill, but we’ll have to get through the matches before his, and that’ll already be way late.”

“I won’t make you come to the gym with me tomorrow.”

“Probably because you won’t make it to the gym tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point.”

You didn’t always love the atmosphere around the fight. You used to hate the screaming, the overpriced beer, the rednecks. It used to make you wary, going with Terry. People knew him. It's not secret that he's gay. He used to catch more shit for it before he bulked up and started fighting. Even after he had, the slurs hadn’t stopped. It used to raise your hackles—but Terry’s got more of a handle on how he approaches those incidents, and he’s made a lot of friends that frequent the ring, both as spectators, and in the Middleweight division.

You wouldn’t say that you like going to fights now, but you don’t find it as daunting as you used to. Now, the atmosphere is exciting—it zips through you like lightning; it makes your fingers tingle, and your heart pound.

“Here,” Terry calls out, pressing a beer into your hand.

“I told you I’ve got work tomorrow!”

“I got two for myself, you’re just holding that one for me.”

“Bullshit,” You laugh, looking up at the ring as the bell sounds.

By the time the first two fights are down, you know you should leave. It’s late, and it’s only going to get later—you’ve had three beers, and Terry’s coming back with another one.

“Terry, I really shouldn’t—”

“Ben’s coming down the hall,” He half-yells into your ear, and you have to stop yourself from muttering, ‘Fucking finally,’ when it bubbles up in you. You push it down with a gulp of beer, glancing back and trying to catch sight of the Millers. You see Benny’s chestnut hair; Will’s bright head bobs into view just moments later. You and Terry begin to cheer almost on instinct as they come more fully into view—as Benny heads into the ring, and Will rounds the corner. Will looks around, and his eyes catch on you and Terry. He raises his hand to give Terry a pat on the shoulder, and meets your eyes dead-on.

It’s a half-second, that’s all, but it seems to last for far longer. If anyone asked you what happened in that half-second, you’d tell them that you nodded to him—you know that for sure, because he nods, too. You’re not sure if it’s the beer, or the crackling of the air around you, but your skin feels hot. You don’t even know if you’re smiling. But Will’s gaze holds on yours for a long time, even as he walks on. When he finally looks away, you can feel your heart thudding in the vicinity of your throat.

Terry leans over, his shoulder nudging yours as he speaks into your ear:

“Distracted much?”

“...What?” You manage, tipping your head back toward him as you watch Benny climb into the ring.

“Uh-huh.”

When you glance up at Terry, you find him grinning smugly, and you reach out, shoving his shoulder as you grumble, “Shut up.” As the bell sounds, you yell out, “Let’s go!” and vaguely register Will’s yell of, “It’s time to work!”

Ben is a hunter in the ring.

You can’t help but compare the way he fights with the way Terry fights. Terry prefers to hold back, to let his opponent dance around and tire themselves out. Terry is a slow-burn; Benny is a wildfire. Will is as much wind to guide his brother as he throws gasoline on Benny’s flame, honing his path and stoking his focus on the rare occasions that Benny takes a hard hit or seems to flounder.

You plan to only stay for a couple of rounds, but before you know it, you’re cheering Benny as his opponent is knocked down, and stays down. The ref takes hold of Benny’s wrist, holding it up as he proclaims him the winner, and you and Terry crow with excitement. As the crowd begins to flow—as Benny is led out to be checked over by the ring doctor—you turn to Terry, ready to insist again that you have to leave. But you feel a hand land on your shoulder, and turn your head to see Will leaning in. He gets close between you and Terry, and asks over the hum of the crowd, “What are you guys doing now?”

You should be more concerned about the fact that tomorrow morning (well, later this morning) is going to be absolute hell for you. You should be concerned about the fact that when you get home, whenever you get home, you’re probably going to need to have a couple of pieces of toast and a few glasses of water. Your head is buzzing with the beers you had at the fight, and now with the two that you’ve had at the bar. But the zipwire-tense feeling that had ripped through you is ebbing as you watch Benny return from the bar with a massive basket of fries and a fresh round of beers.

Oh, man. You’re really gonna regret this tomorrow.

You push the thought away as you reach out, taking up a precariously full beer and leaning back in your seat.

“Surprised you’ve got such a sedate after party,” Terry comments as he takes one of the beers.

“Fewer glove bunnies than I expected,” You add, eyes sliding to Will’s, where he sits across from you. He appears to bite back a smile, eyes dipping to the table. Benny’s eyes dart between the two of you, brow furrowing, and you give a small, reassuring shake of your head.

“I have a question,” Benny declares, leaning against the table.

“Has it got anything to do with that swelling cheek?” Terry asks, waving a finger toward Benny’s face.

“No,” Benny huffs, “I know how all about that. How’d you two meet?” He asks. You glance at Terry, arching a brow as he turns to you with a grin.

“School,” Is your short answer.

“I moved in around, like…Fifth grade-ish?” Terry’s brow furrows.

“It wasn’t fifth-grade-ish, it was fifth grade,” You correct.

“I wasn’t the most social kid, and that caught me a lot of shit. I got picked on, and this one,” Terry pushes his shoulder against yours, and you sway with it, bobbing back and forth, “Taught me how to keep from getting my ass kicked on the way home.”

“Seriously?” Ben asks. You shrug a little.

“It started with short-cuts to get him home, but when other kids caught on, things got a bit more…Physical.”

“Did you already know how to fight?” Will asks.

“I wouldn’t say that. I knew how to swing a fist, I didn’t really know how to fight. We both learned to, though, because we…Had to.”

“She’s been stuck with me ever since,” Terry sighs dramatically. You roll your eyes, turning a fond smile up at him.

“He’s like my taller, irritating younger brother,” You add.

“I know all about that,” Will pipes up, and you can’t help but turn a laugh at him.

“So what about you two, how did you two meet?” You tease, waving your finger between them.

“Oh, man,” Ben mutters.

“Well I came home one day and my mom said, ‘We have a surprise for you’,” Will says, “And then six months later, this dick shows up.”

“And he’s been stuck with me ever since,” Ben smiles, glancing at Will. You reach out, plucking up a couple of the fries and dipping them in ketchup.

“Did you guys get along growing up?”

“We don’t even get along now,” Ben teases. Will chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not always. We butt heads as kids, and we do sometimes now, but…We get our shit done.”

“He’s a hardass,” Ben cuts in.

“And he’s a dumbass.”

You grin. “So you complement each other is what I’m hearing.”

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

You’re taking a long pull from your water bottle, fighting the dryness in your throat when you hear Will.

“What can I say,” You manage as you lower it. “I only just recovered from going out with y’all the other night.”

Will chuckles, leaning against the pillar beside you as you wipe down your treadmill.

“Didn’t mean to tire you out.”

“I’m out of practice. Terry hasn’t had a fight in a couple of months, so I don’t stay up that late anymore.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m in bed at 9:30 and I like it.”

You take up your water bottle, and the two of you start drifting away from the treadmills.

“Why hasn’t Terry been in the ring?” Will plies.

“His rotator cuff’s kinda fucked up. He’s been taking it easy—Well. As easy as he's willing to take it. He has a check-in with his doctor in a couple of weeks.”

“That must be driving him nuts.”

“Oh, he’s losing it. He’s trying to go to as many fights as he can, though.”

“I’ve seen him at a few lately—Besides, Benny’s, you know. I was wondering why you didn’t go with him.”

You stop at the door to the women’s locker room and turn around to face him.

“Bed. 9:30,” You reiterate.

“Well I know that now.” Will tucks his hands into his pockets, smiling. “I wanted to ask: Do you think you could see it in yourself to duck your bedtime again?”

“Depends on what for.”

“There’s a fight down in Fernsworth this weekend. There’s a new kid on the bill, he’s apparently pretty vicious.”

“Oh yeah? When this weekend?”

“Friday.”

You consider, lips pursing, and Will chuckles at your expression.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Terry’s got work that night.”

“So’s Ben.”

Your gut swoops in surprise, a brow lifting and falling quickly, but Will’s face remains as calm as ever.

“So?” Will presses. If you were reading into it, you’d think he was batting his pretty eyelashes. Before you can overthink it, you hold your hand out and order: “Phone.”

Will rifles into his pocket and pulls it out, passing it over. You add yourself as a contact, your heart thudding in your chest, ears going hot as you double-check that it’s right. You pass it back to Will, meeting his eyes again. “You can send me all the details.”

“Don’t feel like talking to me anymore?”

“I have to go to work, Miller,” You laugh, taking a couple of steps back. “Text me—And keep an eye out for those glove bunnies.”

“Always.”

You get one last look at Will, at his sweet, amused smile, and you turn, heading in to take a shower (and maybe to silently scream into your hands, a little).

You don’t dress up, and you do not tell Terry where you’re going, or with whom. It’s been bad enough that he clocked your swell of interest when you’d gone out with all of them, and worse still that he’s encouraged it. You’d been pressing your hands down onto the tops of his shoes, ensuring that his feet stayed flat as he worked on his core.

“At least—fuck him,” Terry had insisted as he’d come up from reps of crunches. “Do you—have any idea—what’d I’d do tuh—Phew—Have those pretty—blue eyes pointed at me—like that?”

You’d raised your brow, casting a wary eye about to ensure that neither of the Miller brothers were anywhere nearby before you’d insisted, “Nothing is going to happen between me and Will.”

“Why—the hell—not?” Terry gasped, finishing out his reps. He groaned, sweeping his hand across his sweating brow before planting both hands on the mat behind himself. “He’s leaps and bounds better than the other assholes you used to fuck with.”

Like it or not, you knew Terry was right.

For your rough and real first impression, Will is actually kinda sweet. You still don’t know him all that well, and maybe tonight could change that. But you insist to yourself that you’re not going out to flirt with Will, you’re going to see this new fighter (Charlie “Shredder” Klein: 5’9, 194 pounds, rookie, southpaw) and gather some info for when, inevitably, Terry winds up fighting the guy. You dress…Comfortably, in one of your nicer pairs of jeans and one of your favorite tops. You feel cute, and you feel cute for you. If Will thinks that you’re cute in the outfit, well…That’s just a bonus.

You don’t think he would tell you, though. Will Miller seems like the type to keep his cards close to his chest.

The ride down to the venue is filled with polite small talk. The feeling in the cab of his truck is almost like the same nervous air of a first date. Your stomach is twisting like a nest of garter snakes; your skin is hot with nerves; you rub your sweaty palms nervously against your jeans. The two of you stick close together at the fight—though you don't exactly have an alternative; the venue is packed. Now and again, if you get nudged too roughly by someone else, or pushed one way or another, Will cuts a sharp, warning look at them over your head at the perpetrator. The third or so time it happens, you reach out, resting a hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry about them,” You say into his ear, cutting over the noise, “The fight’s in the ring, not with these dickheads.”

Will’s lips twitch with a smile as he leans in to speak into your ear in turn. He says, “It’ll be here if they’re not careful,” But you almost don’t catch it. You’re too focused on everything else—on the press of his warm and firm body against your side; on the way his hand rests on your lower back; on the whisper of his beard against your cheek; on the brush of his lips and breath against the shell of your ear, and the way his voice seems to drown out the clamor of the spectators around you. It makes your heart tick up in your chest, a shiver tripping down your spine and stopping right where his hand sits.

When your mind catches up with what he’s said, you laugh, nudging his hip with yours.

“Eyes on the prize, Miller,” You urge.

“They are,” He answers without missing a beat. It makes your stomach flip, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You finally force yourself to, and to clap as the announcer brings in the first contender, looking around to try and catch a glimpse of them—and not to overthink the way that Will’s hand is still resting on your back.

“Weak spots?” Will asks. You consider for a moment, running your finger along the side of your beer bottle. The buzz from the fight is wearing off, and the bar that you've gone to is far more quiet compared to the venue.

“He doesn’t go in…With a plan,” You say after a moment.

“His coach was calling plays.”

“Yeah, but Klein wasn’t listening. I mean when you tell Ben to back the fuck off or get away from the ropes, he backs the fuck off or gets away from the ropes, because in that moment, you see things in a way that he doesn’t. He trusts you to steer him. Klein’s coach can yell whatever he wants, but it’s not heard. Klein’s in the fight, he’s on the inside, he thinks he knows best, and that…That got him fucked up tonight. Might not always get him fucked up, but today’s outcome, you know. Not so much.”

“Strong indictment.”

“You asked me what I thought.”

“And I got it. I appreciate that.”

You raise your brows at Will’s calm, honest expression.

“What about you?” You ask, nodding to him, “What do you think his weak spots are?”

“He’s a brawler, not a fighter. He likes to go in for little…squirrely swiping matches. He wants excitement, not wins.”

You shake your head at the assessment. “That just spells trouble for our boys.”

“Less trouble if we go in with a plan.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The two of you lightly clink your beers together, sharing a smile before you take sips.

“I’m surprised you came tonight,” Will admits as he sets his bottle down.

“Really?"

“Little bit.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t exactly have the nicest start.”

“No, we didn’t, but…I don’t know, I thought we were on a more level field now.”

“I think we are.”

The two of you watch one another for a long moment, considering, and before you can say anything, Will adds: “I’m glad you came with me.”

“Yeah? Didn’t wanna brave the hillbilly circus alone?”

“I have before and it’s never fun.”

“It wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I had good company.”

You smile a little bit, eyes sweeping Will’s face as flattery wells in your stomach.

“...You knew Terry had work tonight, didn’t you,” You accuse softly. Will shrugs a shoulder, raising his bottle to his lips again. You can’t help your flattered smile, and you force yourself to keep your eyes on him.

“Ben might’ve mentioned it,” Will finally concedes.

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

“I'm still sitting here, aren’t I?”

Will’s smile widens, and your stomach flutters. “You could’ve just asked me out,” You add in a mutter.

“Well, now I know that for next time.”

Next time. Your face goes hot; the beer in your stomach feels like it’s bubbling.

“Yes you do,” You agree, nodding a little.

“When I do,” Will adds, leaning against the table, sending another burst through your chest at his use of ‘when’ where you'd expected 'if', “You alright with it being this sort of thing?”

“What, a fight and a beer? Hell yeah—Long as it’s before 9:30.”

Will laughs, tugging his sleeve back and glancing at his watch.

“You have any idea what time it is?”

“No, and I do not wanna know.”

You fold your across your chest, eyeing Terry’s form as he pounds the punching bag in front of himself.

“How are you feeling?” You ask as he leans away from the bag, swiping at the sweat dripping down his face.

“‘Bout what?” He asks a little blandly between pants.

“The fight.”

“You asking me because I got a fight, or does it have to do with who I’m going up against?”

You purse your lips, eyes sweeping the gym for any sign of either of the Miller brothers. Finding neither, you answer, “Both?”

Terry chuckles, turning back to the bag.

“I’m not gonna go easy on Benny just ‘cause he’s a friend, and he ain’t gonna take it easy on me, either—”

“I know—”

“I mean, we always knew this was gonna happen—”

“I know! I know, oh my god, I get it.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Terry mutters, punching viciously at the bag again.

“I’d be a bad coach not to ask, you know half of the fight’s in your head. And speaking of bad coach,” You add, “You found anyone else yet?”

Terry casts you an irritated look out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you really talkin’ about this right now?”

“...Okay, letting it go,” You sigh before tacking on, “And you’re holding your breath again.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” You hear from behind you. You turn to see Will just a few steps away. You smile almost involuntarily. You haven’t seen Will since your not-quite date, but you’ve thought about him and texted with him plenty.

“Shouldn’t you be mindin’ your own fighter, Miller?” Terry asks, straightening up and raising his hands to stop the swinging bag.

“Don’t worry, McLowery. The second he needs minding, I’ll be on it.” Will takes a few steps back from you both, shooting you a wink before he turns away. Your stomach twists, and you carefully smooth your smile away before turning to face Terry again.

“Alright, c’mon,” You wave him toward the bag again, “Let’s go, we got half an hour and then we gotta get going. I can’t be late for work again.”

It’s odd, finding yourself on the opposite side of the ring as Will. As nervous as you are—for the way your body feels like it’s buzzing, a tingle in your fingertips—you know that the boys’ll take this seriously. It was going to happen sooner or later; you just didn’t think it would be so soon. You hope that they come out of the ring with their friendships (and their bones) intact.

You shift from foot to foot, drawing a shaky breath in through your nose as Ben and Terry begin to circle up. Your eye catches on Will’s for just a moment. You trade nods, then turn your eyes back to your respective fighters. It’s a heady moment. The room seems to quiet around you for a moment as Ben and Terry approach one another, each with one fist out and one by their cheeks. You hardly blink as they get closer and closer—

“I almost had you.”

It’s a gravely mutter, the first thing that Terry’s said since leaving the ring. He’s got a fat lip, and his right cheek is going to make it look like he’s part chipmunk in the morning. It’s a moment before Ben offers a grumbled, “...Almost.” Then, “Didn’t, though.”

Terry takes a swipe at his head. Ben ducks it, raising his arm to push at Terry’s shoulder. You shake your head, leaning against the bar and watching them teasingly grapple.

“You think they’d be too tired to do that by now,” You comment, shaking your head.

“Adrenaline’s probably still pushin’ em. They’ll crash later.”

The both of you are speaking a little more softly than usual; you had yelled your heads off at the match, and you're not sure about Will, but your throat feels so fricking raw. You nod, smile widening as the guys scrap a little more.

“Hey—Alright, alright,” You finally raise your voice as they knock back into a stool. “If your sorry asses get us thrown out, you're paying.”

“Drinks are on me, anyway,” Benny turns to give you a grin, teeth bright beneath the shiner developing on his right eye. Still, it’s a relief to see the boys settle. You shift on your stool and lean back against the bar, twisting your seat back and forth.

“How are you feelin’?”

You glance over at Will, brow furrowing in confusion at the question.

“I didn’t just go five rounds with those numbskulls,” You point out, nodding toward them.

“I know. You seemed…Tense.”

“I was worried about ‘em.”

“Terry?”

“Both of them.”

Will nods, eyes sweeping across your face before he glances around to the guys.

“They’re doing alright.”

“I know. I’m—I’m calming down, I just…” You trail off, shaking your head. “So many of Terry’s other friends in the ring are in different divisions. This is the first friend he’s, like, fought-fought.”

“He did alright.”

“No, I know. Nothing too broken. And Ben’s fine, too, so. Like I said,” You raise your hands in a slight pushing motion. “Calming down.”

Will smiles, taking a step closer and sliding his arm around your middle, bracketing you against the bar. Your stomach flips at the closeness, at the weight and warmth of his arm.

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’ve just been completely chill the whole time?”

Will shrugs. “I trusted the guys to handle it. They handled it.”

“Alright…Knowitall,” You mutter. You smile as Will takes a step closer. He seems to glance toward the guys again before he lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Your stomach bursts with butterflies, and you gently lower your head, resting it against his. You turn your head as you hear the bartender’s, “Here you go,” behind you. The two of you straighten up, turning to the bar fully and reaching for your beers.

“So,” Will clears his throat, “You busy this Friday?”

You smile, trailing your finger along the side of your glass.

“Is there another southpaw you wanna get a look at?”

“Nope, just dinner. I thought maybe I could cook at your place—that way I won’t interfere with your bedtime.”

You can’t help your grin, or the slight tip of your head as he crowds close again.

“That is so considerate of you, Miller.”

“I do what I can.”

You try to chip in for the groceries, but Will won’t hear of it. He won’t even tell you what he’s making.

“You know that I can probably mentally tally up whatever it is you bring and, like, Venmo you that amount, right?” You ask. It’s a little huffed as it leaves you, your gaze and focus on the swinging punching bag in front of you. When Will doesn’t answer, you glance over, and do a double take at the sight of him.

He’s watching you with a warm, sweet look, his hands tucked in his pocket as he slouches against the wall beside you. You raise your hands to steady the bag and keep it from swinging and hitting you in the face, stomach fluttering at the way this man is looking at you—like you’re dolled up and wearing a goddamn ballgown, and not sweating in the middle of a gym.

“Besides, what if I have an allergy or something?” You add.

“I’ve already run the ingredients by someone.”

You frown. “Who?”

Will doesn’t answer, just shrugs and holds his gaze steadily on yours. You narrow your eyes slightly, turning to look around the gym. Terry’s not too far off—and he’s pointedly keeping his focus on anything but you.

“...Terrence,” You call out.

“Busy!” He yells back, plucking his water bottle and phone and hurrying to another machine. You roll your eyes, turning back to Will with a mutter of, “Spy.”

His smile widens.

“I can be there by six, that alright?” He asks, pushes off of the wall.

“Uh-huh.”

“If I see any kind of calculator when I’m cooking…”

“Oh, you won’t. I’m like a phone ninja.”

Will chuckles, leaning in and murmuring, “See you tonight.”

The closeness of his murmur and his breath brushing against your sweat-slicked skin sends goosebumps skittering down your arms.

Your plan to stealthily tally everything up disappears as Will unpacks the groceries. You blink, stunned, before you pick up a jar of sauce, turning it around in your hands.

“Are you fricking kidding me?”

Will doesn’t answer. He just backs off, an amused smile on his lips and his hand on his hip as you reach into the grocery bag and rifle through it before reeling back, screeching, “You took off all of the labels?!”

“You thought I was just gonna let you look through everything and tally up how much this cost me?” He turns and reaches into the bag again, continuing to unpack. “Amateur hour.”

You bite your lip, watching in silence for a few moments as you think. What sort of 3-D dating chess is this man playing?

“You are…Frighteningly tactful, Miller.”

His smile widens, and he seems to duck his head to unearth something from the bulging grocery bag, but you can see the creeping flush of flattering rising up in his cheeks.

“I can still guestimate, you know,” You warn.

He stops then, bracing his hands on the counter.

“Would you just let me do something nice for you?” His brows raise, his lips on the edge of pursing in disappointment. You’re stunned into silence as he adds, “Nothing has to be owed. I just…I just wanna make you dinner.”

You pause before you nod a little. Will’s brows raise further, and you nod again, watching as he turns back toward the bag. You hesitate before nervously sidling up beside him, pressing yourself against his side and eyeing his steady hands.

“Can I at least help?” You ask. Glancing at him, you find Will’s annoyance smoothed away, replaced with a somewhat serene consideration. He nods, concedes: “A little.”

Will designates you two things to chop (red and green peppers), and one thing to stir (vegetable stir fry). He keeps his back to you as he adds seasonings to your chicken (“It’s a secret recipe,” He insists before he shoos you away from the counter. All you get a glimpse of is the garlic salt).

You don’t know exactly what he puts on it, but when you take your first bite, it’s perfectly moist, and damn delicious. You don’t even bother to hide your groan, or the way you close your eyes to just savor—and try to work out one or two of the spices. You get hits of chili. Chili and…Cumin? Little pops of cumin—

“I’m not telling you,” Will’s mirthful warning floats across the table to you. Your smile widens, shaking your head and opening your eyes.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Miller.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is this your secret recipe?”

“My mom’s.”

“Did she make it a lot growing up?"

“In the summer, mostly, for barbecues and stuff.”

“Tastes pretty good from the oven.”

He grunts, nodding. “Better on the grill,” He admits, “With a little char on it.”

“Mm, noted. Are you and your mom close?”

Will quirks a brow as he reaches for his drink, and you realize that you’ve been bombarding him with questions. Before you can apologize, he offers:

“Pretty close. I try to see her at least once a week. It used to be more, but she said I was smothering her.”

You smile, chuckling.

“That’s kinda precious.”

Will shrugs a touch, pushing his veggies around his plate.

“My dad passed a couple’a years ago and I think coming around as much as I used to might’ve helped, but mom’s got her own life, you know. She’s got a book club…She’s apparently a bingo assassin.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Some people think she’s cheating.”

“...Is she?” You tease.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. What she lacks in subtlety, she makes up for in sneakiness.”

“Is that where you and Ben get it?”

He chuckles, ducking his head and poking at the food on his plate.

“Some of it, maybe.”

“And the rest?”

“Training.”

“Do you think Ben would agree?"

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You lean back, poking at your food in turn and fighting the embarrassed churning in your stomach.

“Not always,” You mumble. You hear Will huff a soft laugh, and smile as he reaches across the table to take hold of your hand.

"I don't mind," He insists, thumb sweeping along the side of your hand. "Long as I get to ask a few, too."

"This was nice," You offer, almost woefully trailing Will to the front door. You've wanted to make a move since he put you to work in your kitchen—you've been thinking about it as the two of you were at your sink, doing the dishes; since you were sitting on your couch, talking about work, and the gym, and who Ben and Terry are facing next. You've been so close so consistently—arm to arm, hip to hip, knee to knee. The tiny touches have made you crave more, and Will's sweet smiles have made you do whatever you can think of to seek them out.

When he'd told you that he ought to get going, that he was meeting Ben in the gym at five the next morning, you were pretty sure that he was telling the truth—but you were already mourning the loss of the moment, and his warmth in your apartment.

"It was...Once you stopped pestering me about paying," He teases as he pulled on his jacket. You rolled your eyes.

"Well, how about I bring a bunch of labeless groceries over to your place, make you dinner, and see how you like it."

"I think I'd like it a lot," He insists, straightening his collar. "How's next week?"

And it's so swift and so smooth that you're certain you look more than a little gobsmacked. But you nod.

"Yeah. I can do next week."

"Friday?"

"Sure."

"Okay." He opens your door. "It's a date."

Just like that—so easy and open, and such a far cry to the first time he spoke to you at the gym.

"Good," You agree, leaning against the wall by your front door. "Let me know when you get home."

"I will." He leans in, and your breath catches in your throat as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You bite your lip at the gentle prickle of his beard against your skin, eyelids fluttering as Will stays close. He raises his hand, gently sweeping his thumb against your lower lip and tugging it from your teeth.

"Don't do that," He shakes his head. "Don't bite your lip."

"Why?" You mumble, leaning into the flirty urge that's rising in you. "There someone else that's supposed to do it for me?"

Will breathes out a groan, resting his temple gently against yours.

"I'm trying to be good," He warns. You sweep your tongue across your lower lip, letting the tip graze his thumb, and grinning as he swallows thickly.

"This feels good to me." You reach up, cupping his cheek.

"You realize if we do this, you'll be up past 9:30?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

You think for a moment that he'll draw away, that he'll call it—

Your stomach drops as he pulls away and you hear the door shut, but grin as he crowds up against you, lips pressing warmly to yours. You sigh, looping your arm around your shoulders and keeping you close. His hands slide over your hips, drawing you into his chest. You slide your hand up, gently teasing your nails against the nape of his neck.

"Remind me to apologize to Ben the next time I see him," You mumble.

"Why's that?"

"You're going to be very late tomorrow morning."

tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Will Miller x Reader #Will Miller x You #Will Miller/Reader #Will Miller/You #Will Miller fic #Will Miller imagine #Impressions #sorry this took 800 years

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 months

Text

Denim on Denim

A Seams x Grays crossover

Summary: Joel tries to get a haircut - but it turns out he can’t do anything in the QZ without getting into a fistfight, and you’re lucky enough to be in the audience.

Warnings: Mildly spicy thoughts, two sexy men fighting, language, reader was a hairdresser prior to the outbreak and has a nickname related to her job, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions of reader, very lightly edited.

This oneshot can be read independently of the two series, but for the full experience, I recommend reading at least Grays. This is a post-outbreak AU of Grays, and is set before Seams Joel leaves the QZ. Part of the Shiv's salon drabbles.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: A whole year after my random thoughts about how Joel's hair looks that good in an apocalypse and a random notif on this post that reminded of it, we finally get Joel to Shiv's salon... or do we? 🤷🏻‍♀️ I had a blast writing this oneshot - it's a bit silly, a bit spicy, I hope you enjoy it ❤️

‘Goddamnit.’

Joel swipes viciously at the curl hanging over eyes, like a boxer at a punchbag. Try as he might to slick it back, every time his shovel hits the dirt, the hair uncoils, bouncing obnoxiously in his field of vision.

He needs a fucking haircut. Tess usually does it for him every month or so, but she’s been in a mood - snapping at him, keeping him at arm’s length, she hasn’t even been to his apartment for two whole weeks.

This time of the year is hard for her. He knows all too well that he’s the same every September. They’re in each of their own time loops, a cage within the trappings of the QZ.

‘You look like you need a trim, bro.’

Joel barely glances up. He knows the guy, they share a surname after all. People call him Ben, or Benny, and even an old man like him knows he’s a good-looking son of a bitch.

They work the same shifts sometimes, and he knows Tess has crossed paths with him at the illegal fight nights. Joel has also seen him a few times at the bar, where he’s usually surrounded by even more good-looking motherfuckers.

Joel knows he’s a damn flirt too. He always has pretty words for Tess when he sees her. He’s harmless though, and he supposes that she deserves sweet nothings from at least one Miller since he’s no good at them.

Realising he hasn’t responded, Joel grunts noncommittally, self-consciousness prickling the back of his neck.

‘I know someone, she was a professional hairdresser before all this.’

Joel ignores him and keeps shovelling.

‘If you tell her you know me, she’ll give you a good rate.’

More shovelling.

‘Alright man, my shift’s up. See you ‘round.’

Five steps, and Joel sighs, digging the shovel into the dirt.

‘Wait.’

Joel stands on the doorway, and stares.

There’s an actual backwash in the corner of the dingy living room - well, living space. There are no doors in the tenement apartments.

‘You waiting for it to say hello back, or what?’

His eyes snap to yours, a scowl drawing his brows together.

Not that you look at all intimidated, one eyebrow arched high and an amused smile sitting lopsided on your lips, which he will admit throws him just a bit. He’s not used to having to work for it.

Giving you a tight nod, he takes two steps into the apartment. He recognises the layout, a mirror of his own, which is a few blocks away.

Closing the door with a flourish behind him, you ask brightly, ‘You’re here for a haircut?’

He’s about to answer when something winks at him, and he looks up, momentarily blinded by the reflection of afternoon light in the cracked mirror that hangs over a battered styling station.

Your apartment has windows that don’t look directly onto the next building, and sun floods the space. Even light is a real rarity in the shithole of a QZ, where everything indoors is dingy. He idly wonders if you had to bribe someone -

Distracted, he catches the sliver of a shadow moving from the corner of his eye a split second later than he would if he was on high alert. On reflex, his fingers find the hilt of his knife and he whips it out in a wide arc, swinging to his left where gunmetal catches the afternoon light.

‘Drop it!’ he barks, the same moment as the other man growls, ‘The fuck are you doing in my home with a knife?’

To Joel’s bewilderment, you chuckle somewhere to his right, amused. ‘C’mon guys. Dramatic, much?’

‘He snuck up on me,’ Joel growls defensively.

‘Frankie, put your gun away, dude’s just here for a haircut - I’m assuming anyway, he never did answer my question.’

‘Yes, I’m here for a haircut,’ he snaps, resheathing his knife. ‘Fuck would I be doin’ here if not?’

‘Fuck should I know, dipshit?’ retorts Frankie, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans. ‘You always bring a knife to your haircuts?’

‘D’ya always threaten to shoot paying customers?’

‘No, we definitely do not.’ You step into the space between the two men in case they get snippy with each other again. ‘Who sent you?’

Your customer crosses his arms, and you can’t help noticing the fabric of his shirt stretching across those broad shoulders. ‘Blondie.’

‘Blondie?’ you frown, confused. ‘Oh wait, you mean Ben? I thought I recognised you. I’ve seen you at one of his fights, with your wife? What’s her name now -’

‘Tess,’ he replies, then promptly looks like he wishes he’d stopped himself before he answered. ‘She’s not my -’ he trails off, and it’s clear he doesn’t like how you’re reading him at the moment, grumbling, ‘None of your damn business.’

‘Hey, you watch your mouth around my lady, old man,’ warns Frankie, ratcheting up the tension again.

Squaring his shoulders, the man seems to grow two inches. ‘Or what?’

Suddenly aware of being caught in the crossfire between your protective husband on one side, and this gruff, silvered stranger on the other, heat bubbles unbidden under your skin, the unexpected reaction from your body catching you off guard.

Biting your lower lip, you clear your throat, and somehow you sound steadier than you feel when you dispense the orders.

‘Ok, this is enough. Frankie, sit down over there,’ you say, pointing him in the direction of the couch on the other side of the room. ‘And you - since you’re Benny’s friend, two ration cards.’

‘’M not his friend,’ he almost spits out that last word, as if it tastes weird.

You give him a pointed look. ‘Three ration cards, then.’

He huffs, and hands you two from his back pocket. ‘Fine, I’m Benny’s friend.’

You grin. ‘If you’re besties, it’s one.’

‘Don’t push it.’

You back off with a chuckle. ‘Fine, not besties. Maybe next time. Now sit.’

Joel does as he’s told, awkwardly, in the styling chair, a relic from the pre-outbreak days. It creaks dangerously under his weight, and it wobbles, slightly off-kilter. The cracked leather is warm from the sun, which seeps into his skin, and he finds himself wondering when was the last time he went to a hair salon.

Sarah used to love cutting his hair. She always made an afternoon out of it on one of his rare days not working overtime, putting the music on, setting up her Barbie mirror on the dining room table, and having him pick out a hairstyle from a magazine (it never looked anywhere near like the photos). She’d even put a disposable raincoat over him like a hairdresser’s cape. She really wasn’t any good, there’s a reason why Tommy didn’t let her anywhere near his curls, but he always wore her handiwork with pride -

So lost in his thoughts, he reacts purely on instinct when, for the first time in decades, fingers other than his own find his hair.

Swivelling around, he’s out of the chair in a split second, fingers wrapped tight around your wrists. You yelp as he pushes you back against the wall, which he sees from the shape of your lips but doesn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears.

Joel barely holds you there for a second before he’s yanked backwards by a hand on the back of his collar, and he stumbles, crashing into the adjacent wall. He barely misses the fist heading towards his face, ducking just in time to save himself what would undoubtedly have been a broken nose.

He barrels into the younger man with his shoulder, expecting him to tumble back, and is surprised when he doesn’t budge. Joel’s aware he’s got a few years on him, but he more than holds his own against punks that age on the daily. This guy clearly has a background in combat, and it’s taking Joel everything to stay on his feet.

In the meantime, you’re still plastered against the wall, dazed by your customer’s reaction. Heck, you haven’t even gotten his name yet before he literally jumped you. He’s a skittish one, that’s for sure.

You smile at the memory of Frankie’s first time with you at the salon - he’d give this guy a good run for his money. Lucky for him, you’ve always been good at wrangling the nervous ones.

Speaking of, the two men are now literally wrestling in front of you. If you had to venture a guess by the grays in the hair, you reckon your customer is pushing fifty. He’s built like a fucking tank though, and he’s giving everything he’s got.

So you decide to watch for a little while. Boys will be boys, best leave them to let off some steam. Leaning against the wall, you get comfortable, and you think wistfully to yourself that Ashton would have loved this view.

You’re not sure how you missed that they’re both wearing denim on denim, and you would struggle to pick out which is your husband if not for the hat on his head. Yes, the damn cap survived the apocalypse with him.

They are remarkably similar in build, though your customer seems to stand just a couple of inches taller. His biceps flex and bulge through the shirt sleeves as he scuffles with Frankie, teeth bared; meanwhile, your husband plants his feet, jeans stretched tight over his adorable little ass, trying to hold the man back long enough to throw a punch.

If the room was warm when they were trading barbs, it’s positively sweltering right now.

All you can see are broad shoulders and fabric bursting at the seams, grappling fingers and clenched fists. Back muscles rippling through denim, teasing slivers of skin and soft bellies when shirttails ride up and jeans fall low. The cheerful afternoon sun kisses their skin golden, casting long shadows across the creaking wooden floor.

And they’re not quiet. Throaty grunts as they jostle, panted breath peppered with cusses, fuck’s and sons of bitches as they wrestle for control.

Suddenly, you’re the one who’s out of breath despite not moving a muscle.

As much as you would’ve loved to stand and watch, you can tell both men are starting to get winded. You don’t exactly want the show to end, entertainment is hard to come by in the QZ, let alone of such a visually stimulating variety, in your own living room. But you think you hear the older man wheeze, their shirts are now stained with sweat, and the frantic energy they started with turns heavy with lethargy.

With a rueful sigh, you speak up, ‘Frankie, come on, that’s enough now.’

He growls, ‘No fucking way. He tried to hurt you!’

‘He barely touched me. It was just his PTSD acting out.’

‘I don’t have PTSD,’ the man protests, shooting you a glare before dodging an elbow.

‘There’s no shame in having PTSD,’ you admonish him. ‘Or in getting help.’

‘Why don’t you give me a hand then?’ he scoffs, tipping his head at Frankie.

‘Yeah, looks like you can use it,’ your husband taunts him.

‘Sure you can’t, asshole? Can’t even take down an old man on your own?’

‘I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're gonna eat your words, asshole -’

Hands on hips, you roll your eyes at the exceedingly average trash talk. ‘You know what? I tried asking nicely - I’m going in.’

It’s a tight squeeze, but somehow, you find a space between the elbows and shoulders and knees, and you wedge yourself in. It’s hot and humid between the two men, who are still trying to get at each other, despite the fact that you now have one hand on each of their chests, trying to pry them apart. Trapped between the two solid walls of chest, their raw strength vibrates through you, through harsh panting breath, the musk of sweat and man, and denim rubs rough on your bare skin where you’re pressed up against them.

It’s not hard to imagine being in this position in an entirely different situation, with the axis tilted, on a softer surface. Heat prickles all over you like needles, and unbeknownst to you, your thighs press together, and your panties start to feel sticky -

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ asks Frankie, incredulous as he looms over you, still grabbing onto the other guy’s shirt.

You bat your eyelashes at him, then crane your neck over your shoulder to wink at the other man. A little spiral of a curl dangles over his eyes as he glares at you, puffs of warm air hitting the shell of your ear.

Knowing that your best chance of breaking off this nonsense is to wildly offend both men, you purr, ‘Making a delicious sandwich ‘cause I’m famished -’

Frankie flushes bright red instantly, and he roars, ‘Get your filthy hands off my wife, son of a bitch!’

Not that his hands are anywhere near you (a tragedy), nonetheless, the man jumps five feet back, as if you burned him. He may deny Tess being his wife, but the look of absolute horror of being accused of touching you speaks volumes.

You can tell he would have doubled over catching his breath, hands on his knees, if not for his pride. Stubbornly, he stands tall, hands on hips, chest heaving.

‘Bit jumpy, are we?’ you quip.

‘You always that handsy?’ he retorts.

‘Can’t help myself with beautiful curls like yours,’ you wink, and your smile widens when he flushes.

Frankie throws up his hands in disbelief. ‘Shiv, I’m standing right here.’

‘You always are,’ you tease, pressing a kiss to his pinched lips. ‘Now, go take a walk, you've made enough of a scene.’

‘I’m not leaving you here with him -’

The older man scoffs. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not interested in your woman.’

You feign indignation. ‘Hey! That’s hurtful.’

‘You should be, jackass!’ Frankie gripes, and promptly looks as confused as the other man at his own pronouncement.

Taking his hand, you pull him towards the door. ‘Go on babe, you were going to have a drink with Pope anyway. I got everything under control.’

‘Alright,’ Frankie relents, but not before he points a menacing finger at your customer. ‘If he tries anything -’

‘I know where the gun is,’ you finish his sentence.

Pressing one final kiss to your lips and throwing a glare over your shoulder, Frankie turns and leaves - and you preen at the knowledge that he trusts you can take care of yourself.

Once the door closes, you smile. ‘So… should we start over?’

The man snorts. ‘I’d say.’

‘I’m Shiv,’ you say, but you don’t offer him your hand. He doesn’t seem to be the handshaking type.

He picks up on your perception, studying you with curious eyes. ‘Joel.’

Pushing the swivel chair back to the styling station, you gesture at him to retake his seat, and this time, you make sure his eyes are on yours in the mirror while you stand over his shoulder.

‘Hair’s a bit long, huh?’ you remark, eyeing the ringlet over his eyes.

‘It’s drivin’ me nuts,’ he admits.

You hold up your hands this time, giving him plenty of notice. ‘May I?’

He nods, and you start small, wrapping the spiral around your index finger with a grin. ‘I wasn’t just saying it, y’know. You do have beautiful hair.’

He shifts awkwardly, the chair squeaking, obviously uncomfortable with compliments. ‘Dunno. I’m all gray and shit.’

‘As someone wise once said, grays are sexy as fuck,’ you assure him. Running your fingers through his curls, you study the texture critically, noting the blunt ends and uneven thickness. Nothing a professional haircut can’t fix. ‘Trust me, I’m very wise.’

He hums, unconvinced, but you can see the lines around his eyes crease in amusement. ‘If you say so.’

You wink at him in the mirror. ‘When I’m done with you, Tess will have the hardest time keeping her hands to herself.’

‘What makes you think she doesn’t already?’

It takes you a moment to unfreeze, stunned by his retort. At his arched eyebrow, you burst into laughter. ‘You’re a sassy one, aren’t you, Joel?’

He huffs, half-amused, and shakes his head. ‘It’s a haircut, not a miracle.’

You squeeze his shoulder, grinning when he doesn’t jump at the contact. ‘Trust me, I’m just that good at my job.’

More notes: If you enjoyed this oneshot, I wrote a series of drabbles of Shiv giving other Pedro boys haircuts - you can find them in the Grays masterlist 🩶 I may write more for this universe and some point if inspiration strikes again, thank you for reading!

And if you wanted an inspo shot of Joel's hair, here you go ❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

#seams x grays #fuckyeahgrays #fuckyeahseams #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #joel miller fanfiction

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pedge-page · 2 months

Note

omg imagine PK x Plushies i love you so much girl you are amazing

Plushies x Piss Kink Crossover - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Notes: The crossover that was bound to happen and its HEREREEEEEEEE. This is more Plushies!verse setting and they discover a lil piss kink.

Warnings: PissKink, Plushies humping, yes we are peeing on the plush, premature ejaculation, assisted male masturbation, crying, jealous!Joel, and a HINT (just a bit) of sub!Joel at the end

18+ ONLY

- - - -

“What’s this one? Benny the Buffalo?” Joel asks, staring down at the brown fuzzy stuffed animal in his hands.

“No, dummy, that’s Biscuit, the Bison,” you retort, not even looking at him as you continue reading.

The two of you are lying down on your new “shared” bed, and Joel has decided its time he get to know his roommates on first name basis.

“Course. And this?” He snatches the white rabbit next. “BunBun?”

“Carrot.”

“Appropriate. How about Ghosty over here?”

“Casper.”

“How original. Aaaannnddd....?” He shoves the next one in your face to get your attention: a fat baby chick with an enormous orange bill.

“Mr Quakers,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“I bet he’s loads of fun on that little nub of yours,” he snickers. He tosses the poor chick like a free-throw basketball across the room.

He grabs the next one, buried waaaay in the back of your bed under all the rest. “Alright, Let me guess… Hammy the Hamster.”

“No that’s—“ you take one look at the one currently in his palms: a medium sized hamster with bitty hands and a large head as big as his squat body. Quickly hiding your shocked expressions, you go back to your book and say very casually, “Um…that’s… Frank.”

“Frank?”

“Mhm.”

“Just Frank.”

“Yup.”

“Frank the Hamster. How does that make sense?”

“Well I didn’t name him.”

“And who did?"

You swallow, wondering why Joel’s got so many goddamn questions about the naming conventions of your stuffed animals. “Um … Frank did…”

“Stuck up fella, naming the thing after him. Who was this “Frank” then. Your uncle? Was he as perverted as me?”

“No. Frank’s… my ex.”

Your face feels hot, avoiding his gaze and trying to look anywhere but at him.

Joel stares at you with an unreadable expression, then back to the fisted squishy hamster plush. He contemplates for what feels like an eternity. There’s an uneasy silence hanging in the air, and your heart is beating out of your chest, wondering what he may be thinking about those word resonating in his ears.

He clenches his jaw, gritting his teeth into diamonds while looking at something so extremely soft and huggable. You hope maybe he’ll just dropkick it out the window at worst, but instead:

“Hands and knees on the floor. We’re fucking Frankie the Hamster tonight.”

There was no “we”. What he really meant was YOU are fucking Frank the Hamster tonight, and he is pinning you down and forcing you to grind on it harder.

“Joel—that—feels… uncomfortable.”

He’s not rubbing his cock along your ass, or nudging your clit or kissing you. Instead, he’s caged you between the thick mass of his sold body and the hamster on the floor, your legs spread out with his knees along the inside of your calves to keep them open.

He keeps rubbing along your pelvis, palm digging into the squishy part right below your belly, pressing hard against your bladder.

“Joel,” you warn again. Your legs quiver with the rapid build, too afraid to push him off entirely. He’s steaming, that’s for sure, but why torture you above the little helpless guy?

“S’matter? You don’t like rubbing your slutty pussy over your ex’s face?”

“It’s just a stuffed animal—ow!” You cry as Joel pinches your nipple through your shirt.

“You grind on Frankie’s face before?”

“N-no. Never,” you swear.

“Mmm. Not sure I believe you, sweet pea. Kept him all these years, didn’t ya?”

You shake your head, too afraid to face him. You really hadn’t been grinding on the hamster ever. In fact, you nearly forgetting of his existence until Joel fished him up while asking everyone’s name.

He forces your back to arch even more drastically, putting more pressure between your naked cunt and the soft squish bellow you. You furrow your brows, fear creeping between your spread legs, unable to clench against something to brush off the mounting pressure in you.

“Joel please—I really need to go...” you didn't want to finish the sentences. He wasn't pleasuring with his hands you in the right places so much as building pressure in the wrong one.

“Go where? I’m all you need. Right. Here.” His fingers dig possessively into your side while his other hand pushes into your lower belly.

You shake your head again. Heart racing now that you no longer care about your pleasure and are more concerned with the mess of forbidden bodily fluids you’re about to rain all over your poor Frankie—

It hits you with burning desire mixed with an irksome bile. You gasp out angrily.

This. Mother. Fucking. Asshole.

Joel smirks into your neck behind you, as if reading your mind figuring out his evil little plan.

“S’wrong, angel? Would you rather be doing this with any of MY plushies I’ve spoiled you with?”

“I—you—“ you grit your teeth, eyes closing as a wave of panic washes deep through your core. You’re desperate not to make a mess, a fool of yourself to tame his sadistic need to own every inch of control over you.

He hears the little staggered pants from your lips. “Do it,” he commands softly but with finality, laced with a sadistic “win” for him.

A tear slips down your cheek as you moan sadly, your stomach giving up and unclenching as the walls of your bladder breaks, and hot urine spills into the stuffed animal’s face currently wedged so tightly against your entrance.

“Shhhhhh,” he coos, finally grinding himself against your ass. He can hear the feint rushing liquid of your piss splatting into the cotton.

He presses you further into its plush softness, suffocating every inch of your crotch so that it absorbs all the nasty warm juice squeezing out of you like a lemon. Your legs quiver violently as you can’t help but release more and more, flowing out as if by his demand and feeling the poor plush get heavy with the rush filling its cotton innards up.

"Naughty girl, am I making you piss all over your ex's face? Little Frankie doesn't deserve that does he?" He taunts, fully well intending for this to exactly happen as he wanred.

There’s so much, and another tear slips passed you, but this one because it feels so—relieving. It’s gross and nasty, embarrassing and heartbreaking all at once, and it makes you hump against him and the dampened hamster even more.

Joel feel the quickened breaths coming out desperately from your nose as you grind down on the defiled thing all soaked up with your own piss. Your hips are frantic, smothering your cunt with the piss-logged plush desperately, as if you were trying to...

“Shit—are you…?”

You cry out in response, mouth agape with satisfied groans when you clit catches along the wet seams just right and you find yourself cumming on the sad wet thing drowned below you.

Joel clears his throat in surprise. His cock pulses on its own and floods the inside of his pants in white strings of his seed.

Did he think you would probably cry? Yes.

Did he want you to pee and destroy your ex’s little gift to you? Yes.

Did he expect you to fucking cum from it? Um.

Did he know HE would cum from it??? No. Definitely not.

His teeth grind against one another trying not to think about how perverted he is, pulling away from you so you can’t feel his sticky spent through his trousers and on to your back.

The squishy lump below you begins seeping the now cooled piss into the floor boards. You sigh deeply, not sure what to do now that your little punishment has turned into—something wilder.

You feel a gentle kiss along your cheek, his thumb caressing away your tears.

“That was hot,” He admits plainly.

You cover your face to hide your smile. It’s gross. It really is. Should be embarrassing. You don’t even want to think about the hamster on the floor, the memories you’ve just soddened with your own fucking piss.

He helps you off the floor. Your thighs still shake, the uncomfortable feeling hanging there in disgust now that you’re mentally sober again.

He guides you to the shower where you both wash up quietly.

“Um—listen I didn’t… I don’t know why you would keep your ex’s stuff but…I mean I’m reasonably… it doesn’t make me feel great, so ya can’t blame me, for getting jealous—“

You shut him up but tugging against his half hard cock.

“First of all,” you say, the sudden boldness in your voice blanking his mind into submission under your touch.

“That plush, was from my first boyfriend—in high school. We dated for 2 months,” you continued, your fingers gripping his base with a gentle squeeze, feeling him swell to full mass, “and then he realized he liked boys. That was it. We laughed about it and stayed good friends. He gave me the stuffed animal as a parting gift to college for helping him through it all.”

You stop rubbing his cock and Joel opens his eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.��

“So…Frank’s just… a friend…”

You kiss his collarbone. “Just a friend,” you repeat.

The water coats his back soothingly. An ache that had formed in his muscles, the strain of aggression tickling his brain from the minute he heard you had a stuffed animal named after your ex, still in your bed after years, had suddenly vanished.

“Why—why would you say hes your ex and not just your old friend? Why'd ya let me make you do that to it?” He asks, concerned now that he’s ruined something sentimental to you over his quickness to jealousy.

“Because—“ you nip along the swell of his chest, both hands working along his hardened cock. “You wanted it.” Your thumb swipes along his tip, the precum feeling sticky despite the shower water drenching you.

He moans, head falling into your shoulder as he thrusts his length into your palm.

As your wrist continues to jerk him off, your lips ghost the shell of his ear with a deadly, lascivious whisper:

“And I’m too crazy for you to say no.”

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

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undercoverpena · 6 months

Text

iv. anchor me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. hand stuff (f receiving), illusions to the past, bi!frankie.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this after bake off and telling me that i can do the thing.

wordcount: 3.4k

The moment Benny’s (insistent) invite landed in your messages, you had expected the one from Frankie.

Phone in hand, tapping your foot, counting, barely making it to 30 seconds before the banner slid down your screen. Because, of course, the can’t-say-no invitation was on the day the two of you had a scheduled thing.

Unsurprisingly, his simmering annoyance hadn’t vanished when he came to pick you up—another thing insisted—and you came out to meet him.

I’ll pick you up. I can drive there and meet you, save you coming across town. I‘m picking you up. Means I get to make sure you get home okay.

The sound of the car door slamming into place as you lock up, turning to walk towards his vehicle to find him eyeing you up in a way that makes your cheeks burn and you want to hide your face.

He keeps having that effect on you.

Make heat lick up your spine, your brain forget its sentence or thought, and your eyes find themselves unable to stop dropping to his lips .

It’s why it takes all your strength to say, “Eyes up here, Morales.”

He does, although he does take a second. Licking his lips, before doing exactly that. “Do I tell you enough that you look good?”

Laughing, you roll your eyes. More for him. An act, a pretence. Because you’re trying to seem unfazed—attempting to ignore it, the flutters of wings in your stomach.

Having to focus on it more and more when he stops in front of you, the bill of his hat shielding his eyes from the sun, allowing you to see how they drink you in, swallow you. Practically smothering you in simmering heat that makes you want to tear your clothes from your skin.

“You’ve mentioned it a lot lately.”

He doesn’t move, a thing which makes the wings flutter worse. More intense. Practically beating them as you stare at him, fighting the urge to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours.

To have him. Kiss him.

Remembering as you shift in your shoes, that you’re not with him. This is all an arrangement, a plan—a schedule, a date each week (or two) that Benjamin Miller fucked up.

Nudging him, you wink. “C’mon, I want first dibs of the food Will is cooking before you lot leave me with the scraps.”

You were outside in the backyard an hour, before a water gun soaks you.

Benny’s—of course—a stupid gift you’d purchased him, now used on the neighbours’ kids, with you caught in the crossfire.

By the time you’ve realised, you’re being flooded with apologies. Each coming from Benny’s tongue tenfold, rushing over as though he’d sprayed you in bullets and not water.

Your discussion with Will all but ended with a gasp as you stared down at your now transparent shirt. Watching his eyes lift up, trying not to glance or look.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I was—and then—let me show you where the towels are—“

You’re not sure who you laugh at more: Will or Benny. Holding a hand up, accepting one of the many apologies that fall, waving it all off, as your eyes scan the other guests, not finding the one pair of eyes you really want.

“It’s fine—can I, borrow something?” you ask, dropping your voice, “There’s kids around.”

Before Benny has even finished nodding, you make a beeline for the house. The one you know. You’ve been here enough times, dipping in through the side door, feeling your top cling to your skin more uncomfortably than it had outside.

That’s when you stare outside. Noticing that the gathering was closer to a party, it all loud and busy—even from inside. Suddenly grateful for the cover to spend a minute cooling off in the house. An excuse merged with gratefulness when you could hide and slide your shades off—wanting a drink, water, ice.

Suddenly needing a second.

Because all you’d done is eye-fuck your friend. The one you’ve seen naked—the one who looks more than good, and fucks even better.

The one, you suddenly can’t spot.

The glass in your palm lets condensation droplets slide down your wrist. The rim against your bottom lip, staring out at the people laughing, smaller kids being chased by Benny and his water gun. Eyes scanning, nervousness bubbling, mind beginning to worry you’re about to see him with someone else.

Like you have done so many times before .

You’re so lost in it, you don’t hear him, never mind feel him, until his arm snakes around your waist. The man you’d been missing—the one who’d been burning holes into your spine, but never coming over.

Now, though, he’s all warm mouth again to your ear, a whispered shh, as he peels your glass from your hands.

“You’re all wet, querida. We best get you dry.”

And then you’re walking, being led. Moving with ease as Frankie—who you hadn’t even seen come inside—was wrapping his fingers inside yours. Leading you, down the familiar hallway you’d helped paint several years ago, to the bedroom you still called Frankie’s, even if he hadn’t lived here in years.

You remember when you‘d knock on the very door to call for him, or hang out on the other side of the frame.

Frankie and Benny had shared this space before Frankie had found his own. The offer of your spare room had not been good enough—even if he painted it in, not wanting to be an inconvenience. How you’d sit on the bed that’s now for guests, perched, waiting for him before the two of you grabbed food or visited the movies. Simple things—friend things.

It isn’t like that today. His mouth slants over yours as soon as you’re both alone, pressing your back to the wall, devouring, licking into your mouth as you gasp.

Because the two of you could be caught. A shudder spreading out at the idea. The thought of the door being thrown open, making you groan into his mouth.

But, you’re not sure you’d care if you did.

You don’t fucking care if they all found you like this.

Lost, whimpering, desperate—all for him.

Not at his hand places itself around the base of your neck—lightly touching, pressing the smallest amount of pressure down, as he hushes your soft moans. His finger resting against your chin, the others slowly bury themselves in your underwear, giving you more reasons to be loud than be quiet—not something close to friend things.

“You been thinkin’ about me?”

The yes leaves your lips, but it is swallowed by a moan. It travelling from somewhere deep, flowing up, rippling out as you begin to writhe against his touch. Your eyes fixed on his—drowning in brown, sinking in as he curls his fingers inside of you. Beckoning, pleading with you to hand him what it is he wants.

Fuck, you want to give it to him. Had done from the moment you’d arrived, pulled up in the space outside Benny’s home—the former fixer-upper, turned dream house.

Frankie always looked good, even if his wardrobe was minimal. The back of him easy to pick out from a crowd, so broad you’re sure you could draw it with your eyes closed. You’ve stared at it so much—and that was before this all began. This, whatever this mutually beneficial thing is between the two of you, neither of you will properly name.

It’s why you kiss him, needing to taste his groan, lather your tongue in the way he says your name. Pronounces it. It more noticeable when your hand cups him—greeted by the hard outline of him against your palm, all noticeable, barely contained by his cargo pants.

“—tan bonita,” he croaks, throwing your hand away before placing it back to cup your cheek, forcing your head to his, the base of his palm catching your bundle of nerves as he slows his ministrations. “Be good for me, querida. And just focus on being quiet.”

A chaste kiss pressed, a signature on the dotted line—one you agree to as you chase his lips. Just tasting the beer-tinged air of his breath as he continues to bury his fingers inside of you. The sounds of it so vulgar, loud, barely muffled by the strangled whimpers you try to keep back.

“So good for me, tan perfecta.”

Your eyes close, lashes clenching. His whispered words make it harder to stay quiet, to be the thing he’s just told that you are.

And the worst is, you know he knows it. Can feel his smirk against your jaw, the way the tip of his tongue swirls over your pulse as his hip pins you in place, his fingers continuing their wanted assault, keeping your feet rooted to the ground, head barely able to think about anything but this.

“Please,” you ask.

Eyes open, capturing his. Hooking in. Watching him drink it in, your request—your ask.

“Alright baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers, more breath than words, right against your cheek, finger drawing circles against your clit. “Always got you, haven’t I?”

It’s electric, and also fire. It surges and licks up your spine as you nod. As your throat goes dry, sound goes fuzzy, before he’s good—to you, for you. Alternating between filling you with the same fingers that built your furniture.

“Doing so well for me,” he says, nose against your cheek, fingers pumping—

In and out.

“Be good though, let me feel you squeeze my fingers—wanna feel you come, querida. Please. Please.”

Your eyes clench, feeling both nothing and everything. Because someone could walk in. Your teeth bite into your lip as you try to keep back the chants of his name. His fingers are so deep, feeling so good.

“Let go, querida.”

It falls from his lips like honey. Sweet. Almost sticky in how it clings to the air as your eyes open, finding him.

The first thing you think is: earlier was nothing on the way he’s staring at you now.

Doing more than devouring, he’s drowning in you—likely unaware you’re doing the same with him.

Each nerve illuminated, your ears slowly buzzing louder and louder as you crash your mouth to his and lick into his mouth as you still, tense and writhe all at once.

Then you are stars, feel yourself unknotting, all at once. In the bedroom that used to be his.

Frankie shouldn’t like seeing you in an old t-shirt of his, but he does.

Unable to tear his eyes away from you as he leads you to two seats, your laugh flowing—something he said under his breath, now forgotten, still swirling through you, forcing your eyes to close and your fingers to dig into his forearm.

He likes you like this—has always liked your laugh.

Blissfully aware that he should, but shit, he can’t take his eyes off you. Even if he knows he needs to—plenty of eyes around, ones who have always teased, always taunted.

You’d be so good together. You pair are so cute.

The comments go on, and on. Have done for years.

Except now, you’re dressed in him.

To most, it’s a simple, old tee splattered with paint. To him, it’s when the group of them painted Ben’s house. His eyes having drank you in, wishing he could wash the paint from your legs, unsure how you’re covered in as much as the wall.

Your clumsiness having painted itself against you, your own clothes ruined, before you’d purposefully (and intentionally) splattered yourself against him when you’d come in for a ‘hug’.

Now, you’re sitting next to him, curled under one leg, shades hiding where your eyes are—but he hopes they’re on him—wishing you’d be on him.

“You dry, querida?”

“Oh, jodete.”

Smirking, he takes a sip of his drink. Licking the front of his teeth, leaning forward.

“Rather fu—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Your tongue traces the bottom of your lip, slowly shaking your head. A part of him wanting to pull you close, have you in his lap. Fuck everything and just give in and—

“So,” Will announces. Suddenly there. Blocking the sun, pointing at an empty chair before he sits beside you.

And Frankie drowns his throat in beer.

He listens, while staring off, as Will asks how your friend is—when she’s back in town, because Ben won’t. You knotting and unknotting the end of the tee around your finger, chatting and chatting.

Something tightening inside of him when he catches sight of you, from the corner of his eye, throwing your head back as Will makes you laugh. Him trying not to grimace each time his friend does so.

Because Will is his friend.

A good one, a great one. Yet, when it comes to you, he always feels inferior. Less than. Somehow more broken more than—

“Fish?”

Will’s voice drags him from his thoughts, blinking. Thumb tracing the neck of his bottle as he nods.

“I said have you heard from Pope?”

He tenses. Frankie feels himself still. Back all straight.

The question cuts through his bubbling thoughts. Suddenly aware of the sound of his own heart in his ears. That knotted ball of things, the one full of rope, strings, steel wire, as it all tightens inside his chest—and in his stomach.

Worst of all, he then feels your eyes land on him. Searching, cutting through the sheets he throws up as walls, desperate to press something warm to him, keep him rooted.

He takes a breath, feeling you willing him to. Appeasing you, even if you’ve not asked verbally, finding himself easily able to.

It’s always easy with you.

Just like it was the night he told you. Confessed it. Whispered it out on the floor, his back to the wall in the same bedroom he just had pressed you against.

I’d suspected it, honestly.

Your fingers brushing, carding through his curls until you pulled his head into your chest. A whole other sea of emotions bubbling, both of his long loves out of reach—even if one had their fingers buried in his curls, attempting to soothe him. The rest of his confession dying on his tongue, letting it rot, fester.

Because that one was and still is harder to confess.

It desperate to escape. Almost coming out the night you’d suggested he found you repulsive. Not knowing how wrong you were—

“Um…” you murmur, eyes digging further into him, practically clawing. Not to hurt, but to pull him back. “I don’t think I have—not since before?”

Frankie swallows. His heart hammering heavier, lifting his eyes and landing on you—and it all goes calm. Your face, like it always has been, is like a blanket that smothers the leftover hurt and anguish, an anchor that roots him in place.

“N-no. Not heard a thing,” he says, as plain as possible. Direct. Trying to hide the shake.

Because he can still feel your eyes on him. Focused, unwilling to leave his face as Will mutters and mumbles about something until he’s shouted away, beckoned by an overzealous neighbour, Frankie plants a smile on for, not moving to greet or speak to.

You say nothing.

But you do lift your shades. Smothering him in warmth and kindness, and a bit of sorrow too. Your teeth nursing the skin on your bottom lip, picking and picking.

Fuck he wishes he could tell you.

He wishes he could tell you that Pope knew—knows. Had already guessed it. Teased him on it before he dragged it out of him in the cold, rainy depths of Colombia.

You just have a thing for friends, Fish. That it!

It had ripped from his throat then. Shooting, spitting in mixed English and Spanish as he told Pope his feelings for you—how long they’d been there.

How they were messy. The same as his feelings had been for him. That they churned and turned for months with the conflicting ones he had for him.

That it has shaped him—the thing that neither of them talk about, but had let happen the handful of times it did.

And now he was repeating himself, but differently. This time, he suspected there was something more there. Something there in your eyes in the moments after he’s brought you to pleasure, it twinkling, it licking into his mouth when you kiss him, softer, desperate in a different way.

“Are you okay?”

“Come to mine. Tonight. After.”

You release your bottom lip. Staring. Thinking. “Are you going to take me home after?”

He tries not to let his face shift, but he fails. It falls and drops out over his features as you take a sip from the bottle in your hand.

“Frank…”

“You like my bed.”

You roll your eyes, brow slightly arched. You’re faking annoyance, he can tell. He can tell because you’re ticking, pondering. Weighing up the options of what difference one night would make to your principles.

“It’s not because of that.”

“No?” you say, arched brow and laced in sarcasm.

Fuck, he wants to take your hands. Pull them to his face. Because he doesn’t feel like that for him anymore. He hasn’t. Not for a long time.

Not since before he showed up with his plan, and his lies, and his mission that ended with Redfly’s death.

He wanted to let it roll from his tongue that he meant it that first night. That he has hated all of your exes for the reason you must think, deep down—the one you’re unwilling to question or acknowledge for the same reasons he won’t.

Because he’s scared. Because he knows he’s only worthy of being a dirty secret—not something real. Not something stable and concrete, things you truly deserve.

And, he wants to respect your wishes, your rules. But, he also wants to wake up beside you in his bed. Wanting nothing more than to have his cake and eat it too, because how could he not? How could he not want you there for one morning, when he wants you there every single day?

That thought was the one he had shouted, it burning the air between him and the man he now doesn’t hear from.

You gonna tell her? Depends on if we fuckin’ get outta here, doesn’t it?

He didn’t. Even if he did make it out, make it back. You in his arms, sobbing, worries running from your mouth to his ear as he held you—silently sobbing into your shoulder for reasons he has never explained.

Which is precisely why he doesn’t reach for your hands. It’s why he lets the silence thicken before he answers.

Because he knows he loves you.

“No,” he says firmly.

Hoping it’ll be enough. Hoping the finality of the word will inform you that, if anything, it’s in spite of the memory of his former friend, former brother-in-arms, former…

“I live closer to here,” he shrugs. Not wanting to admit that it’s for any other reason. “Means we’d be quicker to—“

“Morales!” you cut him off.

All stern, cute—as though he hadn’t had his fingers buried inside of you half an hour ago in his old room.

“How have you been sleeping?”

It’s a simple question, easy. Your lips around the straw, draining your cup before placing it on the grass, next to his empty bottle.

His fingers reaching up, itching the front of his fringe under his hat—your eyes following his movements, holding on to them, adding them to the mental notebook you’ve likely made.

Frankie shouldn’t be surprised that you remembered. The trip that lasted more days than it should have and left its own marks on you, too. Scarred you in ways that you can’t explain or ever get rid of.

“Fine. I guess, just…”

“I know,” you say with a faint smile. Forced. Placed there to soothe him, but it doesn’t do much.

You don’t play with the radio.

You don’t even really talk. Just drumming your fingers on the door, staring outside, letting streets pass the two of you, until he pulls up outside his place.

All the way, he thinks about apologising.

For everything, and yet for nothing all at once. His eyes sliding over to you as he drove down roads, turned his chin a little more to gather more of you as he turned a corner.

You don’t look at him until he turns the engine off. Head rolling on the back of the seat, the softest, most beautiful smile on your lips—one he wants to taste, feel moulded to his mouth. Capture and steal it, in case he never gets the chance to again.

“If you say you’ll stay, you haven’t broken the rules,” he whispers.

It is all quiet, except for the little noises made by the car as it cools and relaxes from its journey here.

Frankie hears you swallow, and then sigh.

“Won’t I be?”

Shaking his head, he turns to face you on the plastic seat. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb stroking soft lines, hoping it’ll ease you. Relax you.

“If you prefer me to take you home—“

Your eyes drop.

“—then I will. But…”

Your eyes flash back up to him, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Even under twinkling lights, he can see each fleck of colour in them.

“But?” you whisper.

And he drags his thumb across your skin. “I just really want you to stay, for tonight.”

Sliding your lips to the side, your fingers move over his, pressing his palm to your cheek, giving him a smile—a gentle one, reassuring, sweet. “I want the right side. When you let me sleep.”

Smirking, he nudges closer, going to kiss you, but finding himself pressing a kiss to your forehead—one brimming with a smile.

Only realising he’s done so when he retracts.

Little lines appearing in your brow, gone, vanished in the next second, because then you’re moving closer, your lips on his—and for a brief, but pleasant moment, he forgets all of this isn’t real.

Falls into it, lets himself live there as he runs his hand up your thigh, before he’s dragging it over his. Uncaring that there’s a bed some so many feet away, he just runs his hands over your cheeks, along your jaw, thumbs on your neck—as he groans against your mouth.

Swallowing your moan, he fights a smirk at the way you rock your hips against him. Hand moving to your hip, pinning you—chasing your lips before kissing you again, and again.

Not ever having enough. Always wanting more.

As he has done for years. As he’s thought about for years.

Because there may have been others, but since he let himself think it, it’s always been you. A notion he kisses against your lips, writing them with his tongue against yours, content, happy.

“Can’t wait to spread you out on my bed, querida.”

He feels your lips spread into a smirk against his. “Can’t wait to have your cock down my throat again, Morales.”

He groans. Loud, almost undignified. Unsure how he got to be so lucky. Your fingers digging into the base of his neck.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 months

Note

Hi! Congrats on reaching 5k followers!

Could I request a blurb where Benny Miller find out that the reader has a crush on him by accidentally finding a love letter they wrote?

Drunk Poetry.

benny miller x female reader

warnings - cursing. alcohol mention.

written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

“That’s the third time you’ve tried to kill me this week.”

You’re both laughing so hard you’re wheezing, clutching at your sides as happy tears drip down your faces.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide. “I don’t do it on purpose, I swear.”

Benny wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in, holding you close as you rest your head on his chest. Both of you calm down, enjoying being plastered together for the moment.

Friends don’t do this stuff.

You know this.

But when it feels so right, so easy, so natural… who are you to put a stop to it?

Aggression seems to be his love language. It’s how you ended up where you were five minutes ago - you, nursing a blooming bruise on your thigh where Benny had accidentally punched it much too hard seconds earlier. Will says it’s how he shows people he likes them. He’s boisterous, a little clumsy, but so loving.

You’d been play fighting, beating each other up as per usual. The two of you were instantly bored watching a movie Frankie recommended, instead choosing to make your own entertainment.

“We need booze,” he says now, into your hair. “Just a little. Then we can dance.”

You chuckle, nodding into his shirt.

“There’s a bottle of tequila under my bed. Don’t ask.”

He laughs, and the sound rumbles through you lowly. Placing you on the couch gently, he gets up to go and find the alcohol while you stand up and grab some glasses. After a couple of minutes, you return to the living room to see him stood in the doorway, holding a pink piece of paper.

“You’re in love with me.”

Your heart drops out of your chest when you realise what he has in his hand.

“Ben, I can explain.”

His jaw is dropped, eyes wide as he looks at you. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and it’s making you anxious.

“I, uh - I read somewhere a while ago that if you write stuff down, you can get it out of your mind. And you… you were on my mind a lot, I guess. So I started writing these letters - obviously I was never gonna send them or anything - to get stuff off my chest. You were never meant to see them, Ben. I’m sorry.”

“You’re… sorry?”

“Y-yeah. I’m sorry.”

“For the letters? Or loving me?”

You take a deep breath, holding onto the doorframe.

“Neither, actually. Yeah, neither. I’m not sorry for the letters - I’m kind of sorry that you found them, though. But I’m not sorry for loving you. Never have been.”

He strides across the room, wrapping his arms around your back as he kisses you with so much passion it almost knocks you over. You kiss him back eagerly, hands tangled in his hair as you pull him closer.

“I love you too,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought that much was obvious.”

“Yeah?” you grin, raking your nails across the back of his neck. “You do?”

“The guys have been on my back about it for like a year.”

“A year? Sucker,” you tease, leaning in to kiss him again.

He breaks away to laugh, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks towards your bedroom.

“Let’s find that fucking tequila and get this party started, huh?”

You can’t say no to an offer like that.

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 3 months

Text

Best Friend's Brother

Will Miller x f!reader

Warnings: (infidelity, possible unlikeable reader/Will, fingering, p in v, creampie, no safe sex, dirty talk, cursing)

A/N: Don't mind most of my smut wear condoms. Also I needed more Will fics out there.

Summary: With enough liquid courage you tell your best friend's brother exactly how you feel about his fiance.

Word Count: 4.3K

“You know if you interacted with anybody here you wouldn’t have to read so many romance books.” Benny’s breath tickles your ear as your eyes are glued to the words on your phone screen. Your favorite author surprise dropped a new chapter and you retreated from conversation to read it.

“After I finish this chapter.” You barely pay any mind to your best friend.

“You said that 10 minutes ago.” For such a large man Benny has a talent for sounding like a whiney child when he wants.

You heave a deep sigh before placing your phone on the table. The moment your irritated eyes land on Benny he sheepishly slides two whiskey shots in front of you. Internally you’re already gagging but you shoot them back and grimace at the burning in your chest. The warm air of the bar did little to help the heat flourishing through your body.

“You couldn’t have grabbed me a soda.” Temporarily a frown is etched on your face until the bitter taste goes away.

“I drank it while you were reading.” His answer makes your head snap to him but before you could respond he abruptly stands. “Will!” His booming voice does little to disturb the patrons around you, but the name he calls makes the hair on your body stand up.

The two golden boys meet in the middle to hug each other and you try to calm your overactive mind. You could say you’ve had a lingering attraction to the older Miller brother, though it would be downplaying the amount of times you’ve thought about him.

When you first met Benny his brother was already away so you only knew him through the stories Benny would tell. From the way he described his brother, you thought he was too good to be true. But when you met him you were proven wrong, and soon you were under his spell.

“Hey, Buttercup.” Your thoughts halt when you feel Will’s hands squeeze your shoulders before taking the seat to your left. His nickname for you never failed to warm your cheeks, even if technically he had a fiance.

“Hi Will,” The cheery tone of your voice causes Benny to roll his eyes at your abrupt change of mood. You never brought up how you felt about his brother but it wasn’t hard for him to put together the pieces.

Benny checks his phone before telling the both of you he’s getting more drinks for when Santi and Frankie arrive.

“How’s the book going?” You playfully roll your eyes at the mention of your pipe dream from when you were 19.

“Still on page 3, inspiration has yet to strike.” His smile makes your heart beat so heavily in your chest you think he can see it.

“Hard to believe that,” His hands grab at the half-cold fries on your plate. “What genre are pushing for anyway?”

“Most likely historical romance,” The whiskey shots settle and you feel your body become lighter. “The old-timey English is hard to get into though.”

“Coming from the walking encyclopedia.” His words are slightly muffled by the fries he’s shoveling into his mouth.

“What’d we miss?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your conversation and you look up to find him and Frankie occupying the seats in front of you.

“Not much Benny’s getting the drinks.” Will rubs his hands on his jeans to rid his hands of grease.

As usual, the men around you dive into sports commentary as if they’re the analysts they watch on TV. In the meantime, you skim over the food menu trying to figure out what else you want. With two more people at the table, the heat from Will’s arm brushing against you makes you lean closer to him. If he felt the difference he didn’t let anything on.

Two pitchers of beer slosh against the plastic as it's being set down before a flight of whiskey is placed directly in front of you. An eager smile graces Benny’s face and you know exactly how this night is gonna go. As the two of you go shot for shot the three veterans look at you both in amusement.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” Santiago smiled as he nudged h

“It’s going,” Despite his lack of answer the way he feels is written all over his face, and everyone at the table knows it.

“It can’t be that bad man.” Frankie tries to give the benefit of the doubt but he unknowingly releases the floodgates.

“She told her family to send pictures of what they were gonna wear to the ceremony,” Will gulps the rest of his beer before continuing, “Then she proceeded to veto her grandmother’s peach pantsuit because it was too close to white.”

Everybody has variants of shock written on their face except you, though your reasons may have more to do with animosity. Melody, his fiance, had first been introduced two years ago. From the start, you could tell they weren’t right for each other, but your mouth remained shut until Benny brought it up.

Leave it to your best friend to be the one feeding into your delusions.

“And don’t get me started on the flower girl fight, she had both her sisters send test shots of their daughters.” You adamantly aim to keep your mouth shut, knowing the liquor has loosened your lips. The last thing you wanna do is rattle down the long list of reasons you don’t like his fiance, namely because she’s his fiance.

“You sure know how to pick em’ Ironhead.” Santiago whistles while he thinks of all his previous relationships.

“Maybe it’s just the wedding.” His tone was even but laced with something like doubt.

“Maybe it’s a glimpse into your future.” Benny tries to bring the lighthearted energy back by wiggling his fingers and mimicking a ghost.

A smile cracks Ironhead’s exterior at his little brother’s antics.

“Drinks anyone?” You look around the table watching them nod in agreement before taking off to the bar.

The counter is busy when you approach so you take the time to go over what you want. Two pitchers of beer and two Long Island iced teas. A hand connecting with your lower back causes you to swivel your head to accost the perpetrator, only to find Will. Relief floods through you but not for long.

“You’ve been quiet all night, it’s not like you.” Will leans his other arm over the bar, caging you in.

“Your brother’s been force-feeding my shots all night what’d you expect.” You hope you can stir him away with humor but he knows better and so should you.

“What do you think? Am I setting myself up for failure again?” The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. You know how he feels about this being his second engagement and nobody could blame him for wanting to be sure.

“Look if you’re happy what does it matter what those idiots are talking about?” Will’s eyes narrow and you give in to the voices in your head. “Honestly, she’s always lacked valuable character traits.” You avoid eye contact with the man next to you as you flag down a bartender to give the order.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” His blue eyes bore into yours and you find your eyes lowering to his lips.

“And how exactly am I supposed to bring that up in conversation?” Your conversation ceases for now as the bartender places your drinks in front of you.

A silence falls over the both of you even after you return to the table. Thankfully none of the other guys notice you averting your eyes from Will’s direction.

……………

All Will could think about was what you said.

Sure he noticed how self-centered Mel could be but it didn’t bother him because he had his fair share of baggage. Even when the guys were making their jokes about how she acted on a camping trip, he didn’t care. Yet the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t shake the feeling that this engagement wasn’t right either.

For the past hour, he’s been looking your way, hoping to catch your eye, but you purposefully avoid it. He watches you engage with everyone else until you feel his gaze burning and return to sipping on your drink.

He checks his phone only to find a string of complaints from Mel.

“I should get going.” Will reaches for his wallet and places enough bills down for the tab and tip. Much to the dismay of everyone else at the table.

“We’re supposed to be treating you man.” Frankie scrambles to get his wallet but Will waves him off with a charming smile.

“Next time.” He promises.

“We should probably head out too.” You peer over at Benny with pouty lips

“I can take you.” William wastes no time volunteering to get you alone, he’s never been one to squander an opportunity.

For the first time in an hour you look up at him and he can see the panic swimming in your eyes. You want to object but that would look suspicious so you nod your head and gather your things. Each of the guys hugs you goodbye before Will’s hand finds its way back to your lower back to guide you through the crowd.

You know it’s a friendly touch still, excitement swirls within you.

Outside the bar is just as crowded so Will’s hands remain on you. In fact, he slides his right hand around your waist to bring you closer to him. People walking past would assume the two of you were together the way you were glued to each other.

“When you said she lacked character traits, which specifically do you mean?” Will’s rough voice shocked you with how close it was to your ear.

“This feels like a trap.” You look up at him with suspicion.

“It’s not, I promise.” He laughs at your hesitance, “You’ve just never said anything and if you had…” He drops his sentence but you know what he’s implying.

“You really care about what Benny’s best friend thinks?” You jab his stomach with your elbow.

“You know you mean more than that to me.” He leaves no room for argument and you’re left speechless at his side.

You take a moment to digest his words because it isn’t the first time he’s said them, but it feels like it.

“Sometimes it feels like you care more for her than she does you.” Your voice is quiet. “And it’s not like I would be telling you out of the purest intentions.” The words leave your lips before you think better of it.

“What intention would you have?” You realize too late that he’s slowed the pace and now you’re standing face to face.

“For you to break up with her.” You see no point in lying, and it’s not like you’re the only one who feels that way.

“And that’s it?” Will looks down at you like you're his prey. Clearly, he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm.” You lied. “How away far is your car?”

“It’s right there.” He tips his head in the direction of his truck but his eyes and body don’t move from you.

After a few seconds, you turn to make your way to the car but Will’s hand prevents you from leaving your spot.

“Is that all you’d want me to do? Leave her?” That gruff voice is going straight is going straight down to your core.

“No.” Your eyes are glued to the ground.

For now, your answer seems good enough because he pulls you back into him for the remaining three feet to the car. He opens the passenger door for you and you take a short reprieve to gather yourself.

Of course, Will could read how desperate you were for him. Dread settled in the bottom of your stomach when you think of how awkward this ride is gonna be.

“Look I’m sorry, here I am criticizing Melody for her character-” You spew out your thoughts hoping to do damage control.

“I’m not upset Buttercup, when the guy's rib on Mel’s antics it’s one thing but when you say it…” He plays with the scruff on his chin before continuing, “Santiago has yet to be in a serious relationship, Frankie is working his way back from the doghouse, and Benny is Benny.”

Your giggle rings through the cabin despite the tense atmosphere and Will can’t help but join you.

“Seriously, I’m no better especially since I want to be in her position.” Your eyes are focused on your lap but you almost feel the wind from Will’s head craning towards you.

“You what?!” Based on his tone of voice he didn’t know that tidbit and you were the one to give yourself away.

“Shit.” You clasp your hands over your face as you feel the car pull to a stop.

“What do you mean you want to be in her position?” The fact that he softened his voice made this the stuff of nightmares.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory William.” You deadpan without bothering to look up.

“Indulge me.” You remove your hand from your face but keep your eyes locked in front of you.

You make sure he can see your eyes roll before you continue, “She’s worried about how everything’ll look to other people but if I were the one marrying you the only thing I’d be worried about is how much lingerie I could reasonably pack for the honeymoon.”

“How long?” The thought of your words causes pools of blood to gather below his waist. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Since I met you.” You say matter-of-factly. “I thought it was just a crush but it progressed over the years.”

“Why didn’t you or Benny say anything?” Will’s upper body almost completely faces you.

“Are you saying you would’ve been receptive?” You ask the question but you already have an inkling of what he’ll say.

“I don’t know-” Will feels like the rug was swept out from underneath him. He’d already had doubts but he was willing to settle, at least before you opened your mouth.

“Exactly.” You don’t let him finish in the hopes that he’ll pull back onto the road.

“To be fair I have a decade on you so legally speaking, it’s a little touchy.” Of all the times he graced you with his humor it was not appreciated right now.

“More like a decade and a half but okay.” Despite yourself, you smile while his drops at your statement.

“And yet that didn’t deter you.” Suddenly the cab feels small and you don’t know when but the two of you got closer.

“That’s because I never said it was a bad thing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Tonight you were full of surprises. Will thought he knew everything there was to know about you but he hadn’t seen this side of you. Your blown-out pupils and plump lips call out to him like a siren’s song. The faint scent of whiskey and strawberry chapstick wafts his way. Intoxicating is the only way to describe how you’re making him feel because the beers he had did nothing.

He doesn’t register his hand reaching out to rub his thumb along your bottom lip. The moment you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck he loses every thought,,,,,,

Will removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips. It doesn’t take long for you to kiss him back with even more vigor, this was your chance and it wouldn’t go to waste. You feel your bottom lip being sucked into his mouth but somehow he isn’t close enough. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, bringing him closer while you tilt your head.

Your soft hands feel almost ticklish on the back of his neck and a deep groan passes his lips.

Will reaches out to your waist, pulling you closer until he feels your tits pressed against his chest. You make the lust-filled decision to swing your knee onto his other side and sit on his lap. The denim skirt you’re wearing rides up, almost showing him your panties.

A gasp escapes your lips when you feel what you thought was Will’s zipper. One look at his smirking face tells you you’re mistaken.

“Is that-” Your eyes zero in on where the two of you meet.

“Mhmm,” Will confirms your dream and arousal bubbles in your core. Before you can say anything he rolls his hips perfectly hitting your clit in just the right spot.

The sound that leaves your body is a culmination of all the years you’ve spent yearning for him, for a moment like this. You’ve never felt more desperate in your life. Quickly you lay your head in the crook of his neck and rock your hips back and forth. Your hands find themselves squeezing his biceps for purchase.

All of your breathless pants make him throb with need, as good as you feel like this he wants it all. Will inches his hand up your inner thigh, planting himself on your moving hips.

“Buttercup?” Will talks to you like he’s rousing you from sleep.

“Hm?” He watches you focus with your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip jutted out, there’s no better view.

“Want you to sit on it.” He can tell when you register his words because of the decline of your movement.

In all of five seconds, you’re clawing at his pants and all he can do is look at you. There’s no denying you’re gorgeous, sweet, funny. Now that he thinks about it he did care a little more for you than he should. Hell, sometimes you would go to him before Benny and he always felt great when he could problem-solve for you.

While he had been staring at you and daydreaming you managed to pull him out of his pants. If he thought your hands felt good before they feel even better now that they were stroking him.

“You’re so big Will.” Even your fantasies couldn’t live up to the real thing.

“Yeah?” Will rubs over your wet fold through your panties, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me right?” He slides your panties to the side before teasing your entrance with his middle finger.

“Whatever you want.” And you meant every word.

He barely has his finger in and you’re already clenching around him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you impatiently rock your hips showing him you’re ready. Will groans when he feels your warm walls clenching on his finger. He takes his other hand to your chin to bring you closer before telling you, “You’re perfect.”

Before you fully realize what he said he adds another finger to your aching core. Your eyes meet his almost pitch-black ones, and again you feel like his prey the way they bore into his. When he curls his fingers inside you you involuntary buck your hips for more.

You wonder if you’ll leave bruises the way your fingers dig into Will’s shoulders. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, his teeth slightly rub against yours before he deepens it. Dizziness fills your head from the way his fingers pumped into you to his warm tongue licking into your mouth.

You were ruined for anyone else after him.

The sounds in the truck consist of heavy breathing, moans, and squelching. A pit formed in your lower stomach and you felt like you were falling in it. You feel too much at once and you feel yourself pulling away from the kiss to calm down but Will moves to your neck. As he sucks and licks at your neck his fingers expertly pull you over the edge.

You would’ve fallen against the wheel if he hadn’t held you in his arms. He rubs his hands over your back until you come to. Somehow your orgasm felt like a shot of espresso and you’re right back on Will.

Without pause you sink down on his leaking tip and slowly inch him deeper. You watch his face while you do it and you almost miss his blue eyes, but he looks so much more hypnotizing. You couldn’t look away and neither could he.

Will couldn’t imagine his night would end up like this, not that he was complaining.

With you finally taking all of him you let out the airiest sigh before rocking your hips. Your knees were burning from the seats but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Will’s hands move down your back to grip your ass while you rock and bounce on him.

“Fuck,” He is the first to break eye contact but only to look at where the two of you meet. Your juices leave a ring on his dick and he almost cums at the sight. “I can’t wait to taste you next time.”

“Next time?” You try slowing your hips to comprehend what he just said but he picks up your slack. With his hips rutting into yours from below the pleasure must be clouding your brain to imagine things.

“You thought I was gonna let you go after this baby?” An unforgiving pace brings that familiar pit in your stomach that has you pawing at his covered chest. “You know me better than that Buttercup.”

Will’s hips sputter before you hear a guttural groan and warmth being shot into you. Even as he’s cumming he uses his hand to urge you to rock your hips against him. When everything slows to a halt all that’s left is heavy breathing from the both of you.

“Did you mean it?” You bring yourself to ask as you fiddle with your fingers

Will lifts his head from the headrest to look at you, “Of course I mean it.”

“You know you still have a fiance right?”

“You didn’t have to put off by that a few minutes ago,” His playful grin lets you know he’s only messing with you. “Seriously though it wouldn’t have lasted, I just didn’t think anybody else would want me.”

“I mean you make it easy.” You haven’t looked up at him yet.

“You’re one to talk.” Will tilts his head before giving you a kiss. “Let’s get you home.” Heat fills your face at his charm.

With a hiss, he slowly helps to lift you off his now softening dick. You’re quick to move your panties back in place before any of his cum drips out. He tucks himself into himself back into his pants.

Before he even turns on the car you’re lying across the the front seat and nodding off. He takes the jacket he always keeps in his car behind the seat and drapes it over you.

He takes a look at his phone and sees missed calls from everyone. It’s almost 3 in the morning and Will winces as he looks at the messages asking him where he is. Instead of staying here for another hour, he heads in the direction of your condo.

Your porch light is on when he pulls into the driveway in front of your house. One look over at you and he can see that you’re dead to the world so he searches for your purse. When he finds your keys he runs to open the door before circling back to pick you up.

Once in the house, he kicks the door closed then locks it. He already knows the way to your room since he basically set it up for you. In fact he moved most of your furniture for you, not wanting moving companies to take advantage of you.

Your room has clothes strewn on the floor in what looks like failed outfits you tried on. A laugh escapes Will when he realizes you ended up wearing a short jean skirt with a v-neck. It’s only two steps to the bed and he lays you down gently not wanting to wake you.

He tries replacing the jacket over you but your fingers have gripped it so he settles on laying the comforter over you. When he’s sure you’re settled he rounds your bed to sit on the other side, unlacing his boots. After that are his shoes socks, jeans, and shirt.

A relaxed sigh is let out the moment his back hits your bed. Although it makes no sense to cuddle, he saddles his body close to yours.

Bacon and potatoes infiltrate your nose the more awake you become. Last night quickly flashes through your mind as if your brain urged you to remember. Your room is exactly how you left it and the thought of Will seeing it sends shame through your body. Of the discarded clothes you pick up some lounge shorts to throw on.

Your hunger overpowers your drowsiness so you make your way to the kitchen. Will’s naked back is a welcomed sight anytime.

“Good morning.” He grins when you make an appearance next to him.

“Morning Buttercup.” The spatula he’s using to stir potatoes is cast aside so he can run rub circles on your lower back.

Now that the afterglow faded you wondered what direction this is heading in.

“I ended things with Mel this morning, she’s pissed to say the least.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Guilt creeps into you now that your chickens have come home to roost

“I know, but I’m glad it happened.” Without waiting for your reply he's back to cooking like our conversation never happened. “You can sit down if you want it’ll only be five more minutes.”

The debrief call with Benny will be one for the books.

#triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #william miller #will miller smut #william ironhead miller #will ironhead miller

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 1 year

Text

Pollen and Plottin'

Chapter Five of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Six

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4K

Chapter Overview: You have a morning out of hell and all signs point to Frankie to bail you out.

Notes: I fucking knew i would be back this week LMAOOO,, finals next week and then i'll finally be free from the shackles of uni !! this gif was playing on repeat in my brain while i was writing and lorddd it made it so hard to concentrate,, i updated the tag list so i hope i added everyone that was kind enough to ask to be on it ((: as usual .. my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You must have done something truly heinous in your past life to warrant this series of unfortunate events this Tuesday morning. The first issue makes itself known to you when your alarm doesn’t go off this morning. Your body must have known that you were getting a suspicious amount of sleep because thankfully it wakes you up with an hour to get ready. Issue number two comes in the form of empty bottles. You jump out of the shower in record breaking time. Body wrapped in a towel, skin still littered in water droplets, you scour your bathroom counter for your hair products. A frustrated sigh leaves you when you notice that your products are in the trash can. You knew that you should have left yourself a note to go pick up more the second you ran out.

“Bright side. Bright side. There's always a bright side.” You repeat your new mantra down the hall to the kitchen.

As you wait for your coffee to brew, you try to change your way of thinking. Yes, you woke up late, but at least you had an hour to get ready. Yes, you didn’t have any hair products, but at least you got to shower. See? Not so bad looking now, huh? When the coffee is done you remove the pot from its stand and set it on your counter. You make your way to the fridge to pull out your creamer and then your cabinets to retrieve your favorite mug. Unfortunately, your depth perception is off because as you bring your mug and creamer to the counter you knock the coffee pot into the sink. It must have been right on the edge and you just didn’t realize it. Tears prick your eyes as you watch the third issue of the morning disappear down the drain. You don’t think there is a bright side to this problem. With time not acting as your friend, breakfast will have to take a backseat. Before you head out the door you grab your keys and your tote and pray that whatever higher power is fucking with you has had its fill. But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

You hop in your car and start it up. No. And start it up. Oh God no. Third time's the charm and…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You wail.

The panic is setting in now. You can feel bile gurgling in your stomach and trying to claw its way up into your throat. This sort of thing usually wouldn’t bother you this much, but coupled with all the bullshit from this morning, you were at your wits end. Before anxiety completely envelops you, you pull out your phone to call Benny and explain the situation.

“Oh shit, are you alright?”

“Physically? Yes. Mentally? Ask me tomorrow.”

“At least your sense of humor is still intact,” He offers. “Don’t worry about coming in today. I had to learn how to hold it down before I hired you so I’m not worried about that. Just take today to figure out what’s wrong with your car and keep me posted. Maybe you can give Catfish a ring? He works at an auto body shop that shouldn’t be too far from you.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Benny. Yeah, he mentioned that. I’ll call him and then let you know what happens. Talk to you later!”

You toss your phone into your passenger seat and rest your head on your steering wheel. The panic you were feeling has subsided now due to a solution presenting itself, but nervousness began to blossom in its place when that solution turned out to be Frankie. The first time you called him isn’t supposed to be like this. You aren’t really sure how you wanted the first time to go, but you definitely wanted to have a better reason to talk than your fucked up car. A buzzing sound next to you announces the arrival of a text. You take a deep, centering breath and lift your head up before grabbing your phone. It’s Benny sending you the address of Frankie’s shop. You click the link and it takes you to your phone's map. It really isn’t too far from you; only 10 minutes down the road.

You pull up Frankie’s contact, but hesitate before you press it. A small twinge of guilt rolls through you as you surrender to the idea of calling another man for help with a job that has always been done by your father. The one thing he loved more than looking at cars was fixing them up. He had made you watch him work all through your childhood, so you knew how to change your tire, your oil, and both your head and tail lights. This felt like a betrayal when, in reality, it wasn’t. There wasn’t anything he could do in his current situation to help you. And telling him what was going on would only hurt him as he would inevitably come to the same conclusion you did. With your guilt temporarily satiated, you call Frankie.

He must have been concerned when he saw that it was you calling because he answers on the second ring and his voice is higher pitched than normal. “Hello?”

“Hey, Frankie it's me. Well obviously you know it's me. I’m sure you have caller ID. I’m sorry, I’m rambling, but I think I need to cash in on that car help you offered earlier.”

“Are you safe? What happened?” His tone is panicky.

“Yes. I’m completely safe.” You hear him sigh quietly on the other end of the phone. “My car just won’t start and I can’t figure out what's wrong with it. I didn’t leave any lights on last night, my gas tank is half full, and, for once in my life, my check engine light isn’t on.”

“I like your little run down, but it's going to be hard for me to figure out what's wrong with it until I actually see the vehicle in person. Tell you what, I’ll drive out to see you right now and have one of my guys bring out a tow truck to pick it up.”

“Wait no you don’t have to do that! I don’t want to make you leave work over something silly like this. I can just wait until the tow truck gets here and takes me to the shop.”

“And I don’t want you to have to deal with this alone, silly or not, got it?”

“Got it.”

You’re sitting on the curb to the left of your car when you see Frankie pull into the parking lot with his white pickup. He waves at you through his windshield as he parks in the open spot to the right of your car. You figure that it's now or never and dust yourself off as you walk over to his driver's side.

“So, are you going to be able to fix him?”

“Him?” He says skeptically, stepping out of his truck.

“My car? He’s a boy?”

“You know most people refer to vehicles as women, but you know what, to each their own.” He looks over the hood of his truck at your car. “My apologies sir. I’ll do everything in my power to get you up and running again.”

Frankie has you pop your hood while he goes back and pops his own and grabs jumper cables from the backseat. Although you offer to help him, he insists that you relax while does it himself. The way he says it makes you feel cared for rather than pushed to the side because he doesn’t believe that you’re capable. He is able to jumpstart your car, but each time the engine dies after idling for a few minutes. When he realizes that no matter how many times he tries to jump it the engine won’t stay on he unhooks the cables and puts them away.

“See anything?”

He’s taking a closer look at everything that's under your hood. The gray shirt he's wearing is doing a beautiful job of showing off how defined his arms really are. The cotton material stretches over his bicep as he moves his arm to reach something. It dawns on you that he rarely wears shirts, or clothes in general, that allow his body to be visible. Your heart aches when you think about him feeling insecure as he stands next to the other men. Even though you haven’t seen them without their clothes off, Benny excluded, you can tell how toned each of them are. You wish you could tell him that it doesn’t matter to you. You wish you could tell him that the way his stomach is currently peeking out from under his shirt is incredibly sexy to you. There’s nothing you would change about him because if you did there would be less of him for you to look at.

“Everything looks good up here.” He sighs tiredly and shuts your hood. “The issue must be your undercarriage.”

“My what?”

“Your car’s undercarriage!” He couldn’t have spit those words out faster. “I’m sure there isn’t anything wrong w-with your undercarriage.”

“Frankie, I’m just messing with you.” Your hand comes to rest on his arm as you laugh. “I knew what you meant.”

The Florida sun did a good job of blurring the line between him blushing and him standing out in the heat for too long.

“Hey, do you want some water? It’s the least I could do since you’re helping me out so much.”

“It’s really no big deal.” He reassures you. “But water would be great.”

You turn and start heading to the staircase that leads to the second floor of your apartment complex. You make it up about three steps before you realize that Frankie isn’t following you.

“I thought you wanted water?” You ask turning to face him.

“In your apartment?”

“Last I checked, that's where I keep it? Come on, Frankie, I’m not gonna bite you.”

With a small smile from him, you face back around and continue to make your way up the stairs. When you reach your door you suddenly become self conscious about the way your apartment is set up. You haven’t had the time to decorate since you got here and the lack of personal touches in your apartment made that painfully obvious.

“Sorry my place is a little bland.” You open the door and lead him inside to the kitchen. “I want to get some art for my walls so the place can really be brought together. It’s a little dumb though since I’m only here temporarily.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb, but I like the way it feels in here.”

“Oh yeah?” You pull the brita out of your fridge and set it down on the counter. “What does it feel like?”

He sees you reaching out for the cabinet that's next to him. He turns around to open it and hands you two cups without missing a beat in the conversation. “It’s kinda hard to explain. Maybe the best word I can use to describe it is…homey? I know you said you wanted more things in here, but I don’t really think items make a place feel like a home.”

“That’s way existential, Frankie.” You look up at him while filling each of y’alls glasses. “But, that does mean a lot since you’re my first guest.”

“Fuck off, no I’m not.” He says grabbing his drink.

You nod in confirmation while you take a sip of your water.

“What about your dad?”

“I actually go visit him. He’s in a retirement home, his own choice, but he had a stroke a little less than a month ago. It was bad enough to have him start physical therapy so he could retrain the muscles in his legs.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Fortunately, he’s doing better. He’s a stubborn old bastard that's for sure.”

“That’s good,” He holds out his glass to you. “Cheers to your dad and cheers for me being your first house guest.”

As you clink your glasses together you realize how much better the place feels with Frankie’s presence. The walls don’t look as bare. The sink's constant drip isn’t as loud. And the sunlight shines a little brighter through your perpetually cloudy glass windows.

“The place isn’t all bland.” He motions to the vase full of white lilies sitting on your small kitchen table. “Those are nice.”

“They didn’t have my favorite ones at the store when I went a few days ago,” you say as you walk over to smell them. “But aren’t these just beautiful?”

“Yes. Absolutely beautiful.”

Soft brown eyes meet yours when you shift your body to face him again. You can’t help but feel flustered under his intoxicating gaze.

“What?” There was no sun to explain away the heat radiating off your cheeks now.

“You have some pollen on your nose.” He takes his finger and points to his own. “Just there.”

“Aw fuck.” You rub off your nose as quickly as you can. Embarrassment courses through your veins as Frankie stays quiet and simply watches you. “Did I get it all?”

Pink lips part into a smile as he shakes his head at you. “It might be easier if I get it for you. Is that okay?”

“Y-yes.”

He sets his cup down on the counter behind him and starts walking the few feet over to you. As he closes the gap between y'all, he rubs his hands down the sides of his jeans. He looks so much taller when he’s this close. You try to focus on controlling your breathing as he raises his hand and lets it hover over your nose. As soon as he brushes the skin, your eyes flutter close at the sensation. His calloused hands caress you so delicately that you feel as if you are made of the finest of china. You only open them when you feel his touch leave your body. He’s staring down at you with pupils blown out.

“Is it-is it all gone?” You don’t know why you're whispering when he's standing right in front of you.

“You’re pollen free.” He whispers back.

Neither of you make a move to escape the close proximity. You watch his eyes slowly travel from your own eyes to your lip and back up again. You hope he can see by the way you’re looking at him that you’re begging for him to touch you, to kiss you. He takes a half step closer. His hand brushes against yours down at your side.

Honk! Honk! Honk!

Frankie closes his eyes like he's in agonizing pain and steps back from you. “I think your car’s ride is here.”

“Well umm,” You clear your throat. “I guess we shouldn’t keep your coworker waiting, huh?”

***

“So we got some bad news and we got some good news. The bad news is that it looks like one of your cylinders misfired and it’s going to be out of commission until it can be fixed. The good news is that we are having a slow day today so it should be fixed by this afternoon.”

“I really wish you would have led with the good news.”

“Where's the suspense in that?”

“Thank you again for helping me with this, Frankie.” The two of you exit the shop and stand in front of his truck. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Probably would have called some other loser who works in an auto body shop.” He shrugs.

“You’re not a loser.” You wrap your arms around your body. “At least not to me.”

“I uhh-thank you for saying that.”

You return his shrug with a soft smile.

“Did you want me too-umm-drop you off at the gym?” He checks his watch. “You’ve only missed about an hour and a half of your day.”

“No, don’t worry about it. Benny said I could take the day when I talked to him about what was going on this morning. I’ll probably uber home and find something to occupy myself with until my car is ready.”

Your stomach choses now to loudly make its presence known.

Frankie raises one of his eyebrows at you. “Have you eaten today?”

“I was planning on it, but then the universe decided that it wasn’t in the cards for me.”

“Want to go get breakfast? With me? I could eat.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I’ve already taken up so much of your time already! I don’t want to get you in trouble at work!”

“Oh, come on. Playing hooky isn’t fun when you do it by yourself. Plus, I’ve got some vacation time racked up that I can use for today

You knew your answer even before you spoke it. The opportunity to spend more time with him is one you would have to be crazy to pass up. It may not be a date, but it was a start. And everything has to start somewhere.

“Fine, but you’re driving.”

***

“Please tell me you didn’t call us here to help you close up, Benny.”

It was unusually quiet in the gym today. It wasn’t the lack of grunting from the weight lifters, or the obnoxious sounds coming from the washing machine, or even the chatter of patrons in between their boxing rounds. It was the lack of you. Benny thought that he could handle it just like before, but he was wrong. He found himself wandering up to the front desk to share each and every miniscule thought that popped into his head only to find it empty time and time again. You had completely enmeshed yourself into his daily routine and he didn’t notice until now. It seemed that even the guests noticed your absence. He found himself getting asked where you were or when you would be coming back. You did so much around the gym that he didn’t even realize and he cursed himself for taking you for granted. The next time you had car trouble he swore he would pick you up himself because he could do this alone. He couldn’t do this without his friend. But, that isn’t why he called them in.

“Yeah, what gives?” Pope adds to Will’s previous statement. “And where’s our girl?”

“Number one: no I didn’t call y’all to help me close. Number two: I gave her the day off because she was having car trouble and wouldn’t be able to make it in.”

It takes him assuring his friends multiple times and showing them your update texts for them to stop worrying about you.

“Alright that explains her, but where's Catfish?” Will presses.

Benny sighs deeply and walks around to sit in your empty chair. He closes his eyes and leans his head back before he answers his brother.

“He’s actually the reason why I called y’all over. I found out that he’s been talking to Rochelle again.”

“As much as we don’t fuckin’ like it, we knew that she texted him about getting back together.”

“You were there that night. This is old news.” Pope sounds annoyed, but Benny can’t track if it's aimed at him specifically or at the contents of the conversation.

“He’s been talking on the phone with her. I feel like thats a bit more serious than a fuckin’ text, Pope.”

Benny’s quick retort is enough to silence him, but Will starts panicking. An emotion that is just as foreign for him to feel as it is to see him display.

“No fuckin’ way, man. No fuckin’ way he would do that.”

“That’s what I thought too, but she overheard him talking with Rochelle when she saw him out a few weeks back. Why would she lie about that? She had no knowledge of Rochelle before then.”

“Fuck! FUCK!”

Will fists his hands behind his head and starts pacing around the gym lobby. The two other men can only stare as they watch him slowly unravel before their eyes. Pope was, and still is, Frankie’s best friend, but Will was the most affected by what happened. It’s his job to scrape vets off the street when they come back after tours, legal or not, and get them the help they need. What kind of man, what kind of friend is he that he let one of his own slip through his fingers? When the metaphorical shoe finally dropped and Frankie got busted, as much as Will wanted to say ‘I told you so’, he just held his hand through recovery. The feeling of being right was only second to seeing his friend get better. It took every ounce of strength Will, Pope, and Benny had to drag Frankie back into reality. Now that he is teetering on the edge again, Will is terrified that he doesn’t have enough left in him to save Frankie. Pope cuts in to attempt to stop Benny from causing Will to have another Publix level freakout.

“What exactly did she hear?”

“She just said that he got a phone call and he immediately tensed up when he saw who was calling. Then, when he answered, he said her name.”

“Let’s not lose our heads, boys.” Pope turns toward Will who is still pacing. “We don’t know the context of the phone call, alright? Rochelle was the one that called him, not the other way around.”

“Does it matter?! She like a fuckin’ drug to him!”

“You’re not fucking helping, Benny.” Pope seethes.

Will regains some control over his emotions and pilots himself over to the front desk.

“Pope is right. We don’t have all the facts yet.” He lets out a weighted sigh and white knuckles the edge of the desk. “Let’s just keep an eye on him and this situation until we know, for sure, what’s really goin’ on.”

The suffocating tension in the room is shattered when Benny’s phone chimes with a text.

You: My car is as good as new! Frankie and I even stopped to get some new air freshener scents for you to test out for the gym! See you tomorrow (:

“Ho-ly shit.” Benny lets out a low whistle.

“What?” The two other men speak in unison.

Benny just laughs to himself as he tosses Will the phone.

“Well would you look at that?” Will echoes his brother's tune.

“Let me see that, huh?” Pope snatches the phone and reads the message you sent. “So that's why that pendejo hasn’t been answering my texts all damn day. He’s with her!”

“That sneaky bastard!” Benny laughs. “Yall think he likes her? He’s got to, right?”

“You really should get someone else to fill in for you at the fights every now and then.” Will snickers, all tension gone from his body. “Of course he likes her. He told us last Friday.”

“I miss everything! Why didn’t anyone tell me?” He complains.

“Nevermind that.” Pope says as he returns the phone. “She might be the solution to our problem.”

How’d you reckon?” Will inquires.

“If we can get them together, there won’t be any room for Rochelle.”

“We aren’t pimpin’ her out, Pope. That’s fucked up.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “We aren’t pimping her out, dumbass. Not if she likes him back that is. I mean, come on, you saw the way she was looking at him when they shared that beer the other night.”

“They shared a beer?!”

“Not now, Benny.” Will hushes. “Damn straight I saw that.”

Pope turns to Benny who still looks in shock because of what he just learned.

“Can you do us a favor?”

“Anything if it means getting Rochelle out of the picture. Again.”

“Good man. Now we need you to keep your ears open for anything she says about Fish. We need to know where she stands before we do this and you’re the one that sees her everyday.”

“Hell yeah! I’m gonna be all over her!”

“Don’t be weird, Ben.” Will groan.

“Then it’s settled. When we figure out if she likes him or not…operation ‘catch-a-fish’ is a go.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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#francisco morales #frankie morales #catfish #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller #will miller #ironhead #santiago garcia #pope #through the scope #read on a03

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wayfaringhoax · 1 year

Text

Riddles

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Click here for part two

Word count: 12k+

Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts.

This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.

New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.

Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!

Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.

As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.

Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.

How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?

You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.

Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.

Sure, shit got real when you got older.

After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career.

Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.

Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.

You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.

On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.

Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.

An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking.

Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.

A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.

A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself.

A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.

Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him.

You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness.

Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available.

Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer.

Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control.

Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.

Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”

Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”

Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”

“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.

Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”

Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached?

You’d sign yourself up right now.

The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.

Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.

“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”

Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.

“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.

Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.

With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment.

Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence.

You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.

Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.

Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.

****

He’s struggling.

Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.

He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.

He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes.

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit.

And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel.

He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.

You were far too good for him.

He had baggage; struggles he was still working through.

You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him.

Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.

Yep, he needed to stay away from you.

Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.

There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.

It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.

Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.

A text message from you.

Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.

He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.

Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x

Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.

He sends his reply swiftly.

Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?

Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.

You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.

Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him?

Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response.

Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.

Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.

Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name.

Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut.

Get it together, Frankie. Get it together.

He found it a little harder to type his next words.

Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.

He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.

You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.

Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too.

The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you.

Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita.

The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.

Any guy, huh?

And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.

Even you?

Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.

Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.

Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles.

On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.

“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.

“Do you wanna come over?”

Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”

“Be there in 15.”

****

Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess.

What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.

You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie.

Is this really happening?

The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.

Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile.

He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there.

Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find.

And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.

His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now.

Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.

Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it.

When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic.

You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.

The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.

Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him.

He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty.

He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants.

Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard.

He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.

Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.

Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.

“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.”

How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?

By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death.

“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.

You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”

Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him.

And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs.

Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.

“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.

You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.

But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.

“On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”

Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back.

He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.

“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.

He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.

You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.

However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.

“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say.

“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation.

Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet.

He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.

You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.

But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win.

Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.

His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.

“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”

He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes.

Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you.

Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need.

After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing.

His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him.

“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.

Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”

And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed.

He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet.

Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair.

“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you.

And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.

“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.

He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away.

It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has.

You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.

“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”

“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard.

“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face.

You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm.

There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him.

One time isn’t enough.

He can’t give you up just yet.

****

The two of you soon get into a rhythm.

You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.

But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world.

The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.

You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.

Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.

Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering.

You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded.

One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture.

You start showering together, too.

The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom.

He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine.

On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day.

You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.

After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.

You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car.

Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.

You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did.

An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it.

It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good.

You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.

“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.

You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.

What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”

Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.

You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.

However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there.

You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed.

This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby.

He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different.

But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.

Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.

The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route.

The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.

You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.

Frankie was scared, too.

In fact, he’s worried.

You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety.

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.

He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.

However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter.

Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.

Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through.

Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes.

You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.

Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.

Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely.

Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.

Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X

It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight.

He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.

Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.

Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it.

Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.

You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on.

Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately.

Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship.

Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.

You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.

You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.

It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.

Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door.

You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.

After a few seconds, you succumb.

“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”

She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.

Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.

“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.

“Who is he?”

You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”

It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”

You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.

“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.

You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter.

Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.

It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy.

He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention.

But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.

I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?

And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.

You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options.

All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this.

Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends.

You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.

It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.

****

Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.

After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do.

He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.

Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact.

He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.

And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.

Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed.

It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex.

That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend.

Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn’t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.

So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.

The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out.

Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.

It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.

Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.

Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you.

You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.

There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick.

You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.

You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you.

Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

And you’ve got him.

Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.

When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast.

He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again.

And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?

Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place.

Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.

Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship.

Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends.

You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight.

Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.

His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy.

Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way.

As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.

Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up.

Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.

You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you.

He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again.

After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you.

“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.

After a beat of silence, he pushes again.

“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.

It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you.

Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves.

He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs.

When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?

Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better.

Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.

He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now.

“You know what I want.”, he says.

The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.

And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs.

You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.

His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.

A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin.

So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you.

Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him.

The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that.

“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.

And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind.

What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want.

And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.

Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave.

“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.

Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.

You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh.

“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.

You’re not ready.

“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads.

And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway.

This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication.

Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him?

By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out.

After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage.

As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache.

****

It’s not a secret that you miss him.

Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt.

You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’.

You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.

The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.

You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.

But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.

You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about.

It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover.

What would he say?

Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past?

Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?

You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.

And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress.

He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.

Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.

You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.

So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie.

As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him.

The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him.

Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.

Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.

Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week.

Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.

And you do, after a poignant pause.

“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come.

He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.

You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”

Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.”

He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.

You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”

Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure.

“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.

Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.

“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.

“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.

“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying.

“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.

“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”

He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.

“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.

Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.

Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.

“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.

It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.

But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.

Then, you go and throw him a curveball.

Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.

And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”

He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.

He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.

Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.

“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.

After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.

He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.

But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you.

And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.

You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.

Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something.

He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.

“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.

And he knows those last three words could scare you off.

Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful.

It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.

Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x female reader #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x female reader #frankie morales x f!reader

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romana-after-dark · 4 months

Text

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

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Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting. Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

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luxurychristmaspudding · 23 days

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watch | JM x FM x SG x f!Reader

summary: after showing frankie what he was missing, something seems to have been awoken in you all. with joel away on a contract and santi called out of town, you're left in frankie's care. except one rule still stands - you can't touch.

read part 1, listen, here BONUS: al's handy guide to reading watch

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. alright, buckle in. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, lil bit of softdom!reader and bratty!reader as well hehe. drinking, pet names (inc. little/baby girl, baby boy). rules get broken (surprise!), praise kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), exhibitionism, voyeurism, public fingering, blowjobs (m receiving and giving), rimming, mutual masturbation, phone sex, use of toys (f&m), consensual somnophilia, cumplay, edging, facesitting, anal fingering (m), mfm, anal sex (m receiving), tiny bit of breath play (not reader), light bondage, brief gagging, very high sex drives but who can blame them, once again so many orgasms i lost count, and in the immortal words of @thatredheadwriter, 'so much fluid exchange I think a hasmat team should probably go in to clean it up' reader wears dresses and has hair, but has no other descriptions. no use of y/n.

wc: 25k (i know, i'm so sorry)

an: many many many thanks to the peeps who waited an age for this. you've all been so patient and kind and i hope you enjoy! for @schnarfer, @swiftispunk, @5oh5 and @janaispunk who, without their constant encouragement and recommendation, this may not have happened at all <3 dividers as always from the wonderful @saradika-graphics

In the weeks that follow, you wait for the ball to drop.

You wait to feel weird about what the four of you did, for the kick of it, for Joel to reveal that he actually wasn’t that sold on it. You wait for a text or call from Frankie or Santi to say it was nice knowing you, but it was a little much, a little weird to see you around now.

It doesn’t happen.

You stay slotted into Joel’s life like you were always meant to be there. You stay over at his, he stays over at yours. You spend lazy Sunday mornings making waffles or pancakes and getting fucked dumb. He brings you flowers when work is hard, you rub his shoulders when he’s had a rough day on site. Your body is marked beneath your clothes with his bruises, the shape of his teeth, and his is marked by yours, the scratch of your nails traced delicately down his back.

You spend your time orbiting around each other, close and safe in the bubble you’ve built, warm and soft in the afternoon sunlight that streams through the curtains on your days off, eating in and eating out. He becomes more familiar than anyone else has ever been with the inner workings of your mind, the inner workings of your body. He introduces you to his brother, Tommy, and his wife, Maria. He talks about you to Sarah, and she says she’d love to meet you next time she’s home from college. He makes space for your books on his shelves, and your clothes find a way into his wardrobe; his squeeze into your drawers, a spare toothbrush for him in your bathroom. He kisses you, hot and open mouthed when he drops you off at work, does the same when you find his truck waiting outside for you when you’re done. He asks how the boys are when you come home from drinks with them, listens with sparkling eyes when you tell him Benny’s latest hookup is from the bar you used to work at, the place where they first met you. He chuckles and tells you he's glad Santi introduced the two of you when he did, before any of the others swooped in and took you for themselves.

Sometimes, you think he forgets about the night that Frankie asked you out, the conversations that followed. How close it could have been.

But that's naive of you. Naive of you to think that he doesn’t see, doesn’t seek out the claim that Frankie and Santi have also made on you. Because he knows. In some infuriating, impossible way, he always knows.

He shows you he knows one morning, when you have already been awake for what feels like hours, watching his broad chest rise and fall with deep, sleeping breaths.

You trace the curve of his nose with your eyes, the scruff of his beard, the way his curls have grown out. Luscious and thick, spattered with grey, curling down into the nape of his neck. His lips look so warm, so soft, that you’ve been challenging yourself, seeing how long you can go without kissing him awake. Seeing how long you can go with just remembering how they felt between your legs last night, wet with spit and your release as he soothed you through orgasm after orgasm, kissing your thighs, sucking marks into your soft flesh as he held you down with one thick palm braced against your belly, the other with its fingers gently pumping in and out of you. The deep timbre of his voice when you made yourself look at him, his praise, good girl, there she is, doin’ so good for me, sweet girl through your tears, as you begged him, begged him for something else, something more. More, daddy, you’d pleaded. You'd needed something thicker, something deeper. You always do.

You squirm beneath the sheets, pressing your thighs together. Try to think of anything else. The green of his bedroom walls, the boots you know will be at the end of the bed. His trinkets on the dresser - the watch Sarah bought (and fixed, many times) for him, the picture of him and his family at Tommy and Maria’s wedding, your clothes scattered about the floor, the chair in the corner of the room, the chair where he sat that night, as he watched, as he watched you -

You roll over onto your side to look away from it, squeezing your eyes shut, barely able to control your whimper. You’re slick between your thighs, too warm as your wetness mixes with the cum still drooling out of your cunt. You try and count his freckles instead, starting from his forehead to his cheekbones, down to his neck - his neck - his shoulder, the bite mark you left there as he spilled himself into you, the hand resting on his chest, his thick fingers, his fingers -

It’s no good. It’s no fucking good. He needs to rest, so you take a deep breath and steel yourself. Coffee. You’ll head downstairs, you’ll make coffee, and when he’s slept enough you’ll talk him through everything you’ve been thinking about, and he’ll make it better. Starting with his tongue.

You press your hands to the mattress as you start to raise your torso from the bed, and almost immediately at the shifting of your weight, Joel’s hand shoots out to grab you.

‘Where you goin’, pretty girl?’

You smile, smug. So he's awake. And you know, with his grip like this, you’ll get anything you want from him.

‘Coffee,’ you say, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to his soft lips. He returns it, eyes still shut, hand shifting from your forearm to your bicep, to your shoulder, to the back of your neck. He holds you there as he draws his tongue across the seam of your lips, and with a groan you let him in. The bristle of his moustache tickles as he licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth as his free hand skates between the sheets to skim over your bare thigh. You shift against him, bringing your calf over both of his legs. The movement brings his hand forwards, dipping between your legs to trace two fingers up through your drenched cunt. You moan loudly against him, and Joel chuckles.

‘Last night not enough for you, little girl?’

You hum against him, shaking your head. He retracts his fingers.

‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you.

‘No, da-’ you start, but as soon as your lips part he has his fingers on your tongue. On instinct, your eyes flutter shut and you suck them, swirling your tongue over the thick digits, savouring the taste of you both.

‘Rude to talk with your mouthful, sweet pea,’ he murmurs, ‘Somebody oughta fuck some manners into ya.’

With his fingers still in your mouth, Joel turns you onto your back, bracing himself away from you to watch you continue to suckle on his fingers. He pushes them further back, further, further, only to watch you begin to gag around him.

‘Good girl,’ he says, withdrawing them, spit-slick, before bringing them back to your pussy. He watches your face as he pushes them easily inside, the crease between your brows, the way your jaw slackens, the way your eyes widen as he curls them into your sweet spot. He nods, pleased. ‘Think you’re wet enough to take me already, baby,’ he says, swiping them over your clit. You jolt, moaning again at the feeling. ‘What do you think?’

‘Yeah, daddy,’ you sigh, ‘Ready for you.’

Joel chuckles.

‘Always so ready f'me, isn’t she, princess?’ He says, lining himself up at your entrance, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on him. He doesn’t expect an answer this time. ‘Yeah, always dripping for me, aren’t you? Poor baby girl. Poor baby girl and her messy little pussy.’

He feeds his cock to you slowly, so slowly. You whine and arch against him as he does, brain trickling away from you, already so given in to the sensation; mind deliciously blank, nails scratching at his forearms as he cages you in, thrusting deep, bottoming out. When he sees your eyes roll back, he picks up his pace smoothly, thrusting faster and harder, deeper. You moan out a long daddy, and he huffs in amusement.

‘Does daddy feel good, sweet girl?’

You gasp out a yes, fuck, daddy, and he hums in response.

'There she is,’ he says, ‘Didn’t need coffee, did ya, baby? Just wanted daddy. Just needed your daddy, hm?’ You nod furiously, tongue loosened by the heavy weight of him inside you, babbling away about how good he feels, how deep, how big he is. You lock your ankles around the bottom of his spine to pull him closer, and he groans, head dipping to yours. ‘Yeah,’ he breathes, ‘You take what you need, baby. Just wanna get fucked, huh? Woke up dreamin’ a me? Dreamin’ a me fuckin’ you full of my cum again, babygirl?’

You moan again, neck pulling taught as you arch further, pull him in deeper. The coil deep in your belly tightens, jaw clenching as you scratch at him, as you tug the hair at the nape of his neck.

‘Poor baby, can’t even get her words out,’ he coos, and like he wants to prove his point, he pushes even deeper, tip kissing your cervix, the bruising feeling making you gasp, making you plead, making you beg as you try and move your hips away from him. He brings his hand away from your face to your waist, keeping you in place.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he smiles, rocking in and out of you again, ‘I know you can take it, just relax f'me. That’s a good girl. I know it’s big but you can take it.’

You clench around him, painfully, try to mumble out how close you are, but you can’t even summon the words. In this room, he is all you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel. The slickness of it, the heat, the burning pleasure rising inside you as you writhe beneath him.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he murmurs, ‘You’re close already, huh?’ You hum, body tight, so close, so close, head so empty. ‘Yeah, you are. Fuck, love when you get all stupid on me like this. You like getting fucked dumb on daddy’s cock, baby? Can you feel me all the way in here, sweetheart?’ he asks, moving the hand on your waist to press against your lower stomach. You clench harder as he presses down, the coil tightening, spiralling, and you’re right there - ‘Wish you could fuckin’ see yourself right now, baby. Wish you could see how pretty ya look getting fucked. You like being watched, don’t ya, darlin’? Yeah. Want Santi and Francisco to watch again, baby?’ You gasp at his words, surprised, vision blurring, hurtling towards your climax, the build up scorching, impossibly long. ‘Sure you do. Or d'you want Santi to fuck you again, make you scream his name while he’s inside you, huh?’

Fuck, okay. Okay -

‘Yes, daddy -’ you breathe, pussy fluttering around him, the beginnings of your orgasm.

‘Santi? Or is it Frankie, baby? You want his mouth on you, want to feel him stretch you open? He’s big, isn’t he? Wanna see how he feels, if he fits like me?’

He is, you remember, he is, and you could try. If you can take Joel, you can take Frankie, and oh, what a thought -

Your body pulls tighter, aching, painful, and you cry out.

‘Shit -’ you moan, ‘Shit, Joel, I’m -’

‘Come, babygirl,’ he tells you. ‘Come all over my cock, princess. Get it nice and wet, just how daddy likes it.’

You burst aflame beneath him with a shout, body jerking as you hiss and gasp, gripping him to you as he fucks you through it. You whimper with every thrust as he keeps talking through gritted teeth, thrusting harder.

‘Yeah, that’s it. So sweet, baby. Good fuckin’ girl. You want them again, darlin’? Want to play with 'em? Want to watch 'em play with your daddy?’

A needy whine slips past your lips as you picture it; Frankie on his knees, Santi on all fours, and you grow even wetter at the thought, the slick of your orgasm and Joel’s words making the prettiest noises.

‘She likes that,’ Joel says, almost to himself, ‘Yeah, she likes that. Dirty girl. Dirty girl, wanting all three of us, wanting to watch, hm? Wanna touch, baby? Wanna see how it feels?’ He looks so fucked out on top of you that even you’re not sure if he knows what he’s saying, what he’s asking you. But you gasp out a yes anyway, something warm and quick trickling up your spine, tightening your cunt again.

‘Another one,’ he grunts, ‘Another one, darlin’, and I’ll give you what you want.’

You don’t need to be told twice. Your second orgasm rips through you lightning fast and white-hot, so good that you hear ringing in your ears, so tight that Joel stutters inside of you, groaning, breathing your name as he pumps and spills and twitches. You’re both breathing so heavily that it’s all you can do to lie there, licking your lips as Joel pulls out with a moan and flops beside you. A breathless little giggle escapes your parted lips.

Joel reaches across your body and tugs you by the arm until you’re nestled into his side. Too hot, too breathless, but you breathe him in all the same, tracing patterns on his chest.

The room is quiet as you both come down from your highs, your eyes falling closed as Joel presses a kiss to your hairline. Your brain tries its best not to think, not to read into it, but even through the exhaustion, his words come back to you.

Watch, touch.

You have to know. You have to ask, now, want to know, want it, want it, want it -

‘Do you - do you want to do it again?’ You stutter.

Joel puffs out a laugh to the ceiling.

‘You’re gonna have to give me at least ten minutes, baby.’

You laugh and nudge his side with your fist.

‘No,’ you smile, ‘No. The - the thing you said, about that night -’

He raises an eyebrow, and you bare your teeth awkwardly.

'You know - that night.'

‘Mm?’ Tease.

You lean further onto his chest and take his skin gently between your teeth. You nip, and he relents. You lean back slightly to look at him.

Joel smiles at you, crooks his head so he can nibble at your ear lobe.

‘Baby, I’d love to.’

The sound that leaves your lips is obscene, and you don’t care. Fuck, the thought of it. The three of them together, the four of you together.

‘All we gotta do is send the text,’ he says, ‘Could send it now and they’d be here in the hour.’ He chuckles. One of his hands moves down to your thigh, hooking it over his hip before moving to your ass to rock you against him. You groan into his shoulder. Your next question leaves your lips before you can even stop it.

‘Did you - did you mean what you said, about you and Santi and Frankie?’ You ask. It sounds clumsy, almost like you shouldn’t be asking. Fuck, maybe you should have waited for him to bring it up. You tense, waiting for his reaction.

Joel opens his eyes again with a small smirk, peeking down at you down his aquiline nose. His movements still.

‘Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’

You draw a quick breath and hold him closer. You won’t ask anymore questions. Try to push away thoughts of what Joel could do with his hands, his mouth, his cock, of what the two other men could do with theirs, what it would be like to watch, what it would be like to feel -

‘I’ve never… I’ve never done it before.’ Joel says, quietly.

You pull back from his chest and watch him watch you. His dark eyes are honest, wary, and a question forms on your lips. He said he had been with multiple people in the past, it was something he’d done, something he was clear he had enjoyed -

‘With a man. I’ve never… done anything with a guy.’

Your stomach swoops at his nervousness. You feel your brow crease, a hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

‘That’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘That’s… I didn’t realise, that’s all. ‘M sorry if I pushed you.’

Joel shakes his head. He hums beneath you, a deep rumble in his chest.

‘Y’didn’t. You ain’t.’

You stroke your thumb along the patches of his beard.

‘Do you… want to talk about it?’

Joel closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath.

‘I’ve thought about it. For a while. Watching people, watching you. I’m… curious.’

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

‘That’s normal, baby,’ you whisper, ‘So normal.’

Your mind flashes back, back to how tender he was with you, with Frankie. His warmth towards Pope as the four of you cleaned up afterwards, as you dressed in the comfiest clothes you could find. The way his eyes lingered on your body, Santi’s body, Frankie’s, the curiosity you glimpsed as you snacked and rehydrated, the goodbyes as they slipped out the door.

It makes sense.

And it’s even better to know that all this time you’ve been imagining it, he has, too.

‘I’d like to try it,’ he says, blinking at you. ‘With them. With you. If that’s okay?’

You clutch his face tighter, tender, warmth blooming in your chest at his trust. You smile wide at him, and he visibly relaxes. Tears threaten in your eyes.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘Yes. Of course it is. I… it’d be more than okay.’

He swallows.

‘You sure?’

You untangle yourself from him as much as possible, but he keeps an iron grip on your waist. You settle on your elbow.

‘Of course I’m sure, baby,’ you soothe, ‘Of course I am. I’m glad you told me. It’d be - it’d be an honour - it’s very brave of you to -’

Joel cuts you off with a snort, pulling you roughly back against him. He holds you tight within his grasp.

‘Very brave -’ he chuckles.

‘It is,’ you insist, muffled against his chest, ‘It is, and if there’s anything you want to try -’

He pulls you up so your face is level with his, and shuts you up with a firm kiss. And when you lick him a little while later, tongue pressed up, pressing in to his tight ring of muscle, you find that there is plenty he wants to try.

And plenty you want to help him with.

———

Will greets you first at the bar that evening, and you quickly lose yourself to the rhythm of the night.

The five of you are tucked back into your usual booth, bottles and glasses crowding the table, the noise of other patrons bringing you closer together, knees knocking, hands over forearms to claw yourself further into the conversation. You talk for hours, work tales being swapped, gossip about old friends, former lovers. Will and Benny seem particularly interested in your romance with Joel, and you happily fill them in, telling them about the barbeque you had round Tommy and Maria’s, how you’re meeting Sarah next time she’s home from college, and how Joel will be away on a contract next week. Frankie and Santi listen in with gleaming eyes, half-smiles of their own, sharing secrets across the table that only you are privy to. It makes your stomach tighten, your panties damp.

And the way Frankie watches you, it’s like he knows.

Seats are switched throughout the night after bathroom breaks and drinks collections, but Pope always finds a way to be close to you - a hand on your thigh, a squeeze of your palm, the press of his shoulder against yours. He stacks a small pile of peanuts on the table between the two of you, hidden behind a glass, and at any opportune moment you can, you take turns flicking them at Will or Benny. With every small, yellow projectile that smacks against their chests, arms, sometimes even faces, Frankie racks up a tally on a napkin. The game is all but lost when Benny looks at up the ceiling and asks in disbelief whether it’s raining fucking peanuts, and you and Santi collapse into fits of giggles. Benny stares at you in blank confusion, furthered by Will’s growing rumble of laughter - until he finally fixes stoic Frankie with a betrayed look, noticing the tally half-hidden by his palm, and cries out an accusatory -

‘Is that you?’ Which sends Frankie over the edge, too.

When places switch again, Will makes sure to gather you in a headlock in his strong arms and grind his knuckles roughly into your scalp. You yelp with laughter, giggling against each other, sinking into the dirty leather as Will muses on how much of a bastard you are, wondering out loud how your skills as a former bartender allowed you to outsmart ex-Delta Force operators.

Frankie watches with his usual boyish charm, his eyes crinkling at the edges, warm and molten and wanting when they meet yours. Your tongue burns with the things you want to tell him, with what you and Joel had discussed, eventually in great detail, in bed at home. But you bite the words back, knowing what is and what isn't yours to share. Instead, you lean into Santi’s touch, scraping your nails along his jeans until he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, biting his lip in a wicked grin. He excuses himself soon after, and with his departure, Benny calls for a round of pool.

He’s already slipping out of the booth before you can protest, Will following closely behind. Frankie steps out, too, rounding your side and holding out a hand for you. You accept it, stepping out in front of him so you’re pressed chest to chest. He lifts his palm to your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to your hairline. You press his bicep in thanks before turning back to the table, hinging at your hips to grab both his drink and yours, taking extra care to subtly grind your ass into his crotch. His palm comes to rest at the top of your thigh, holding you there for just a moment, before moving to your waist. You turn back to him. He leans in close.

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do to us tonight, hermosa,’ he breathes into the conch of your ear, ‘But it’s working.’

You grin at him as he moves his hand from your waist to the plush flesh of your ass, squeezing gently before letting go. You take a sip from your beer, reaching up to take the cap from his curls and nestling it backwards on your own head.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

His answering smile is dirty, thrilling, and he follows you as if on a leash to the pool table the brothers have secured.

Santi joins you soon afterwards, his cheeks a little flushed, a fresh drink in his hand. You’re split off into the most unfair teams possible; Will, Benny, and Frankie taking one cue, and you and Pope with the other. Frankie racks up the balls with swift, deft movements, taking the cue easily in his massive hands, the wood resting between his thick fingers. You feel your body warm as you watch him, still wearing his cap, trying to squeeze your thighs together inconspicuously. You bring your cool bottle to your neck as Pope winds an arm around you, letting his hand settle at your hip, stroking and pinching the flesh there. You don’t look at him, but you sigh deeply, and he lets his head knock against yours, pleased. With Frankie shooting first, there’s no great rush to grab your cue and be prepared.

You watch as he pots ball after ball, mouth curving in a playful scowl as he shoots you a grin after each one, moving around the table with so much grace and ease that it starts to make you a little dizzy. Benny and Will cheer him on with loud hoots and shouts, and Pope makes sure the two of you boo him like a pantomime villain with every flick of his wrist. When he finally fails to sink a shot, Pope passes you the cue, and you take your time lowering yourself to press your chest to the green felt, inhaling deeply. You’re warm, relaxed, a little buzzed, more than a little horny. You wiggle your ass a little, and Will laughs, shouting something about how your distraction technique won’t work, and he’s right. It quickly backfires when Frankie sweeps around the table, pressing one half of his body over yours as he directs you on how to hold the cue, how to position it, how to cradle it in your fingers like he does. When he’s sure you’ve got it, he breathes into your ear for you to pull your elbow back with just the right amount of leverage, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that break out along your neck and shoulder.

‘You’re ready,’ he whispers, and just as you begin to snap your wrist forwards, he presses his firm cock into your thigh.

Your quick inhale stutters your movement, and you watch as the tip of the cue just catches the edge of the ball, sending it spinning off into a barren corner of the table. You stand and spin to Frankie.

‘You asshole!’ you cry, indignant and hot, pointing a finger at him as he snatches his cap back from your head and retreats. ‘You - jogged me!’ Frankie spreads his hands in front of him, pouting, his bulge only just covered by the front of his button up.

‘I tried my best.’ He grins.

‘Don’t worry about it, kid,’ Will calls from the other side of the table, ‘Fish is known for being good with his hands. Even when he uses them for evil.’

The men laugh as Frankie flushes, knocking his fist into Will’s belly. Despite yourself, you laugh with them, enjoying watching him flustered as Will gasps out his laughter. Pope leans in close to whisper in your ear.

‘Good with his mouth, too.’ And all the air is sucked from your lungs as you feel your own face heat. Santi laughs louder next to you, taking the cue from your hands so you can grasp your bottle instead. You watch as Benny misfires, then Pope, still giggling at his own joke, before Frankie takes over again, sinking each one until only the white remains. Not that you notice, finding yourself now caught up in the way he bites and wets his lips, how plush they look, how they’d feel pressed to your thighs, your tits, your clit -

Benny snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, waving you back to reality.

‘Ground control to Major Loser,’ he grins, ‘Frankie whooped your ass, in case you weren't paying attention. It’s your round.’

You scoff playfully at him, whirling on your heel back towards the bar, but not before catching Pope’s eye again as he smirks at you, leaning against the table next to Frankie.

You flip them off as you work your way through the crowd.

When Frankie parks his truck outside Joel’s, all the lights in the house are off.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, and Frankie eyes the front door a little warily, eyes narrowing at the distance between. You giggle at him.

‘Frankie, baby, the boogeyman is not going to get me in the space between your truck and the door.’

He frowns at you all the same before unbuckling his own seatbelt and jumping out the driver’s side. You roll your eyes at him as he bounds round the front of the truck, swinging your door open and helping you out. He grins at you.

‘I know,’ he says, ‘I know, just - let me do it. Humour me.’

He swings your hands between you as you walk up the front yard, and you try to stifle your giggles as you slot the spare key into the lock. It’s unlike Joel to not wait up for you, but you’d made sure to tucker him out before you’d left. You’re glad he’s finally getting the rest he needed.

The door swings open in front of you into yawning darkness, and Frankie gives your hip a squeeze.

‘You’re sure Joel’s home?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you nod, flicking the hallway light on. ‘He’s probably just asleep. It’s late, and -’

‘You probably spent the first half of the day making him see God, I suppose.’ He finishes for you. You smack his chest when you see his shit-eating grin, but aren’t able to wipe your own from your lips.

‘Obviously.’ You smirk.

Frankie laughs quietly as you shut the front door behind him, letting his hands wander from your hip to your waist, up and down the span of your back, pulling you towards him. You can still feel him, warm and half hard against you, and a soft moan slips from your mouth in response to his small grind. He smiles again, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull to his chest as he rocks you back and forth, letting you feel everything while having nothing. Your own hands clutch at his shirt, shifting it higher so you can splay your palms over his bare abdomen. He looks down at you with soft, lazy eyes, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re going to kiss him. And when he leans in to whisper in your ear, you’re sure you’re going to wake Joel up and beg for him to take the two of you now. But instead, Frankie asks in a whisper -

‘Do you think Joel’d mind if I used his bathroom?’

You snort a laugh, pushing yourself away from him, and he giggles back at you.

‘Of course not,’ you say, pointing off down the hallway. ‘Just up there. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’

He salutes as he backs away, almost knocking into the bannister of the stairs, and you have to clap your hands over your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. You step quietly into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water, but only get as far as reaching up into the cupboard when there are soft footsteps behind you. You grin, about to tease Frankie for not being able to find the bathroom on his own before warm, calloused hands are on you. Shameless, needy, groping up your top, tugging your bra down, cupping your breasts, tweaking your nipples.

Your body goes quickly liquid at the familiar touch, all smart quips dying in your throat as Joel ruts against you from behind, the weight of his hard cock hot and firm against your ass, barely disguised by his grey sweatpants. Your hands come to grip at the countertop, and you try to get the words out to tell him not now, Frankie’s here, but all that escapes is a moan.

‘’M glad you’re home, baby,’ he growls in your ear, fingers making quick work of your button and zipper. ‘Missed you. Dreamed of you. Did ya miss me, too?’ as he tugs your jeans down to the tops of your thighs.

‘Joel -’ you breathe, but you’re too slow, unable to process anything beyond the fingers he dips into your panties. Usually you love him like this, swaddled in sleep, desperate to bury himself inside you, and you’d let him take you anywhere, but not right here, not right now. Your body continues to betray you, pulsing out more of the slick that has kept your underwear damp all night - the touches beneath the table, the pressure of Frankie’s cock against your thigh during pool, him pressed up against you in the doorway. Everything you’d done with Joel earlier in the day, the way he’d come apart with your tongue and your fingers, the way he’d eaten you to the point of tears, all coming together to show him how you glisten in the low light of the kitchen. The two of you are insatiable, and he groans against you, offering you his fingers to suckle as he pulls the waistband of your panties down to join your jeans. You try to mumble out around him again - Joel, wait - but he’s too fast as he sinks himself inside of you, and every thought, every word, is wiped from your brain.

He sets a punishing pace from the off, and you take it easily, cheek pressed into the marble, head turned away from the door as you drool and whimper around him. The thick, heavy slide of his cock, covered in your slick, the wet sounds, the soft moans and pants that ricochet around the kitchen, and when he swirls a finger around your clit, your own sharp gasp heaves you to life.

‘Joel, wait - Frankie - Frankie’s here -’

But it’s too late, far too late, you realise, when you turn your head to the other side to find Frankie already stood in the entryway, leant against the frame like he’s been silently engaging you in casual conversation. Except he looks ravenous.

Joel groans from above you, tip kissing your cervix as he pumps in and out, fingers twitching over your clit to feel you tighten around him.

‘I know, baby,’ he groans, ‘He’s watchin’. See how he’s watchin’ you?’

It’s almost impossible to look, to watch Frankie take you in. The throb of Joel’s cock inside you, his fingers, the tightening knot that threatens to burst already, it’s making it hard to keep your eyes open.

‘That what you want, hermosa?’ Frankie asks.

You nod furiously against the marble, biting back a sob as your knees begin to give way, as you tighten, tighten, tighten, as your core locks down, your pussy growing hotter and wetter. Fuck, all that thinking, all that teasing means the build up has happened so impossibly fast, and you stumble towards the edge of the cliff already, aching for the fall.

‘Just like we said, huh?’ Joel hums. ‘You wanna be watched, don’t ya, baby girl?’

‘Yes - daddy -’ you choke out, and he hums again, this time speaking to Frankie.

‘Hear that? Want you to watch. Be a good boy, and watch.’

Frankie nods quickly, every bit the soldier; his jaw set, eyes black, curls peeking out from under his cap. In this moment, he doesn’t look like your Frankie. He looks cool, almost detached if not for the burning of his eyes. And he watches every movement, every part of your skin Joel touches, everything that is revealed to him, like he’s trying to commit it to absolute memory. The sounds, the way Joel’s cock glistens as it stretches out of you, the breath that is punched from your lungs as he pushes back in. It’s like it’s the first time he’s seen this happen.

But then, you realise, it is.

This is the quiet, obedient Frankie who kneeled behind the door. The Frankie who didn’t move an inch, the Frankie who could do nothing but listen as the three of you fucked each other. The Frankie who curled himself over your hand as he came, hot shocks of arousal and humiliation rocking his body. And now, he gets to watch.

But oh, how you wish he could touch. How you wish he’d come closer, away from the doorframe, how you wish he’d run his hands over your body, undress you, hold you, lick and suck and kiss you, how he could fuck your mouth as Joel fucked your tight cunt until your throat was raw, how you’d take him so deep, as deep as you could, until there would be nothing left, nothing more for you to feel or think about than what went on beyond the two men and you. You watch as his eyes rake over Joel, over you. How they track every movement, the curl of Joel’s fingers against your clit, how you gasp and choke, how Joel grits his teeth as he pounds into you, getting close now, feeling you tighten and leak and flutter around him, bunching your shirt up your back so he can press a hot kiss to your spine.

‘Give it to me,’ he groans, ‘Give it to me, baby, come on. You’ve got it, you can do it. Come for me.’

You heave a broken, high pitched whine at his words, and Frankie’s eyes snap to yours. His lips part in a breath, his only visible reaction, but it’s enough. Like the command has slipped from his lips too, your vision whitens and your back arches, fingers scrabbling against the smooth surface beneath you as you constrict so tightly around Joel you can feel the way you have to stretch again to take him in.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Such a good girl. So pretty, baby, so good. Now, tell me - tell me where you want it -’

You moan again, eyes flicking back to Frankie when they roll from the back of your skull. The thought crosses your mind, but you can’t find the words, can’t feel your legs, only the grip of Joel's fingers as he changes tack - ‘Tell me, or I’ll decide.’

You gasp out a fuck, forehead pressed against the counter, trying to decide whether you’re brave enough to say it, brave enough to ask -

‘Please -’

But it doesn’t come from you. You roll your head on the marble to find Frankie stepping slowly into the kitchen, cheeks pink, chest rising and falling quickly.

‘I can - let me help -’ Fuck. Fuck. You try to twist to gauge Joel's reaction, but his mind is made up so quickly you only get the chance to feel desperately empty before he tells Frankie to kneel.

The younger man drops to his knees beside you m, in front of Joel, chest heaving now, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously - and you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him so bad, but the thought is quickly whisked away as Joel steps closer, fisting his thick cock in his hand.

‘You want this?’ He grits. Frankie nods eagerly, transfixed by the man above him, eyes flicking between Joel’s and the swollen head of his cock, soaked with your slick and cum, dribbling the precursor of Joel’s own release. ‘Show me.’

Frankie’s mouth falls open instantly, his tongue sliding past his lips to welcome the tip of Joel’s cock. You moan, knees finally giving out, landing next to Frankie. He doesn’t take his eyes off Joel.

The older man gasps out a curse at the sight, before ropes of thick, milky cum spurt from his tip onto Frankie’s tongue, filling his mouth, weaker pulses landing on his chin as Joel squeezes the last of his release out. You tear your eyes from Frankie to the man above you, the way he pants, eyes aflame, jaw slack.

‘Swallow.’

You whip back round to Frankie to see his throat bob as he follows the instruction, and he opens his mouth again to show Joel that he’s done exactly as he asked.

‘Good boy,’ he drawls, swiping a thumb against his chin to collect the remnants of his spend before offering it to you. You open your mouth just as eagerly, but Joel seems to think twice. He spreads it across one cheek, and then the other, painting you, before placing the digit firmly on your tongue, allowing your tongue to lathe the taste of him from the pad. Frankie leans towards you, and then you feel his tongue, warm and wet against your cheek, licking away at the cum that Joel spread there. Joel chuckles at him.

‘Desperate for more.’

Frankie hums against you, tongue now flicking at the corner of your lips. Joel raises an eyebrow at you.

‘What are you waiting for, sweetheart?’ he purrs, ‘Show Frankie how well he did.’

You twist your head to Frankie’s, one hand going to the back of his head, fisting his curls, the other tracing the waistband of his jeans, eager fingers feeling the warm skin there, trying to touch further, trying to reach him. You lick into his mouth, tongue grazing his teeth as you palm him over the denim, and he moans against you. You retract your hand from his curls and start at his fly before a sharp, trilling noise makes you flinch back. His phone rings in his back pocket.

‘Ignore it, don’t worry about it,’ he says, pulling you back towards him, his mouth soft and urgent against yours, your fingers clumsy at the front of his jeans, twisting in the material, against metal, and fuck -

‘Why do you have so many fucking buttons?’

He laughs, breathy, exasperated into your hair.

‘It’s the - it’s the fucking style - there’s no zipper, it’s just buttons -’

You giggle as well, the ringing of his phone chiming off as you hear Joel say ‘just buttons?’ from behind you.

You manage to get two undone before his phone begins to ring again, and this time he breaks the kiss to drag it out off his pocket and silence it. He glances at the screen, hisses a fuck, and bites his bottom lip. You stall your movements, frowning at him.

‘You okay?’

‘One sec -’

He declines the call, but you see he’s missed messages as well. His brow pulls tighter as he reads them, and he scrubs an irritated hand over his face before looking back at you, his eyes dark, apologetic, pissed off.

‘I gotta go,’ he says, forehead knocking against yours before he’s wobbling to his feet, breathless, ‘I gotta - it’s Benny, I don’t know - I don’t know what it is, but -’ His phone pings with another text, and he breathes out a fuck’s sake. ‘I’m sorry -’

‘Hey,’ Joel says softly, and you look back up at him. He still looks as wrecked as before, but he’s straightened himself out and his gaze is softened by concern. Without looking, he holds a hand out to pull you up off the floor, and you gratefully accept, pulling up your jeans. ‘It’s okay, really, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry - what’s happened?’

Frankie relaxes, exhales.

‘Bar fight. Benny and Will were still there when we left. Looks like Benny’s managed to piss the wrong people off.’ he pauses. ‘Again.’

Joel chuckles, lands a hand on his shoulder.

‘Got a little brother just like it. You want us to come with?’

Frankie looks from you to Joel, and shakes his head.

‘No,’ he smiles, ‘Thanks, that’s alright. Can’t be getting distracted on my way there. Won’t be much help in jail.’

You grin at him, straightening his shirt, his curls, and he lets you fuss. You swipe your thumb at the corner of his mouth, and he flushes.

‘Are you sure?’ You ask.

He huffs a laugh, adjusting himself through his jeans, and you pout a little at his discomfort.

‘No,’ he admits, ‘But I’ll be alright. Honestly.’

‘Okay,’ you say, ‘Okay.’

He smiles again, dipping to kiss your cheek before shyly, hesitantly doing the same to Joel. You watch the smile that blooms across the older man’s lips before you find yourself mirroring it.

‘I’ll walk you to your truck.’ Joel says. Frankie nods gratefully, and you hum as Joel squeezes your waist before heading towards the front door.

‘See you next time, baby.’ You murmur to Frankie.

‘Next time.’ He whispers back, grinning and turning to follow Joel. He makes it to the open doorway before you remember.

‘Frankie -’ you call, and he turns, framed by the night behind him. You make a motion at your crotch, and he cocks his head at you. ‘Buttons.’ You stage-whisper, and he laughs as he adjusts himself, refastening the two you managed to get undone.

‘See you soon, hermosa,’ he says softly, and you smile as he follows Joel out to his truck.

You can’t sleep.

You’d bored quickly of tossing and turning, Joel dead to the world beside you, and had slunk downstairs for a glass of water. There’s a niggling feeling in your chest, something left unsatisfied. Guilty that, yet again, Frankie had not been given what he deserved, guilty that you hadn’t had time to see it through. And you just want to know if he’s okay, if he’s safe. You shoot him a text, leant against the marble he had watched you get fucked over less than two hours ago. Just a quick hey, are you okay?

You bite at your thumb, tap out another one - did you get home safe? He replies almost instantly.

Hey. I did. All good. I’m great. Had a great time

Then -

Thank you

You chew your lip a while, frowning, trying to work out if you believe him or not. God, texting sucks. Maybe you should call. You should call, just to check, even though he stayed, even though he watched, even though he said yes, even with the text -

But Frankie takes the decision from you with the next message, a voicenote minutes long. You wind yourself up for whatever it could possibly be, but nothing prepares you for the breathy moan that emanates loudly from your phone, so surprised that you almost drop the device. It’s followed by another, and the slick sound of what you can only assume to be Frankie’s fist fucking his cock, filtered through his quick, hot breaths. You close your eyes in rapt attention, dropping a hand to cup your sex as you listen to him whimper, as you listen to him whisper how good it feels, how he wants you, how he can still taste Joel in his mouth, how he’s about to come, how he’s coming -

It takes you an embarrassingly short amount of time to follow him, chest heaving against the cool marble of the counter top, legs shaky as you stand up right.

There’s not a peep from upstairs. You decide to let Joel sleep this one out.

You’ll send him the audio in the morning.

———

Work is slow, and is only sped up by being, in Joel’s words, an insufferable tease.

You’d bounded around the bedroom this morning, still secretly thrilled with the voicenote from last night, not heeding Joel’s pleas to come back to bed as he watched you don his favourite matching set, stockings, a tight little pencil skirt and blouse, before pressing a deep, lingering kiss to his mouth and floating out the door to work. You made sure to send him a pretty little picture of your dripping cunt on your lunch break, quickly followed by Frankie’s voicenote, and to your delight, receive a video of him coming hard in return.

You bite your lip, squirming at your desk, sure you’ll soak through your skirt when he sends you a follow up message soon after.

You got plans tonight?

No? You shoot back.

Good. Stay free, baby

And oh, you don’t plan on being anything but before he leaves tomorrow.

———

When you get home from work, Joel is waiting.

Waiting conspicuously in a pressed white dress shirt and slacks, a couple buttons undone so you’re greeted with the warm sight of his chest as he opens the door. He looks… divine. And he smells just as good, too. You press your lips to his quickly.

‘You look gorgeous,’ you smile, palm against his chest, one hand on his cheek to smooth the hair of his moustache. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Come upstairs,’ he says, smiling. ‘I wanna show you something.’

You raise an eyebrow, all manner of possibilities flashing through your mind before you drop your bag in the hallway and take his outstretched hand.

With one hand on your hip and another over your eyes, Joel guides you towards the bed. His fingers are warm and clammy over your eyelids, and you giggle as you both stumble forwards, the shadow of a bitten laugh trickling into your ear from behind you.

‘What are you doing?’

‘One more second, ‘n you’ll find out.’

Joel brings you to a gentle stop before positioning you at just the angle he wants before taking his hand away from your face. He chuckles to find your eyes still squeezed shut.

‘Open your eyes, baby.’

You blink them open, taking a long moment to realise what it is he’s showing you.

Laid out on the bed is a beautiful short and silken black dress.

A short breath bursts from your lips as you step forwards to take the hem delicately in your fingers.

‘Joel…’ you whisper, accusatory. It feels like water, so luxurious beneath your fingertips that you want to scold him for buying it. But when you turn and find his eyes bright, excited, soft, the guilt dies easily in your chest. ‘It’s beautiful.’

He shrugs, trying to disguise how pleased he is with your reaction.

You step back towards him, taking his face in your hands, pressing kisses anywhere you can.

‘Thank you,’ you murmur, ‘Thank you, baby, thank you. You really didn’t have to, but thank you.’

He scoffs lightly against your lips, hands gripping your hips again.

‘’Course I did,’ he grins. A dirty, secret little thing. ‘You needed something to wear for tonight.’

A worry tugs in your chest. Tonight? Have you forgotten something? Fuck - should you have bought him something, too? It can’t be the anniversary of anything, you haven’t even -

As though he’s read your thoughts, Joel pulls you closer, one hand drifting lower to palm your ass.

‘We’re going on a date.’

‘A date?’

Mhm, he hums against your mouth.

‘Surprise date.’

‘You bought this for a date?’

You give him your most serious look, head tilted, movements stilled. Pink flushes up from beneath his shirt collar.

‘Yeah, darlin’. Special dress for a special girl.’

You frown a little.

‘Where are we going where I’ll need to dress like that?’

Joel bites his lip.

‘Nice restaurant. We’re all getting dressed up.’

‘All?’

Joel extracts himself from your fingers, moving to fix his slicked back hair.

‘Joel. All?’

He shrugs again, looks at you over his shoulder in the mirror.

‘I had some help choosing the dress.’

Fuck. Fuck. Heat flashes between your thighs so quickly that you sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. Joel smirks at you through the glass as you try and regulate your breathing. Your heart thrums in your chest as the thoughts clash through your head - Frankie on his knees behind the door, his wide, hungry eyes, Frankie on his knees in front of Joel, the drip of your cunt onto the floor, the full, overwhelming feeling of Joel claiming you after Santi, Santi’s fingers on your jaw, you look at your daddy when you come for me -

Joel squats down in front of you, his knees popping, two fingers lifting your chin.

‘Need to get ready, sugar,’ he drawls, ‘Rude to keep the boys waiting.’

You suck in a hot breath, eyes glazed, body warm and fluid already.

‘Are - are they coming back here?’

‘Not tonight,’ he murmurs. ‘Want you to myself before I head out in the morning.’

He stands as you blink up at him, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth

‘Soon, baby,’ he reassures, ‘You’ll have us soon.’

———

Joel holds your hand as you descend the marble steps into the sunken restaurant. It’s gorgeous - classy - maybe a little too much, but you can’t find the wherewithal to care when he leads you to your table. Frankie and Santi are already seated and looking equally as handsome. They stand as you approach, Frankie flushing as he takes you in, kissing your cheek, Pope letting out a low whistle as he does the same.

You talk over glasses of wine, nibbles of bread, and your starter course; conversation often interrupted by anecdotes and jokes and observations of other patrons that definitely could have waited til later. Joel fills the boys in on the contract he’ll be away on up in Tulsa until late next week, and Pope says he will be flying back to Colombia for a few days to straighten out a couple loose ends with his last contract. You frown at him, having not been aware of this most recent development, but he’s quick to assure you that it is just that. Paperwork and documents he needs to ensure can be sealed away, picking up a couple of things from the Embassy, catching up with a couple of old colleagues, and then heading home. The boys never really talk about exactly what went down those years ago when they lost Tom, and frankly you’re not sure if you want to know. From what they have said, it was rash, greedy, and all but fucked from the start. Not something you’re particularly keen on imagining. But you’re glad that, this time, he’ll be safe and keeping away from it.

Joel and Santi share a glance over your head, and you realise you should have known. Should have known they’d be plotting and scheming.

It doesn’t take as long as it did the first time to set out the rules.

With the older men away, you and Frankie are free to spend your time as you see fit. Neither of you need to be looked after, neither of you need to be kept an eye on, but Santi and Joel phrase the opportunity to spend time together as more of a challenge. To see how you can work each other up, how well you can behave without either of them there to tell you what to do and how to do it. You’re grinning into your wine as you imagine it, all of the things you can do without actually fucking, until Joel halts your train of thought.

‘There’s one rule,’ he says. You pause mid-sip. He spears a piece of asparagus with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. ‘You can’t touch each other.’

You swallow, confused, looking across to Frankie, who is suddenly unable to meet your eye, and then to Pope, who watches the two of you with a cruelly delighted smirk.

‘We - what?’ You ask, confused.

‘Can’t touch,’ Joel says again, ‘’s your only rule. Dinner, drinks, movies, hell, sleepin’ in the same bed is fine. You just can’t touch.’

You stare at him. This is it. He’s lost his damn mind.

‘Little challenge for you, baby girl,’ he says, ‘I know Frankie can do it. This one’s for you.’

You open your mouth, about to protest how that can’t possibly be fair before snapping your jaw closed again. Joel watches, amused. This is not an argument you will win.

‘Fine.’ You say, even as Santi snickers at the fact that it’s evidently not. You decide on a change of tact. ‘And myself?’ Frankie finally looks up at you, eyes wide. Your lips curl in a pleased smile as Santi takes a steadying sip of his drink.

‘You can touch yourself, darlin’’ Joel says, unfazed, ‘Never said you couldn’t do that.’

You nod, gears turning. An idea forming, one you tamp down by resting your hand on Joel’s thigh.

‘Was Benny okay last night?’ You ask Frankie, changing the subject. Your fingers begin their slow and steady stroke up and down Joel’s thigh as you watch the younger man flush.

‘Yeah,’ he nods, ‘He was only arrested for starting a bar fight -’

Your hand pauses only briefly on Joel’s thigh.

‘He was arrested?’

Frankie grins.

‘Yep. Not the first time. One day he might learn his lesson.’

You chuckle along with Joel and Santi.

‘Was he okay?’

‘Always is,’ Frankie says, ‘Lucky motherfucker. You should see the other guy.’

You smile, scraping your nails along Joel’s pants now, pleased when he shifts in his seat. He leans in close to your ear.

‘Knock it off, princess. I know exactly what you’re tryna do.’

You raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Never said I couldn’t touch you, daddy.’

You turn back to face Frankie, and he eyes you suspiciously.

‘Don’t miss those days,’ Joel says, and Frankie’s eyes flick to him. ‘Tommy straightened out once he met Maria. Think the worst time I had to bail him out was the night’a my 36th birthday. He near caused a riot at some bar downtown. They still won't let him back in.’

‘Can imagine Tommy raining hell down on ‘em,’ Pope says, beside you. ‘He and Benny would make a hell of a team.’

Joel chuckles.

‘Sure would,’ he says, and you slide your palm over to cup him through his pants. He’s rock hard, cock twitching at your touch. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. ‘She made him into a better man, my sister-in-law. Keeps him far outta trouble.’

His hand finds your own thigh beneath the table, squeezing as Santi begins to regale a story from his younger days with the boys. He starts the same ministrations as you, stroking, scraping, higher and higher, up to where you’re dripping, soaking yourself -

‘Joel.’ You whisper, something urgent in your voice. Why isn’t he stopping?

You’re suddenly nervous at the fact you’d decided to forego any underwear for the sake of the dress, before realising that is exactly what Joel had wanted. Like he knew you’d be running your hand up and down his thigh at the table, like he knew you’d be teasing him. Like he knew he could not only tease right back, but win the whole damn game. Smug bastard. He can read you like a book.

He leans in close to murmur into the conch of your ear.

‘Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby,’ as he pushes your dress higher to cup your sex. You clench your jaw as he chuckles underneath his breath, feeling how wet you are, how much more slick spills out at the pressure he applies.

His fingers move up to circle your clit gently, and you let out a shaky breath. You watch him from the corner of your eye, his chin in his fist, eyes sparkling as he listens to and watches the two other men, as his movements against your cunt grow firmer, faster. You reach for your wine glass, eyes flicking to Frankie, only to find him looking at you, eyes bright with amusement. You narrow your eyes, and Joel leans in again.

‘Good girl, he says, ‘You’re gonna keep looking at Frankie, and I’m gonna make you come like this. And next time, you’re not gonna play any of your games in the middle of a restaurant.’

You grit your teeth against the whimper that fights to escape as quiet falls at the table, the conversation quickly forgotten as Frankie leans back in his chair, smirking, watching intensely. You don’t break eye contact as Santi’s hand drifts to the soft flesh of your thigh, drawing goosebumps as it nears Joel’s, as he traces the seam of your cunt, smearing the wetness around your skin. You don’t even look when Pope brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking the tips before releasing them with a lewd pop.

‘Good enough to eat.’

Your cunt throbs in response, breathing coming more laboured as Joel’s fingers work you tighter, tighter, slipping away to hook your thigh out wider, only to be replaced by Santi’s. Once he’s satisfied with your new position, he slips his hand beneath Pope’s, working the digits easily into your pussy, pumping in and out, curling to find that sweet spot within you. A small, desperate noise escapes you, and you set your glass down, your drink forgotten as you clutch at the napkin closest to you, body burning, buzzing, throbbing with pleasure. It’s too much, and it’s not enough.

You break eye contact with Frankie, holding your breath and biting your lip so hard you’re sure you’ll either pass out or draw blood.

‘No, baby,’ Joel rumbles into your hair, ‘Keep looking at Frankie. He’s gonna watch you come like this.’ You moan quietly again, meeting Frankie’s eyes, hot and close, so close.

Santi leans in so you can feel his hot breath against your cheek, goading, teasing -

‘Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.’

Your orgasm clatters through you, the tightly bound knot bursting as you lean forward onto the table, trying to stop your body from twitching. You feel yourself tighten and clench around Joel’s fingers, feel your thighs grow wetter, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Pope looses a quiet groan. The fire and heat of it make it almost impossible to keep quiet, a moan slipping past your lips as Joel retracts his fingers too quickly to pat you on the back in some kind of misleading gesture. Santi keeps his fingers pressed to your clit for as long as possible, letting you ride it out, before circling it again.

A gasped fuck passes your lips, and you slam your fist down onto the table, clattering the silverware and glasses. The action draws a chuckle from Santi and Joel, and sharp looks from the two tables closest to you.

You cough a little, trying to affect the pretence of choking, spluttering, anything that doesn’t look like you just came in the middle of a restaurant.

When you haul your body back to sit upright, Joel moves his hand to your thigh, and Santi follows suit. Their fingers are wet against you, and you try not to look, try not to feel it, but it’s impossible. The slick feeling, the heat, the pressure. You could go again.

But, god, your throat is so dry.

As if on cue, the waitress appears at your shoulder to refill your water. You try to clear your throat to express your gratitude before noticing the deep red flush clawing up her neck, her gaze drawn to each hand still splayed on your thigh, dress rucked a little higher than it should be. You smile sheepishly at her, finally whisper a thank you.

When she leaves the table, you heave a deep breath, your head in your hands.

‘Almost.’ Joel whispers in your ear.

You resist the urge to flip him off, and instead decide the best way to get a hold of yourself is to head to the bathroom. Clean yourself up, splash a little cold water on your face.

‘Excuse me,’ you murmur, voice hoarse and strained, and Frankie can’t help the smile that reaches his eyes. Looking to Joel and Santi, it appears they feel the same way. You grin despite yourself as you stand on unsteady legs, Joel’s hands shooting out to steady you as you giggle at the three of them, enjoying their favourite game.

‘Fuck you guys,’ you laugh as you turn on your heel, and they mirror your chuckles.

You’re almost to the door of the restroom when your waitress catches your eye. You try to smile at her and glide past without drawing any more attention to yourself, but fail.

‘Ma’am,’ she calls softly, stepping just in front of you. Your stomach twists. Fuck, she knows. She knows, and she’s gonna kick you all out, you’re gonna get arrested - ‘Are you alright?’

You blink at her, surprised. And then it clicks. One woman, surrounded by three men. The hands on your thighs, your dress. Three men who have been talking intently, possessively, obviously, even if they can’t be heard. You exhale.

‘Oh no, it’s - yes. Thank you for checking. That’s - really kind of you. I’m fine. We’re friends - I mean - it’s complicated - but it’s nothing to worry about.’

It’s complicated? Why the fuck did you say that? You twist your fingers as you try and work out how to extricate yourself from the hole you’ve dug, but your mind draws a blank. You pray she missed your phrasing, her eyes searching your face as you give her your warmest smile. It’s only a moment before she returns it, even brighter.

‘Oh, like a - what is it - a polyamorous thing? That’s neat. You get it, cowgirl,’ she grins, before clapping a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my god,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so sorry, that was so unprofessional -’

You laugh, somewhat relieved, placing a gentle hand on her arm - it soothes her.

‘No, please,’ you giggle, ‘It’s fine, really.’

She peels her fingers back from her lips nervously and massages her temples.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she whispers, before meeting your eye again. ‘I’m sorry. But as long as you’re good. You know, taken care of.’ You watch as she cringes at herself. You reach out again to press her bicep.

‘Really, it’s fine,’ you say, glancing back to your table. You feel… warm as you look over at the three of them - relaxed, laughing. Warm at how easily you can all move back and forth in this dynamic. Warm at the feel of the slick around the tops of your legs. ‘I’m very well taken care of. And it’s really good of you to check.’

She smiles at you again as you step away towards the bathroom.

‘Oh, not at all,’ she says, bashful. ‘I’m glad. You guys have fun.’

The rest of the night passes easily, wrapped in conversation and good food. Jokes are whipped across the table so fast that the four of you cackle with laughter, the air sizzling with good humour and lightness. Joel has his hands on you whenever he can, and when you finally leave the restaurant just before closing time, Pope holds you tenderly, kisses both cheeks, and murmurs that he hopes you learned your lesson. You smack his arm and tell him to be safe in Colombia. Frankie does the same, but departs with a remark about how beautiful you looked instead - ‘especially when you come, hermosa’ he adds.

Joel makes sure you remember what he taught you at the table, taking the time to rock you through orgasm after orgasm in his bed until you’re in tears, until he’s sure the neighbours can hear you calling yes daddy, thank you daddy, I’m sorry daddy over the lawn.

He pulls you close afterwards, pressing kisses to any slither of skin he can, telling you how well you did, how proud you make him, how good you can be when you try. He only leaves to head through to the bathroom to turn on the shower, making you promise to join him when you can rouse yourself from the snuggly duvet. You don’t take much convincing.

Once you can hear him humming under the flow of water, you pad downstairs to the bag you’d left in the hallway yesterday. You root around in it before finding what you need, clutching it to your chest with a thrill before retreating back to Joel’s bedroom. You bury it in his suitcase, underneath at least a day’s worth of clothes, before stripping and joining him in the shower.

———

When you wake the next morning, Joel’s suitcase is already zipped shut, and the smell of coffee is drifting up the stairs.

You find him sat at the breakfast table, staring out into the weak morning sunshine, a steaming mug already set down for you across from him. You drift past him, a hand trailing from one shoulder, over his broad back, to the next, tracing the lines of your favourite plaid shirt, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

You sit quietly in each other’s company, the silence slowly turning to low conversation. What route he’ll be taking, where he’ll be staying, what the job will involve, what the people are like. What your work week looks like, what the book you’re reading is about, what you’ll do with him gone. You settle your chin on your palm.

‘Any other rules I should know about?’

Joel looks back at you with amusement written all over his face.

‘No. Jus’ don’t try anything at dinner again. Or do. I’m always happy to remind you.’

You giggle, and he grins back, all white teeth and crinkly eyes.

‘You know, even the waitress asked if I was okay afterwards.’

He grunts, enough of a question in it for you to continue.

‘I mean, I don’t think she saw anything go down. But she saw me with you guys and asked if I was okay.’

Joel raises his eyebrows.

‘What do you mean?’

You falter.

‘I guess… you know. Me, with you guys. Just making sure nothing - weird was going on.’

‘Weird?’

‘Bad.’ You say. Joel’s eyes soften, but his brow furrows.

‘I said no, of course. That we’re all friends. I don’t know. I rambled. She asked - she asked whether it was a polyamorous thing,’ you shrug.

‘’N what did you say?’

Something about the way Joel asks the question catches you off guard. A little brusque, a little too quick off his tongue. Your eyes narrow slightly.

‘Nothing,’ you admit, ‘I didn’t want to get into the semantics of what we do with a stranger. And - I don’t know what to call it. I don’t know if that is what it is.’

‘It something you’re interested in?’

You blink at him. He’s not looking at you, his jaw set, body tense. You feel your own jaw clench.

‘Is it something you’re interested in?’

Joel chews the side of his cheek, brow knitted as he looks out to the garden into the morning sunlight.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, ‘Not really thought about it before.’

You soften at the way his body deflates. Remember this is just as fresh for him as it is for you. You nod, reach out to take his massive hand in yours. His eyes swing back to you, and you squeeze his fingers.

‘You don’t have to think about it,’ you reassure him, ‘All of this is new. All of it. And if you want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it. But -’ you say, reaching to hold his other hand, too, ‘I want you to know none of it changes how I feel about you. You are enough for me. You will always be enough for me.’

Joel searches your face, quiet and serious. You lift his hands to your lips and press a tender kiss to his knuckles.

‘I love you.’ You say, softly.

There’s no sound through the quiet dawn of the world but a quiet intake of breath from Joel across the table. Your eyes flick up to him at the sound, to the brows slightly further up his tan forehead, his wide, surprised, brown eyes. And you realise that it’s slipped from you, aloud, for the first time. All that time spent thinking it, knowing it, feeling it, but those words in that order have been yet to pass either of your lips. In the conversations between sharing spaces, meeting families, spending time with friends, you’d forgotten to put into words what you’d assumed Joel already knew.

I love you.

You still, his hands unmoving before your lips, releasing a quiet exhale of your own.

‘I love you,’ you say again, even softer. And then, through heat rising in your chest - ‘You don’t have to say it back. If you’re not ready yet - you don’t have to ever say it back if you don’t want to -’

He grips your hands tight.

‘I love you.’ he says, gravelly and warm. And you believe him. See it in all its molten gold truth in his eyes. I love you.

You can’t help the delighted little laugh that falls from your lips. The same sound slips from Joel, and you sit, giggling and grinning at each other, in love, unaware of the minutes that tick by. You bite your lip.

‘Does that mean you’re my boyfriend now?’

Joel baulks at you, laughter frozen on his lips. Your heart squeezes, joy almost overtaken by nerves.

‘You mean - did I never ask you that?’

You shake your head slowly.

Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth. Something passes over his features; embarrassment, shame -

‘I’m sorry,’ he says lowly, a flush colouring his cheeks, ‘I’m sorry - I just - I assumed -’ he ducks his head away from you, ‘What an ass -’

You giggle at him, and he fixes you with his best puppy dog eyes.

‘Joel,’ you smile, ‘It’s okay, honestly -’

But he shakes his head.

‘No,’ he winces, ‘Sarah would be - so disappointed in me if she knew. She -’ he fixes you with an apologetic stare again, ‘She knew I loved you before you did. My God. And Tommy - Tommy would be wringing my neck, and my Momma - she raised me better than this -’

‘Joel,’ you laugh, standing from your chair to circle the table. Instinctively, he spreads his thighs for you to sit, and you settle down onto him, your legs perpendicular to his. You thread your arms around his neck, holding him close, and a warm palm comes to pet the small of your back. ‘Relax. Please don’t worry about it,’ you press a kiss to the patch in his beard, and he leans his head into you, eyes closed. ‘Besides. I kinda assumed it, too.’

His eyes open, so full of warmth, love.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do ya wanna be my girlfriend?’

You huff a laugh into his neck, resting on his shoulder.

‘Baby,’ you tease, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

You spend a little while longer like that, curled up in his lap like a cat, sharing kisses and giggles, until Joel checks his watch and sighs. You clamber off him and follow him upstairs, leaning against the doorframe as he makes his final checks.

‘Joel,’ you call softly, hesitating. You cringe in the doorway. ‘Is it - seeing Frankie for dinner tonight, is that - is that still okay?’

He smiles and steps towards you, gathering you in his arms.

‘You know what the limits are,’ he says into your hair. ‘I trust you. ’F I didn’t want you to do something, you’d have known about it before dinner. ’Sides,’ he says, ‘You’ll look good together at that table. I’ll be thinkin’ bout it while I’m away.’

You snort and rest your forehead against his chest, breathing his scent in.

‘Just wanted to check.’ You mumble. Joel presses a kiss to your hair, rocking you side to side.

‘I love you.’ He says.

‘Love you too.’ You whisper.

Minutes later, you watch his truck peel away from the house, waving through the rays of sunlight now peeking out from the trees. He waves back, his arm out the driver’s side window, until the truck disappears from view. You swallow the lump in your throat, wash the coffee mugs, gather your clothes, and lock Joel’s front door behind you.

———

Joel calls you later in the afternoon to let you know he’s arrived safe. And Frankie texts to let you know he’s picking you up at seven.

When you get home from work, you busy yourself with a shower, with laundry you’ve held off, with tidying the house, and when you’re settled, ready, you call Joel again. Just to hear his voice, just to know he’s eaten. He chuckles a melody down the line at your fussing, but before he has to hang up, he lets slip that he misses you already, just as much.

When seven rolls around, you feel warm, giddy, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you wait for the sound of tyres outside.

Frankie greets you at your door, relaxed in a t-shirt that strains across his arms, his signature cap, and a beaming smile. You melt a little at the sight of him, so boyish, so bashful, so handsome, that you have to forcefully remind yourself of the rules. No touching, which must surely extend to no kissing. Still, as though he can’t help himself, he keeps a palm on the small of your back as he leads you into the small restaurant he’s chosen and plays with your fingers while you’re sat at your table.

You eat and talk, laughing and smiling like you always do. He asks about work, the projects you’re working on, and you fill him in on all the office gossip. How one of the line managers got fired last week, how Trisha from accounting is pregnant. He asks question after question until you laugh and remind him that you want to talk about him as well, and he flushes shyly. You ask about Lucia, about work, about flying again. He tells you about the places he’s been, the people he’s taken there, and one nightmare trip from last week where one woman refused to get in the helicopter, too scared to fly, until she had to be told that it was part of the proposal her boyfriend had planned.

You order gelato for dessert and share it with two spoons, giggling as you feed it to each other. You both get a text from Santi, a selfie of him sipping a beer, looking warm and delicious. You get a text from Joel, too, a picture of him straight out of the shower which sets your cunt throbbing, hoping you’re having a good night.

Frankie insists on settling the check and walks you back to his truck with a warm palm still on your skin. He opens the door for you, waiting for you to settle in your seat before he shuts it and crosses to the driver’s side.

He drives you to a spot overlooking the city, and you stay in the cab, seatbelts unbuckled, turned towards each other, swapping stories like teenagers at a sleepover. You try not to think too hard as the night settles in around you. Try not to watch his hands, his thick fingers, the way his arms bunch and flex, how strong his thighs look, how good he smells. But it’s so hard, so hard when he’s right across from you, smiling, eyes trailing over your body, getting caught on your lips, watching the way your limbs are draped in his truck. The way he’s looking at you makes it hard to remember the rules, hard to resist leaning over the console and pressing your mouth to his, especially when he lowly confesses how badly he wants to kiss you.

You huff a breathless laugh, looking away from him out to the shimmering skyline outside the window screen. Try to distract yourself with how the distant lights of the city shimmer like moonlight on water, how the structures of the skyscrapers reach up to the night flights swooping over the horizon. Something as far away from your body as possible, so you don’t have to think about Frankie’s warm, broad chest, what he would sound like moaning against you.

‘I wish you would,’ You whisper. When you turn back to look at Frankie, he is already watching you. Pressed against the driver’s side door, mouth slightly open, his eyes sparkling and dark. ‘You could kiss me.’

His mouth closes with a gentle snap of his teeth, and he shakes his head.

‘You know I can’t do that.’

You nod, eyes finding the skyline again.

‘I know. But I still wish you would.’

In the silence that follows, you can feel slick drooling and cooling from your cunt, soaking your panties. You shift in your seat, unsure whether you’re trying to ignore or resolve the discomfort. Frankie watches you still, and when you wriggle again, his own hips shift. You fix him with a stare, the air hot and thick between you. You curve your body towards him, one hand coming down gently to hold yourself over the console.

‘They wouldn’t know. If we kissed.’

Frankie continues to stare as you remain frozen, poised before him.

‘I know.’

‘Then let me kiss you.’

‘No, hermosa.’

You look back and forth between his eyes and his lips, watching his throat bob as he tries to keep his distance.

You slump backwards a little, trying not to feel any kind of acute rejection. You’re just hot, bothered, unbearably aroused in the cabin of his truck. His refusing to kiss you isn’t a mark on his desire, just his self control. Muscle memory of years of following instructions. Frankie turns his body, facing forward out the windscreen in his seat. He swipes his palms over the steering wheel, and your lips part, cunt burning when you imagine those hands on you again, huge palms sweeping down your curves, your thighs, up between your legs -

‘I’m not gonna kiss you, because then I’ll need to fuck you.’

Your gasp zips past your lips before you can stop it. Frankie keeps his eyes trained forwards as you stare at him. Your pussy clenches around nothing, needing something to sate it, a touch, a glance, anything -

‘Frankie -’

He shakes his head, grip tightening on the wheel.

‘Please, Frankie, I’ll be so good -’

‘Enough.’

You watch his nostrils flare, watch a muscle in his jaw tick. Watch a certain darkness sweep over his features, and you know, you know you’ve won.

He never stood a chance.

‘Tell me,’ you whisper, and he shakes his head, skull pressed into the headrest, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. ‘I want you to tell me. Tell me how you’d fuck me.’

Frankie closes his eyes slowly, his shoulders tensing, breath faltering.

‘No,’ he whispers, ‘No, baby, I can’t do that -’

You whine, hands scrubbing down your bare thighs, trying to find something to grip, to hold, something that’s not him -

‘God - it hurts, Frankie,’ you mumble, wriggling in the seat, and his eyes flick back and forth over you; your pathetic attempts to grind into something, the heaving of your chest, the wild, desperate look in your eyes.

‘What, baby? What hurts?’ He breathes, and he’s leaning forwards over the centre console like he could pounce on you, like he could hold your hands in a tight, binding grip behind your back, like he could eat you here, devour you here -

You whimper by way of an answer, hands finally resting on the hem of your skirt, pushing it up, up to bunch at your hips. Frankie watches, eyes molten and black as you cup your sex, as you buck against your hand. He moans loudly at the sight.

‘There, hermosa?’

You shudder out a sigh, a hissed yes as you apply more pressure. His throat bobs as he considers, as he weighs his options.

‘Please, Frankie -’ you beg, though you’re not even sure what for. Rules, rules, but none of them seem to make sense anymore, none of them seem to matter as you lick your own lips at his growing bulge through his jeans. He breathes in harshly, swiping a palm across his mouth before he fixes you with a look that makes you feel dizzy. He swallows thickly.

‘Show me.’

Easy, so easy. You lift your hips from the seat and slide your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down, down, watching him the whole time. He waits like he’s forgotten how to breathe, this starving, tortured look in his eyes like he’s on fire and water is just out of reach. You spread your legs for him and dip your fingers to your slit, gathering the slickness there before trailing the digits further up, spreading yourself in a v shape so he can see everything, see how you throb, how your clit twitches, how you leak down into the cleft of your ass.

‘Need you, Frankie,’ you whine, ‘Need you to -’

He lurches back like he’s been shocked.

‘Don’t,’ he grits, ‘Don’t, you know I can’t touch you -’

‘Then watch,’ you breathe, ‘He said don’t touch. But you can watch. I can watch.’

‘Watch?’ he repeats, breathless, body shifting, open, and you nod, mewling against your palm.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur, ‘Frankie, baby, let me watch you. Need to see you.’

He stares at you, something working behind his eyes.

‘Watch,’ he says again, nodding, ‘Yeah, please baby, is that okay? Can I watch?’

You nod, relishing the control that he shifts so easily to you. So easy. You trace the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading the glistening wetness so it catches every stream of moonlight bruising through the window.

‘You, too. Wanna watch you, too.’

He nods quickly, mouth agape, unable to tear his eyes away from your core. He palms himself roughly over his jeans.

You trace your fingers back over your clit, swiping it in circles until your head falls back against the window, your brows pulling together as you loose a quiet cry. You bite your lip, looking down your nose at Frankie

‘How does it feel?’ he gasps, ‘Please - tell me - how does it feel?’

‘Good,’ you gasp, ‘So good, Frankie.’

He groans, his hands finding his button and zipper, undoing them before shifting his hips to pull his jeans down. He reaches inside his boxers to pull himself free, swollen and aching.

He’s thick, and just as big as you knew he would be - but he’s so pretty as well. The same tan as his skin, pink flush at his tip, skin silken and veins throbbing beneath the surface. You moan, wanton and crooning, sinking a finger into yourself as he grips his base, squeezing at the sight of your digit disappearing up to the knuckle.

His hips lift as he fucks himself slowly into his fist, lips wet and eyes blown, his other hand coming away from scratching at the denim of his thigh to squeezing and cupping his balls. You go slow for him as he watches, working your bud in agonisingly slow circles, pumping your finger in and out gently until you remove it completely, Frankie’s eyes drawn to the strand of slick suspended from your finger. He moans, a sick, feral sound, his head falling back against the seat to expose the straining tendons in his neck, the sweat that glimmers in the hollows before his clavicles. He jerks himself faster, tighter - tip ruddy now, beading with precum that he swipes down the length of his shaft, slick enough for you to imagine that it’s your spit, your wetness. A surge of arousal floods your fingers again, and you whimper.

‘Look at you, Frankie. So gorgeous.’

Frankie answers with his own choked growl as he watches you sink your finger into your heat again, but this time he grits his teeth, inhaling sharply before endowing you with an instruction -

‘Give yourself another finger, hermosa. Another. Wanna see you stretched out, baby.’

You comply, sinking in another easily, rocking your hips back and forth, the sound of it obscene, loud in the truck, and Frankie squeezes himself, breathless.

‘Fuck, hermosa, you’re so wet - so wet. Is it for me?’

You nod frantically, speeding up your movements until Frankie matches your rhythm, his body tense, his tip turning a cruel shade of crimson. You whimper again. This soft, sweet man, reduced to this savage across from you, fisting himself, reeling himself back from the edge just to wait to come with you.

You watch as his eyes drop to your cunt again, as a grunt wrenches itself from his chest, and he begs you - more, one more, please, hermosa. You oblige, cramming three of your fingers into your dripping cunt just to catch a glimmer of what he’d feel like inside of you. Your orgasm flexes, tight and searing inside of you, and you whine.

‘Close, so close, Frankie -’ you pant, and his eyes widen, fist working so furiously you wonder whether it hurts, whether he likes it like that. He groans deep in his throat.

‘Make yourself come, baby, please make yourself come. I have to see you come.’ And you seize, tight as a knot around your fingers, body curling in on itself as you come, teeth clenched to bite back your scream. Frankie falls slack in his seat, eyes glazed as his cock jerks in his grip, and you meet his eyes, gasping out -

‘Frankie - want you to come, come for me, baby boy -’ and he erupts over his hands, over the tops of his thighs and his belly with a choked growl, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You watch his thick spend trickle over his knuckles, mouth watering at the sight, and your fingers twitch as you pull them from inside you. You are so close to reaching out and swiping it with your own fingertips to take to your lips, and it’s like Frankie’s read your mind -

‘I want to taste you. So bad.’ he gasps, gaze fixed on your shining fingers. You bring them to your mouth, tongue laving between your fingers at your own salty sweet taste. Frankie moans again, tugging his spent cock weakly if only to stop himself from reaching out to snatch your wrist to him.

‘I promise,’ you murmur between licks, ‘I promise - soon, baby - God, so soon -’

You suck your middle finger into your mouth, keeping your eyes locked with his, licking beneath your nail before releasing it with a lewd pop. Frankie looks physically pained.

‘Stop,’ he pants, ‘Just - stop. I need you to stop.’

You understand, whole body still at fever pitch despite your release. Your hands fall to your thighs. Frankie tucks himself back into his boxers and lifts his hips to fix his jeans before popping open the driver’s side door.

‘Just - give me a moment.’ He murmurs as he jumps out, leaving the door open behind him. You watch as he walks circles in the dirt beside the car, his hands on the back of his head, breathing like he’s run a marathon. It takes a minute for your own brain to catch up with you. You tug your panties back up and your skirt down, some kind of horrible anxiety, disappointment and desperation clawing up your throat. You swallow and pop your own door open, rounding the truck to find Frankie.

The air has done him good. His eyes are clearer, body more relaxed, and he watches you approach with an expression that softens at every step. He barely gets out a you oka- before you rush to him with open arms, crashing into his chest with a quiet mmph. Frankie wraps his arms around you just as quickly, rocking the two of you back and forth, swooping a palm down your back.

‘I’m sorry.’ You whisper. Frankie stops his swaying, gives your shoulder a little squeeze.

‘Why are you apologising, princesa?’ he asks, so sweet you have to swallow again before answering.

‘I don’t know,’ you murmur, ‘That was supposed to feel good, but I don’t - I don’t know how I feel -’

He holds you tighter as tears threaten in your eyes, and you will yourself not to blink, lest they fall.

‘S’okay,’ he whispers back, ‘Might be ‘cause you want it so bad,’ you feel the rumble of a chuckle ripple through his chest. ‘That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I still feel like I could rip my skin off.’

A sharp laugh bubbles out of your mouth, taking you by surprise. You blink and the tears begin to fall, and you laugh harder. The man might be right.

‘This is so weird,’ you chuckle against his chest, ‘I’ve never been so horny I’ve cried before.’

He laughs, pressing a sweet kiss to your head.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, ‘And it’s not weird. Feels like my brain will never work the same again.’

You laugh harder, sniffing as you pull away from him. He grins down at you, pinches your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Home?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, Frankie,’ you smile, ‘Take me home.’

Frankie holds your hand over the centre console the whole way home. You’re too tired to think about the semantics of rules, too overwhelmed to wonder what Joel or Santi would say. You grant yourself a small mercy in the passenger seat, reminding yourself that this is okay. This is aftercare. It’s necessary, Joel grumbles in your ear, it doesn’t come with rules.

When Frankie pulls up outside your place, he hops out to make sure he can the truck door for you and help you down. He walks you to your front door like he’d done so many moons ago, ever the gentleman, and waits until the door is unlocked and you’ve flicked the hallway light on.

You turn to face him, wrapping yourself around him again. He returns the hug.

‘Will you call me if you need anything?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Will you?’

‘’course,’ he swipes the back of his hand over your cheek, and dips to press a soft, firm kiss to your forehead. ‘See you tomorrow, baby.’ He says. You pinch his cheek as he pulls away, chuckling as he bounds back down the path.

You watch his truck peel away like a teenager, standing in the doorway smiling to yourself until his tail lights disappear around the corner.

———

When Joel calls not fifteen minutes later, you’re wearing one of his shirts, grinding your bare pussy into your pillow, fingers working steadily against your clit.

You fumble with your phone, taking longer than usual to swipe to answer the call, and if that hadn’t have given you away, your pants and whimpers do. Joel chuckles warmly down the line at you.

At his ‘how you doing, baby girl?’, your mouth curves in a shy smile, and a heat blossoms in your chest. Your ‘good, daddy’ is true, a kind of peace settling over your frazzled body and mind. You let out a cooing moan before you can ask how his day’s been, and his breath catches down the line.

‘And what are you doing, baby girl?’ he asks softly, so soft, and you smile even wider.

‘Thinkin’ bout you, daddy.’ You breathe, and he hums at your words.

‘Just me?’

‘Mostly.’ You confess, and he chuckles, a honeyed sound.

‘Mostly,’ he echoes, ‘And what are you using while you’re thinking about me, baby?’

You give a strong roll of your hips, grinding down as you answer him.

‘A pillow, daddy.’

‘Mhm. Just a pillow?’

You whine.

‘Fingers, too.’

‘Greedy fuckin’ girl,’ he chuckles. You moan loudly, and are rewarded with a low grunt in return. He listens to you breathe for a moment before you hear the crackle of him shifting, moving.

‘Stop now,’ he says, gently. ‘Need to ask you somethin’.’

You pull your fingers out of your cunt, whining as you do. You can picture his smirk so clearly that you tell him to knock it off.

‘Sorry baby.’ He apologises, so disingenuous.

‘What’s the question?’

‘I found something. In my case,’ he says. ‘Don’t suppose you’d know who put it there?’

You bite your lip.

‘Hmmm. Depends. What is it?’

You hear Joel fumble with something before he speaks again.

‘Let’s see. One of ‘em… pocket pussy things.’

‘Huh. No idea. Must have been your other girlfriend.’

He laughs.

‘Motherfucker. You damn well I can’t handle another one of you.’

You grin at your reflection. If you had a cord phone, you’d be twirling the plastic around your finger right now. Girlfriend.

‘My bad. Must have been me, then.’

‘Causing trouble even from all the way over there, huh, angel?’

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s drawing it out.

‘Sure, daddy,’ you coo. There’s a beat. ‘Have you… tried it?’

He huffs, and you can see the frown in your mind. How you’d smooth your fingers over it.

‘Ain’t need it when I’ve got you.’

‘Even when you’re far away?’

There’s a pause as Joel considers his reply.

‘You feelin’ sorry for me or somethin’?’

You sigh, letting your fingers dip to your clit. He won’t know, so long as you’re quiet.

‘Couldn’t just - leave you out, daddy,’ you huff against the phone.

A low chuckle rumbles through from the other end, and you bite your lip.

‘So this is - what? My consolation prize?’

‘No,’ you frown, ‘It’s better than that. Better than your hand.’

‘Better ‘n my hand?’

‘Yeah, daddy.’

‘Is it better than you, babygirl?’

You roll your hips at his question, biting back a whine.

‘No, daddy.’

He hums down the line.

‘Sounds like a consolation prize to me, honey.’

You sigh again, louder this time.

‘’S not a consolation prize,’ you groan. ‘Frankie isn’t even allowed to touch me.’

Joel chuckles at you properly this time.

‘You sound disappointed, baby.’

‘I am.’

He waits. He waits, because he knows. Of course he knows.

‘We watched each other, daddy,’ you breathe. Confessional, dirty. A heat flushes up your cheeks as you tug at your t-shirt, suddenly nervous.

‘Watched?’ he asks, a smile curling the word.

Mmhm.

‘Well done, baby,’ he says, ‘I’m impressed. Though a little disappointed it didn’t take you longer to figure out.’

You giggle, and he puffs out a breath before continuing.

‘Santi told me it wouldn't be so fast. Thought it’d take you guys a little while to -’

‘He thought it’d take Frankie longer to work out,’ you interject. Joel falls silent. ‘He knows Frankie, but not me so well. You should’ve known better.’

Joel laughs again.

‘You’re goddamn right, angel.’

You smile, smug. Hum in agreement.

Joel sighs.

‘Too eager for your own goddamn good,’ he murmurs, ‘Bet you can’t wait to know what his cock feels like inside you, huh? Can’t wait to be droolin’ and comin’ over him like you do me, hm?’

God, his mouth. You moan openly, rocking your hips again, ready. Ready to hear him moaning, too, ready to hear the slick sound of the toy on his dick, ready to hear him groaning your name as he comes.

‘Yes, daddy.’

Joel hums, pleased. His breathing comes a little ragged this time, making your core hotter, tighter, wetter.

‘Use it,’ you moan, ‘Please, daddy. Wanna hear you use it.’

‘I’ll use it,’ he grunts, ‘But you ain’t gonna touch yourself. Just gonna have to listen, sweetheart.’

‘Please -’ you whine, but he cuts you off with a harsh tut.

‘No. You’re gonna be good, you’re gonna listen to me first.’

You begin to groan out again but he says your name in such a tone that you feel your body shift into submission, acquiescing to his demand.

‘You’re gonna stay still,’ he tells you, ‘And you’re gonna leave that pretty pussy alone until I’m done, y’hear?’ Your eyes half close, head dipping forward.

‘Yes, daddy.’

‘Good girl.’

You listen closely to the pop of the cap on the bottle of lube you’d packed for him, his heavy breathing as you imagine him soaking the toy, his sharp inhale as he spreads the cool gel over himself. The pop sounds again, and you wait with baited breath.

You’re rewarded almost immediately with a groan that resonates right through your body, vibrating straight down to your cunt as though he had voiced it against your lips.

‘Gonna start with my hand, baby,’ he says, voice low and breathy, ‘Start nice and slow, just like you would if you were here, huh?’

You hum low in your throat and lick your lips.

‘Wouldn’t start like that, daddy.’ Your voice is husky, drenched in lust at the thought of Joel spread on the hotel bed stroking his cock.

‘Oh?’

‘Start with my mouth,’ you breathe, ‘I’d lick you. Get you nice and wet so I can suck on it.’

‘Yeah?’ he whispers, ‘That what you’d do, you’d suck on it?’

You ache and throb between your legs, your free hand scratching at the skin of your thigh to distract yourself. Your mouth waters at the thought.

‘Mhm, daddy. Nice and deep, how you like it. You could fuck my throat if you wanted to.’

A low, guttural sound answers you, the slick sounds of his moving fist getting faster.

‘I’d want you to hold me still while I take you, daddy. I’d want to dribble and gag and cry.’

Joel huffs.

‘Would you, baby? You’d be such a good girl for me?’

You nod, lip between your teeth, even though he can’t see you.

‘Yeah, daddy.’

‘And what if daddy wants to fuck your tight little pussy, baby girl? What would you do then?’

You moan, eyes fluttering shut, hips shifting of their own accord. You grip the hem of your t-shirt.

‘I’d let you.’ you answer, helplessly.

Joel chuckles darkly.

‘Want me to tell you what I’d do?’ He asks, and you loose a pained little sound, brows pulling together. You’re sure you’re soaking the pillow at this point, dripping through to the other side. Joel laughs again. ‘I think I’d tie you up, baby,’ he says, so low, so deep, that the world starts to drift away from you. You’re barely aware of the fact that the noise of his hand has stopped until he moans wantonly into the phone, and your eyes fly open. ‘Fuck,’ he grits, and then he huffs a cruel little laugh. ‘Was gonna tell you how I’d tie you up and fuck you, baby,’ he growls, ‘But this toy feels good ‘nough that I might just make you watch me instead.’

You whine, chin tipped up to the ceiling, hushed little cries of no, daddy, please - falling from your lips.

‘Oh, sweetheart. You don’t like the sound ‘a that?’ he asks. You shake your head, mewling, ‘No, ‘course not,’ he murmurs ‘Just wanna be stuffed full ‘a daddy’s cock, huh? Wanna be creamin’ around it way you love to, all stretched out and used, yeah?’

God, yes you do. You moan breathlessly, cunt twitching and throbbing, and you wonder whether this is enough to just come hands free. If you concentrate hard enough, if you bear down enough -

‘Maybe I’d film it,’ he muses, ‘Film it so Santiago and Francisco could watch. See how you really like to be used, how cock dumb I can make you. Would you like that, angel?’

‘Fuck, daddy, yes -’

‘Mmm. So they can see how good you look when you beg, when you’re dripping with my cum, huh, baby girl? See how good you look when you cry, when you just take it for me?’

You can tell he’s getting closer, his breathing heavier and more ragged, longer pauses between his thoughts. You wriggle on the pillow, feeling yourself flutter around nothing at the pathetic stimulation. He moans again, broken and loud, and you puff against the speaker, seeing your opportunity -

‘Come for me, daddy,’ you pant, ‘Please - come for me. Need to hear you daddy, please -’

Joel’s breath catches raggedly, once, twice, before it cuts off with a deep growl. With every resounding moan you hear, you can imagine the spurts of cum bursting from his tip. You wriggle even more, cunt burning.

‘Atta girl,’ Joel gasps, ‘Atta girl, helping your daddy out.’

‘Please,’ you moan, breathless, ‘Please, daddy, my turn, is it -’

‘Your turn,’ he says, so warm, so sweet, ‘Go ahead, baby. Long as it’s only yourself you’re touchin’.’

Your fingers flutter to your clit, swiping it gently, so sensitive, and you grit your teeth.

‘Only me.’ You repeat, and you can picture Joel’s answering smile. All teeth.

‘Just you, baby girl. No touchin’ no one else. Not even Frankie.’

You stay silent, moving your hips now to drag your soaked folds against the pillow. Your head falls to your shoulder, and you moan long and loud, wondering whether you can convince Frankie, whether you’ve got enough time together to film the two of you - watching each other, then Frankie stretching you out, filling you with his cum. Something you could send to Joel and Santi, a little treat, a little teaser.

You’ve been quiet for too long. And Joel knows. He always knows.

‘You gonna break the rules, baby girl?’ He coos.

You smile, as though he’s read your mind.

‘How much trouble will I be in if I do?’ You ask through a moan, biting your lip.

He chuckles down the line at you.

‘I don’t know, sugar,’ he drawls, ‘But you could always find out.’

The line clicks and beeps as he hangs up, and you stare down at your phone in disbelief. The signal must have dropped.

Just as you fumble to press the call button again, a text flies through.

Night, babygirl x

And then another -

Try to be good. I know it’s hard for you

You huff a laugh as you drop the phone into your lap, hips curling again over the pillow beneath you. Sonofabitch.

You’ll behave as badly as you damn well please.

———

You and Frankie make quick work of dinner the next evening. Your hands are clammy at the dinner table, pulse fast in your neck, a flush passing high over Frankie’s collar the whole time.

He makes even faster work of the drive back to yours, scraping through red lights as you pull your skirt higher, as you skate your fingers over your thighs, over your panties, watching him the whole time. There’s a wonderful thrill when you catch him looking, when his eyes meet yours and then drift to your hands, how dark they are in the passing streetlights, the white-knuckle grip of his hands on the wheel.

You can feel the heat of him behind you as you unlock the front door, the hunger of wanting his hands on you, pushing you through the doorway, the press of his chest against your back. But you can wait. You can be good.

You move through to your kitchen with him trailing behind you, and you’re grabbing two beers from your fridge before the question of do you want a drink? is even out. When you turn to face him again, Frankie is dangerously, dangerously close. You can smell the musk of his skin, see every changing fleck of colour in his eyes, and it’s too much. You’re pressing the bottle into his chest at the same time as you’re tipping your head for a kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. He takes both bottles from your hands and places then somewhere behind you before caging you in with his thick arms, his mouth in a tight, serious line. You arch your back subconsciously, but he seems to anticipate every movement of your body; somehow still always millimetres away, like the ghost of a man pressed up against you, a layer of film between you.

He leans in so close that you can taste the hot breath he’s pouring into your mouth, so close you can feel the air moving when he tells you, so softly -

‘Take your clothes off. And sit on the couch.’

You strip yourself as you watch him do the same, eyes blown wide by every stretch of bare skin that’s revealed to you. And it is not fair. So unfair that Frankie is finally naked in front of you - so gorgeous - long-limbed and tan, beautiful cock hard and heavy between his thick thighs - and you are unable to touch him.

You clench your jaw, sat back and stretched out like a cat at one end of the sofa, petting yourself as you watch him come towards you and lower himself onto the cushion next to you.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into the rhythm you found last night. It’s hypnotic. The movements, the sounds, the words. Watching Frankie is heady, intoxicating. It feels like you’re watching something happen outside of your own body, and you find yourself surprised as you move to kneel beside him, as you swing a leg over his legs so you’re straddling him. You’re so wet, so warm that you’re sure the night could pass for a summer’s day. Your skin is glimmering with sweat, same as Frankie’s. You search his eyes to find him staring back at you, just as fucked out, just as woozy. You moan, hot little pants dripping past your lips. He echoes you.

You sit back on his thighs, your fingers diving in and out of you as you watch his fist work furiously around his cock. Something warm and hot, greedy and possessive swells inside of you. He looks delicious like this, spread out in front of you, wanting and needy. His cock thick, swollen, dribbling. It twitches as you watch him, and you moan somewhere beyond your consciousness. Need, your body whispers. Need. You inch forwards, lifting your hips higher, higher, Frankie watching you like he’s somewhere outside his body. You take his hand from his cock, fingers slippery with his precum, and place it at your hip. You grind into your hand at the slick feeling, pulling your fingers out with a wet sound and hovering above him, gripping his cock so you can brush the swollen head of it against your clit. Frankie shudders, his body going slack, and you almost come from the sensation alone. You lower your hips just a little, bracing the mushroom of his tip at the tight ring of your entrance.

You gonna break the rules, babygirl?

‘Hermosa -’ he breathes, suddenly unsure.

You huff against him, everything too tight, too heady. Need.

‘Shhh, it’s okay,’ you whisper. ‘It’s okay, just a little bit. Just wanna feel you a little bit.’

‘But -’ he’s cut off by his own loud whine, unable to protest as you fit his head just inside your pussy. You throb around him, at the stimulation it brings. You clutch at his shoulder, head falling forwards at the stretch. Fuck, you could absolutely come like this. You need him deeper, need him to to fill you, but -

Oh, he is so good.

His hands are like steel at your hips, keeping you in place. Frankie doesn’t want to disobey, doesn’t want to get in trouble. His grip speaks to that, his wide eyes, the sweat at his temple. But you can see on his face as you drip down him, the clutch of Joel’s control doesn’t hold nearly enough power when faced with what he truly wants.

You move back and forth a little, still with his tip just inside, moaning brokenly at the feel of it, and his eyelids flutter closed as something like a prayer brushes past his lips.

Frankie is good, but you are so, so bad.

You drop your hips down further, and his fingers flex against your skin as he gasps, a high, keening noise reverberating from his chest.

‘Jesus Christ -’ he groans.

‘Fucking - hell, Frankie -’

He’s a lot. You can feel yourself adjusting as you slide down his length, your promise quickly forgotten. Greedy fuckin’ girl. But you can’t help yourself, brain short circuiting, body molten as you take him in inch by inch. It’s too much, all consuming. There’s no space for another thought, any more consideration as he fills you, as you take what you need.

He whimpers as you bottom out, grinding against the curls at his base, breathing heavily.

‘So good,’ you whisper, ‘So good, you know that?’

Your head hangs forward against his shoulder as you gulp down air, as you feel yourself clench and leak around him, as he twitches inside you. After moments in almost silence, you lean back to look down at him.

His eyes are glassy, fucked out as he looks back at you.

You lift your hips, and the moan he lets out is pained. Your skin is on fire, and you want his hands everywhere.

‘Frankie, touch me.’

‘I can’t -’

‘You can,’ you grit, ‘You can, because I told you to.’

He moans again, and suddenly he’s everywhere. He knows where you need to be touched like you’ve done this before, his fingertips scorching and cooling as he strokes your thighs, your neck, as he grips your ass. Encouraged, you continue to move, slowly rocking up and down on his cock, breathing raggedly. Every noise that escapes the two of you seems to come without being registered, something primal, starved. Already, the coil is tightening, your body racing towards where it needs to be, and you know it will be intense, all-consuming to come around him, so thick inside of you. You lean further forwards, and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth to your sternum, licking the skin before turning his head to take a nipple in his mouth - hot and wet and sucking, lathing it with his tongue.

‘Fuck,’ you hiss, moving faster, chasing, chasing what is so close. You grip the hair at the back of his head, tugging and keeping him close to your breast, keening against him.

‘Like that,’ you gasp, ‘Yeah, like that baby, god, so good, you’re so good for me, feel so good baby boy, you have no idea -’

You can feel yourself tighten and tighten, and Frankie holds you harder, force that feels so delicious you don’t even care about the hurt, not until it turns to iron, not until he rips his mouth away from you -

‘I’m gonna come -’ he whimpers, gripping your hips so tight you couldn’t move if you wanted to. ‘Please, baby, please - stop - I can’t - I’ll come -’

Hot desperation claws up your chest. You are so close, so close, but he looks so wildly at you that you stop trying to move, try to force back tears of frustration as you lean forwards to kiss him as sweetly as you can. Spit-slick and swollen, you pull back and rest your forehead to his. Try to think straight, tell him what he needs to hear.

‘No you won’t,’ you coo, taking his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. You put everything into your gaze, all your warmth, all your care for him, try to make him see how good this is. He stares up at you, eyes wide, dark. Panicked. Panicked at the thought of disappointing you. ‘You won’t, Frankie. It’s okay, you’re not gonna come.’ You try to shift a little so you can settle on your thighs to soothe him, but he clenches his eyes shut at your movement and whimpers louder, his mouth screwing up.

‘Please don’t move,’ he whispers, ‘Just wait, - just -’

You lean forward and press a kiss to his hairline, feeling his tip move slowly to a shallower part of you. Fuck.

‘Relax, baby boy,’ you murmur, and he sucks in a breath. ‘Concentrate. I’m gonna sit down, and you are not going to come, okay?’

You wait, but Frankie still has his eyes screwed shut, nostrils flaring, fingers bruising against your skin. The tense feeling in your chest swells again.

‘Frankie.’ You say sharply, and he jumps out of himself, eyes flashing open to yours. ‘I’m gonna sit back down. Take a deep breath.’

Frankie watches you as he breathes in through his nose, and you move at the sound of his airflow. His hands slacken at your hips, and he moans, low and long.

‘That’s it,’ you say, sinking all the way down, writhing helplessly at his base. You’re already both so close. ‘Good boy. How are you doing?’

Frankie breathes shallowly as you adjust around his cock. His cheeks are red, hair sweaty. His lips are bitten, bleeding through one crack of skin, eyes almost entirely black. You scratch at the curls at the nape of his neck, massaging the tendons there.

‘Okay,’ he croaks. You try not to think of how he feels inside you. How full you feel, how stretched out. He’s thick and nestled in deep - not as far as Joel - but the ache you feel around his girth is delicious. Fuck, this was a bad idea. You should have just hopped off him, let him slide out so you could both catch your breath. And now, instead, you’re managing to edge the two of you even further.

You know you can’t last long, and you know, from the desperate look on Frankie’s face, that he won’t either, no matter what you do. It feels crueller to stop now than it does to keep going, to watch him deny himself like this, to feel you deny yourself, too. You can feel your pussy tightening and leaking around him at the thought, the ache, the need that’s just there -

‘I have to move, baby -’

‘No -’ he chokes, ‘Please, hermosa, just a minute -’

‘I have to, Frankie, I - you feel too good, baby, I need to move. Wanna come, wanna see you come, too -’

Frankie’s iron grip returns to your hips as they lift of their own accord, and he hisses, head bowed, at the movement. You moan hoarsely.

‘It’s okay,’ you pant, gripping his chin in one hand, lifting his face to yours. ‘Listen to me, it’s okay. Focus now.’ You begin to move up and down him again, the slow drag of his cock tightening your grip on his face but loosening the hold you have on your body. You whimper, pussy fluttering around him. Frankie groans, breathlessly whispers your name, a pleasepleaseplease -

‘I know you can last as long as I need you to, baby,’ you whisper. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you?’ Frankie whines, his eyes rolling back, mouth falling slightly open. You can’t stop the moan that bubbles up your throat - him edging himself as he watched you the night before, eyes stuck on your fingers, your pulses, your wetness. You feel him throb inside you as he nods drunkenly. ‘That’s it, good boy. I know it feels good, but you can last a little longer. I know you can, Frankie. You’re doing so well.’

His fingers clutch at the swell of your hips, weak, sweaty, and you clench so hard around him that it’s a challenge to drag his cock through your walls. You breathe shallowly, slowing the pace again, and Frankie watches you through heavy lidded eyes. He licks his bottom lip.

‘Come,’ he breathes, a hand leaving your hip so he can thumb your clit. You hiss, hips stuttering so hard you sink all the way down onto him, grinding his tip into your womb. Frankie grits his teeth. ‘Come, hermosa,’ he tells you again, and you can feel the savage heat, pussy winding tighter and tighter, your body about to burst. Quietly, with a command he’s not had in his voice until now, Frankie says your name. Come. Now.

Your orgasm is blinding. You cease to exist in the corporeal world for an indeterminate time, coming to only when Frankie pulls you to his chest, his hips pressing up into you as you milk him. You’re achingly aware of the way his cock jumps inside of you as he pumps you full of cum, of the way his fingers grip and bruise your body, of the way you sink your teeth into his shoulder as you continue to throb around him.

‘Fuck.’ you bite out, resting your forehead against his as you pant into each other’s mouths. Minutes tick by, Frankie’s harsh grip turning to soft caresses, and you press chaste kisses to his nose, his forehead, his lips, before you rest your head against his collar bone. He takes a deep breath.

‘Baby,’ he starts. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, searching for what he’s about to say. You squeeze his middle gently. ‘Joel -’

‘Is my problem,’ you breathe, ‘I did this. It’s on me. He knew I’d break the rules.’

He swallows, nods.

‘Okay.’

You press a kiss to his neck, and he visibly relaxes.

‘It’s okay,’ you murmur. ‘No one’s gonna be mad at you. No one’s gonna be mad, full stop.’ He makes a noise of appreciation somewhere in his throat.

You bite your lip and lean back, fixing him with a wicked grin.

‘Besides, this is all part of the foreplay.’

‘The foreplay?’ He whispers, brow furrowing.

You nod, humming at the feeling of his cum slipping from the warmth of your cunt.

‘You really thought he’d just come in your mouth?’

His eyes darken, a huff slipping from his kiss-bitten lips. He brings your hand from his neck to his mouth and bites down on the flesh of your palm. You giggle again.

‘Mm, you like that, baby boy? Like the idea of daddy playing with you, too?’

‘Stop.’ He groans, ‘You keep talking like that, and -’

‘There’ll be a round two?’ you tease. ‘Doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,’ you smile, feeling him twitch inside you. ‘In fact,’ you continue, ‘That sounds like something a very good boy would do.’

‘Stop talking,’ he growls, ‘And take me upstairs. I remember something about you promising to let me taste you.’

The smile that grows across your lips is impossible to hide.

———

Pope wasn’t fucking around when he told you Frankie was good with his mouth.

He wakes you the next morning with more of what he gave you last night, his tongue warm and wet against your cunt, lapping and kissing and sucking until you’re sweating and writhing above him, hands fisted in his hair.

He likes that.

Likes biting marks into your thighs, making you moan and cry and come again and again. Likes when you’re a little mean, when you tell him what to do, when you hold him afterwards, when you let him fill you and fuck you until you’re both whimpering and covered in cum and slick.

The three days that follow pass in a blur of not touching and definitely touching. Frankie quickly becomes accustomed to waking wrapped up in your bed, your arm thrown over his side, and you quickly become accustomed to the sweet praises that drip from his lips as he slots himself inside you - how tight and sweet you are, how he can’t believe he fits in so well. How he can’t wait to share you, properly this time.

He bends you over the kitchen table after you’ve finished eating dinner, licking into you before splitting you open, and you take him in your mouth on your knees in the shower, making sure to remind him of how pretty he is, how good he feels in your mouth. You work him open with your fingers, your tongue, curling them inside him just to watch him struggle not to come so fast. It’s gorgeous. And when you’re too sore and swollen to have each other again, you find yourself cradled between his thighs, your back to his chest as he circles your clit gently with two fingers, kissing your neck and grinding himself against you as you moan, as you remind him how you need to get to work.

‘I know, baby,’ he murmurs, ‘Just wanna watch you come again.’

It’s feverish, it’s risky. You try to be a good liar, but you’re sure Joel knows. Knows you well enough, anyway, to guess that it would happen at some point. Which just means he must have been planning what he’d do to you after finding out for some time, too. You try to be careful as the week goes on - planning to wash your sheets, to not have Frankie in the house when Pope or Joel return. To just try and make it look like you succeeded, that you listened. That you were good.

You’re on your elbows and knees, body weak, pussy swollen and dripping as Frankie spears you from behind when the text comes. It’s Santi.

I’ll be home 2morrow. Look forward to seeing u 2.

One more time, Frankie gasps. Once more like this, and then you can wait.

The two of you can wait until tomorrow.

———

You wait all day for Santi.

And you try to be good, you really do. But Frankie’s mouth is just so convincing.

He’s not allowed to bite, not allowed to leave any marks. He has permission to make you come, and then he has to clean you up again like nothing ever happened. You’re not going to touch him, and he’s not going to touch himself. He’ll have to save it for when Pope gets here. Which, as it’s turned out, is much later than he said. But not late enough to miss the show.

‘Am I interrupting?’

Frankie lurches away from between your thighs like he’s been scorched, backing up towards the end of the bed. He looks so surprised, so worried, that you snort at him, still so caught up in the throes of pleasure to not be too worried about Pope’s reappearance.

He looks good. A healthy glow to his skin, tight black top, his curls perfectly framing his face. His mouth is twisted into its most alluring smirk, and you watch it deepen at the flush of Frankie’s cheeks and the way you snake a hand between your legs.

‘Not at all, baby,’ you coo, and his eyes darken, following the path of your hand. It’s ingrained into you now, how Pope touched you last. The memory rushes through you, and you moan softly, the noises your hand is making against your wet folds so obscene. Still watching, he peels his belt from its loops, curling it in his fist.

He jerks his chin at Frankie.

‘You at least make her beg for it?’

You huff a small laugh, thinking back on how not thirty minutes ago Frankie had been on his knees in front of you, begging for a taste, begging to lick your cunt.

Santi’s eyes shoot to you and the amusement on your face, and he steps forward with a smile.

‘Should have known,’ he says gently, through a smile. His palm cups your cheek, and you nestle into his touch, forgetting that whatever punishment Joel might have thought up, Santi might share. He traces your skin down your jaw, your neck, across your clavicles and down the arm closest to him. He holds your wrist, and pulls it up to his mouth where he can kiss your knuckles in greeting. ‘Hello, querida.’

You look back at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. ‘Hey, Santiago.’

He takes you in greedily, eyes scouring over your bare body, scrutinising so intensely that you almost feel self-conscious.

‘What do we have here?’ he purrs, his spare hand reaching over you, thumbing your nipple. You whine and arch against his touch, fingers moving faster, and he tuts, shaking his head. ‘This will never do, cielo.’ He squeezes your breast firmly before running his fingers down the length of your arm, gripping your other wrist to bring your wet fingers to his mouth. He parts his lips and presses them in gently, and you mewl, hips bucking, as he works his tongue over the digits. His eyes are dark, boring into you, only distracted by the heavy breath Frankie takes from the other end of the mattress. He releases your fingers quickly.

‘No.’ he barks at the other man, and you swing your head to look at Frankie, a hand frozen mid-pull on his cock, face flushing an even deeper shade of red. ‘Did I tell you you could touch yourself?’

Frankie shakes his head frantically, hands moving to his sides.

‘Did I?’

‘No.’ he whispers, breathless, apologetic. Pope jerks his head again, over his shoulder.

‘Off the bed.’

Frankie unfurls his limbs to stand at the bedside, cock heavy and bobbing against his stomach as Santi easily joins your wrists with one hand. It takes you too long to work out what he’s doing - his belt already curled around your hands before you make a noise of protest, silenced by a hard look from him. He twists the leather around your hands twice before tying them to the bedframe above you, giving a sharp pull to test the give. Your chest heaves, something sparking inside you as he cups your cheek gently.

‘Good?’

‘Yes, Santi.’ You murmur, taking your cue from how he admonished Frankie.

He steps back, admiring his handiwork, looking pleased.

‘Maybe that’ll help you keep your hands to yourself.’ He says, half-turning to Frankie.

‘Down.’

Frankie drops to his knees at the command, and you moan, thighs clenching, arms straining above your head, tight to your eyes. Santi says something to you, muffled, and you try to relax again to hear him, a quiet hm? the only sound you can make.

He cocks his head at you, lips curled.

‘Lube, querida,’ he says, ‘Where do you keep it?’

You inhale sharply, mind buzzing.

‘U-under the bed.’

Pope drops to his knees beside you, rifling around until he finds and pulls out a green box, ripping off the lid. His face splits in a dangerous, thrilled grin.

‘Now, what have we got in here?’

You watch with bated breath as Pope rummages through the box, your chest heaving, arms straining against the belt again. He throws the bottle of lube onto the bed before turning his attention back to your toys. He brings your wand into your line of sight, and you squeeze your eyes closed as he presses the button, the room filling with its buzzing sound.

You flinch when he brings the vibrator into contact with your skin, tracing your nipples. Your eyes fly open to find him and Frankie watching you intently.

‘Had a lot of time to think about this while I was away,’ Santi says, almost to himself, ‘But I’ve got much better ideas now.’

Pope licks his lips as he dips the wand lower, teasing it around the soft flesh of your thighs before resting it against your clit.

You yelp at the contact, body juddering.

‘Please, Santi,’ you cry, ‘Please -’ but he shushes you gently, stroking your hair as he lays the wand between your thighs, nestled in to where the feeling is most intense, most overwhelming.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ he coos, ‘Just need you to hold that there, be a good girl.’

You whimper brokenly up at him, and he pouts at you, teasingly.

‘Listen to me,’ he says, and you hold your breath, ‘That’s gonna stay right there, against your pretty little pussy, and you’re not gonna come, are you, querida?’

Your brain buffers, jaw clenching against the heat rising through you, and Santi frowns at you.

‘Are you?’

The air bursts from your lungs as you moan out a no, rewarded with a smile.

‘Good girl.’ he says, dipping to pick something up from the floor. Your panties from where Frankie had stripped you of them earlier.

He taps your chin.

‘Open,’ your mouth falls open of its own accord, and Santi stuffs the lace in. ‘Something for you to bite down on.’

You huff, brow furrowing in concentration, desire, as Pope steps away again and moves towards Frankie.

Frankie, still on his knees, watching open mouthed, cock jumping as he takes you in - stretched out, bound and desperate. His eyes leave yours to watch Santi begin to strip himself of his clothes, and you join him, groaning at the slow show he gives you both. His smooth, tan skin, the muscles that ripple beneath. He unbuttons his jeans before stilling, eyes falling on Frankie.

‘Come here,’ Santi says, and Frankie shuffles forward instantly. ‘Good boy. Now take me out, and show our girl what else you can do with that mouth.’

Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your wrists tug at Santi’s belt. From behind the fabric in your mouth, Pope can hear your muffled fuck. He smirks down at Frankie.

‘Before she comes, hermano.’

‘Pope,’ Frankie breathes, shocked through his haze of arousal, confused, warning.

‘What?’ Santi says, cupping his cheek gently. ‘You don’t think I checked with Joel? Didn’t ask what you got up to before he left? Don’t worry, baby, I did. He just wants to know she’s being taken care of. The sooner you put me in your mouth, the sooner we can do just that.’

Frankie swallows visibly, flustered, eyes flicking to you before he reaches out to tug Santi’s jeans and boxers down, taking the other man’s hard cock in his hand, squeezing and pumping gently. He takes care to thumb over the precum that gathers at his tip, using it to ease the movement. Pope breathes out slowly before touching Frankie’s bottom lip with his thumb, parting his mouth. He joins Frankie’s hand at his base and taps the head of his cock where his thumb had just been, and Frankie opens wider, allowing space for Pope to slide in. He takes lazy thrusts as you watch with wide eyes, hips canting against the toy, cunt pulsing, body on fire - acutely aware that Frankie has a gag reflex to rival your own. The thought makes you giggle, a kind of pride blooming in your chest. So easy. Frankie stares up at his best friend with glassy eyes, cock leaking and untouched between his legs, palms resting, unflexed, atop his thighs.

‘He’s a good toy, isn’t he, cielo?’ Pope hums, slowing the rhythm of his thrusts. ‘So good at just - taking it. Barely any fight in you, is there, baby boy?’

With his mouth full of Santi’s cock, Frankie can barely shake his head. The corners of Pope’s lips curl.

‘No. I’ll bet she hardly even had to ask you. Just a little while longer watching her and you’d have begged to feel her milk you yourself. Isn’t that right, Fish?’

Frankie moans beneath him, his cock dribbling and straining. You want so badly to have it on your tongue, in your hand, inside your pussy, that you whine again, louder. Santi’s eyes slide to you, mouth wide in a smirk.

‘Quit whining, querida. We’ll be with you in a moment.’

You groan again as Pope twists his fingers in Frankie’s hair, cooing at him.

‘Yeah, seems to you both thought to tell us how’d you’d watched, hm? It’s a pity you couldn’t wait to touch, though. Could have made this so much easier for yourselves.’ You wriggle your hips a little more, finding just the right angle, the right pressure. Oh, it’s so good. Too good. Your noises come louder, faster, and though Frankie’s eyes don’t leave Santi, his body twitches, finely attuned now, to how you sound before you come. As though he’s read Frankie’s mind, Pope’s eyes snap back to you.

‘Not yet.’ He bites.

You breathe jagged, harsh breaths through your nose, eyes scrunching shut against the coil that’s tightening in your core. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping through your folds, straight onto the sheets, and you try to think of anything but the sound of Santi’s cock moving in Frankie’s throat. What groceries you need to buy, the post you need to hand to your neighbour, what you’ll wear to meet Sarah. Joel. Joel. Fuck, no. That makes it even worse.

You moan again, dangerously close to the edge, cracking open your eyes to see Frankie bobbing up and down Santi’s length, drool escaping the corners of his mouth. How his cheeks hollow, how he sinks down to the wiry hairs at the bottom, eyes fixed on Santi’s face, unwavering, swallowing; moving back up to kiss the tip, the spit that trails from his lips to Pope’s head, how Pope rocks his hips forward, chasing the sensation. How Santi groans for him, tomalo, mírame, tu boca, tan bonito -

Your hips stutter, now trying to move away from the vibrator as Pope’s hand finally grips Frankie’s curls, pulling him in closer, holding him still as he fucks his throat, and you try to get out a please, please, trying to back yourself down, trying so hard even though it would be so easy -

Santi’s gaze finds you, lost to the feeling of the other man’s mouth, and he smiles kindly.

‘Casi ahí, bebita.’

You shake your head, eyes pleading, desperate, teary, and he seems to take pity on you. He uses his grip on Frankie’s curls to ease him off slowly, marvelling at the way his cock emerges, glistening; at the way Frankies mouth still hangs open for him to fill.

‘Should we help her out, baby?’ He asks softy.

Frankie looks to you, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. Please, you try to moan again.

‘Yes.’ He says, voice hoarse.

Pope holds a hand out to him to help him off the floor, and Frankie stands on shaky legs. You try to will them to move faster, teetering on the edge, breath leaving you in great puffs, your body straining away from the toy, arms aching with the effort of trying to pull yourself away.

‘You ready to come, princesa?’ Santi murmurs.

You gurgle an mhm, sniffling as his hand moves low, hovering over the vibrator. Frankie bends, his cock angry and red still, to press a kiss to your temple.

‘Did so well,’ he whispers, ‘It’s okay, hermosa.’

Pope takes that as his cue to take hold of the wand.

Your back arches as he presses it down, harder against you, roving it back and forth for extra friction. You start to beg through your panties, knowing you can’t hold back anymore as your pussy turns traitor, beginning to flutter. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes, and Santi smiles.

‘Now.’ he whispers.

Your body pulls impossibly tight, giving in to the rush of fire that has been simmering, your muscles clenching painfully as sound and sight evade you. You can feel your lungs working, feel the choked gasps leaving you, feel your arms pulling at Santi’s belt, but you are somewhere outside your body. A rush courses through your body, and you feel yourself gushing between your thighs.

When you come to, blinking, body slick with sweat and your cum seeping down your legs, Pope is untying your hands. You drop them above your head, and Frankie takes your wrists, massaging them soothingly with his thumbs. Santi presses a tender kiss to your stomach, moving the vibrator away as you shiver and jerk with overstimulation.

‘So good, bebita,’ he says, ‘Atta girl. Look how well you behaved there.’

He presses his fingers into your mouth to remove the lace, and your tongue works around your gums to alleviate the dryness the fabric left.

‘Can you move?’ He asks gently, and you nod weakly, cinching at the waist to haul yourself up. He brings his palms to your shoulder, rubbing your skin as Frankie sits behind you, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck. ‘Well done, princesa.’

He brings you further forward, cradling you to his chest as he tells Frankie to lay back behind you, then angles your shoulder to turn and face him. Frankie looks fucked. His bare skin untouched, his cock dribbling precum, pooling at his stomach as you watch. His jaw is clenched like he’s trying to stop himself from begging, and you reach out to touch his thigh, trying to offer comfort in any way you can. He whimpers at the warmth of your skin.

‘Should we help him, querida?’ Pope whispers in your ear, your back still to his chest.

‘Yes.’ You answer, throat dry. He kisses your cheek, and you feel his smile.

‘Use your mouth, bonita.’

You move from Pope to settle yourself between Frankie’s legs on all fours, breathing kisses into his inner thighs before touching him, trailing a finger down his soft shaft. He hisses at the sensation, and you pause, meeting his eye. He swallows, nods.

‘Keep going.’ He rasps.

You pull yourself further up, mouthing at his underside, pressing kisses to his leaking tip before laving your tongue up and down his length. When his hips buck at the sensation, you move a palm to cup his balls and take him fully into your mouth, sucking and hollowing your cheeks, humming with the salty taste of him. His hands quickly find the side of your head, and you move back up towards his tip, licking into his slit to drink down more, playing with his frenulum in a way you know drives him insane. He moans, deep and needy, puffing out a soft fuck as you take him down to the base again, nuzzling the hair there, breathing him in. His cock jumps in your throat, and he looses a needy whine, pulling on your hair, but you don’t budge.

‘Hermosa -’ he breathes, voice tight, and Santi speaks again from behind you.

‘Are you gonna last, hermano?’

Frankie looks up from watching you, unfocused, swaying his head. Pope makes an amused sound, and you feel his hands on you, positioning you, then the press of his tip against your slick hole.

‘Just a little longer, Fish. So much to do with you two.’

Santi glides inside of you easily, but it’s still enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You moan around Frankie’s sensitive dick, and he gasps, hands tightening in your hair.

‘Please -’ he warns, ‘Please -’ as Pope pulls out and thrusts back in again. You cry out, moving back up to Frankie’s tip, moving up and down the best you can as Pope dives in and out of your pussy, knocking you forward to take Frankie deeper with each thrust. ‘Santi -’ Frankie grits, and the other man chuckles behind you.

‘Alright,’ he says, ‘Don’t want to spoil the fun.’

You whine and pout at the loss as he withdraws from you completely, turning your head to find that he’s stripped himself of his jeans and underwear. He winks at you before giving you a little push.

‘Ride it, querida.’

You push yourself up eagerly, coming to straddle Frankie’s hips before positioning him at your entrance. He looks up at you with blown, lust filled eyes, absolutely ruined.

Despite the stretch, you sink down onto him without stopping.

He feels so good. Just like the first time.

You writhe down at his base as his hands shoot out to grip your hips, his beautiful neck straining as his grits his teeth, his abs flexing as he attempts to hold you still. But it didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work now.

You take yourself slowly up, smiling at the wet sound of the movement before sinking down again, feeling him stretch you out, feeling him in your stomach. It’s a delicious ache. You wonder what Joel would say right now, watching you take him so easily, watching how he fills you. Bet you can’t wait to know what his cock feels like inside you, huh? Can’t wait to be droolin’ and comin’ over him like you do me, hm? You clench tight around Frankie at the thought, at the same time as a little ache settles in your chest. You miss him. You miss him, and you wonder what he’d be doing with his hands, his mouth, his cock -

‘Que cosita mas linda.'

Santi’s voice brings you back as you bounce on Frankie’s lap, and you lift your head to look at the younger man, his eyes heavy-lidded, lip nipped between his teeth.

‘She gonna make you come like this, Francisco?’

At the use of his full name, all of the sounds Frankie has been trying to hold back break free from him. All of his pretty little gasps and moans, his whimpers, the way he pants your name as he clings to you, eyes never leaving where you’re joined as he pleads -

‘Can I? Can I come?’

You clench around him again, the knot in your belly snapping at his words, your orgasm blinding as it comes at you sideways. Frankie moans loudly, repeating your name. You gasp, high little pants of uh- uh- as you jolt on him, pain mixing with pleasure as you call his name, Santi’s name, Joel’s name -

‘Up. Off.’

Santi presses a palm to your backside to move you off of Frankie’s length, even as you still clench around him.

‘Fuck,’ Frankie heaves, ‘Fuck, please, no -’

‘Quiet.’ Santi bites at him, and Frankie whines, his cock jumping between your folds at his tone. You close your eyes.

‘Let him,’ you plead, ‘Please, let him, Pope.’

You wanted him to come, he deserved to come. You move your lips up and down his length, and Frankie chokes a moan, his body moving higher up the bed as Santi moves behind you, but you can’t work out why behind the darkness of your eyelids. Your eyes are still closed, body still quaking as Santi leans forward to press a kiss to the centre of your spine. You arch your back against his mouth and he chases you, pressing another slightly higher, scraping his teeth against your skin.

‘Querida,’ he says. You can only moan in response. You know it’s not what he wants, but your brain is so fuzzy it can’t comprehend anything beyond it.

‘Turn around,’ he says, and you whimper, eyelids fluttering as you scratch gently at Frankie’s chest. The man beneath you writhes at the feeling, head rolling, eyes closing, fingers flexing bruisingly on your hips. ‘Turn. Around.’ Santi grits, this time taking Frankie’s hands so he can prise them off you, gripping your waist in an effort to turn your body.

There’s no graceful way to do it, but Frankie handles your limbs with gentle hands as you swing your legs around him.

When you face Pope, the sight that greets you is even better than you could have imagined.

He eyes you hungrily, carnally, his brow dark and hair curled more than you've ever seen. But your eyes are taken to where his fingers are sunk knuckle-deep into Frankie, pumping them slowly. You moan as he digs them in deeper before curling them, repeating the beckoning motion until Frankie’s belly twitches. At the tells of his orgasm, Pope removes the digits slowly, deaf to Frankie’s desperate begging. You watch, mute, as Pope then takes the bottle of lube from beside him, pouring it onto his cock with a quiet moan, jacking himself before pressing his tip to Frankie’s hole. You feel the man below you tense slightly, and you stroke his thighs, fallen open on either side of Santi, with soothing fingers. When he relaxes, one of Pope’s hands meets yours on his flesh, the other helping to guide himself in. You watch as his length is swallowed, breathing shallow, listening to any noise the pair make. Frankie’s ragged groan, the way he chants Pope, Jesus, fuck, his bruising grip back on your hips, Pope’s answering growl as his eyes roll to the ceiling before fluttering shut. When he bottoms out, you watch as his stomach flexes, eyes then drifting lower, where you can only see the coarse hair at the base of his cock, the rest of it buried inside Frankie. You feel your face crease as your stomach turns molten.

Your hips drop to the swell of Frankie’s stomach, searching for any kind of friction. It should be impossible to be this constantly turned on. You move your hips as Pope drags his cock in and out of Frankie once, twice, murmuring how tight he is, how pretty, how good, before his eyes find yours.

‘You want her to sit on your face, pretty boy?’ Santiago purrs at the man over your shoulder.

‘Oh, fuck, please.’ Frankie moans.

Pope jerks his chin at you, sending you shuffling clumsily backwards, blinded by how badly you need to feel something, eyes fixed again to where he thrusts in and out of the younger man, angling your hips above Frankie’s face. You only see his mouth open, tongue already out to lick a fat stripe through your folds, before he pulls you roughly down, moaning against you.

‘Jesus - fuck -’ you hiss, trying to jerk away. It’s too much, too soon, but Frankie is too strong, too desperate to taste you. Your hand flies out Santi’s chest, scratching his skin before trying to find purchase higher up. You take his neck between your thumb and fingers as Frankie eats at you, his mouth harsh and hungry as it sucks and licks. Santi stutters out a groan as you tilt his head at you and squeeze.

‘Make him come,’ you murmur, ‘Make him come, baby, and then you can show me what else you wanna do with us.’

Santi grins and pants against you, his hips faltering for a moment as he leans his neck further into the cradle of your hand. He nods quickly, eyes glazing and soft. You smile back at him, squeezing again, pleased.

‘Frankie always said you were a good soldier, Santiago,’ you coo. ‘Should have known what you really needed was to be told what to do.’

‘Fuck you.’ He grins against your lips.

You answer it with a pathetic, needy little whine.

‘Mm, yes please, baby.’

Frankie takes the moment to suck particularly hard at your clit, and you feel your face crumple - one hand scrabbling at the younger man’s belly, the one at Santi’s neck now gripping the shoulder of the man fucking him. Frankie works diligently at your cunt, anchoring your hips to him as he devours you ravenously, letting the tip of his nose rest just inside your entrance as he flicks your bud with his tongue, swirling it in circles as you grind against him.

This orgasm comes slow, like wading through treacle. It drips down your spine as you curve over Frankie, gasping and shuddering, so breathless that even Pope slows down. Frankie must feel you jolt and twitch above him, lapping up the last of your cum before he releases you from his grip. You lift your hips quickly, needing reprieve, aftershocks still knocking through you as you pant against Santi’s chest.

‘So good,’ you breathe, loud enough for Frankie to hear, ‘So good to me, baby boy, aren’t you?’

Pope presses a kiss to your hair as you work a fist around Frankie’s cock, squeezing his base. He jumps beneath you, a heady, keening noise wailing from his now unoccupied mouth, and you squeeze him tighter, pumping him once, twice, his shaft slick with your juices and his precum.

‘You’ll make him come.’ Pope warns, and you hum against him, forehead just above his sternum. You’re too lost in the way his cock looks as it disappears into Frankie.

The door opens so quietly you don’t hear it, but Santi does. How he keeps his wits about him despite what’s happening is beyond you. He stills his movements inside Frankie, and you feel his damp breath against your forehead, head dipping as he nudges your cheek with his jaw, turning your face towards it.

‘Look who’s home.’ He murmurs into your ear.

Your stomach swoops.

Joel stands in the doorway. His nose and brow are rosy from working in the sun, your favourite flannel draped over his broad shoulders, a grin twisting his lips as he takes the scene in. His eyes dip from yours to your tits, to the way your body curls over Frankie’s. He takes in the man laying beneath you - his face shining with your cum, blissed and fucked out. The rise and fall of his tummy, the way his thighs are splayed to make room for Pope. The way Santi can’t help but flex inside him, earning a ragged groan from both of them, up the other man’s torso, his neck, to the dark eyes watching him back. It’s breathtaking.

Joel cocks his head.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he drawls, ‘Y’all make such a pretty picture.’

You swallow loudly, letting your head fall back to Santi’s warm shoulder, panting before looking back at him. Something swirls in your gut, and you speak before even realising.

‘Come here,’ you whisper, voice cracking. ‘Come here and make it even prettier, daddy.’

The three of you watch as Joel steps towards you, letting the door fall shut behind him.

help with spanish translations from @/urmomsgnocchi's invaluable post here. if there are inaccuracies, please drop me a message <3

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