#frankie catfish morales smutfic

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Basic Training - Chapter 7

Basic Training Series Masterlist JHFTM Main Masterlist

Word count: 5900

Rating: Mature/Explicit for smut, 18+ only (no minors)

Outline: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x “You” (female reader, no racial description, no physical description, no name, no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: It’s 1997 and Frankie is 22 years old; older woman/younger man dynamic;  former teacher dynamic; kissing; oral sex/F receiving; curse words and vulgar language; 10+ year age gap but everyone is legally an adult; story switches back and forth between Frankie’s POV and Reader’s POV

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You woke Tuesday morning to warm summer sunlight streaming through the curtains and a small, furry paw batting your chin gently. Even Oscar’s slightly rude prodding for breakfast couldn’t wipe the big smile off your face. You shifted the cranky cat off your chest and rolled to the side of the bed where Frankie had lain the night before. 

You buried your face in the pillow and tried to catch a whiff of his scent, the Old Spice classic deodorant he favored or maybe his shampoo… but there wasn’t anything there. The lack of sensory proof was disappointing, and then you felt silly. Frankie had been there, really. He had kissed you and talked intimately with you and had fucked up into you with his jaw clenched and his eyes on fire. He had stroked your thigh and touched your face and made you feel like a sex goddess with the way that he gripped your flesh and poured his adoration into you.

You tumbled out of bed and stalked naked to the kitchen, pouring Oscar a generous helping of kibble. He rewarded you by rubbing against your leg before he got down to the business of crunching. You popped one ice cube out of a tray and plunked it into a tall glass before running the cold tap for a minute. You chugged the entire glass in thirty seconds and started toward the bathroom, intent on taking a shower. 

Something dark on the floor near the couch caught your eye, and you almost tripped. 

Frankie’s hat, forgotten again when he had set it down to kiss you repeatedly on his way out last night. You had walked him to the door, wrapped in your robe and nothing else, and your goodbyes had turned into fifteen minutes of very handsy making out. Your kisses and caresses had been peppered with Frankie’s repeated murmurs of “Okay, I’m really leaving now,” and “I have to go, but before I do,” and “Just one more kiss.” You had finally gotten him out the door with the promise that he could return on Tuesday and pick up where he left off. 

Frankie had set his cap down on the arm of the couch, saying that he couldn’t possibly hold it and cup your face with both hands at the same time. And then he had demonstrated with glee that freeing up his hands also meant that he could slip one inside your robe to caress your breast while the other grabbed your ass. Oscar must have knocked it off the arm of the couch to the floor while you were asleep.

Just as you were wondering if you should call Frankie - was it too early to call him? You had just seen him last night. Would he want you to call? Were there ‘rules’ for this kind of thing? - your phone rang. You rushed to pick it up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey! It’s Monica.” Her voice fought to reach you over the sounds of a loud children’s cartoon in the background. “The kids want to go to the beach for a couple of hours. Are you up for joining us?”

You hesitated, “Oh, um… I was just planning to hang around the house today. I kind of had a late night, and I just woke up.”

Monica pounced. “Oh really? Do tell! Wait, hang on…” You heard her muffle the receiver with her hand and say something to her kids in a firm voice. When she came back on the line the background was quieter.

“Okay, I’m in my room. Spill, woman. What kind of ‘late night’ did you have? It’s almost 10:00, I can’t believe you slept in this late! Must have been a really late night.” Monica sounded almost gleeful. 

“I- uh…” you stumbled over your words, completely unsure of how to start. Fortunately, Monica was a pro at interrogation, and drew everything out of you with a series of pointed questions.

“Were you alone?” 

“No.” 

“How many people were there besides you?”

“One.”

“Did you go out or stay in?”

“In.” 

“Girl or guy?” 

“Guy.”

“Your place or his?” 

“Mine.”

Monica laughed. “Ooh. Was it a date?”

“Kind of?” You hated how unsure your voice felt. 

“Who was it? Wait! Don’t tell me, let me guess: Mr. Handsome from your classroom?” 

“... Yeah,” you admitted, but weren’t sure why you felt guilty. Just a few minutes ago you had been so happy about Frankie’s presence in your bed. 

“Did you get takeout and eat dinner and watch a movie? Did he try anything during the movie? Oh! Did he put his hand on your boob?” Monica sounded like she was feasting vicariously on the idea of a date, any date, that didn’t involve being interrupted by a small human. 

“Uh…” 

“What is ‘uh’ supposed to mean?” You could hear the question mark forming above Monica’s head. 

“No dinner, no movie, and he did put his hands on my boobs - plural.”

“Holy shit did you fuck him?!” 

You gulped, and apparently that was all the confirmation Monica needed to chortle down the phone line at you.

“Go you! Holy shit, you move fast! I thought this time yesterday he was just a former student.” Monica teased you gently. “What changed?” 

“Um, he left his hat in my classroom.”

“And?”

“And when I called him and he came over to get it, he kind of… kissed me?”

Monica squealed. “Yay! Holy crap, was it good? Is he a good kisser? I bet he’s a good kisser.” 

Before you could answer, Monica’s nine-year-old son David bellowed in the background. “Mo-o-o-o-o-ommmmm!! Michael is touching me!” 

“Shit, hang on…” Monica muffled the phone again. You heard her use her ‘drill sergeant’ voice, muffled through the line until she removed her hand. “-your brother, or I’ll sell you both to the circus!” 

“We don’t have a circus!” yelled Michael, age 11. You laughed. 

“We will if you don’t stop touching your brother!” 

Monica sighed, “Where were we?” 

“Frankie kissed me.”

“Oh yeah!” Her voice brightened considerably. “Was it good? Like in ‘Pretty In Pink’ - did he have ‘strong lips’?” 

You laughed, “Yeah, actually, yes. He’s very talented in the kissing department.”

“And other departments, too, I bet. Where did he kiss you?” 

You stammered, “Uh… on the mouth…”

Monica giggled. “No, silly, where in your apartment did he kiss you?” 

“Oh! In the kitchen, by the pantry. I couldn’t reach the pasta on the top shelf and he, you know, reached up and got it for me. And then he kissed me.” 

“I thought you said there was no dinner.”

“There wasn’t... I didn’t get around to making the pasta.” 

“Ha!” Monica was back to gleeful. “And then what happened?”

“We talked. He felt bad about kissing me. Really awkward, but we talked about it and I assured him I wasn’t mad or anything. But I also told him I can’t have a long-term relationship with him.”

“What? Why not? He’s yummy,” Monica insisted. “And unless I’m totally missing something, I’m pretty sure he’s into you.”

“Yeah, no, I know. But Monica, he’s young. He’s about to ship off for basic training in a couple of weeks. I can’t expect him to want to maintain a new relationship long-distance. That’s…” you sighed. “That’s too much for him. And for me, too.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Monica sounded sad. “But then he fucked you anyway?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, remembering Frankie’s words on the couch. “He said he would take me for however long he could get me.” 

“Oh, shit,” Monica’s voice was soft. “He’s really into you, huh?” 

Your smile split into a grin. “Yeah, he is. But listen, don’t breathe a word of this to anybody, okay? I just don’t want it to be weird. I mean, it’s not weird. It’s actually weird how not-weird it is, but-”

“Who would I tell?” Monica laughed. “Everyone I socialize with is under 14 and they don’t care what their boring mom is doing. Not a word will leak from this end. Your secret is safe with me.” 

A tiny girl’s voice piped up in the background, “What secret?”

You laughed and Monica groaned, “I gotta go. There’s no privacy here apparently.” 

Mia, six years old and Monica’s youngest child, continued the quizzing technique that mimicked her mother’s style. “Mama, what secret? Is it a party? Are we going to McDonald’s?” 

You giggled. “Tell Mia I’ll take them all to McDonald’s the next time I come over.” 

Monica protested, “Absolutely not! I’ll let you tell them the next time you’re here. If I tell them now they’ll be pestering me about it non-stop.”

“Tell us what, Mama? What’s the secret?” 

“We’re going to the beach, and if you’re good I’ll get you ice cream.”

“Yay!” You heard Mia squeal and run out of the room.

“Gotta go, but call me later!” Monica disconnected and you stood smiling at the phone before you put it back on the base. It rang again almost immediately. 

You picked it up, expecting Monica. “Hey, what did you forget?” 

“My hat, again.” Frankie’s deep voice answered with a laugh. “How did you know it was me?”

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Frankie was amused and a bit befuddled. How had she known he was calling? 

He heard her laugh with surprise, and once again he was struck by how good he felt knowing that he was the cause of that sound. That whatever he’d said or done had struck her just right, and that she was laughing because of him, because he had made her happy. 

“Frankie, hi! No, I just hung up with Monica, I thought she was calling me back.” Her voice went softer, and Frankie felt a little tingle in his belly. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Frankie infused his words with a warm smile. “Really good, actually. I had a pretty hot date last night.”

“Oh, did you?” she said playfully. “Anyone I know?”

“No, but she was fine,” Frankie teased. “A gorgeous, intelligent, fascinating woman. I thought she was way out of my league but she actually gave me a shot.”

She gasped theatrically. “Really? And then what happened?”

“I went over to her place, put the moves on her, gave her the full Frankie Morales treatment. In the end, she couldn’t keep her hands off me. I’d love to see her again soon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, she’s a real firecracker. If I’m not careful she’s going to completely blow my mind, and then I’ll be no good for helicopter camp.”

She giggled, “Did you just call your Army training ‘helicopter camp’?” 

“Yeah, it’s like summer camp, only we don’t make crafts, and hopefully there’s less crying and fewer helicopter crashes.”

She howled with laughter, and Frankie felt his face split into a wide grin. If this was what he got from her with just a few stupid jokes, he would do it for the rest of his life. 

She gasped as she settled back down, and Frankie thrilled when she bubbled at him, “You’re too funny! Stop!” 

Frankie smiled, “Anyway, I’m hoping my girl won’t miss me too much. Wouldn’t want her to be sad after getting a taste of me. I’m very sweet apparently.”

“That you are,” she giggled again, “My sweet boy,” and it made Frankie feel positively gooey inside. He hoped he wasn’t about to kill her good mood with his next bit of news. 

“But listen, I have a problem,” he broached. 

“Oh yeah?” She sounded flirty, like she was expecting more innuendo. 

“Yeah, unfortunately. My mom left early for work with her car, and then my dad’s truck wouldn’t start, so he decided to borrow mine. I woke up to a note taped to my box of breakfast cereal. So unless you want to come pick me up, I’m kind of stuck here until they get home, sorry.” 

“Oh.” She sounded flat. “Do you want me to come get you? Is that…” she searched for a word, “Is that safe? Wouldn’t your parents see my car when I drop you back off tonight?” 

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” Frankie sighed.

“Is it the same address from when you were in school?” she asked. “I pulled your phone number from an old contact sheet when I called about your hat. I know there’s no city bus out that way.”

“Yeah,” Frankie grimaced. “Same old house.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Sorry you can’t get yourself here.” 

Frankie opted for hopeful, “Do you want to just wait until tonight? They’ll both be home around 6:00, then I can head over.”

“Yeah, I guess that’ll be okay. We’ll just make do and work with what we have, right?” 

“Right.” Frankie pouted. “This sucks. I wanted to see you so bad this morning.” 

“Me, too,” she murmured into the phone. The sound of it made Frankie ache. 

Her voice brightened. “But hey, when you do get here tonight, I’ll make you that pasta we never got around to making yesterday. Deal?” 

“Deal.” Frankie grinned and lowered his voice to a husky growl, “Should I bring dessert, or will you be serving the same sweet thing I ate last night?”

She burst out in a throaty chuckle - a warm, pretty sound that made Frankie’s stomach flip over. He let the waves of it wash over him, reveling in the fact that she was once again laughing for him. 

Her laugh bubbled down into a musical sigh, and he could hear her smile through her next words, “Oh, Frankie… What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” he murmured. 

She hummed thoughtfully, “Anything?”

“Anything. I’ve got a little less than three weeks left,” Frankie inhaled deeply and hoped that she would know he meant every word, “...but I’m all yours for the duration. Surprise me.” 

“Oh, now there’s an idea.” She sounded brighter. “That I can definitely do for you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Frankie. “I’ll see you around 6:30?” 

“Yeah, sweet boy. I’ll see you here at my place, 6:30.” 

“See you then,” Frankie murmured a goodbye and hung up the phone. 

Shit, he thought as he stretched his arms behind his head. Now what?

Frankie toyed with the idea of hitting the shower and rubbing one out, but he decided that he wasn’t particularly horny, so he could wait. Scratch that - he wanted to wait. She had felt amazing last night, so warm and snug around his cock. Even through the barrier of the condom she was the best thing Frankie had ever felt. The next time he came, he wanted it to be with her wrapped around him. And he didn’t want to risk that he wouldn’t be able to come again a second time, even with hours in between. He decided to save himself just for her, for tonight. 

After a bowl of cereal and a few phone calls, Frankie lined up plans with his old high school buddy Mark to play video games and shoot some hoops in the park. By 10:30 they were shit-talking on the blacktop and sweating up a storm in the summer heat. 

“Oh fuck you,” Mark called as Frankie sunk a basket. “You gotta let me have one, man.”

“Nope, you want a shot, you gotta come and take it,” Frankie shot back.

“That’s what your mom said to me last night,” Mark bragged. 

Frankie bounced the ball over to Mark with a grin, “Take your shot, douchebag.”

Mark’s throw hit the center of the basket and raised his fists in a victory gesture. “Boo-yah! That’s how it’s done!” 

Frankie grabbed the ball as it rolled back and popped it at Mark’s chest. “At least you play basketball better than you fuck.” 

“Oh, what would you know?” Mark grinned as he dribbled the ball lazily, “You haven’t seen a pussy since you came out of one.” 

“For your information, I had a wild first date last night.” He waited for Mark to line up at the basket. Just as Mark was about to shoot, Frankie added, “And for once it wasn’t your mom.” Mark fumbled and missed, and Frankie laughed. 

“Bullshit,” said Mark as he grabbed the ball and shot it back to Frankie. “What poor, demented girl did you trick into having sex with you?” 

“A woman, not a girl.” Frankie grinned. “An older woman.” He took a shot and hit the basket. 

Mark gaped at him. “An older woman? So like, what, twenty-five? Twenty-six? It wasn’t Darren’s older sister, was it? He’ll shit a brick.”

Frankie shook his head and laughed. “Definitely not Darren’s sister, and she’s a woman, a very sophisticated, sexy older woman.”

“Well, who is she?” Mark aimed and his shot hit the rim before dribbling back to him. 

“Can’t say, won’t say. My lips are sealed.” Frankie smiled, “But trust me, it’s good. She’s… amazing. I’m definitely buying her flowers the next time I see her.”

“Jesus Christ, dude. One date and you’re already pussy-whipped?” Mark shook his head as Frankie lined up his next throw. 

Frankie’s shot hit the rim and teetered for a moment before falling in. “You call it ‘pussy-whipped,’ I call it ‘romance,’” Frankie grinned. “We’ll see which one of us has a better summer. Trust me, she knows what she’s doing in bed. She’s better than all of my other girlfriends combined.”

Mark made a motion like he was jerking off. “What other girlfriends? Lefty and Righty?” 

Frankie rolled his eyes and popped the ball at Mark. “You’re up, dingus. Let’s finish and go home before I melt out here.”

By 11:30 they were back at Frankie’s house chugging Gatorade and calling for a pizza. Frankie decided to hop into a quick shower while Mark connected his Nintendo 64 console to the living room TV. He emerged from his bedroom, curls damp, and dressed in sweatpants and T-shirt just in time to hear Mark holler, “Hey dude, do you hook this up to AUX or Channel 3?” 

“Channel 3, same as always.”

“Bitchin’, I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Kart. I owe you a trouncing from the last time we played during Spring Break.” 

Frankie laughed. “Nuh-uh, never gonna happen. I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass again. I’ll even do it as Princess Peach just to piss you off.”

“Oh fuck you,” Mark grinned. “It’s on.” 

Frankie and Mark got through three rounds, ribbing each other non-stop, before they were interrupted by the doorbell and a light knock. 

“Pizz-UH!” Mark bellowed. 

Frankie laughed and got up from the couch. He grabbed some cash from his wallet to cover the pizza and the tip. 

When he opened the door his jaw dropped. 

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You smiled at Frankie and peeped over the rim of your sunglasses. 

“Hi, Frankie. I’m here for your math tutoring,” you winked. 

Frankie’s wide eyes swept your frame, clad in your date-night dress from the grocery store. You watched his eyes trace from the bodice that flattered your bust just the way you liked, to the drape of the fabric over your hips, to the flirty hem and back up. You had gone all-out, even donning the same first-date jewelry and makeup as Saturday night, hoping he would enjoy the surprise. 

You took off your sunglasses and dropped your voice to a honeyed, sultry drawl, “We’re going to have to “study” awfully hard today, Frankie. Are you ready for your hands-on training?”

Frankie gulped hard, and you realized that his expression wasn’t surprise mixed with joy, but astonishment and something that looked an awful lot like fear. 

“Oh fuck,” Frankie winced, and your stomach trembled just a bit. 

You heard the sound of some video game music coming from the living room, and your brain caught up with the realization that there was an extra car parked out front, taking up the space behind Frankie’s dad’s truck in the driveway. You had parked three houses down and around the corner, out of paranoia that someone would see your car and somehow instantly know that you and Frankie were involved. But you hadn’t really looked at the extra vehicle when you walked across the lawn, it had barely registered. And now it seemed like Frankie wasn’t quite as ‘home alone’ as you thought. 

Just then a high, falsetto voice called from within the house, “Oh, loverboy! What’s taking you so long?” 

Frankie’s face blanched white, and you desperately hoped that you were misreading the situation. But given the terror on his face and the fact that someone else was in the house, there was an instant surge of nausea at the back of your throat. Your limbs felt heavy, and all the air seemed to have been sucked out of your lungs.

You looked at Frankie, suddenly unsure of yourself and your brilliant idea to come over and surprise him. Your brows knit together and you hated how small your voice sounded when you finally unstuck your tongue. 

“F-frankie?” You blinked rapidly to clear a few tears that threatened to well up. “Um, what’s going on?”

Frankie clenched his jaw and gave you a tight smile, “Um, that’s Mark. He’s fucking around.” 

He called out over his shoulder, “Shut the fuck up, man.” 

A male voice rang back, “Is it the pizza?” 

You exhaled a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Frankie looked at you sheepishly.

“I thought you- pizza- I mean,” he shook his head. “I thought you were the pizza guy.” 

You heard the slam of a car door from the street and Frankie looked over your shoulder, relieved. “There’s the pizza.” 

A heavy thud of footsteps sounded from inside, and a young man appeared in the front entryway, giving a cheery yell, “Pizza! Finally!” 

He stopped when he saw you, a look of recognition and confusion coloring his features. “Hey! What’re you doing here, Miss-” 

“Pizza’s here!” Frankie announced loudly, startling you. 

“Oh, hi Mark,” you waved lamely at your other former student. “Long time, no see. How’s your mom doing? She still working at the hospital?”

“She’s good, yeah… Uh,” he glanced at Frankie and then back at you, “What’s going on?”

You fumbled, “Um, I-” 

“Tutoring,” Frankie interrupted.

Mark’s quizzical frown dissolved into disbelief. “Tutoring? Man, we graduated four years ago. Why the fuck-”

“Got your pizza here,” a deep voice from behind made you jump, and you quickly moved to the side of the front door, blessedly out of Mark’s line of sight - and questions. 

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe slowly and bring your heart rate back to normal as Frankie paid for the pizza. When the delivery man left, you looked at Frankie and laughed weakly. 

“You’re busy, I should go.” 

Frankie shook his head, holding the pizza box in one hand and grabbing yours with his other. 

He leaned his face close to yours, “Don’t you dare.”

Frankie led you inside, where Mark still stood in the front entryway. 

“Here,” Frankie handed the pizza to Mark. “Why don’t you take that home?” 

“Take it home? You’re not gonna eat any-”

Frankie interrupted him. “I’m sorry, dude. I totally forgot I had tutoring today.” He turned to you. “Do you want to go sit in the dining room and I’ll grab my books?” 

“Yes! Great idea.” You smiled, “Good to see you again, Mark.” 

Mark looked at Frankie with skepticism. “Are you serious? What kind of tutoring could you possibly need?”

“Advanced trigonometry and physics for the flight training exam I have to take next month.” 

Frankie clapped Mark on the shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll help you pack up your Nintendo and you can head out. I’m really sorry I gotta bail on you.”

You bit your lip to suppress a smile and walked down the central hallway, past the kitchen, to the dining room at the back of the house. You felt giddy and a little weak from the roller-coaster of the past five minutes: from riding the high of excitement about surprising Frankie to the sickening dip of thinking he had another woman with him, to the sideways whip of seeing Mark and worrying that he would suspect that you and Frankie were up to something.

You sat down at the table and listened to their deep voices rumbling from the living room. A few moments later the front door opened and slammed shut, and you felt instantly relieved.

Frankie appeared in the doorway of the dining room, one broad shoulder propped against the side of the jamb, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with wide eyes and a gentle smirk.  

You felt a giggle of a laugh bubbling up, and when Frankie’s smirk dissolved into a chuckle, you lost it. 

You both laughed until you cried. 

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Frankie watched her laugh, letting the sick swirl of adrenaline from the near-miss with Mark ebb away. He drank in the sight of her sitting at his dining room table, eyes crinkling with mirth and shoulders shaking as her laughter filled the room. She swiped a tear away from under one eye, and Frankie thought she had never looked so pretty. 

She had worn the same dress from the grocery store last Saturday night, and Frankie said a silent prayer thanking whichever prick had given her such a bad first date that she ended up in the produce section that night. 

Frankie grinned at her from the doorway, and when the laughter settled, he teased her a bit. “So, math tutoring, huh?” 

Her eyebrows flicked up and she shrugged with a soft smile, “You said surprise you.” She bit her lip. “Are you mad?” 

Frankie shook his head and walked over to her. He leaned down and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. He took his time, pressing hard against her mouth with his own, and nuzzling his nose against hers as he bit off kisses until she whimpered with desire. 

“Do I seem angry to you?” he murmured. 

“No, but I was worried that-” 

Frankie stopped her mouth with another kiss. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

She smiled and gazed up at him. “So, a good surprise then?” 

Frankie smiled. “Great surprise, actually. Were you trying to do the whole ‘math tutoring seduction fantasy’ thing for me?” 

She looked a bit embarrassed, “Yeah, kind of cheesy, huh?”

“Very, but I love it.” Frankie grinned seductively, “I actually do have one skill I learned recently that I need you to evaluate, tell me how my progress is coming along.”

She raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

“Oh I can’t tell you,” said Frankie as he kneeled next to her chair. “I have to show you.” 

She started to turn toward him and he put his hand on her thigh to stop her. “Stay right there,” he commanded. “Will you keep your legs under the table for me?”

She nodded her assent.

Frankie winked, “And for this demonstration you’ll need to put your hands flat on the tabletop.” 

She frowned skeptically at him, but complied, “Okay.” 

Frankie ducked his head to crawl under the table and sat back on his heels, centering himself between her knees. He ran his fingers lightly up the backs of her calves, and her legs trembled. He smiled softly. Seeing her affected by him was so addicting, he wanted more of it. 

He flexed his fingers to brush against the little dimple behind each knee, and she giggled and shivered. Frankie skimmed his hand up, pulling the fabric of the dress higher to pool over her thighs. 

She brought one hand down to pull her dress up and Frankie caught her fingers with his own. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand and heard her exhale a shaky breath. 

“Put your hand back up, please?” He murmured. “I got you.”

She let go and her hand disappeared, back on top of the table. Frankie pushed the hem of her dress higher and higher, until he could see the lace of her panties covering her mound. He ran his palms over the tops of her thighs and back down, then gently hooked his fingers behind her knees and pulled her legs wide apart. He placed a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of one thigh. 

He heard her inhale sharply, followed by a softly voiced, “Oh,” full of wonder.

Frankie ran his fingers up the outsides of her thighs, reveling in the feel of her soft skin under his touch. When he reached the waistband of her underwear he tugged gently down, and she shifted to hover just off the chair, allowing him to slide them down off her hips. Frankie pulled her panties down her legs at a glacial pace, delighting in the tremble of her legs and the way that goosebumps appeared as the lace and his fingertips skimmed along. 

Finally, her panties were off and Frankie could see all of her. He hooked his fingers around the back of her knees again, “Scoot towards me. Lean back,” he told her.

She scooted forward on the chair until she was almost at the edge, and as her back settled against the chair her legs fell open wider. Frankie felt himself getting hard in his sweatpants as more of her gorgeous pussy came into view. He wanted to tease her and make her legs tremble more, bring her to the height of anticipation and arousal. 

He started low, teasing her with gentle strokes of his fingers around her ankles and slowly up the backs of her calves. Frankie saw her hips roll and he heard her hum with anticipation. He placed a soft, warm kiss to the inside of one knee, and she shivered for him again. 

Frankie grinned and dragged his fingers higher, skimming the outsides of her knees with a grazing touch. He kissed the inside of her other thigh, reveling in the way that her legs shifted open just another inch. He felt his cock pulse at the sight of her glistening lips, and the way that her warm, unique scent enveloped him as she got more aroused. 

He ran both hands up the outsides of her thighs to the junction of her hips and then dragged them slowly back down, flexing his fingers so that his nails just skimmed along. Above the table, she moaned for him, and Frankie felt an overwhelming sense of gratification at the realization that he could do all of this for her, make her tense and relax by turns, make her as turned-on as she made him. 

He shifted forward and laid his tongue to the inside of her knee, letting the heat of it linger in the wake of the goosebumps that had risen. He wrapped his lips around the tip of his tongue and kissed her softly. He did the same to the inside of her other knee, and she tensed, her legs threatening to close as she moaned again. 

Frankie kept his hands moving, back up the tops of her thighs this time, tracing a path to the junction of her hips once again. He paused there to press his fingertips in just a bit, watching her jump at the ticklish sensation before he released his fingers and skimmed them back down over her knees. 

When he made his third pass up her legs, Frankie chose the route along her inner thighs. He pressed his fingers more firmly than he had on the other two passes, and went even slower. He heard her sigh raggedly, and then her hands came down. One gripped the seat of the chair and the other grasped at the fabric of her skirt. 

Frankie froze, and he saw the moment she realized and let go, untwisting her fingers from the rumpled fabric of her dress and lifting them back up to rest on the tabletop. He grinned to himself and rewarded her with another hot, wet kiss to her inner thigh. He decided to tease her one final bit before he dove in, and he skimmed his lips higher and higher up her thigh in the wake of his fingers. 

She shivered and her legs trembled as his fingers reached her outer lips. Frankie ghosted his fingers up and down her pussy, and he was rewarded with another deep moan and a sigh. Even better was the sight of her practically leaking onto the vinyl seat of the dining room chair. Frankie’s erection protested against the confines of his sweatpants. He stifled a groan as he leaned forward and his sensitive tip rubbed against the fabric. 

Frankie stuck his tongue out and ran it lightly over her lips, up her seam to her clit. She made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Frankie felt flush with pride. He still couldn’t believe she was his, that she was here with him, and that he could make her make those noises. Frankie thought back to one former girlfriend who had always told him that he was a great kisser; he was amused to realize that he should have been using his talents all this time to simply make out with a girl’s pussy instead of treating oral like it was a separate skill, like it was something different that he needed to learn anew. 

He dove in eagerly, using his fingers to pull her open gently as he wrapped his lips around the hard bud of her clit. She cried out and slammed one hand on the tabletop as he licked and probed her most intimate places with his tongue, reveling in the way her wetness ran down his chin. He wrapped his fingers around her hips and pressed his face harder against her core as she began to tremble and thrash. She moaned and bucked under his lips, and Frankie used her movements to his advantage, following her with his mouth and keeping his iron grip on her hips. 

He licked down and stuck his tongue inside of her as far as it would go, and released one hand from her hip so that he could press and manipulate her clit with his thumb. He heard her gasp as her legs tried to close, and he used his other hand to hold one knee open. 

She tensed up, sitting up a little straighter on the chair before she fell apart in his mouth, clenching around his tongue and crying out a nonsensical string of, “Fuck… Frankie, oh god… oh fuck!”

Frankie withdrew his tongue and licked her slowly up and down as she climaxed. He pressed one finger inside to feel the last of her throbbing pulses as she came down. He kissed her thigh again as he rubbed her walls slowly, pressing her clit with his thumb gently. When her hand came down to pat his wrist, a signal to let go, he withdrew.  

He wiped his mouth with a cupped hand and emerged from under the table to find her limp, slumped back in the chair with a gorgeous, soft smile on her face. She met his eyes and sighed, shaking her head in wonderment. 

“Frankie- you-” she gulped. “That was amazing.”

He grinned at her. “Getting better?” 

She laughed, “Yeah, your skills are definitely improving.”

Frankie smiled and helped pull her up to stand in front of him, wrapping her in an embrace and kissing her deeply. She tangled her tongue with his and hummed with satisfaction. 

Frankie broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, suffused with warmth and happiness that she was his, even for just a few weeks.

֎ ֎ ֎

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[ohheyitsokay]

ask

this takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, but this one is filthy yall. it’s here, the first poly frontier smutfic. strong language, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving) kissing, voyeurism, somophilia, sex toys (note: not all of these at the same time)

also, poly dynamics, but only mentions group sex in this one

summary: kinks and building trusts with the boys individually

>>

“Hey baby, come here for a moment?”

The call floats to you, deep and unassuming, but a bit too far away for you to hear the undercurrents of his tone.

It’s strange, for Benny to be calling you like this – you thought he was getting ready for bed, and he knows you were just about to get into the shower. For these reasons alone, you entertain him, calling “One moment!” and grabbing your still-dry towel to venture along.

Your feet are near silent on the floors as you pad to the room, tilting your head when you find it empty. The others are off helping Santi’s uncle for a project, and Ben had volunteered to stay, rewarding his sacrifice with a weekend full of time with you.

But Benny isn’t in the bedroom. His voice wasn’t quite faint enough to have been outside wanting to show you something silly, so you check the kitchen, expecting to find him cooking a late-night snack. There too is void of your gentle giant, however, and you hear him laugh from the living room.

“Ben? What –”

Your lover was waiting for you to walk through the door and is suddenly, insistently pressing into you. Then your mind catches up with your eyes and you kiss him, his soft lips moving against yours with familiar determination.

Of all the things you’d been imagining, expecting, none of them were him, bare as the day he was born, his blue eyes dark with arousal. He guides you towards the couch, and you barely register a soft blanket laid out just for you. You would notice how hard he tried to make it flat, the way he tucked it in so it wouldn't rumble or slide, but his cock is hard and pressing against your hip.

It's as natural as breathing, to loose yourself in the way he can't seem to be even an inch away from you, the way his body is almost steaming with warmth like embers. Something catches in tour throat, some pinpoint of a thought as frustrating as a rock in your shoe, and you try to shove it out of your mind. He tugs at your body, turning and twisting you both so you tumble down.

The kiss breaks when you fall, and your eyes fly open, opting to look at the windows instead of the man pulling your towel away from your body. There, like a rock in your shoe, is the expanse of darkness, and flickers of reflection like watching eyes.

And his movements freeze, before he covers you again, his face pulling away just enough for you to see the line between his eyebrows. He had asked you, a few nights ago if you’d be alright with trying it, trying… a little bit of exposure, even to the cool black darkness of the land outside, and you had readily agreed. It seemed sexy, a touch of harmless danger, and well within what you should be comfortable with, given your multitude of lovers. And you can feel heat licking at you, the raw excitement of trying something a little new with him, and it was undeniable, how quickly you came undone before him.

But alongside the rush of ache and wanting was a sharp line of fear, as unwelcome as a trickle of sweat down the spine.

He hums at your silence, an understanding noise more than a grumble, and you feel a third feeling: guilt, as he moves to stand.

“Wait, Ben, it’s… it’s fine.” The windows, still dark and unchanging, pull your eyes, and you look up towards him instead, your hand pulling at his skin. Obediently he kisses you, and your anxiety softens when he smiled against your mouth.

“It’s not, love, but that’s cool,” he tries to coax you up, knowing well he would win. “It’s not like you’re any less fucking gorgeous in the bedroom.” It was one of those jokes he made, one of those truths he spoke, matter of fact, making your heart swell like the crest of a wave. You tried, it didn’t work, and while it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest – in fact, the delay of your hands on him was the most inconvenient part – you hesitate.

It wasn’t a lie, before. You want him, this. 

“Wait,” you try again, unfolding your towel and his eyes rake over you involuntarily. You angle the cloth so you’re still shielded, but on full display for him, and you see him twitch gratefully at your bravery. And he knows you, sees the determination in your eyes, and relents, too hungry for you to slow down.

The air is cool, but heating rapidly, and there’s a softness behind the heat that tells you that you've won.

Briskly, he yanks most of the curtains closed, guarding you from the most intimidating ones before returning, sinking onto you like nothing in the world could keep him from tasting you.

In-between kisses he pulls the blanket corner over most of you, discarding the towel and whispering about taking it step by step. His reassuring sentences trail into quiet affirmations when you agree, and then trickle into nothing as his mouth finds it’s way down your body.

It should be sweet, the way his mouth sucks at the underside of your breast, the playful lick he leaves around your nipple, but it is. It is because his hands hold the blanket just so you're for him, and his eyes flicker to yours, despite his focus, checking in.

And he covers you again without you asking, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

It makes you wish, somehow, it would be reasonable to hold his hand.

When his tongue finds it’s home along the folds of your cunt, and you watch him rut against the cushions with a groan, you stop thinking about anything. He's made a little world for you, somehow, a little adventure for you and him.

Hands curling into the soft thick of his hair, you feel him flick and lick around you clit and you can’t help but think you should’ve stopping thinking long ago. And as he presses two of those perfect fingers into you, you think you hear him whisper to focus on him.

You think you manage to reconfirm your trust before your orgasm hits you.

Benny fucks you like the two of you are in your own little world. Maybe that’s why he likes this so much, likes the idea that no matter what circumstances, he can encompass you, carve a home for the two of you between reality. He thrusts a little wildly, a little inconsistently, and you know for a fact he’s not trying to prove anything, not letting defensive thoughts enter your little world. All he’s thinking about is you, the way he can see your breasts bounce even beneath the blanket, the way your tight heat is almost swallowing him, and the way you’re looking at him, finally, with half-lidded eyes, like you’re only thinking about him too. The way he’s hitting that spot again and again, the way he knows you, the way he’s using his strength to almost desperately make you feel like nothing else in the world matters more than this, now. 

You are, and without thinking, your eyes snap closed as you gasp.

-

It's quiet, darkness like a blanket over your home, draping itself into every corner of your room. Above that, above the heavy folds of nighttime magic, something else.

It feels like fog, spider webs and cotton and thick, thick caramel. Dreams poking through like the tips of pine trees spearing out of grey morning mist.

You’re sleeping.

Or at least you think you are – you can feel a comforting weight surrounding your body, warm walls of men sleeping soundly nearby.

But… but there’s something else, too, something hot like lava, seeping around the edges of you mind. It's slick in places, slippery like lips and tongues and sloppy touches and something else entirely in others, something firm. Subtle but insistent.

And something.... tall, sturdy forest trees, linen and leather and aftershave. Santi.

A click of the wrist and swathes of spiderwebs are swept away. He's half on top of you, his hand guiding his cock against your folds so it rubs your clit with every sleepy thrust.

You're... soaking wet, like he been teasing you longer than you can remember, and you're aching for him like you're inches from cumming, hard. Slowly, softly he shifts you, and a thought slips in your mind that he’s being more careful than you expected when you’d talked about this yesterday. You start to get those inches, a perfect stretch of his tip pressing into you, and your dream mind wonders if he’s trying not to wake you. 

It’s impossible to tell if you’re conscious or not - you’re aware, but your body feels aflame, encompassed by him, hyper focused on only him. You try to tell him “Yes, Santi, more -” you try to beg a little, “please, keep -” but only a tiny whine escapes.

And he’s pulling away, a rush of hot air clouding over your shoulder blades. You whine again in protest, still too tired to reach for him, forgetting the nearby men. Santi kisses your spine your shoulder, the shell of your ear. It’s tender, the most temped feeling yet to breach the moment. 

 You’re aware of him, because it’s Santi. That’s why you told him this was okay, that’s why you trusted him. But that’s also why you know him, know he’s hesitating, not for you to sleep, but for you too wake. 

It’s effort, clawing your way through the cotton, but you focus on his hand, still drawing feather-light lines over your waiting cunt. You focus on his other hand, gently smoothing over your skin, softly, subconsciously appreciating every inch of flesh. And you crack an eye, before realizing it’s well and truly night still, and reaching back for him blindly. 

“I said it was okay, Pope,” your whisper still croaks a bit, and you wince.

You feel him soften when your hand finds his neck, pulling him back onto you.

“Yesterday.” His voice is but a breath, and you think you understand.

“Okay,” you find your quiet voice, now laced with your arousal, and he shudders at it. “Okay,” you try again. “It’s now, Santi, please.”  His cock, still hard, presses against your folds like he’s entranced by you, like keeping his skin from yours was the greatest effort.

The words tumble out of you - you hardly notice them, keeping them just shy of silent. They’re for him, for now, the other’s will get their turn when he chooses, like you talked about. And he gives in, pressing deep with a breathless groan. It’s a stretch, how full he makes you feel, but not as much as you expected, confirming. His hands... one braces his weight, so he can begin to rock, and the other finds your lips, filling your mouth with two of his fingers, insisting on your silence.

And you relax, surrendering yourself for him, hand moving to weakly hold his wrist. Each time he slows, and you can feel anxiety spike just a little, you squeeze him gently, reminding him again and again, you trust him.

He whispers, “I’ve got you,” and “I fucking love you baby,” and you think you get it. Why he likes this, because you do too. 

Fucking Santi makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He alternates between quick, deliberate ruts and those slow strokes where he almost completely leaves you before he thrusts as deep as he can go, and yet still. He makes you feel like a lucid dream, like everything is a little too good to be true. You feel full of him, surrounded by him, like you’re floating but you’ll never fall. His stubble scrapes against your skin and he holds you like this fuck is part of a dream he’s building for the two of you. There’s this thing about Santiago, this... love that burns with intensity like soot and sweat and you almost taste it on his fingers.

You trust him completely, and he trusts you just as much.

-

Frankie’s breath is hot against your breast, his eyes still clear as he presses a slow open-mouthed kiss to the swell of it.

Your mind as been sputtering out since this afternoon – when Frankie admitted he bought you a vibrator without asking, because your old one had gotten lost. The very idea of him, Frankie, thinking of that and… using it on you had your mind filled with adoringly lustful daydreams.

And here he is, hovering fully clothed above you, as though he hadn’t been thinking about pressing it against your clit as he filled you.

Unfortunately for you, he’s talking like he isn’t quite thinking about it even now, as you’d practically town off your own clothes for him.

“Answer me, baby,” he rumbles, and you whine.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Those deep brown eyes darken a little, and the creases in their corners deepen ever-so-slightly. Pulling back, he regards you: clothes pressing crumpled wrinkles into the skin of your back, most of you bare just for him. And he looks at the little vibrator in his hands, runs the silicon over the lines along your legs, slow, thoughtful.

It moves, following his words as he talks.

“I see these gorgeous tits, all…” he swallows appreciatively, “All of you out for me.” He’s slow, almost torturing you, but it’s sweet – his dedication to your affirmation. If it were anyone else, it would be purely to tease, purely to see how undone you are, but it’s him.

You can see it, even as he slides closer and closer to giving in, his intensity to make sure everything is clean and cut.

“I see your pretty, desperate face,” he flips the vibrator, watching as your eyes for honestly as they flicker towards it imploringly. He lowers it, using his free hand to push your panties to the side, shifting a little in spite of himself. “You’re fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart.” It’s not on but it’s there, hovering inches from your core and you relent.

“Yes, Frankie,” you almost laugh at how obviously you want this. He turns it on, and you try not to whimper, laughter dying under the flood of your arousal. “Yes, it’s always been okay, not just now, I promise.” Your sweet Catfish relaxes, finally, his shoulders almost drooping now that you’ve confirmed he’s not, in fact, overstepping by buying toys for you.

“I can use it on you, us?” The last, tiny doubt is in his eyes, and you do laugh. As much as you want this, have been wanting this for what feels like hours, you pull him into a chaste kiss.

“Yes, Frankie. This all okay with you?” He laughs too, almost shuddering.

“Yeah,” he kisses you hard, his own arousal finally overtaking him, “Fuck. Yeah.”

Your wait is over, abruptly, as he yanks clothes off with efficiency, almost immediately pushing the vibrator to an equally intense buzz. It wracks through you, shaking into your very core as he experiments for long moments, gliding it from your slick folds to your aching clit. His eyes feel like his fingers, running over your face, your skin, your trembling sex, and you know what he’s watching for. It takes him no time at all, to find a spot that makes you feel like you’re going to cry from the pleasure, not time at all to realize the only thing left is for you to be filled.

You try to ask him, words rushed and tumbling, if he wants you to use it on him, but he shakes his head and presses the tip of his leaking cock against you, toy unwavering from it’s place. And even now, he keeps you waiting, just long enough for you to gasp, please before he pushes inside of you.

And your first orgasm hit you immediately, his groan ringing in your ears. You always stretch around Frankie, the sheer girth of him filling you completely, and this is near ethereal.

He slows the vibe, waiting, concentrating as he tries not to overstimulate you, and you have the overwhelming thought that Francisco Morales is perfect, and he seems to agree.

Just as abruptly, he clicks it off and tosses it away, leaning over to encompass you more.

When your hips roll and you whisper, “Go ahead,” he almost growls his response:

“My turn.”

He means it too, and it’s just like him - to think of you pleasure like selfish, selfless love. Moments of insecurity and wrong moves are long gone, replaced with the confidence of a man who knows no thing could fuck you better. And he loves you, thinks you’re strong and sexy and sweet and soft and he simply doesn’t feel like distracting himself from swallowing you whole.

Frankie pushes into you with steady determination, watching, watching for every little song he makes your body sing. You came him want to grab every handful of you he can get and hold on as long as he can. He wants to see you come undone, and wants to be the one who made it so, wants to let himself pour into you and let his forehead fall on yours and kiss you slow. Because this isn’t about just you or just him, but this special thing the two of you have, that he’ll never stop being in awe of.

And now he knows.

-

“Will...” you concentrate on saying his name, gasping it out like it’s you’re final breath. He rumbles in response, and you lose your words all over again.

Your Ironhead is buried deep in your heat, not moving an inch and he holds you against his chest.

“We’ve been talking about it, and I’m almost sure we can make it work.” 

He’s working hard to keep his voice even, even harder to keep from pounding into you. Only because you’ve known him for years can you tell, because as long as you’ve been fucking, he’s been working on building your patience.

“Will,” you try again. Allowing himself a quiet groan, he begins moving his hand against your clit again. Almost writhing, you fight to keep you question in your mind, hating how he’s just barely coming undone after all this time.

"Why are we talking about this right now?"

His chuckle is tight, like the wrap of your soaking sex around him is finally making him question his choices.

"This was the plan?" He asks - he's asking, even though he knows it's true. You'd talked about it before, worked up to you taking the length him while for awhile, keeping his cock warm to see how long he could last.

But you're two orgasms in and it's unreasonable how desperately you need him to move, just thrust a little, to find that spot he's near memorized, to do something.

And you don't know how to say that when all you can feel is him, Will, Will, Will. He's hard, almost harder than you've ever felt, his sturdy thighs tense beneath your own, and his arms keep you grounded. He's everywhere and it's phenomenal, truly, but something has to change.

"I - " you take a slow, even breath, before giving up on words and finding his wrist to grip hopelessly.

It's instantaneous, how he springs like he's been waiting for your signal, and he lifts you off of him with effort, concern in his eyes.

"Too much." It's not a question.

You hum, gathering your scattered thoughts to kiss him slowly.

"Not enough," you say, smiling at him, too in love to be particularly shy. Surprised, he tilts his head, looking you over.

"William Miller," you kiss him again. "Please fuck me?"

He groans a little, before his broad hands are guiding you back onto his length, and you both shudder. Will sets an unreasonably fast pace and you make a noise, clinging to him for dear life, relief flooding your system alongside the pleasure.

He remembers talking is only in his top three ways to communicate with you, one of the others being interpreting the gasps he makes hitch into your throat. There’s thoughts running through his wind, warm like satisfaction as he remembers himself, remembers you, and how beautiful, wonderful, capable you are. The idea that you’ve disappointed him isn’t one of those thoughts, because he can’t be bothered with the falsity, couldn’t comprehend your honestly being anything less than perfect.

And he can see the way your pussy takes the length of him again and again, getting slicker by the second. He can see the way your legs wriggle and tremble, weak with pleasure but asking him - begging him for more. There’s this expression on your face, one he’s been seeing long enough to know its because of him. It’s relief, it’s the moment that he finds that perfect thing, whatever you need, hits it just right. There’s almost nothing that makes him more proud, and he knows it, sees it in your eyebrows, feels it in your hands on his skin, and it’s all he needs.

Every moment is necessary, like pieces to a puzzle, every word fits into place.

The last few found are your ankles digging into flesh, the pulse of you together, his name on your lips.... and then he stops thinking.

-

It was work, eliminating unrequited moments, but you all did it diligently. 

Extra dates, careful timing, intentional love.

No letting jealousy build.

And moments.

Kissing Will like you need him more than air, feeling Santi split you open, cracking an eye to see Frankie tugging Ben into the closest guestroom. 

Hearing laughter and muffled moans pour out from the shower like the steam, and sliding off to the kitchen to get a snack while you wait.

The softness of Frankie bringing you down, Will cleaning you off while the others go another round. Steady, undistracted eyes and tired limbs pulling you to rest.

It’s work, but none of you would have it any other way.

<<

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poly frontier taglist:

@grogusmum @evyiione @0celestialbitch0

#triple frontier poly fic #poly frontier #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #Frankie morales x reader #benny miller x reader #maybe i don't know people