fic notifications for beefro🥩beefcal

Frankie seemed to slowly catch on to what was happening; his weed-fogged brain finally taking the hurdle over your very inaccurate comment about oil changes, and bringing him to the here and now. He stood up from the tub, soapy water dripping off his stomach and down his thick thighs. Both you and Santiago watched him rise, standing his full height. His fat body shining in the warm toned bathroom light, highlighting the damp thatch of pubic hair at the base of his semi-hard cock jutting out from below his belly. 

An unintentional low groan escaped from both you and Santiago, causing Frankie to look between both of you, eyes  nervous. 

“What?”, he asked quietly.

You moved first. He was sporting a semi, and you needed something in you. And he looked good - real fucking good. You were focused on Frankie and getting his cock hard, but Santiago’s sudden grip on your wrist as you began to pass him caught you off guard. 

“Oh Rabbit… baby… no.”, he cooed patronizingly as he pulled you towards him. “You’re in my house, in my bathroom, high on my weed. I call the shots, sweetheart. You want Frankie?”

You nodded dumbly at him, and he gave you a condescending lupine grin. 

“Then get on your knees.”, Santiago said in a soft, dark command.

You could feel yourself getting wetter and your mouth began to water at the thought of having Frankie’s cock heavy on your tongue, feeling him harden between your lips. You sunk down and crawled towards Frankie. 

“Atta girl…” Santiago’s praise carried the sound of his smile, watching your ass as you crawled on all fours towards Frankie. 

You placed your hands on Frankie’s thighs and his large hand went into your hair, tugging you along as he backed towards the toilet and sat on the closed seat heavily. 

“Come on, Fish…”, Santiago commanded in a low croon. “Rabbit needs one of her holes filled.”

Frankie swallowed hard, slack jawed and breathing quickly, his hand still in your hair, holding your head between his open thighs and facing up at him. His eyes were heavy and glassy, his wide pupils darted to your lips and back up. You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. A bead of drool dripped down and landed on this thigh, and he let out an audible, guttural groan. 

“Yeah… yeah, you do.”, he whispered huskily, his eyes flashing with something darker that you didn’t know was hiding in him, before gently tugging your head down to his cock. You wasted no time and greedily licked at his uncircumcised, semi hard cock. Your head bumped into his belly and he immediately stiffed and tried to suck it in. 

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t do that-”

Both you and Santiago spoke at the same time. Frankie huffed and sat back against the toilet tank, swallowing hard and trying to get out of his head so you could blow him. Santiago seemingly couldn’t help himself, watching Frankie try and get over whatever insecurities were rumbling in his skull, and he stepped up next to him, leaning down. His hand went into Frankie’s curls and, much like the hold he had on you, Santiago gripped his hair, tilting his head back.

“Don’t do that.”, he said in a soft command. Santiago’s other hand went to Frankie’s middle and gripped it, giving his belly a shake. “Don’t ever think this isn’t fucking hot.”

He kissed Frankie at the same time you took his length in your mouth, caressing it with your tongue, and feeling him harden quickly. Frankie groaned into Santiago’s mouth as you sucked and began to bob your head. 

Santiago deepened the kiss, the hand that was on Frankie’s belly came up and cupped his jaw. You kept at it, pulling back enough to suck on the tip and run your tongue along the slit, causing him to buck his hips and break from the kiss. 

Panting, Frankie let out a whine as he tugged you by your hair back. “Baby… please… I-I ca-... you’re gonna make me cum…”

Santiago grunted, gripping Frankie’s chin and making him look up at his face, and growled, “That’s the point.” 

He kissed Frankie harshly again, swallowing his panting and moans as you began to jerk him off. Christ, he looked beautiful like this. Sitting above you whimpering into Santiago’s mouth, body trembling. Precum was beading at his tip, and you leaned down and licked it up. His hips jerked, and his mouth pulled back again, but Santiago didn’t let him get far. 

Frankie’s hips jerked again and his balls started to pull tight. Something in you decided that you wanted to see Frankie really lose it. You wanted to see that darkness in his eyes again, so you removed your hand, letting his achingly hard cock go and slap up against his belly. 

Santiago released Frankie from the kiss when a low whine emitted from the other man and he looked down. First, at Frankie’s cock then at you. 

A smile tugged on Santiago’s mouth with a knowing glint in his eye. “Rabbit… you being a bad girl?”

You returned the smile and sat back on your ankles. Frankie looked at you, wrecked. 

“Ah no… honey… please, baby… don-don’t leave me like that… I- I was almost there…”, he pleaded through pants. He reached out, clumsily trying to grab you, to pull you back to him, but to no avail. You giggled and pulled away from him. 

Santiago continued his cheshire grinning, and tutted you. “Naughty girl, Rabbit…” He looked at Frankie, leaning in and nuzzling his nose against the other man’s temple and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, then murmured, “She thinks you don’t have it in you, Fish… thinks you’re all soft and slow… but I know you… I’ve seen what this fucking body can do… seen you get what you want when you want it…”

The way Santiago spoke about Frankie, you knew it was for both of you. He was trying to hype up the other man while setting the scene for you and what kind of bear you were poking. 

“You want her, huh, Fish?”, Santiago continued, and Frankie’s eyes locked onto you with that same darkness that had piqued your interest and he nodded, then stood up. 

Santiago smiled smugly at you. “Know what you just did there, Rabbit?” 

Frankie was now standing over you, and you were looking up at him, his size made even more intimidating at this angle with the way he was staring you down. “Up. Now.”

There was an excited snickering coming from where Santiago stood back by the toilet. “Oh Rabbit… he’s got you now! You have no idea what kinda weight this big guy can put behind his moves. You’re fucked!”

You stood up, trying to keep your nerves and excitement at bay, trying to remain as composed as Frankie did with his intense stare. Indignantly, you crossed your arms and looked up at him with a forced unimpressed expression. 

“So?”

Frankie didn’t respond, at least not with words. He leaned down and threw you over his shoulder and hauled you out of the bathroom. In your shock at this turn of events, your only clue to where you were going was Santiago excitedly following behind you, cackling with glee as he said, “Bedroom, Fish!”

Apparently, Frankie taking charge and using brute force was a favourite thing of his.

You landed on the bed with an oof! and Frankie was grunting as he crawled up with his head down, his nose dragging against the damp contours of your body.

Santiago groaned at the sight, lighting another joint and taking a puff as he stood leaning on the doorway. With the joint seated between his lips, he began to lazily jerk himself. His eyes were heavy and his breath hitched as Frankie’s lip caught on your collar bone, his tongue flicking out and licking your skin….  Santiago could have that image on repeat and he could fuck his fist for the rest of his life with it. 

“That’s it, Fish… That’s it…”, he groaned as Frankie’s tongue laved across your skin, from your shoulder up your neck. 

Frankie had you pinned, his hips pressing your thighs wide and body into the mattress, one great hand holding both your wrists together and above your head. If you wanted to get away, you might be able to with great effort but his heavier body on yours felt so good.

“...so big…”, you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as his mouth sucked messily on that spot that sent you spinning along your jaw. 

“Yeah, he is…”, Santiago agreed. His voice was low and raspy, and he moved to lay beside you while Frankie shifted above you. Santiago handed the joint over and you took a hit, held your breath, holding the smoke in your lungs for a beat. Frankie staddled your waist, then grabbed your face and turned your head to him and leaned down, inhaling through his mouth hovering over yours as you exhaled. Your hands smoothed up his thick thighs, fingers causing divots where they dug in. 

“What’s your plan, big guy?” Your voice was far softer and calmer than you thought it should sound, but that was more than likely the weed taking over, you thought. The way Frankie held your gaze was intense and yet completely disarming, and for that moment, it was just the two of you on that bed.

That was until Santiago had a coughing fit next to you. You both looked at him as he cleared his throat, his eyes red and watery. He shot you both a hazy grin. “Hey.”

Frankie gave him a bit of an eye roll and began to move off of you, and you assumed he was done. “Hey! Nononononono! Come back!”

“”M not goin’ anywhere… just…”, Frankie paused, seemingly a bit on edge, before his tone got a little sharper, and he settled in, wedging his broad shoulders between your thighs. “Wanna eat your pussy and after that from Pope, I don’t know how to segue to that smoothly outside of just - you know - just goin’ for it.”

Jesus fucking Christ. 

In your life, you had gotten eaten out a bunch of times, and more often than not, they were only noteworthy because of how bad it was or something occurred during the act that made the memory latch on to something in your brain. But this??? This was something else entirely. 

You weren’t sure if Frankie was born with the innate skill to eat pussy like this or he had become this adept from eating chicken wings and using his tongue to get the last bits of meat from between the bones, thusly creating a monster. But it didn’t matter how he got here. What mattered right now in this very moment was you had never, ever felt anything like this in your life and you were sure you never would again.

Your core tensed enough that your upper body raised off the bed as your breaths came out in sharp pants. Your face hurt from how hard your eyes clenched and when your vocal chords finally turned on, the sounds that came peeling from your throat were inhuman. 

“Oh fuck yeah…”, Santiago grunted excitedly next to you, flipping over to put the joint in the ashtray on the bedside table, then flipping back to you. His mouth was on your jaw, groaning his words into your skin. “That’s it… yeah, you like that… didn’t know Fish was a fuckin’ beast, huh?... man likes to eat…”

Your thighs shook and tried to close from the intensity, but Frankie’s arms curled under your leg, one had tugged a thigh back while the other hand’s thumb rubbed your clit. You shrieked out, hands gripping Frankie’s hair. 

Santiago hooted out a laugh, and grabbed your wrists, tugging your hands out of Frankie’s hair. “Rabbit!”, he cackled out, playfully slapping your hand to get you to let go, “Be nice!”

A growl erupted from between your legs and one of Frankie’s hands shot out, grabbing yours and pulling it back into his hair. The pathetically moaned whine that came from Santiago at Frankie’s action, made you whip your head towards him and caused Frankie to pause and look up over your bush at him.

“Fuck… that was so hot... “, Santiago panted, back to jerking himself. “You like it as rough as you give it, huh, Fish?”

Frankie didn’t answer, just ducked his head back down and continued to tongue fuck your hole as his thumb rubbed your clit roughly. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as your moaned breaths panted out of you.

Santiago got close to you again and gently held your throat. His nose pressed against your cheek bone as he continued to murmur filth against your skin.

“You gonna cum for Fish, Rabbit? Gonna squeeze his tongue in your little cunt? He wants that, y’know… loves that. Loves eating pussy, and he seems to really love your pussy…”

You could feel Frankie being egged on, hearing Santiago’s words. He grunted and snorted, doubling down on his movements, tongue and thumb, and your legs began to shake in his hold. 

“Atta girl, Rabbit… paint his fuckin’ face… come on…”

“Frankie!”, you yelped, your core muscles tightening as your body lurched and spasmed. Colours exploded in your vision as Santiago’s hold on your throat moved to your jaw, holding you in place.

“Take it, baby… just lett’im eat… good girl…”

You writhed and cried out, screeching as Frankie didn’t let up. Santiago held you in place, watching your face skew in pleasure and ecstasy. When Frankie finally pulled away and sat up, his breathing was heavy and his eyes locked on your chest moving up and down quickly. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing your release further on his face and in his patchy facial hair. 

You were a mess; legs and hands shaking, chin quivering, small unintelligible sounds coming from between your barely parted lips, brows tenting over closed eyes. In that moment, Frankie couldn’t fathom what the fuck was wrong with Benny. You were perfect. He leaned over you, planting a hand on the side of your head opposite Santiago while his other hand pumped his shaft.

Santiago watched, that same grin pulling across his face. He licked his lips before nodding and speaking with a quiet eagerness. “Please tell me I get to watch you fuck her.”

Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from your face as you opened yours slightly. He dipped his head down and you could smell your scent as he nudged his nose against yours before kissing you, tasting your tangy musk. 

Santiago let go of your jaw but didn’t move away, just rolled onto his back. His hand went to his achingly hard cock, gripping the base.

“Please… come on, fuck her… I wanna watch you ruin her… I’ll cum on her tits…”, he grunted, his body twitching with anticipation.

Frankie, without breaking the kiss, reached between your thighs and hitched one up, your calf halfway on his shoulder. Under normal circumstances, you probably would have balked at being manhandled into a pretzel but your brain was already mush and this was just about the hottest thing that had ever happened to you. The tip of his cock slipped through your folds before finding your hole, then his hips jerked and all 8.5 inches of him plunged into you. You let out a gasping cry into his mouth.

Santiago pathetically whined, still gripping the base of his cock, his body shuddering with the desperate need for release. He was falling apart just watching Frankie’s skin slapping into yours. 

“Fish - fuck! Please… let me - Jesus tap dancing Christ! - let me cum on her tits…when you cum… lemme just - ungh!... lemme cum w-with you….”

Frankie’s mouth pulled from yours, his heavy breaths cascading over and in your open mouth, and your own breathing was marred with strained vocalizations and semblances of words.

“Fra -... Frankie… pl-please… oh-oh-oh god!”

Your eyes only opened for a fraction of a moment, and in that brief glimpse, you saw Frankie, sweaty, heavy, heaving, above you in the same plane of falling apart as you were. His hair was damp with sweat and any other fluids that got into it, some stuck to his forehead and curling slightly against his brow, and his eyes were barely open, watching you. Panting breaths puffed out between his parted lips and you swore you saw the faintest tug on his mouth, only one side making the dimple there a little more noticeable.

“Need you to cum for me, baby…”, he grunted. Santiago heard him, groaning as his fist began to pump his shaft, but those words had to have been just for you.

You were close already, but the sudden intimacy of that moment careened you over the edge, your convulsing walls pulling Frankie down with you. 

Despite the plan Santiago apparently had, he did not cum on your tits. As soon as Frankie came, he collapsed on you and then Santiago rolled on his side, jerking his cock as white ropes shot all over the dip connecting your upper thigh to your torso. His cum dripped down and onto the bed and pooled where Frankie’s outer thigh met your inner thigh. 

The three of you laid in Santiago’s bed, sticky and breathing hard. 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, but it was Frankie who moved first. He pulled out and off you without a word and left the room. Sitting up on your elbows, you looked at Santiago who just shrugged in response, rolled over to grab the joint in the ash tray on the bedside table and sparked it up again. After taking a hit, he handed it to you.

You passed the joint back and forth in silence before Santiago spoke. “Benny’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

You huffed out a laugh, not expecting that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Santiago grinned as he inhaled another toke, and then let it out with a raspy chuckle. “It means he’s a fuckin’ idiot. Love the guy, but you… Jesus, Rabbit…” He shook his head with a smile. “We’re not letting you go like that asshat.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest, and you were sure whether it was the weed taking effect or yu reacting to his words, but you accepting the sensation nonetheless. 

You smiled and laid back down, head facing him. “Oh, is that how this is, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah…” Santiago leaned in and kissed you softly then spoke against your mouth. “That’s how this is.”

It wasn’t a passionate or intense kiss, just a simple bit of punctuation to end his sentence, and you got the feeling he has run out of words so this was the best he could offer. 

The kiss was interrupted by the sound of the shower turning on followed by Frankie returning to the room. 

“Where the fuck did you run off to, Fish?”

Looking a little sheepish, Frankie ran his hand through his hair. “Needed a drink and… and figured we could use a shower given you came on us, asshole.”

Santiago grinned and looked rather pleased with himself and you laughed. He got up off the bed and nicked the joint from your fingers, dousing it in the ashtray. He then grabbed your hands and hoisted you out of bed.

“To the shower!”, Santiago hollered.

A few months went by, and it dawned on you that Frankie didn’t suck his stomach in anymore.

You noticed it first on a lazy Sunday, sprawled across Santiago’s couch while something mindless played on TV that none of you were actually watching. Frankie was half-reclined at the other end, shirt riding up just enough to expose the soft curve of his belly. He didn’t shift, didn’t subtly tug fabric down, didn’t quickly inhale when you looked his way.

He just looked comfortable, and Santiago seemingly noticed, too.

“Look at you.”, he mused from where he had his head in your lap, eyes flicking up toward Frankie seated next to you on the couch. “All relaxed. What happened to the guy who used to damn near pass out trying to look skinny?”

Frankie rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any bite to it. “Shut up.”

You grinned, dragging your fingers lazily through Santiago’s hair and leaned your shoulder against Frankie’s. “No, he’s right. You used to do that all the time.”

Frankie glanced at you, a little wary but not defensive. And yet he still didn’t shift to make himself smaller.

“Yeah, well…” he muttered, scratching absently at his stomach. “I didn’t have an audience like this before.”

Santiago huffed a laugh. “Oh, please! You had me!”

Frankie shot back with feigned irritation, but you could see the amusement and delight in the attention poking through. “Yeah, and you were the problem.”

That earned a bark of laughter, and Santiago shifted, tilting his head up just enough to look at him properly.

“Problem?” he repeated, amused. “I made you better, Fish.”

Frankie snorted, but his gaze drifted and landed on you, and lingered for a beat. It was that look again. The one he gave you that first night. It was still there, never really left, but it had just steadied. Less like something he was afraid of, and more like something he knew how to hold.

You tilted your head with a half way, lazy smile. “What?”

He shrugged, like always, and looked at you with a matching, small grin. “Nothin’.”

“Bullshit!”, Santiago cut in immediately, pointing up at him with a smug smile. “He was thinking about the first time you showed up at my door like a stray!”

You gasped, feigning offense as you turned your attention to his head on your lap. “Excuse you, Santiago! I was in a crisis!”

“You were holding a laundry basket and stunk.”, he countered. “Not exactly life or death.”

“Personal hygiene-wise, it was.”

Frankie laughed, soft, warm, and it pulled something in your chest tight in the best way. That was new, too. Or so you thought, but  you just hadn’t noticed it before.

The way things had settled between the three of you; not into anything neat or labeled, but something consistent and comfortable. You did stay over a lot, and Frankie did, too. Sometimes all three of you ended up in the same place without planning it, like it just made sense, like it was gravity.

“Still think Benny was an idiot.”, Santiago muttered, almost to himself.

You nudged him lightly with your knee. “You said that like a hundred times.”

“And I’d say it a hundred more.”, he replied easily. “Man had you and fumbled. Tragic.”

Frankie hummed in agreement, quieter. “Yeah.”

You glanced at him again. There wasn’t any jealousy in this thing you had with them anymore. Whatever weird, tangled thing had lived there in the beginning had worn down into something easier, something that filled the spaces between the three of you and had you perfectly molded together.

“You two were unbelievable.”, you said, but you were smiling.

Santiago turned his head just enough to press a quick, lazy kiss somewhere against your thigh. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

You huffed. “Debatable.”

Frankie leaned over then, closer than necessary, shoulder bumping yours. “Nah…”, he said, low and certain. “Not really.”

And there it was again, that quiet confidence he hadn’t had before. Not loud like Santiago’s sharpness. Just solid.

You looked between them; Santiago, all teeth and chaos and knowing exactly what he was doing and Frankie, softer edges, steady hands, and that weight - literal and otherwise - that he finally wore like it belonged to him.

And somehow, somewhere between a broken shower, a bad relationship, and a bathtub you definitely hadn’t planned on sharing, this happened.

You leaned back into the couch, letting your leg fall over Santiago’s, your shoulder settling against Frankie’s side.

“Fine.”, you sighed, like you were conceding something. “Maybe I liked it here.”

Santiago grinned immediately. “Knew it.”

Frankie didn’t say anything, instead just letting his hand rest warm and grounding against your arm.

A messy start with messy people, but it worked, and none of you were in any hurry to question it.

Frankie had always been the shier of the two of them, but that didn’t mean he was any less sure of himself or confident in his abilities. That was, until the injury at work on the airfield that left him bed ridden and at the mercy of whatever snacks and food his mother sent over to his home on his couch while his back healed. 

He knew four months of a sedentary lifestyle mixed with the carb-heavy, home cooked meals from his mother’s kitchen didn’t do his waistline any favours, but he didn’t think it was that bad until Santiago came by after being out of town on a job for the last several months. 

Santiago let himself into Frankie’s house - a bungalow with a small basement - and saw his friend on the couch, sprawled out looking bigger. It took him a beat for his brain to catch up to what he was seeing and then another to realize he was staring, and another after that to realize he was staring because he liked it. 

That’s where it started.

Where it was currently was an awkward dance around the fact that both Frankie and Santiago had always found something more in one another but neither was willing to make that first move. There was always the lingering worry that signals had been misread or mistaking a friendly gesture for something far more intimate. 

Santiago had taken a job that kept him in town with a security company and Frankie had returned to work after his back injury. Both of them stuck to their 9 to 5 jobs, and spent the majority of the weekends together, either doing odd jobs at their own of their friend’s houses or throwing small get togethers with the group or just hung out alone together.

While it wasn’t a torrid love affair, it was comfortable and safe.

Until you. You were the new one in the group, being brought in by Benny as the new girl he was dating. You were nice, funny, could hold your own in a debate with Will, and were unlike any of the other girls Benny brought around. 

Santiago knew he was a bad friend on two counts given that the first night after he met you, he went home drunk and jerked off in the shower to your face, your body instead of Frankie. But really was it that bad? The memory of the way Frankie got you to laugh and the way his eyes danced as he watched you made Santiago’s hips jerk and his cock jump in his hand. You were Benny’s girl and he knew, as his cum hit the shower wall and slipped into the water circling the drain at his feet, that it was wrong. 

He didn’t know that Frankie had done the same.

“Baby, come on.”, Benny huffed as you pushed his arm off your shoulder and stood up from the couch. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I don’t know how else you could have meant it.”, you muttered, moving to the kitchen counter to get your purse. 

Benny, dropping his head as he sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “All I meant was that you could be a little more supportive of my training schedule.”

You turned to look at him. “I am supportive. But that doesn’t mean I have to forgo my own life and schedule.”

Benny stood up and reached out for your hands gently. “And I’m not asking you to! I just want you to be more -  I don’t know… just more considerate. I ask you to come over and you bring me a snack I didn’t ask for or want to smoke a joint.”

You sighed, looking away from him. Your mind immediately went to how Frankie would laugh at your jokes or how Santiago watched you with admiration as you spoke. You realized you felt more appreciated by his friends than you did him and it was eating away at you.

“Baby, please! I just asked you come over so -”

“So I could watch you work out and go over your next opponent’s stats and your food plan for a fight week.”, you cut in, your tone unimpressed. “Look, I love how passionate you are about this, about your MMA career, but -”

Benny’s crestfallen sigh interrupted you, and your eyes went to his before darting away. His voice was soft but sad. “I know this takes up a lot of my time, but you knew that when we started this. I was up front about it, and you were okay with it!”

Those big, pleading, blue eyes got to you, and like it or not, he was right. You had said you were okay with it at the beginning. But at that point, you had no idea just how intense it would be and frankly, how much of a backburner you would be on for the majority of the time. He had never spent the night at your house, given his had the fully, properly stocked kitchen according to him, and date nights usually started with either a fight night or training followed by the same bar with his friends. And it wasn’t like you did work out yourself, but the rigidity he lived his life was taking a lot of fun out of dating him for you. You liked Benny, you really did, but you were on two separate paths. 

You took a deep breath and nodded, feeling the disappointment at your situation grow. “Yeah… Yeah, I was okay with it.”

“But you’re not now.”

The softness in his tone seemingly highlighted the hurt in there as well and you finally looked back up, meeting his eyes again. “I’m not.”

The ending of your relationship with Benny wasn’t marked with a huge fight or yelling, just a mutual understanding that neither of you were capable or willing to give the other what they really needed followed by a hug.

Your absence from the bar after Benny’s fights were clocked right away by both Frankie and Santiago, but beyond the quick and detail-free explanation by Benny that “it just wasn’t working”, they didn’t pry or talk about it amongst themselves. 

To Frankie, it was almost a relief given he’d gotten into the habit of trying to suck his gut in every time you were around, but he did miss talking with you, especially when he was able to make you laugh. For Santiago, he was feeling a little hurt by your sudden exit, but also felt a little less stressed now that you weren’t there to monopolize Frankie’s time. 

Santiago was sitting at home on a Friday night, alone and whiling away the evening. Normally, a Friday night would be spent in a loud hall, cheering Benny on or at the bar with Frankie, but Benny was on the road for a series of matches and Frankie was at a retirement party for someone at the airfield. He’d promised to stop by and see Santiago on his way home, but it was only 7 o’clock and he was pretty sure it was too early for that.

You, on the other hand, were frustrated and angry over your landlord’s inability to find a plumber in his price range that would fix your plumbing quickly. You had tried almost everyone in your contact list that lived in the area, asking for access to laundry and a hot shower, but either no one was around or they said they couldn’t help. 

As you drove through your neighbouring community, you saw a red Ford Ranger that looked familiar, and as you passed it, you saw the bumper sticker “IF YOU CAN READ THIS I’M NOT IMPRESSED. MOST PEOPLE CAN READ.” and knew right away it was Santiago’s. Making a hasty u-turn in the middle of the street, you pulled up behind the red truck and grabbed your laundry and toiletries bag. Having not showered in a day (if you could call the tepid spray that spewed from the gym’s shower head an actual shower) and having no clean underwear made you desperate. And you’d already decided that even if this wasn’t Santiago’s house, you’d still have a chance to ask whoever was in there anyway for help.

You knocked, fully prepared to face whoever answered, and to your relief, Santiago’s face met your smiling one, albeit a little confused.

“Oh… shit. Hey - uh… what-what’s up?” He tried to sound casual and lean on the door frame as his brows furrowed.

“Hey. So I know we don’t know each other super well but I was wondering if I could use your shower and your laundry facili - “

“How did you know where I live?”

“Oh, well, I was driving around and saw your truck and -”

“My truck?”

“Yeah, your truck. I knew it was yours by the sticker and -”

“Why were you looking for my truck?”

You stared at his serious face, almost scowling as he questioned you, and you started to get the feeling this was a bad idea. “I… I am so sorry. I was just driving around because I have no water in my apartment right now and - “

Santiago’s face cracked with a grin and he laughed. “I’m just bustin’ your balls. Come in.” He stood back and held the door open for you. You hesitated just for a moment, then headed inside. 

Your first load of laundry was well on its way as you stood on Santiago’s porch with him, a joint passing between you as the conversation comfortably flowed until he brought up Benny.

“I don’t mean to pry, but you and Benny… what happened?”

You knew what he was going to ask. You had prepared yourself for this the moment you saw his truck and parked your car behind his. After all, he was one of Benny’s friends and that was the only reason you knew him, and truthfully, you didn’t expect such a warm reception.

“What did he say happened?”, you asked softly with an exhale of smoke as you leaned on the railing and looked down at the lame excuse for a garden as the heedy smoke seeped from your mouth, gently caressing the night air. 

He reached over and took the joint from you and took a hit, coughed a bit, then shrugged. “Just that it didn’t work out.”

“That all he said?”

He took another long drag then pulled the joint from his lips and sucked in a sharp breath, held it for a moment then released it as he spoke. “Yeah… said nothing bad about you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He handed you the joint again and you took it, flicking the ashes off the end before taking a puff. You could feel his eyes on you, and with the THC in your system, his gaze was warm and made your skin feel fuzzy. You turned to meet his eyes and there it was, that same look he gave you when you saw him in the bar, while you were still Benny’s girl. That same deep brown-eyed stare, his eyes a bit more heavy lidded from the weed in his system, but still just as intense. 

You swallowed and found your voice, lower and quieter than normal. “Benny never looked at me like that.”

He blew the smoke out of his mouth and his voice came out low and husky as he took a step towards you slowly.. “He should have.”

His mouth was on yours before your high brain could register it and try to stop you. Or maybe your mouth was on his. You weren’t actually sure who made the first move, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was how smoky and warm his mouth tasted and how good his hands felt gripping your waist and the back of your head simultaneously. He crowded you against the pillar breaking up the bannister of his porch, his knee pushing between your legs and pressing up against the crux of your thighs.You groaned into the kiss and he pulled back. His eyes were black and his lips were parted, reddened and wet, probably the same as you looked at that moment. You both were out of breath, eyes darting around, planning and plotting how you were going to pull one another apart. 

“Inside.”, he huffed out, grabbing your elbow and shoving you back inside his house. You stumbled in, feeling the urge to giggle at how absurdly hot this was. Benny hadn’t been this pushy, and you didn’t know why now knowing a friend of his was so vastly different from him when it came to sex was so funny. You grinned stupidly with hazy eyes at Santiago, and he let out a low growl as he crowded you again, this time backing you down the hallway towards what you thought was the bedroom. Your back hit the doorjam, and he reached behind you as he mashed his mouth back to yours for a quick and harsh kiss, and flicked the light on in the room behind you. 

“Bathtime.”, he grunted against your mouth.

“Bathtime.”, you murmured back, then paused and pulled your head away from him and looked behind you. 

It wasn’t the bedroom - it was a bathroom. A standalone shower and a grand vanity, an open door to a private toilet room, and lastly, a large tub in the corner. You looked around the room, trying to deduce in your weed-addled brain why he would back you into this room.

His mouth found your neck and as he doled open mouthed kisses along your skin, he murmured softly, “Said you needed to bathe… thought I could help.”

You smiled again and turned your face towards him, smiling hazily again. “Yeah?”

He nodded with a matching smile to yours. “Yeah…”

Your hands moved the front of his jeans and started to unbuckle his belt and his hands began to work off your shirt. By the time you were both down to just your underwear, you were in the bathroom with the door semi-shut, and you moved towards the shower to turn it on.

“Uh uh…”, Santiago tutted with a headshake as he leaned over the tub and started running the water. “I said it was bathtime.”

“But a shower would be - “

“Yeah but we’re both high and I wanna finger you.” He smirked and motioned for you to come closer.

You paused then shrugged with a nod. Seemed like a reasonable argument for a bath rather than a shower, and moved to take his hand. His eyes watched you like a smug cheshire cat as you approached,  then he tugged his boxers off and got into the tub. He raised his hand for you to take it, and you dropped your panties as you stood next to the tub. His eyes dropped to your neatly trimmed bush and a low sound careened from deep in his chest. 

“Fuck…”

You took his hand and stepped into the tub, and he tugged you down, your back to his front, seated between his legs. You could feel his semi-hard cock pressing ever so slightly into your lower back as you adjusted and got comfortable.

His breathing was heavy, feeling his chest moving behind you and his breaths hitting your neck and your ear. “I love a fuckin’ bush on a woman…”, he growled as one arm wrapped around your middle and secured you against him as the other’s hand found it’s way between your legs, gently petting and feeling your pubic hair. “Never liked a bare pussy…”

You swallowed hard and felt your body relax and melt into him at his words. You’d never had a guy be so open about your body hair before, on top of that, be so into it. You opened your mouth to try and offer a sexy retort, but you were silenced as his fingers wove their way into your folds, circling your clit as the water absorbed you both into its warmth.

Your head laid back against his shoulder and his face pressed into your neck, inhaling deeply. The pad of his middle finger passed over your bundle of nerves a little firmer, causing your hips to jerk and make the water shift and splosh. You sucked in a sharp breath as Santiago did it again. And again and again and again.

“Bet your hole’s just fluttering and gaping like a goldfish, huh?” 

The low timber of his words in addition to the way your clit was being toyed with elicited a soft, breathy whine from you, and that in turn was met with a hush and kiss to your neck.

“Santi…”, you breathed out in a moan.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

His response came with his hand shifting and his fingers now circling your hole, teasing the entrance. Your body jerked again and he smiled, huffing out a low chuckle and he pushed a finger in, rhythmically moving it deeper before he added a second finger. 

Neither of you heard the front door open, or Frankie kick off his shoes, grab some food from the kitchen and sit on Santiago’s couch. Frankie, in turn, didn’t notice the smaller pair of runners at the front door, nor did he notice the purse on the side table next to the couch. He would have been devastated if he had, probably would have left and missed out on all the fun; he wouldn’t have known the shoes or purse were yours.

He saw a few pre-rolled joints on the coffee table and as he settled in on the couch, he sparked one up, waiting for Santiago to come out from wherever he was. Frankie knew he was home, the truck was out front and it seemed one of his ass-clown neighbours decided to park behind it instead of street parking. 

As Frankie finished his snack and blew skunky smoke out into the living room, he heard the sound of someone in the bath, noted that the bathroom door was partially open at the end of the hall, and assumed that’s where Santiago was. Frankie figured he would continue to wait, finish the joint and actually get high, then holler out to declare his arrival. Then he heard his friend talking quietly, and while Frankie himself would never be on the phone in the tub, he didn’t think it was that weird that Santiago was.

But then he heard a woman moan softly along with the sounds of water moving in the tub and his friend speaking softly. A smug grin tugged on Frankie’s mouth as he listened, feeling his cock harden slightly at the mere thought of his Santiago getting off. That asshole’s watching porn and jerking off in the tub.

He got up from the couch and snubbed out the joint in the ash tray. He barely felt the effects of the weed but this was too good of a thing to pass up. Grinning, he snuck down the hallway, planning to try and at least sneak a peak at Santiago before scaring him by kicking the door open. As he crept closer, he saw through the crack the back of Santiago’s head… with another head, clearly the person in front of him. In the tub with him. Frankie swallowed hard, feeling a sickening mix of disappointment and curiosity well up in his chest. He crept closer, trying to hear what Santiago was saying to the mystery woman in the tub with him.

“... oh, honey… you’re just achin’... I know… poor thing’s been neglected…  shh shh shh… come on now… Just you wait… both of us’ll split you open…”

Frankie was trying to be quiet, but the sharp breath he sucked in as his face fell in dejection was far louder than he intended. Santiago’s head perked up and he turned, seeing Frankie in the doorway, and smiled hazily. 

“Hey, fucker… your ears burning?”

“I- shit. I wasn’t tryin’...”, Frankie sputtered as he stood upright, big brown eyes wide. 

It was then that you turned your head towards the door and saw Frankie, offering him an equally hazy grin. “Hey! Frankie!”

Frankie froze when he saw you, Benny’s ex, and his question came out in a choked surprise. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You responded with a grin and giggle, like it was perfectly obvious what you were doing, naked in a bathtub with Santiago. “I’m doing my laundry.”

Frankie nodded, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You should join us.”

The simple suggestion from your mouth while Santiago nodded made Frankie’s brain short circuit. He pushed open the door and stepped into the bathroom. As he approached the tub, he could see you planted between Santiago’s legs and his hand planted between yours. A hot jealousy spiked in him and his jaw tightened, but he wasn’t sure over what: Santiago touching you or you allowing Santiago to touch you. 

Frankie’s stare was broken as Santiago cleared his throat with a low chuckle; his eyes darted up to his friend’s. “What?”, he asked, a little too forcefully.

They shared a momentary look between them, then Sanrtiago turned, nuzzling his face into your neck, and murmuring, “Get Frankie comfortable while I get the weed.”

As you got up out of the tub, Santiago wrapped his arm around your thigh, holding you in place as he bit and nipped at your asscheek, then let go. You squealed out a laugh and held your hands out to Frankie who took them and helped you out of the tub. As soon as you stood in front of Frankie, you immediately started removing his button up shirt he wore over his t-shirt. As your hands got to the buttons over his stomach, his hands moved quickly over yours, stopping them. 

“You don’t have to - “

In the haze of weed in your system, embarrassment began to bloom., as did the realization that you were standing naked in your ex-boyfriend’s friend’s bathroom in front of another one of your ex-boyfriend’s friends. You tensed, your hands curling into fists under Frankie’s. 

“Shit… this probably- fuck… this probaby is super weird to you.”

The sound of Santiago’s damp footsteps returned to the bathroom, seeing the awkward scene unfolding. He paused, brows raised, then lit the joint. He took a puff and handed it to Frankie. 

“Sweetheart…”, he said in a slightly scolding, patronizing tone. “Frankie’s still got his fuckin’ pants on.”

“Yeah, I know but -”

“But what?”

Santiago’s intense gaze was like a laser beam right to your clit, and you felt your face burn hot. He took a step towards you, and tilted his head with that same gaze. He inhaled, making his shoulders rise, then he spoke again.

“I don’t like repeating myself. So…” He put his hands on your shoulders and turned you around to face Frankie again. “Make Frankie feel welcome and get his fucking pants off.”

He gave you a gentle push towards Frankie and your still wet body bumped into his larger, heavier one, leaving a vaguely you-shaped print on his shirt. Frankie’s hands came out to stabilize you before he looked past you to Santiago. You could see his cheeks were flushed slightly and he seemed to be working hard to keep his eyes on Santiago’s face and nothing lower. 

“Pope, look. I didn’t mean to crash your -”

“Baby girl, I’m not gonna tell you again.”, Santiago barked sternly, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “Frankie’s pants. Off now!”

Ignoring Frankie’s quick breaths and noting the way he seemed to be trying to suck in his stomach, you undid his belt and jeans and pulled them down, along with your gaze. His grey boxer briefs were being pulled in the front as his semi-hard cock sat to the left. Oh Frankie was a big boy alright.

Without being told, you began undressing him further, fingers almost shaking with anticipation and fumbling with his buttons. His larger hand moved over yours, stilling your movements, and you felt the keen sting of rejection begin as a lump in your throat. There you were, naked and wet, trying to disrobe one of your ex-boyfriend’s friends, and he was stopping you. Sure, you knew Santiago was into this, but he wasn’t a mind reader - there’s no way he could have known whether Frankie would want this, too. Every thought you had was firing off at the same time, and what felt like several minutes was barely a second before Frankie’s other hand moved to cup your cheek. He raised your face, and then you saw his big brown eyes almost black. Before you could speak, he surged towards you, his mouth on yours in a punishing kiss. 

You stumbled back from the force of it, your feet slipping on the wet tiled floor, and Frankie grabbed you, his own socked feet sliding slightly in a shuffle with his jeans around his ankles. His heavy frame inadvertently shoved you up against the wall, and his mouth found yours again, his tongue invading your mouth and intensifying the kiss so much more. 

One of his bare knees came up and nudged between your thighs and pressed up, making you moan into his mouth. Then Frankie’s body pressed you into the wall a little more and you felt a hand slip between you, and Frankie pulled back from the kiss, his brows tented as he puffed small breaths out. You caught Santiago’s face wedged between his neck and shoulder. 

“Still packing heat, Fish…”, he murmured into Frankie’s ear. 

Frankie grunted softly in response and you then knew where that hand was. You gave him a small nod with a smile and trailed kisses along his jaw before tugging his bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Oh, honey, he likes that. Twitching in my hand… like when she’s a bit rough? Want her to be rough with you, Fish?”

You wanted to purr and melt with how Santiago was talking, and when you were finally able to sneak a peak at where his hand was, you sucked in a sharp breath when you saw one hand in his underwear while the other had lifted Frankie’s shirt on the side and was grabbing at his love handle, and you let out a small whimpering moan.

Both men’s eyes flicked to you, and Santiago chuckled. “Feeling left out, baby?”

He tugged Frankie back from you, and without his heft pinning you to the wall, you almost slid down it. The sight before you was unnecessarily hot; Frankie stood there, pants around his ankles and shirt lifted enough to reveal his rounded, soft stomach as Santiago’s hand slid up and down Frankie’s shaft in his underwear while the other gripped and gave a shake to the fat on his sides.

“Know how good you look with all this?”, Santiago cooed into Frankie’s ear. “How long I’ve wanted to get my hands on this gut, Fish?”

Frankie’s eyes rolled back up into his head and you thought he looked so beautiful like that. But then it dawned on you - you barely knew these men and you had never thought to ask if they were together already or if they were even looking for a third. The haze of the weed had lifted somewhat and you became very aware of how naked you were and what an insanely intimate moment you were witnessing. Santiago was whispering sweet words to Frankie, words you were certain were only meant for him and not you. Slowly, you stood up and reached for one of the towels hanging on the wall. 

“Where’d you think you’re going?”

Santiago’s words stopped you in your tracks and you shrugged in response with a small, uneasy smile on your face. “Don’t want to interrupt what you two have going on… Sorry, I didn’t know you two were -”, you paused and motioned between them. 

They both froze, Santiago’s brows shot up and Frankie’s cheeks went bright pink. 

“Uh, we’re not… this is… uh…”, Frankie stuttered, and Santiago cut in, “New. This is new. For us.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar twinge of jealousy from being somewhat ignored, and a bit awkward and foolish for assuming something about the two men in front of you. The men exchanged a quick look then Santiago moved from behind Frankie and towards you. The towel hung low on his hips, right below the slight paunch under his belly button and right under the rolled top of the towel, his cock was bulging; you could see he was hard. He strutted towards you and snatched the towel you were covering yourself with.

“You trying to scamper out of here like a scared little bunny? You being a rabbit? Shy and skittish now that you have two of us here?”

You didn’t want that ugly green monster of jealousy rearing its head so early in the game, so you tried to bow out gracefully. “No! I just didn’t want to inter-”

He cut you off by leaning forward and huskily snarled, “So fucking polite.”

He grabbed your arm and tugged you towards him, ghosting his mouth over yours, murmuring,  “So polite, Rabbit…”

Your lips tried to connect with his, but he pulled back and tsk’d you. “Frankie needs a bath, Rabbit.”

He looked over your shoulder and nodded at Frankie. If you could have seen his face, you would not have seen the same confidence that Santiago had; instead, you would have seen him go wide eyed and unsure of what he was supposed to do in a split second, followed by him coming up behind you. You again didn’t see the silent encouragement Santiago offered, letting Frankie know he was doing great. 

“Frankie needs a bath, little Rabbit… needs to warm up.”

Before you could interject with something sexy so you stopped looking like a stunned fish, mouth opening and closing and nothing coming out, Santiago had gotten Frankie naked and into the tub, and was guiding you in after him. 

He held your hand as you stepped up to the tub, and then moved to grip you around the waist, stopping you with one foot on the edge of the tub while the other was still on the floor. 

“Fish, just look. Tell me Benny’s a fucking idiot.”, he chuckled as his hand moved between your legs and parted your lips. 

Frankie’s dark eyes darted down to your open core and he tilted his head while licking his lips. His chest rose a little higher with the deeper breaths he took and his now hardened cock twitched, breaking the surface of the water. He swallowed hard, held out his hands, then said, “Come’ere.”

Santiago released you and Frankie tugged you down, your knees wedged between his legs and the sides of the tub. You quickly steadied yourself with your hands on his chest, feeling the first muscle under the layer of soft fat under your fingers, and his eyes roved over your face and neck and tits, as his hands held your waist. Frankie was definitely softer than Santiago in almost every way, and you could see the slight insecurity in his eyes, behind his blown out pupils. 

“I know you like eating pussy, Frank… but I’d rather watch her bounce on your dick since I know you haven’t gotten any since your injury.”

Santiago’s slightly condescending words cut through your moment with Frankie, causing a pink flush to creep up from his chest to his face again.

“Jesus, Pope…”, he scoffed, his eyes narrowing at the other man. 

If you thought he was put off of fucking you and had betted on it, you would have lost. Badly. 

“I’m not just gonna fuck her - I want her to enjoy it!”, he snapped at Santiago then two of his fat fingers found your hole and circled it. His face turned back to you and his voice grew softer with that same condescending edge that Santiago’s held. “Yeah, want you to enjoy this, sweetheart.”

Santiago wasn’t as patient. He gripped your hips, tilting your top half lower towards Frankie, making your core far more accessible to him. You let out a surprised sound followed by a yelp as Santiago pushed two fingers into you and his thumb against your clit. He began to pump them in and out of you, not being too rough, but using just enough force to make your face press into Frankie’s upper chest. Frankie gently took your face in his hand and then slid his fingers into your hair and pulled your face back, watching your face contort as Santiago hit that spot in you over and over.

“Feels good, huh? God, you look pretty like this…”, Frankie cooed softly, a small smile tugging on the left side of his mouth.

You could do nothing but let out a low “uh-huh…” through your open mouth. Frankie’s eyes watched you heavy lidded, and a lazy smile pulled on his lips. 

“Atta girl… fuck, so pretty...” 

Santiago grunted from behind you, kissing then biting your shoulder. “Oh fuck, Fish… this pussy is -”

Frankie moved quicker than your mind could, tugging you away from Santiago. You were like a very stoned, horny ragdoll in his hands as he replaced Santiago’s fingers with his. 

Your eyes closed under tented brows, feeling two thicker finger slowly start to pull you apart. 

“Frankie…”

“That’s it… say his name, Rabbit…”, Santiago murmured into your hair. His hand that had up until moments ago had fingers in you slipped under the water, finding Frankie’s hardening cock.

Frankie’s breath caught and his movement in you stopped and once again fingers pulled from you, peeling a whine from your throat. You weren’t going to cum at this rate. Frustrated, you opened your eyes and found Frankie’s head lulled back, his eyes closed and pouty lips barely open. The movement behind you gave away exactly what was happening, and you huffed. 

As soon as you got out of the bathtub to get out of the way, both men looked at you, wide eyed and baffled. 

“What - where are you going-”

“Rabbit! Get back here and -”

“Come back here, baby! Come on, pretty girl-”

“Don’t be like that! Jesus! I’m just tugging his cock!”

You stared at them, feeling indignant about the whole thing. Sure, you understood that these two had some sort of history and you were no prude. What you didn’t approve of was being ignored. Despite your skittishness earlier, you were a selfish girl in bed. You’d play along as long as you were the centre of attention, hence why things with Benny hadn’t worked out fully. You didn’t like playing second fiddle. In all the other threesomes, foursomes and whatnots you'd been part of, regardless of everyone's gender, you insisted on being the focal point. And you’d make sure they understood that.

“If I wanted to be ignored, I’d still be with Benny.”

Both men stayed in place for a moment, mouths agog. Frankie looked quickly between you and Santiago, clearly unsure how to go from here.

“Rabbit…”, Santiago cooed, flashing that million watt smile as he stood upright, naked wet skin on show. “Baby, we’re not ignoring you. We’re just -”

“Have I cum?”, you asked pointedly.

“Have - what?”, Santiago stumbled slightly.

“Have I cum? No. I haven’t. Both of you have your fingers in me like you’re checking my fucking oil and -”

“That’s… not how you check oil…”, Frankie murmured, confused.

You let out a frustrated snort. “The point is I have not cum yet and I want to but I don’t think I’m going to because you two would rather fuck each other!”

Santiago’s brows raised and nodded with a slight shrug, not denying that detail, while Frankie was still in the tub, looking at you, confused and high.

“I mean, yeah. I wanna fuck Frankie, but I wanna fuck you, too, little rabbit.”

Santiago’s voice was smooth - very smooth - as he stepped towards you. His hands slid to your waist and firmly held you in place, just in the off chance you were planning an exit for real. “And I know Frankie here is real interested, too. On both our counts.”

You could see that he was negotiating, and trying to lure you back into the fold, under his control You’d gotten that much from Santiago, that he liked to be the one setting the pace and calling the shots. It kinda pissed you off…

But you were too high to try and maneuver your way in this beyond getting your rocks off with these two men. At this point, you knew you’d gotten this far and managed to keep their attention, so that was good. But not good enough.

You sighed dramatically and dropped your shoulders in petulance. “Can someone please just fuck me already?”

Santiago’s smile broadened before he turned and looked over his shoulder back at Frankie.

“Rabbit’s got some sass in her.”, he growled in a low voice. 

Frankie had always been the shier of the two of them, but that didn’t mean he was any less sure of himself or confident in his abilities. That was, until the injury at work on the airfield that left him bed ridden and at the mercy of whatever snacks and food his mother sent over to his home on his couch while his back healed. 

He knew four months of a sedentary lifestyle mixed with the carb-heavy, home cooked meals from his mother’s kitchen didn’t do his waistline any favours, but he didn’t think it was that bad until Santiago came by after being out of town on a job for the last several months. 

Santiago let himself into Frankie’s house - a bungalow with a small basement - and saw his friend on the couch, sprawled out looking bigger. It took him a beat for his brain to catch up to what he was seeing and then another to realize he was staring, and another after that to realize he was staring because he liked it. 

That’s where it started.

Where it was currently was an awkward dance around the fact that both Frankie and Santiago had always found something more in one another but neither was willing to make that first move. There was always the lingering worry that signals had been misread or mistaking a friendly gesture for something far more intimate. 

Santiago had taken a job that kept him in town with a security company and Frankie had returned to work after his back injury. Both of them stuck to their 9 to 5 jobs, and spent the majority of the weekends together, either doing odd jobs at their own of their friend’s houses or throwing small get togethers with the group or just hung out alone together.

While it wasn’t a torrid love affair, it was comfortable and safe.

Until you. You were the new one in the group, being brought in by Benny as the new girl he was dating. You were nice, funny, could hold your own in a debate with Will, and were unlike any of the other girls Benny brought around. 

Santiago knew he was a bad friend on two counts given that the first night after he met you, he went home drunk and jerked off in the shower to your face, your body instead of Frankie. But really was it that bad? The memory of the way Frankie got you to laugh and the way his eyes danced as he watched you made Santiago’s hips jerk and his cock jump in his hand. You were Benny’s girl and he knew, as his cum hit the shower wall and slipped into the water circling the drain at his feet, that it was wrong. 

He didn’t know that Frankie had done the same.

“Baby, come on.”, Benny huffed as you pushed his arm off your shoulder and stood up from the couch. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I don’t know how else you could have meant it.”, you muttered, moving to the kitchen counter to get your purse. 

Benny, dropping his head as he sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “All I meant was that you could be a little more supportive of my training schedule.”

You turned to look at him. “I am supportive. But that doesn’t mean I have to forgo my own life and schedule.”

Benny stood up and reached out for your hands gently. “And I’m not asking you to! I just want you to be more -  I don’t know… just more considerate. I ask you to come over and you bring me a snack I didn’t ask for or want to smoke a joint.”

You sighed, looking away from him. Your mind immediately went to how Frankie would laugh at your jokes or how Santiago watched you with admiration as you spoke. You realized you felt more appreciated by his friends than you did him and it was eating away at you.

“Baby, please! I just asked you come over so -”

“So I could watch you work out and go over your next opponent’s stats and your food plan for a fight week.”, you cut in, your tone unimpressed. “Look, I love how passionate you are about this, about your MMA career, but -”

Benny’s crestfallen sigh interrupted you, and your eyes went to his before darting away. His voice was soft but sad. “I know this takes up a lot of my time, but you knew that when we started this. I was up front about it, and you were okay with it!”

Those big, pleading, blue eyes got to you, and like it or not, he was right. You had said you were okay with it at the beginning. But at that point, you had no idea just how intense it would be and frankly, how much of a backburner you would be on for the majority of the time. He had never spent the night at your house, given his had the fully, properly stocked kitchen according to him, and date nights usually started with either a fight night or training followed by the same bar with his friends. And it wasn’t like you did work out yourself, but the rigidity he lived his life was taking a lot of fun out of dating him for you. You liked Benny, you really did, but you were on two separate paths. 

You took a deep breath and nodded, feeling the disappointment at your situation grow. “Yeah… Yeah, I was okay with it.”

“But you’re not now.”

The softness in his tone seemingly highlighted the hurt in there as well and you finally looked back up, meeting his eyes again. “I’m not.”

The ending of your relationship with Benny wasn’t marked with a huge fight or yelling, just a mutual understanding that neither of you were capable or willing to give the other what they really needed followed by a hug.

Your absence from the bar after Benny’s fights were clocked right away by both Frankie and Santiago, but beyond the quick and detail-free explanation by Benny that “it just wasn’t working”, they didn’t pry or talk about it amongst themselves. 

To Frankie, it was almost a relief given he’d gotten into the habit of trying to suck his gut in every time you were around, but he did miss talking with you, especially when he was able to make you laugh. For Santiago, he was feeling a little hurt by your sudden exit, but also felt a little less stressed now that you weren’t there to monopolize Frankie’s time. 

Santiago was sitting at home on a Friday night, alone and whiling away the evening. Normally, a Friday night would be spent in a loud hall, cheering Benny on or at the bar with Frankie, but Benny was on the road for a series of matches and Frankie was at a retirement party for someone at the airfield. He’d promised to stop by and see Santiago on his way home, but it was only 7 o’clock and he was pretty sure it was too early for that.

You, on the other hand, were frustrated and angry over your landlord’s inability to find a plumber in his price range that would fix your plumbing quickly. You had tried almost everyone in your contact list that lived in the area, asking for access to laundry and a hot shower, but either no one was around or they said they couldn’t help. 

As you drove through your neighbouring community, you saw a red Ford Ranger that looked familiar, and as you passed it, you saw the bumper sticker “IF YOU CAN READ THIS I’M NOT IMPRESSED. MOST PEOPLE CAN READ.” and knew right away it was Santiago’s. Making a hasty u-turn in the middle of the street, you pulled up behind the red truck and grabbed your laundry and toiletries bag. Having not showered in a day (if you could call the tepid spray that spewed from the gym’s shower head an actual shower) and having no clean underwear made you desperate. And you’d already decided that even if this wasn’t Santiago’s house, you’d still have a chance to ask whoever was in there anyway for help.

You knocked, fully prepared to face whoever answered, and to your relief, Santiago’s face met your smiling one, albeit a little confused.

“Oh… shit. Hey - uh… what-what’s up?” He tried to sound casual and lean on the door frame as his brows furrowed.

“Hey. So I know we don’t know each other super well but I was wondering if I could use your shower and your laundry facili - “

“How did you know where I live?”

“Oh, well, I was driving around and saw your truck and -”

“My truck?”

“Yeah, your truck. I knew it was yours by the sticker and -”

“Why were you looking for my truck?”

You stared at his serious face, almost scowling as he questioned you, and you started to get the feeling this was a bad idea. “I… I am so sorry. I was just driving around because I have no water in my apartment right now and - “

Santiago’s face cracked with a grin and he laughed. “I’m just bustin’ your balls. Come in.” He stood back and held the door open for you. You hesitated just for a moment, then headed inside. 

Your first load of laundry was well on its way as you stood on Santiago’s porch with him, a joint passing between you as the conversation comfortably flowed until he brought up Benny.

“I don’t mean to pry, but you and Benny… what happened?”

You knew what he was going to ask. You had prepared yourself for this the moment you saw his truck and parked your car behind his. After all, he was one of Benny’s friends and that was the only reason you knew him, and truthfully, you didn’t expect such a warm reception.

“What did he say happened?”, you asked softly with an exhale of smoke as you leaned on the railing and looked down at the lame excuse for a garden as the heedy smoke seeped from your mouth, gently caressing the night air. 

He reached over and took the joint from you and took a hit, coughed a bit, then shrugged. “Just that it didn’t work out.”

“That all he said?”

He took another long drag then pulled the joint from his lips and sucked in a sharp breath, held it for a moment then released it as he spoke. “Yeah… said nothing bad about you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He handed you the joint again and you took it, flicking the ashes off the end before taking a puff. You could feel his eyes on you, and with the THC in your system, his gaze was warm and made your skin feel fuzzy. You turned to meet his eyes and there it was, that same look he gave you when you saw him in the bar, while you were still Benny’s girl. That same deep brown-eyed stare, his eyes a bit more heavy lidded from the weed in his system, but still just as intense. 

You swallowed and found your voice, lower and quieter than normal. “Benny never looked at me like that.”

He blew the smoke out of his mouth and his voice came out low and husky as he took a step towards you slowly.. “He should have.”

His mouth was on yours before your high brain could register it and try to stop you. Or maybe your mouth was on his. You weren’t actually sure who made the first move, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was how smoky and warm his mouth tasted and how good his hands felt gripping your waist and the back of your head simultaneously. He crowded you against the pillar breaking up the bannister of his porch, his knee pushing between your legs and pressing up against the crux of your thighs.You groaned into the kiss and he pulled back. His eyes were black and his lips were parted, reddened and wet, probably the same as you looked at that moment. You both were out of breath, eyes darting around, planning and plotting how you were going to pull one another apart. 

“Inside.”, he huffed out, grabbing your elbow and shoving you back inside his house. You stumbled in, feeling the urge to giggle at how absurdly hot this was. Benny hadn’t been this pushy, and you didn’t know why now knowing a friend of his was so vastly different from him when it came to sex was so funny. You grinned stupidly with hazy eyes at Santiago, and he let out a low growl as he crowded you again, this time backing you down the hallway towards what you thought was the bedroom. Your back hit the doorjam, and he reached behind you as he mashed his mouth back to yours for a quick and harsh kiss, and flicked the light on in the room behind you. 

“Bathtime.”, he grunted against your mouth.

“Bathtime.”, you murmured back, then paused and pulled your head away from him and looked behind you. 

It wasn’t the bedroom - it was a bathroom. A standalone shower and a grand vanity, an open door to a private toilet room, and lastly, a large tub in the corner. You looked around the room, trying to deduce in your weed-addled brain why he would back you into this room.

His mouth found your neck and as he doled open mouthed kisses along your skin, he murmured softly, “Said you needed to bathe… thought I could help.”

You smiled again and turned your face towards him, smiling hazily again. “Yeah?”

He nodded with a matching smile to yours. “Yeah…”

Your hands moved the front of his jeans and started to unbuckle his belt and his hands began to work off your shirt. By the time you were both down to just your underwear, you were in the bathroom with the door semi-shut, and you moved towards the shower to turn it on.

“Uh uh…”, Santiago tutted with a headshake as he leaned over the tub and started running the water. “I said it was bathtime.”

“But a shower would be - “

“Yeah but we’re both high and I wanna finger you.” He smirked and motioned for you to come closer.

You paused then shrugged with a nod. Seemed like a reasonable argument for a bath rather than a shower, and moved to take his hand. His eyes watched you like a smug cheshire cat as you approached,  then he tugged his boxers off and got into the tub. He raised his hand for you to take it, and you dropped your panties as you stood next to the tub. His eyes dropped to your neatly trimmed bush and a low sound careened from deep in his chest. 

“Fuck…”

You took his hand and stepped into the tub, and he tugged you down, your back to his front, seated between his legs. You could feel his semi-hard cock pressing ever so slightly into your lower back as you adjusted and got comfortable.

His breathing was heavy, feeling his chest moving behind you and his breaths hitting your neck and your ear. “I love a fuckin’ bush on a woman…”, he growled as one arm wrapped around your middle and secured you against him as the other’s hand found it’s way between your legs, gently petting and feeling your pubic hair. “Never liked a bare pussy…”

You swallowed hard and felt your body relax and melt into him at his words. You’d never had a guy be so open about your body hair before, on top of that, be so into it. You opened your mouth to try and offer a sexy retort, but you were silenced as his fingers wove their way into your folds, circling your clit as the water absorbed you both into its warmth.

Your head laid back against his shoulder and his face pressed into your neck, inhaling deeply. The pad of his middle finger passed over your bundle of nerves a little firmer, causing your hips to jerk and make the water shift and splosh. You sucked in a sharp breath as Santiago did it again. And again and again and again.

“Bet your hole’s just fluttering and gaping like a goldfish, huh?” 

The low timber of his words in addition to the way your clit was being toyed with elicited a soft, breathy whine from you, and that in turn was met with a hush and kiss to your neck.

“Santi…”, you breathed out in a moan.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

His response came with his hand shifting and his fingers now circling your hole, teasing the entrance. Your body jerked again and he smiled, huffing out a low chuckle and he pushed a finger in, rhythmically moving it deeper before he added a second finger. 

Neither of you heard the front door open, or Frankie kick off his shoes, grab some food from the kitchen and sit on Santiago’s couch. Frankie, in turn, didn’t notice the smaller pair of runners at the front door, nor did he notice the purse on the side table next to the couch. He would have been devastated if he had, probably would have left and missed out on all the fun; he wouldn’t have known the shoes or purse were yours.

He saw a few pre-rolled joints on the coffee table and as he settled in on the couch, he sparked one up, waiting for Santiago to come out from wherever he was. Frankie knew he was home, the truck was out front and it seemed one of his ass-clown neighbours decided to park behind it instead of street parking. 

As Frankie finished his snack and blew skunky smoke out into the living room, he heard the sound of someone in the bath, noted that the bathroom door was partially open at the end of the hall, and assumed that’s where Santiago was. Frankie figured he would continue to wait, finish the joint and actually get high, then holler out to declare his arrival. Then he heard his friend talking quietly, and while Frankie himself would never be on the phone in the tub, he didn’t think it was that weird that Santiago was.

But then he heard a woman moan softly along with the sounds of water moving in the tub and his friend speaking softly. A smug grin tugged on Frankie’s mouth as he listened, feeling his cock harden slightly at the mere thought of his Santiago getting off. That asshole’s watching porn and jerking off in the tub.

He got up from the couch and snubbed out the joint in the ash tray. He barely felt the effects of the weed but this was too good of a thing to pass up. Grinning, he snuck down the hallway, planning to try and at least sneak a peak at Santiago before scaring him by kicking the door open. As he crept closer, he saw through the crack the back of Santiago’s head… with another head, clearly the person in front of him. In the tub with him. Frankie swallowed hard, feeling a sickening mix of disappointment and curiosity well up in his chest. He crept closer, trying to hear what Santiago was saying to the mystery woman in the tub with him.

“... oh, honey… you’re just achin’... I know… poor thing’s been neglected…  shh shh shh… come on now… Just you wait… both of us’ll split you open…”

Frankie was trying to be quiet, but the sharp breath he sucked in as his face fell in dejection was far louder than he intended. Santiago’s head perked up and he turned, seeing Frankie in the doorway, and smiled hazily. 

“Hey, fucker… your ears burning?”

“I- shit. I wasn’t tryin’...”, Frankie sputtered as he stood upright, big brown eyes wide. 

It was then that you turned your head towards the door and saw Frankie, offering him an equally hazy grin. “Hey! Frankie!”

Frankie froze when he saw you, Benny’s ex, and his question came out in a choked surprise. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You responded with a grin and giggle, like it was perfectly obvious what you were doing, naked in a bathtub with Santiago. “I’m doing my laundry.”

Frankie nodded, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You should join us.”

The simple suggestion from your mouth while Santiago nodded made Frankie’s brain short circuit. He pushed open the door and stepped into the bathroom. As he approached the tub, he could see you planted between Santiago’s legs and his hand planted between yours. A hot jealousy spiked in him and his jaw tightened, but he wasn’t sure over what: Santiago touching you or you allowing Santiago to touch you. 

Frankie’s stare was broken as Santiago cleared his throat with a low chuckle; his eyes darted up to his friend’s. “What?”, he asked, a little too forcefully.

They shared a momentary look between them, then Sanrtiago turned, nuzzling his face into your neck, and murmuring, “Get Frankie comfortable while I get the weed.”

As you got up out of the tub, Santiago wrapped his arm around your thigh, holding you in place as he bit and nipped at your asscheek, then let go. You squealed out a laugh and held your hands out to Frankie who took them and helped you out of the tub. As soon as you stood in front of Frankie, you immediately started removing his button up shirt he wore over his t-shirt. As your hands got to the buttons over his stomach, his hands moved quickly over yours, stopping them. 

“You don’t have to - “

In the haze of weed in your system, embarrassment began to bloom., as did the realization that you were standing naked in your ex-boyfriend’s friend’s bathroom in front of another one of your ex-boyfriend’s friends. You tensed, your hands curling into fists under Frankie’s. 

“Shit… this probably- fuck… this probaby is super weird to you.”

The sound of Santiago’s damp footsteps returned to the bathroom, seeing the awkward scene unfolding. He paused, brows raised, then lit the joint. He took a puff and handed it to Frankie. 

“Sweetheart…”, he said in a slightly scolding, patronizing tone. “Frankie’s still got his fuckin’ pants on.”

“Yeah, I know but -”

“But what?”

Santiago’s intense gaze was like a laser beam right to your clit, and you felt your face burn hot. He took a step towards you, and tilted his head with that same gaze. He inhaled, making his shoulders rise, then he spoke again.

“I don’t like repeating myself. So…” He put his hands on your shoulders and turned you around to face Frankie again. “Make Frankie feel welcome and get his fucking pants off.”

He gave you a gentle push towards Frankie and your still wet body bumped into his larger, heavier one, leaving a vaguely you-shaped print on his shirt. Frankie’s hands came out to stabilize you before he looked past you to Santiago. You could see his cheeks were flushed slightly and he seemed to be working hard to keep his eyes on Santiago’s face and nothing lower. 

“Pope, look. I didn’t mean to crash your -”

“Baby girl, I’m not gonna tell you again.”, Santiago barked sternly, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “Frankie’s pants. Off now!”

Ignoring Frankie’s quick breaths and noting the way he seemed to be trying to suck in his stomach, you undid his belt and jeans and pulled them down, along with your gaze. His grey boxer briefs were being pulled in the front as his semi-hard cock sat to the left. Oh Frankie was a big boy alright.

Without being told, you began undressing him further, fingers almost shaking with anticipation and fumbling with his buttons. His larger hand moved over yours, stilling your movements, and you felt the keen sting of rejection begin as a lump in your throat. There you were, naked and wet, trying to disrobe one of your ex-boyfriend’s friends, and he was stopping you. Sure, you knew Santiago was into this, but he wasn’t a mind reader - there’s no way he could have known whether Frankie would want this, too. Every thought you had was firing off at the same time, and what felt like several minutes was barely a second before Frankie’s other hand moved to cup your cheek. He raised your face, and then you saw his big brown eyes almost black. Before you could speak, he surged towards you, his mouth on yours in a punishing kiss. 

You stumbled back from the force of it, your feet slipping on the wet tiled floor, and Frankie grabbed you, his own socked feet sliding slightly in a shuffle with his jeans around his ankles. His heavy frame inadvertently shoved you up against the wall, and his mouth found yours again, his tongue invading your mouth and intensifying the kiss so much more. 

One of his bare knees came up and nudged between your thighs and pressed up, making you moan into his mouth. Then Frankie’s body pressed you into the wall a little more and you felt a hand slip between you, and Frankie pulled back from the kiss, his brows tented as he puffed small breaths out. You caught Santiago’s face wedged between his neck and shoulder. 

“Still packing heat, Fish…”, he murmured into Frankie’s ear. 

Frankie grunted softly in response and you then knew where that hand was. You gave him a small nod with a smile and trailed kisses along his jaw before tugging his bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Oh, honey, he likes that. Twitching in my hand… like when she’s a bit rough? Want her to be rough with you, Fish?”

You wanted to purr and melt with how Santiago was talking, and when you were finally able to sneak a peak at where his hand was, you sucked in a sharp breath when you saw one hand in his underwear while the other had lifted Frankie’s shirt on the side and was grabbing at his love handle, and you let out a small whimpering moan.

Both men’s eyes flicked to you, and Santiago chuckled. “Feeling left out, baby?”

He tugged Frankie back from you, and without his heft pinning you to the wall, you almost slid down it. The sight before you was unnecessarily hot; Frankie stood there, pants around his ankles and shirt lifted enough to reveal his rounded, soft stomach as Santiago’s hand slid up and down Frankie’s shaft in his underwear while the other gripped and gave a shake to the fat on his sides.

“Know how good you look with all this?”, Santiago cooed into Frankie’s ear. “How long I’ve wanted to get my hands on this gut, Fish?”

Frankie’s eyes rolled back up into his head and you thought he looked so beautiful like that. But then it dawned on you - you barely knew these men and you had never thought to ask if they were together already or if they were even looking for a third. The haze of the weed had lifted somewhat and you became very aware of how naked you were and what an insanely intimate moment you were witnessing. Santiago was whispering sweet words to Frankie, words you were certain were only meant for him and not you. Slowly, you stood up and reached for one of the towels hanging on the wall. 

“Where’d you think you’re going?”

Santiago’s words stopped you in your tracks and you shrugged in response with a small, uneasy smile on your face. “Don’t want to interrupt what you two have going on… Sorry, I didn’t know you two were -”, you paused and motioned between them. 

They both froze, Santiago’s brows shot up and Frankie’s cheeks went bright pink. 

“Uh, we’re not… this is… uh…”, Frankie stuttered, and Santiago cut in, “New. This is new. For us.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar twinge of jealousy from being somewhat ignored, and a bit awkward and foolish for assuming something about the two men in front of you. The men exchanged a quick look then Santiago moved from behind Frankie and towards you. The towel hung low on his hips, right below the slight paunch under his belly button and right under the rolled top of the towel, his cock was bulging; you could see he was hard. He strutted towards you and snatched the towel you were covering yourself with.

“You trying to scamper out of here like a scared little bunny? You being a rabbit? Shy and skittish now that you have two of us here?”

You didn’t want that ugly green monster of jealousy rearing its head so early in the game, so you tried to bow out gracefully. “No! I just didn’t want to inter-”

He cut you off by leaning forward and huskily snarled, “So fucking polite.”

He grabbed your arm and tugged you towards him, ghosting his mouth over yours, murmuring,  “So polite, Rabbit…”

Your lips tried to connect with his, but he pulled back and tsk’d you. “Frankie needs a bath, Rabbit.”

He looked over your shoulder and nodded at Frankie. If you could have seen his face, you would not have seen the same confidence that Santiago had; instead, you would have seen him go wide eyed and unsure of what he was supposed to do in a split second, followed by him coming up behind you. You again didn’t see the silent encouragement Santiago offered, letting Frankie know he was doing great. 

“Frankie needs a bath, little Rabbit… needs to warm up.”

Before you could interject with something sexy so you stopped looking like a stunned fish, mouth opening and closing and nothing coming out, Santiago had gotten Frankie naked and into the tub, and was guiding you in after him. 

He held your hand as you stepped up to the tub, and then moved to grip you around the waist, stopping you with one foot on the edge of the tub while the other was still on the floor. 

“Fish, just look. Tell me Benny’s a fucking idiot.”, he chuckled as his hand moved between your legs and parted your lips. 

Frankie’s dark eyes darted down to your open core and he tilted his head while licking his lips. His chest rose a little higher with the deeper breaths he took and his now hardened cock twitched, breaking the surface of the water. He swallowed hard, held out his hands, then said, “Come’ere.”

Santiago released you and Frankie tugged you down, your knees wedged between his legs and the sides of the tub. You quickly steadied yourself with your hands on his chest, feeling the first muscle under the layer of soft fat under your fingers, and his eyes roved over your face and neck and tits, as his hands held your waist. Frankie was definitely softer than Santiago in almost every way, and you could see the slight insecurity in his eyes, behind his blown out pupils. 

“I know you like eating pussy, Frank… but I’d rather watch her bounce on your dick since I know you haven’t gotten any since your injury.”

Santiago’s slightly condescending words cut through your moment with Frankie, causing a pink flush to creep up from his chest to his face again.

“Jesus, Pope…”, he scoffed, his eyes narrowing at the other man. 

If you thought he was put off of fucking you and had betted on it, you would have lost. Badly. 

“I’m not just gonna fuck her - I want her to enjoy it!”, he snapped at Santiago then two of his fat fingers found your hole and circled it. His face turned back to you and his voice grew softer with that same condescending edge that Santiago’s held. “Yeah, want you to enjoy this, sweetheart.”

Santiago wasn’t as patient. He gripped your hips, tilting your top half lower towards Frankie, making your core far more accessible to him. You let out a surprised sound followed by a yelp as Santiago pushed two fingers into you and his thumb against your clit. He began to pump them in and out of you, not being too rough, but using just enough force to make your face press into Frankie’s upper chest. Frankie gently took your face in his hand and then slid his fingers into your hair and pulled your face back, watching your face contort as Santiago hit that spot in you over and over.

“Feels good, huh? God, you look pretty like this…”, Frankie cooed softly, a small smile tugging on the left side of his mouth.

You could do nothing but let out a low “uh-huh…” through your open mouth. Frankie’s eyes watched you heavy lidded, and a lazy smile pulled on his lips. 

“Atta girl… fuck, so pretty...” 

Santiago grunted from behind you, kissing then biting your shoulder. “Oh fuck, Fish… this pussy is -”

Frankie moved quicker than your mind could, tugging you away from Santiago. You were like a very stoned, horny ragdoll in his hands as he replaced Santiago’s fingers with his. 

Your eyes closed under tented brows, feeling two thicker finger slowly start to pull you apart. 

“Frankie…”

“That’s it… say his name, Rabbit…”, Santiago murmured into your hair. His hand that had up until moments ago had fingers in you slipped under the water, finding Frankie’s hardening cock.

Frankie’s breath caught and his movement in you stopped and once again fingers pulled from you, peeling a whine from your throat. You weren’t going to cum at this rate. Frustrated, you opened your eyes and found Frankie’s head lulled back, his eyes closed and pouty lips barely open. The movement behind you gave away exactly what was happening, and you huffed. 

As soon as you got out of the bathtub to get out of the way, both men looked at you, wide eyed and baffled. 

“What - where are you going-”

“Rabbit! Get back here and -”

“Come back here, baby! Come on, pretty girl-”

“Don’t be like that! Jesus! I’m just tugging his cock!”

You stared at them, feeling indignant about the whole thing. Sure, you understood that these two had some sort of history and you were no prude. What you didn’t approve of was being ignored. Despite your skittishness earlier, you were a selfish girl in bed. You’d play along as long as you were the centre of attention, hence why things with Benny hadn’t worked out fully. You didn’t like playing second fiddle. In all the other threesomes, foursomes and whatnots you'd been part of, regardless of everyone's gender, you insisted on being the focal point. And you’d make sure they understood that.

“If I wanted to be ignored, I’d still be with Benny.”

Both men stayed in place for a moment, mouths agog. Frankie looked quickly between you and Santiago, clearly unsure how to go from here.

“Rabbit…”, Santiago cooed, flashing that million watt smile as he stood upright, naked wet skin on show. “Baby, we’re not ignoring you. We’re just -”

“Have I cum?”, you asked pointedly.

“Have - what?”, Santiago stumbled slightly.

“Have I cum? No. I haven’t. Both of you have your fingers in me like you’re checking my fucking oil and -”

“That’s… not how you check oil…”, Frankie murmured, confused.

You let out a frustrated snort. “The point is I have not cum yet and I want to but I don’t think I’m going to because you two would rather fuck each other!”

Santiago’s brows raised and nodded with a slight shrug, not denying that detail, while Frankie was still in the tub, looking at you, confused and high.

“I mean, yeah. I wanna fuck Frankie, but I wanna fuck you, too, little rabbit.”

Santiago’s voice was smooth - very smooth - as he stepped towards you. His hands slid to your waist and firmly held you in place, just in the off chance you were planning an exit for real. “And I know Frankie here is real interested, too. On both our counts.”

You could see that he was negotiating, and trying to lure you back into the fold, under his control You’d gotten that much from Santiago, that he liked to be the one setting the pace and calling the shots. It kinda pissed you off…

But you were too high to try and maneuver your way in this beyond getting your rocks off with these two men. At this point, you knew you’d gotten this far and managed to keep their attention, so that was good. But not good enough.

You sighed dramatically and dropped your shoulders in petulance. “Can someone please just fuck me already?”

Santiago’s smile broadened before he turned and looked over his shoulder back at Frankie.

“Rabbit’s got some sass in her.”, he growled in a low voice. 

By the time you met Marcus Pike, three things were already true for you:

Prohibition was a joke everyone told with a straight face.

Yellow looked good on everyone if you were brave enough.

Men in suspenders could not be trusted.

You learned the third one the hard way. The night began the way most questionable nights did: with a trumpet screaming like it had a personal vendetta and a woman in gold fringe laughing too loudly at nothing in particular.

The Sunflower Club glowed like a bad idea dipped in honey. From the street, it looked like a florist’s shop, bouquets of yellow roses filling the front window, cheerful and innocent. Inside, it was all smoke and brass and bodies pressed too close, gin flowing like a confession from a guilt-ridden floosy.

You were already two bad decisions deep when you spotted him. He was standing near the bar, sleeves rolled up, suspenders cutting clean lines down his torso like they were drawn there on purpose. White shirt, slightly rumpled, and dark hair that was unruly in a way that suggested he’d given up trying to tame it sometime around the Wilson administration. And then there was the beard.

You felt the beard before you even touched it. It wasn’t fashionable; it was too patchy, too deliberate. The kind of beard a man grew when he’d seen something, lost something, and decided razors were beneath him now, but didn’t have the follicles to support his grief.

“Who’s the sad bounder?” you murmured to the bartender.

The bartender didn’t look up. “Art dealer.”

You blinked and looked at the bartender waiting for further information. When none came, you muttered,. “That explains literally nothing.”

“Does if you know art dealers.”

The man turned then, as if summoned by the conversation, and looked directly at you.

Oh.

Oh no.

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled—soft, like he didn’t quite trust the expression yet. He lifted his glass in a small, polite salute.

You, being a functioning adult with impulse control, immediately turned away. You were wearing yellow tonight. A satin slip dress the color of champagne gone feral, cut on the bias so it clung where it wanted and floated where it pleased. A gold headband kept your hair in place, the kind with a single rhinestone that caught the light when you moved. You’d dressed for chaos. You’d manifested this.

You told yourself you were immune to men who looked like they could explain the provenance of a stolen artifact and help you move furniture. 

You told yourself a lot of lies. Because now this Jake was making his way towards you and you had practically rolled out the red carpet with your yellow glad rags.

The band struck up something fast and brassy, and the dance floor filled like spilled coins. You let yourself be pulled into the crowd, spinning and laughing, the world a blur of gold and smoke and joy.

When you felt a gentle, asking touch to your elbow, you jumped and turned to see those suspenders. Close up, he was even worse. Better. Worse.

“Sorry,” he said immediately. His voice was warm, edged with something tired. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No harm done,” you said. “You planning on apologizing all night, or—?”

His smile widened, surprised. “Marcus Pike.”

He offered his hand like this was a business meeting and not a jazz club operating illegally out of a fake flower shop.

You took it. “You always introduce yourself like that, or is this a special occasion?”

“I like to be prepared,” he said. “You are…?”

“Anastacia Beaverhausen.” You gave him a fake name and he repeated it once, like he was testing to see if it fit the person standing in front of him. 

“Anastacia, huh? Beaverhausen? Of the New York Beaverhausens or the Portuguese Beaverhausens?” he asked with a curious grin. He then held his hand out. “Dance?”

You took his hand and then motioned with your other at his suspenders as he led you to the dance floor. “You know those are dangerous, right?”

He followed your gaze, then let out a genuine laugh, low and unguarded. “I’ve been told.”

He danced decently. Not flashy, not showy, just steady and confident enough to make it seem like he knew what he was doing; it was like he trusted the music to do the work. You fit together easily, bodies finding a rhythm that wasn’t off beat or offensive.

“You’re not from here,” you said, noticing the way his eyes tracked the room, looking like it was the first time he was seeing the space and he was trying to acclimatize himself to it. 

“Is it the accent?”

“What? No… what accent?”, you asked, baffled. The man spoke like every other man wearing dangerous methods of holding his pants up.” I meant not from around this part of town. You look like you're appraising all the exits.”

“Occupational hazard.”, Marcus responded quickly in a far too casual tone.

This man was going to have his dance and leave you with as little information as possible. “And your occupation is…?”

“Art.”

You snorted out a scoff. “That’s not an occupation. That’s a personality flaw.”

He grinned. “I help museums acquire… misplaced items.”

You nodded, unimpressed. “So you’re a professional buzzkill.”

“Only on weekdays.”

This man. He wasn’t going to let you have the last word or let you under his skin in even the slightest. The song ended and the other dancing pairs applauded and you. But Marcus’s hand stayed on your lower back, holding you close to him, making the heat pool low in your spine. His other hand held yours, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

Horsefeathers! His eyes were a dark warm brown that could swallow you hole if you weren’t careful. You knew between those and the suspenders, this man was all that and a bag of chips - a bag of very dangerous and fateful chips. 

“Walk with me?” he asked.

Outside, the night was cool and sharp. The city hummed around you, alive and reckless. Amber light spilled from the club windows, painting the sidewalk gold.

“You always wear yellow?” Marcus asked.

“Only when I want to be remembered.”

His gaze lingered. “Mission accomplished.”

You walked, no destination in mind, talking about nothing and everything. He told you about Paris, about marble halls and stolen statues, about chasing ghosts through museums at dawn. You told him about the city, about knowing where to find the best speakeasies and the worst trouble.

“So…” you said eventually, stopping under a streetlamp. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”

He hesitated, just a fraction, before taking a deep breath and shrugging. “There’s a necklace. Art Deco. Gold. Missing from a private collection.”

“Let me guess.” you said. “You think it’s here.”

“I know it is.”

“And you decided the best way to retrieve it was… dancing?”

His smile was sheepish. “I was going to start with observation.”

“And then?”

“And then I saw you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did a stupid little thing anyway.

“Lucky for you.” you replied with with a cocky air, “I know exactly who has that necklace.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

“She’s loud, blonde, and thinks subtlety is a disease.”

“That narrows it down.”

You took his hand again. “Come on, Art Boy. Let’s go ruin someone’s night.”

The whole thing went down the same moment the trumpet player went rogue. Not metaphorically. Literally went rogue. The man stood up on his chair and started wailing like his soul had been pawned to the devil, which was usually a sign that something illegal was about to happen.

Marcus clocked it instantly and you saw the shift, the polite museum-man melting away, replaced by something sharper. His shoulders squared, his jaw set, his suspenders flexed like they were bracing for impact.

“That’s your cue,” you murmured. “See the blonde at the baccarat table?”

“The one laughing like she’s got diamonds in her tonsils?”

“She’s wearing the necklace.”

He tried to subtly peek at her. Gold, geometric, obscene. The thing practically screamed stolen.

You leaned in and whispered, “Here’s the play. I cause a scene and you get the necklace.”

Marcus blinked. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“I didn’t ask for commentary, Pike. Chop chop.”

Before he could argue, you were already moving, stumbling into the dance floor like you’d had one too many giggle waters. You knocked into a waiter. Someone yelled. A tray of glasses went airborne.

“Whoopsie!” you shouted with a laugh. “I’m all thumbs, see?”

The room went bananas.

The blonde shrieked. The band sped up. The floor erupted into motion like a shaken hive. And Marcus, slick devil that he was, slid right in, all apologies and charm.

“Oh, terribly sorry, miss,” he said, steadying her chair. “These crowds, absolute bedlam.”

She preened and was hooked. You watched him work, fingers light as smoke, eyes never leaving hers. The clasp popped free just as she leaned in to bat her lashes.

Then…

“Hey champ! You’re a fast one, ain’t you?!”

Busted. A large, outhouse of a man took a swing at Marcus, but he ducked just in time, then grabbed your hand and ran.

You barreled through the back door, laughter tearing out of you like a firecracker. Someone shouted, someone else slipped. Neither of you looked back. You didn’t stop until you hit the alley, gasping, braced against the brick like it had personally insulted you.

Marcus doubled over beside you, wheezing, beard still patchy, tie askew, suspenders doing criminal things to his shoulders.

He held up the necklace, gleaming like sin. “Tell me…” he panted, “You’ve never done that before.”

You wiped your eyes. “Baby, I was born doing that.”

Marcus straightened slowly, still grinning, eyes bright and reckless. “You’re trouble.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stepped closer, close enough that the laughter faded into something warmer. Something louder than the jazz bleeding through the walls.

“You know,” he said, softer now, “I had a whole plan.”

You tipped your head. “Yeah?”

“It didn’t include sprinting like a sap or kissing you in an alley.”

“Well,” you said, grabbing his suspenders and tugging him closer, “you’re batting a thousand tonight.”

He let out a laugh, short and surprised, and then you kissed him.

It was not elegant. It was the kind of kiss that happened when two people had just committed a light felony together and were riding the fumes. Teeth bumped. Someone made an undignified noise (him). You grabbed his suspenders like they were reins and yanked him in, hard enough that he stumbled and laughed into your mouth.

“Sweet mercy.” he murmured, before you kissed him again.

This one was worse. Or better, you weren’t sure. All heat and hunger and zero coordination. His beard scratched deliciously. Your headband slipped. He tried to be suave about it and absolutely failed, hands skidding at your waist like he’d forgotten how elbows worked.

You broke apart just long enough to gasp, “You kiss like you run.”

“Fast and panicked?” he shot back.

“Like you’re afraid someone’s about to steal me.”

He growled - like actually growled, which was frankly unfair - and kissed you again, deeper, messier. You bit his lip. He made another noise, even less dignified than the first, and his grip tightened like he was bracing for impact.

Somewhere behind you, a door slammed. Someone shouted. You ignored it entirely.

When you finally separated, both of you were breathing like you’d just outrun the law (which, to be fair, you had). Marcus rested his forehead against yours, laughing softly, utterly undone. “I’m never getting any work done with you around.”

You patted his chest, straightened his suspenders with sinful deliberation, and smiled sweetly. “That’s the spirit, Art Boy.”

He slipped the necklace into his pocket, still grinning like a man who’d lost a fight and won a war. “Breakfast. Please tell me breakfast is still on the table.”

You took his hand and tugged him back toward the noise, the light, the trouble. “Only if you promise not to kiss me like that in public.”

He squeezed your fingers. “Only if you tell me your real name, Anastacia.”

Dieter Bravo hated December.

He hated it the way only a man who had lived through three public meltdowns, one critically acclaimed career resurrection, and an ill-advised TikTok phase could hate something. He hated the forced cheer, the jingling music that followed him from coffee shop to pharmacy like a curse, the way strangers expected him to want cocoa and nostalgia instead of silence and cigarettes.

And yet, he was standing in the lobby of his building on December third, holding a cardboard box labeled FRAGILE: ORNAMENTS for the building superintendent, while a cat he did not know clawed its way up his coat like it was scaling Everest.

“Hey! Hey hey, no, buddy! That’s vintage!” Dieter said, panic pitched high as the cat’s claws found purchase. “That’s from the seventies! Or maybe the nineties. Either way, it’s irreplaceable, cat!”

“Pick him up under the arms.”, a voice said calmly, entirely too composed for someone witnessing this.

Dieter looked up, dropping the box in his hands on the floor to grab the cat, and you were standing there with a reusable grocery bag slung over one shoulder, wearing a coat that looked like it belonged to someone at least 20 years older than you. Your hair was slightly damp, like you’d just come in from the cold and the snow had begun to melt into it, and you were holding a tiny wreath. You looked unreal. Like offensively so. Like you just stepped out of one of those Hallmark Christmas movies that he would never get cast in again after the last one he was in ended in a lawsuit and a replacement donkey.

“He doesn’t like being grabbed.”, you continued, nodding at the cat, who had now made it to Dieter’s shoulder and was sniffing his ear. “He’s very consent-forward.”

Dieter squinted. “The cat?”

“Yes.”

The cat sneezed directly into Dieter’s hair.

“I think he’s flirting,” Dieter muttered. “And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

You smiled, and the air subtly shifted, like the moment right before a scene partner delivered a line that changed everything.

“That’s Edgar.”, you said. “He lived on floor four. Or floor seven. Or wherever he wanted. And now he’s with me.”

Edgar chose that moment to leap gracefully from Dieter’s shoulder into your arms, immediately purring like a motorcycle.

“Huh.”, Dieter huffed faintly. “Traitor.”

“He likes you.”,  you mused, looking down at Edgar whilst still speaking to Dieter. “That’s rare. He hates most men.”

“Yeah.”, Dieter replied, brushing fur off his coat and holding up the end where the cat had hooked his claws. “That tracks.”

You met again two days later when Dieter nearly knocked you over with a rolling rack of ugly sweaters.

“Jesus! Sorry, sorry, I didn’t see -” He stopped short. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you confirmed. “And Edgar, but he was busy terrorizing the mailroom.”

You were both reaching for the same package of gingerbread cookies from the lobby’s communal table, part of some building-wide Holiday Cheer Initiative Dieter had not agreed to but had been silently benefiting from.

“Those are mine.” Dieter said.

“They’re communal.” you countered.

“They’re calling to me specifically.”

“They’re gluten-free.” you added.

Dieter dropped the cookie on the plate and grimaced, wiping his hands on the front of his jacket. “You should’ve led with that.”

You laughed, unguarded and easy, and he felt something stir deep within him. If this had been a Hallmark Christmas movie, that laugh would have been the first chip in his anti-December, iced up heart. But this wasn’t so he figured the feeling in him was gas. 

You sat down on the ended up sussed-to-be-nice couch in the lobby and patted the seat next to you. Dieter let out a deep sigh and flopped down next to you, figuring this was probably better for his mental health than sitting on the floor, eating unsolicited fruit cake by himself. The gingerbread sat untouched on the table in front of you,  and you and Dieter were talking like you’d known each other longer than ten cumulative minutes.

You learned he was living there “for now,” which apparently meant he was here until the universe stopped putting him places he didn’t understand. He learned you’d moved in last spring, that you worked freelance, that you weren’t originally from the city, and that December was your favorite month.

“Because?”, he asked, suspicious.

“Because I get to make my own traditions.”, you said. “No expectations. Just vibes.”

“Vibes.” Dieter repeated. “Dangerous word.”

“You don’t like the holidays.” you guessed.

“I like… parts.” he mused quietly, looking forward and sounding like he was deep in a memory. “The quiet. The music even. The idea of it. Just not the execution. Feels like a lie because the magic wasn’t really ever real.”

You could see the longing for something in his eyes as he spoke, and you nodded like this made perfect sense, even though it didn’t really. It was more sad than anything. And his tone indicated that he didn’t even realize he had just admitted something so personal without realizing it.

And with that, whatever connection was beginning to build evaporated. You sighed and looked down at your hands, not wanting this to end but feeling like a small pause would be beneficial.

“Well,” you said, standing. “If you want, I was planning on making mulled wine on Friday. It’s low-pressure. You could leave whenever.”

Dieter opened his mouth to refuse. Instead, he stated, “I don’t drink mulled wine.”

“That’s okay.” you replied. “It’s still wine.”

Friday arrived like a dare. Dieter showed up with a bottle of red he didn’t remember buying and a defensive posture he’d perfected over decades. Your apartment smelled like oranges and cinnamon and something baked too long in the oven.

Edgar greeted him at the door like an old friend.

“Wow,” Dieter said. “I’ve been replaced.”

“He remembered you,” you said, pouring wine into mismatched mugs. “You’re in.”

Your place was cozy in a way that felt intentional. Soft lights, a small tree in the corner with ornaments that looked handmade or stolen or inherited. There was a record player by the window, something jazzy and low humming through the room.

“First time hosting.” you admitted. “I mean, first time in this city.”

“Yeah…” Dieter nodded, giving you an awkward shrug.

You didn’t comment; you just clinked your mug gently against his. “To firsts.” 

Dieter brought his glass to yours. “To surviving them.”.

The wine was strong. The conversation was easy until it wasn’t, until Dieter started talking about expectations. About how people disappointed each other without meaning to, about how stubbornness could feel like safety until it started costing him things.

You found yourself falling into his deep brown eyes throughout the night, and the idea that this tragic enigma of a human was tugging on your heartstrings was a surprise to you. He was your exact opposite and something about Dieter made you want to crack his code and see how he was put together. And find out why he didn’t smile.

“You don’t have to be alone.”, you countered softly, wanting to bring him back to a lighter, easier conversation.

Dieter stiffened, then spat back. “I didn’t say I was.”

You looked him right in the eye, feeling yourself tense up. “You didn’t have to.”

There it was. The tension, thick and humming, and not angry but charged, like two people circling the same truth from opposite sides. 

“I don’t like being told what I need,” Dieter stated, less firmly than before.

“I wasn’t telling,” you countered. “I was offering.” 

Silence stretched. Edgar hopped onto Dieter’s lap, kneading his thigh like he belonged there. A long silence filled the space between you, making your apartment feel so much less festive than you preferred.

“Even the cat’s judging me.”, Dieter finally muttered, his hand raising up and petting Edgar instead of shoving him off his lap.

You nodded your head at Edgar and hoped Dieter wouldn’t leave just yet. “He just wants you to stay right where you are.”

Dieter exhaled. Long and obnoxiously loud. Your brows furrowed in confusion and a touch of incredulousness, but that melted away when his eyes met yours, a small smirk on his lips that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

The rest of December unfolded gently. You ran into Dieter daily, almost routinely. Lobby conversations turned into coffee runs, coffee turned into walks past decorated windows, walks turned into a shared tradition of rating the worst holiday movies on streaming. You bickered constantly about music volume, about whether Die Hard counted as a Christmas movie, about whether Edgar needed another sweater.

But the arguments always ended the same way: you two being too close to one another, feeling each other’s energy, and genuinely enjoying the other’s company. You noticed throughout the month that his eyes seemed to hold more and more warmth, and the crows feet around them showed that he once did know how to smile big and bright. You wanted to be the one who brought that out in him again.

On Christmas Eve, Dieter showed up at your door with a small box, looking anxious and like he was ready to bolt.

“I don’t do gifts.” he blurted out, jamming the box into your hands as he pushed his way into your apartment.

You fumbled the box in your hands at the abrupt handing over of it, and then opened it as you kicked the door shut. You followed him back into your apartment, noting how he was nervously pacing your living room, hands jammed in his pajama pant pockets. Inside the box was a crudely painted, clearly homemade ornament. A little cat that maybe resembled Edgar wearing sunglasses.

“I made it at a place”, he said quickly, then waved his hand and turned away from you. “There was wine. And guidance. It was a journey.”

You stared at it like it might break you open. This very emotionally constipated yet deep-feeling man who hated December and everything that came with it made you a Christmas ornament. 

“I love it.”

“Look, I know it’s stupid and it barely looks like a cat -”

“Dieter,” you cut in gently. “I love it.”

His head snapped up. He stared at you like you’d just said something impossible, something he hadn’t let himself rehearse. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“You do?”, he asked, smaller and cautiously hopeful.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you stepped forward, close enough that you could see the true depth of his deep mahogany eyes, and his body braced like he was waiting for the moment to tip. You slid your arms around his shoulders, the cat ornament still in hand, and felt him freeze for half a heartbeat before instinct took over and he leaned into you.

The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant, like he was checking to make sure it was real. Carefully, his hand came up slowly, hovering at your waist like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, before settling there with a quiet exhale that felt like relief. When you deepened it just slightly, he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh against your mouth, soft and surprised, like he couldn’t believe he was there.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed for a second too long.

“Hey.” he said quietly, voice rough around the edges. “Maybe December isn’t so bad.”

You met his gaze when he opened his eyes, feeling like you were finally cracking his code.

“It’s not too bad at all.”

Outside, the city hummed. Inside, the lights glowed, reflecting off glass and tinsel and the small, imperfect ornament now hanging on the tree. Edgar purred between you like a satisfied accomplice.

Dieter Bravo finally smiled. It was small, real, unguarded, and for once, just once, December didn’t feel like something to survive.

It felt like the magic was real again.

You sat quietly as the people moved around you, lively, talkative, happy. It was another engagement party for another friend. You wished them well, you really did, but you couldn’t relate to them now that they were off on this new chapter of their life. You would remain the single friend as they moved on to become someone else’s other half, and the whirlwind of excited chatter surrounding you reminded you that you were now relegated to being a footnote in their life.

You finally breached your apartment door after smiling your way through half hearted goodbyes that took way longer than you had hoped, and dropped your purse and coat on the floor. You kicked your heels off then flopped onto your couch with a groan. 

Another night alone. 

Monday came along with all its standard woes and by the time Friday ended, you were drained. Life seemed to be harder and harder to grasp the concept of and you felt like you were freefalling. What was the point of all this?

As you made your way to your car from the looming office building, your phone buzzed. You ignored it, already precariously carrying your purse, lunchbag, and various cups you’d accumulated at your desk throughout the week. Then it buzzed again.

And again. 

“Jesus fucking christ!”, you scoffed to yourself. Armond, one of the guys from the accounting department, looked up from his car as he unloaded his briefcase and jacket into the passenger seat and gave you a confused look. You waved at him with a tight smile and quickened your steps to your car, unlocking it and throwing your belongings into the backseat before hopping into the front and getting out of there as soon as possible.

Your phone connected to your car’s audio system and you saw that you had five new messages waiting for you. You pressed the little message icon and the robotic voice read them aloud:

“Santiago Garcia says: Hey. and  I’m back in town. and Want to grab a bit to cat? and I meant eat. and Want to grab something to eat?”

A genuine smile pulled on your mouth. He was the one person you knew would understand. You texted him back, telling him to come by your apartment in an hour. 

When the buzzer sounded and you pressed 9 to unlock the front door, your stomach flipped. You hadn’t seen Santiago in months, not since the last time he was stateside. Hearing his steps in the hallway, you ripped open your door and grinned at him, taking in his greying hair and unkempt facial hair. 

“Santi!”

“Hey baby!”’, he beamed back, pulling you into a hug. 

After much deliberation, you’d managed to convince him that you should stay in for dinner, that reheated leftovers was better than a noisy bar. 

As you busied yourself in the kitchen, your phone buzzed. It was a coworker instructing you to check your email. Without too much forethought, you did and saw the berating coming down on you and the others in your department for a mistake none of you were responsible for but were being handed the blame. You let out a groan, dropping your head and tapping the corner of your phone against your forehead. 

“What is it?”

Santiago’s voice cut through the anxiety, dread and anger building in you. You sighed. 

“You know when you’re not in charge of anything and you can see a problem a mile away but no one listens and then the problem happens and you’re then blamed for it?”

Santiago’s brows jumped up as you clenched your teeth, your words managing to hiss their way through anyway they could. He said nothing. Just watched. 

“An-and then!! Oh and then, Santi! They have the nerve to email me on a Friday night, telling me they want a meeting first thing Monday morning. First. Thing. Monday. Morning!! Knowing that I will be stuck in a fucking rut all fucking weekend, not able to enjoy my time off - which I am entitled to! Because I am just a fucking cog in their Ronald Reagan capitalistic circle jerk!”

You were breathing hard now, shoulders rising and falling, staring at Santiago. “Say something!”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. 

“I think I am entitled to have two fucking days to just shut my brain off and rot in my bed if I so choose and they are ruining it!”

He smiled and dipped his head down, letting out a soft chuckle, like you’d just said the magic word. “You wanna shut your brain off for a bit?”

The smooth, deep timber in which he asked that caught you off guard, making you freeze. 

“Wha-?”

“That it? Need someone to help you with that? Do the thinking for you and give your head a rest?”

You stared at him like he’d grown a head and that head started quoting Shakespeare in a bad British accent. 

“Use your words.”, he said softly as he stepped towards you. “What do you need?”

You swallowed hard and suddenly realized why Santiago never had the same problems you did getting laid. His deep brown eyes were zeroed on yours, so intense that you had to look away but couldn’t. You could feel your heart rate rising, the thudding in your ears rapidly increasing. 

“Come on… use your words, honey.”, he cooed softly, his large hand coming up to your throat, his thumb gently caressing your chin. “I know you can talk… you were just talking a mile a minute.”

“I…” Your brain had seemingly rebooted all on its own. You suddenly didn’t care about the bullshit in that email that you foolishly thought would ruin your weekend. 

“You…”, Santiago murmured softly, his other arm wrapping around your waist as he stepped up flush with your body. 

“I… I…” You blinked, recognition returning to your eyes. “What the fu-”

“No.”, he said firmly. “I asked you what do you need. You don’t get to answer a question with a question.”

The finality of his statement caught you off guard. If Santiago hadn’t been holding you, your knees may have given out from how his deep command hit you in your core. A shaky breath trailed out of you as you nodded.

“I’m not going to ask again, baby. I’m just gonna give you what I think you need if you don’t answer.”

You opened your mouth, staring up at him. Finally, you managed to stammer, “Santi… I need to stop th-thinking.”

A smile pulled across his face and he leaned down, ghosting his lips over yours, making your  mouth chase his as he whispered, “Good girl.”

What happened after that was something you weren’t sure you could put into words, but it was definitely something.

Between the way Santiago pulled you apart with his words, his voice careening through you as he told you how he planned to help, the way your skin buzzed with electricity as he raked his five o’clock shadow over it, and the way you could feel his hands on your for days after solely because his touch seemed to hit all the right spots. 

He didn’t even fuck you. You didn’t cum, let alone take any clothes off. 

He just talked and touched you over your clothes. 

Thinking back on it the following morning over your coffee that went cold before you realized you’d been contemplating the entire evening for over an hour, you didn’t think you could explain to even yourself why the little he did worked. You just knew it did and you had the best sleep without any weed or wine or even melatonin. 

That wasn’t the most confusing thing though. What left you floored more than anything was what he said before he left you alone in your apartment last night: 

Next time, I won’t ask twice.

After another weekend flew by, filled with laundry and over-priced grocery runs, the following week at work was the same as you’d suspected it to be, but your mind was still buzzing about Santiago and his pseudo-hypnotizing weird thing he did on Friday night. It seemed to lessen the impact of whatever stresses your job normally threw at you, and for that, you were grateful.

Late Thursday afternoon, just as you were starting to wrap up for the day, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, and did a double take. The notification was a text message from Santiago: 

Dinner?

That night, you slid into the booth across from Santiago, the same guy who you got drunk with once and walked across the entire city because you forgot you moved and it was no longer a short walk to your apartment. The guy who you drove across state to pick up because he didn’t have enough cash to rent a car or take a bus from the base to get home. The same guy who you thought was your friend and you could trust. 

The guy who now sat before you, having made you feel so different than any other time before and had gotten into your head with barely any effort on his part.

You must have been wearing your thoughts all over your face because he looked up with his signature shit eating grin, like he had been fucking with you the whole time.

Vaguely irritated, you sighed and sat back. “What the fuck, Santi?”

He held his hands open on the table and shrugged with that same smirk tugging on the left side of his mouth.

“Okay… I probably shouldn't've sprung that on you like that, but you just looked so -”

“Sprung what on me? That you’re some - uh - fucking weird dom thing? Who talks at me?”

He chuckled, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Look, we both have our hobbies - “

“I fucking cross stitch and play Animal Crossing, Santiago! We are not the same!”

Santiago laughed and held his hands up, sitting back in the booth. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Come on now! Just because my hobby is helping people unwind doesn’t make it weird or whatever.”

You looked over his face. Yes, this was Santiago your friend,  but you’d learned something so very private about him, and you weren’t sure you could go back. Then it hit you: he said help people unwind. Not person. Not singular. You suddenly felt very unspecial. 

He took a deep breath and sighed. “I get it. Not really what you were expecting, but I wanted to help. I know you’ve been stressed and unless all you want is someone to enable your wino capabilities, this is all I got-”

“All you’ve got?!”, you stated unintentionally loud as your voice squeaked on the last syllable. ”All you’ve got is telling me that what you did the other night is just for-for fun?? Just for fun and it didn’t mean anything other than a good time for you?? To keep your boredom at bay?”

“Why are you raising your voice?”, he asked firmly with some slight irritation, like he was starting to lose his patience.

Your confidence in this argument went out the window at the darker look in his eyes and the lack of patience beginning to fray his edges. In truth, you hadn’t been able to fully comprehend or think through what happened the other night without giggling and blushing like a school girl who had scoped her first penis in an art history book. You felt foolish, but also justified in being scandalized by your friend who you had no idea was into this sort of thing. 

“I… I’m just saying that -”

Santiago’s face went flat as he looked at you stammering  through a half assed response.

“Okay… okay I was out of line for raising my voice, but this- well can you blame me? You lulled me into a hypnotic state and then fucked off for a week, and left me with this weird feeling that i don’t know you at all and now I’m wondering what else you’ve kept from me! And the fact you do this with other people is, frankly, offensi -”

“Enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice or sound angry, and his hand wasn’t raised in aggression, just raised to signal you to stop. He was effective with very little, you had to hand him that.

He took another deep breath and leaned forward on the table, not looking up at you, thinking and drumming his fingers on the overly lacquered wood. He raised his eyes. 

“I want to make you -”, he paused and swallowed, looking like he was searching for the right thing to say. “I just want help. To get you to relax. I’m good at it and… and yeah, I can fuck you to do that, but I don’t have to. I want to, but that’s entirely up to you. And yes, I have done this with other people in the past, but I don’t do this with more than one person at a time. I don’t want to dominate you, I don’t want to control you. I want you to give up control to me for a set period of time when you need it so you can just not think and relax and -”

“So you’re not doing this with anyone else right now?”, you cut in, then nodded, looking away. “I’m the only one you’re offer- or doing this with?.”

“The only one.”

You thought for a minute, sat back with your head low, examining the discolouration on the edges of the table. A slow nod bobbed your head.

“Are we still friends?”

He furrowed his brows at you and narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean are we still fri-”

“I mean if I agree to this, are you still Santiago, my friend, or are you some guy I call when I’m stressed to fuck?”, you interjected with more harshness than you actually intended.

Santiago looked a little hurt, but there was a small smile that bled onto his mouth. “I am your friend. This is - uh… this is separate from all that.” He moved his hand over the table from one side to another, motioning two separate areas. “It’s like friends with benefits… and then some.”

“What do you get out of it?”

The small smile grew into a genuine grin. “I get you right where I need you.”

After the dinner, you went home, sat in silence on your bed, and replayed everything Santiago had said to you. He hadn’t even touched you but just the way his eyes raked over your body, you felt like he’d had his hands all over your skin. And now, alone in your apartment in dim lighting, you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. Were you turned on? Yeah, sure you were, but you also wondered if whatever you did on your own would live up to the way his voice and attention did for you.

With that, you didn’t even bother to pull out your vibrator once you got ready for and got into bed.

You don’t remember deciding to text him. 

You just remember having a horrible few days at work, and feeling completely at your wit’s end. You were staring at your screen, your text conversation with Santiago open in front of you with your least pathetic attempt to get his attention having been sent. Your jaw tight, shoulders creeping up toward your ears as if your body was bracing for impact.

 Are you busy tonight?

You stared at the message long enough to consider deleting it. Long enough to think about how ridiculous it sounded — like you were asking him to come over and kill a spider. Like you weren’t asking him to do something far more intimate.

The typing bubble didn’t appear.

Minutes passed, then your phone finally buzzed.

Come over. Eight.

No emoji. No softening. Just a statement.

You swallowed hard.

His place was less full than you remembered. Not empty,  just deliberate. A lamp on in the corner, the overhead lights off. The windows cracked open, city noise dulled to a low hum. You stood awkwardly just inside the door, purse still slung over your shoulder, suddenly aware of how fast your heart was beating.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You look like shit.”

You began to relax and snorted. “Wow. Warm welcome.”

He smiled, easy and familiar. “C’mere.”

You did without thinking, leaning into the quick hug he pulled you into. It was brief, solid, grounding. When he stepped back, his hands lingered at your sides just a second longer than usual.

“You eat?” he asked.

“Barely.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms loose at his sides. Not looming. Not distant. Just… there. “Shoes off,” he said.

You glanced down at your feet, then back up at him. He wasn’t watching your shoes — he was watching you. You slipped them off.

“Sit,” he said, jerking his chin toward the couch. “I’ll grab you a plate.”

It didn’t feel like a command. It felt like something he’d said a hundred times before.

You sank into the couch, toes curling into the rug. The quiet settled around you — not awkward, just… open.

When he came back, he didn’t hand you the plate right away. He watched your face, the way your leg bounced, the way your fingers twisted together in your lap.

“You nervous?” he asked.

You huffed out a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed. “You do this thing with your jaw.”

You stilled, feeling self-conscious under his scrutinous gaze. “Great.”

He set the plate down on the table instead of handing it to you.

“Hey,” he said, softer. “Before we do anything else — we talk.”

“Talk?” You asked, then nodded slowly, a little wary. “Okay.”

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he said. “You could just eat, bitch about work, pass out on my couch.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

“I know.”

“And if at any point you want me to stop,” he continued, meeting your eyes, “you say stop. No weirdness. No hurt feelings.”

“I know,” you repeated.

He studied you for a second, then nodded. “Good.Sit back,” he added.

You shifted, spine pressing into the couch cushions.

“Phone,” he said, nodding toward your hand.

You blinked. “What?”

“Out of your hand,” he clarified. “Face down.”

You hesitated, then placed it on the table. The small click of it hitting the wood sounded louder than it should have.

“There,” he said gently. “Better.”

Your breathing was shallow now. He noticed.

“Hands on your thighs,” he said.

You obeyed, palms resting flat, heat seeping through the fabric of your pants.

“Look at me.”

You did.

“Breathe in,” he said. “Slow.”

You inhaled.

“Out.”

Your shoulders dropped. He smiled a little, like he was proud of you for something small and important.

“You don’t need to solve anything tonight,” he said. “You don’t need to be on.”

Your throat tightened.

“All I need you to do,” he continued, voice low and steady, “is listen.”

You nodded.

“Good girl.”

The words settled into you, warm and heavy, like a blanket being tucked around your shoulders.You felt a sense of pride bloom in you.

“Stay right there,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

Just his voice and the words he spoke comforted you, and when he said he had it, you could have cried. You felt a relief move through you. If he saw the change in you, he didn’t let you know.

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t touch you. He just stayed.

When your breathing evened out again, he stepped forward and handed you a glass of water, his fingers brushing yours in a way that felt deliberate but unhurried.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Wait- what? Already?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You did good.”

“I didn’t do any-”

“You listened.”

You smiled, small and tired. You got up and he hugged you, before walking you to the door. Before you left, he squeezed your shoulder — familiar, grounding.

“Next time,” he said softly, “you won’t wait until you’re falling apart.”

Your pulse jumped.

“You’ll tell me what you need before I ask.”

You didn’t let yourself get to the point of coming apart this time; you texted him before you hit that wall.

You arrived already humming with something restless, like your body knew what was coming before your brain caught up. Santiago noticed the moment you walked in — the way your eyes tracked him longer than necessary, the way you didn’t immediately fill the quiet with chatter.

“Hey,” he said, smiling as he closed the door behind you. “You look better.”

You scoffed. “I don’t feel better.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “But you’re closer.”

That made your stomach flip. You kicked off your shoes without being told. He watched, but didn’t comment, just nodded once like he’d clocked it.

“Couch,” he said.

You sat. He didn’t stay across the room this time. He moved closer — not looming, just close enough that you could feel the warmth off him when he stopped in front of you.

“You remember the rules,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you’re here because you want to be.”

“Yes.”

His gaze softened. “Good.”

He sat beside you, close but not touching, thigh nearly brushing yours. The familiarity of it made your chest ache — how many times had you sat like this, laughing, half-asleep, sharing takeout?

“Hands,” he said quietly.

You placed them on your thighs.

“Relax them,” he added.

You let your fingers loosen.

He watched, then reached out slowly, deliberately, like he was giving you time to pull away. His hand settled over yours — warm, steady, covering without trapping.

Your breath hitched.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He squeezed once. Not hard. Reassuring.

“Good.”

His thumb traced a small, absent-minded arc over your knuckles, the kind of touch that would’ve meant nothing any other time — except now it felt like everything. Your pulse jumped under his fingers. You knew he could feel it.

“You carry a lot right here,” he murmured, sliding his hand up your forearm. “Always tight.”

His touch was slow, grounding, moving with purpose rather than urgency. When his hand reached your elbow, he paused.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did.

“Breathe.”

You inhaled.

As you exhaled, his hand continued upward, fingers spreading lightly over your arm, then your shoulder. He didn’t knead or grab — just rested there, warm and solid, like an anchor.

Your eyes fluttered.

“Stay with me,” he said softly. “Don’t float.”

“I’m here,” you whispered.

“Good girl.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine this time, sharper than before.

He shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, then pressing lightly against it. The contact was unmistakable now. Intimate. Intentional.

“Lean back,” he said.

You did, sinking into the couch cushions.

He followed, one hand still on your shoulder, the other settling at your waist — not slipping under your clothes, not exploring, just there. Possessive without being invasive.

Your breath went shallow.

“Santi,” you murmured.

He hummed. “I know.”

His thumb moved in a slow line along your side, just enough to make you acutely aware of your skin beneath the fabric. Every nerve ending felt tuned to him, waiting.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said.

“Warm,” you admitted. “Heavy.”

“And?”

“Like… I don’t want to move.”

A smile curved into his voice. “Then don’t.”

He leaned in then, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek, his forehead resting briefly against your temple. It was achingly gentle.

“You’re doing so well,” he said. “Just letting yourself be held.”

Held.

That was the word.

His hand slid from your waist to your lower back, pressing you just slightly closer, grounding you there. You could feel the strength in him, the restraint it took not to do more — and that restraint made your toes curl.

After a long moment, he pulled back.

Not abruptly. Not coldly.

He stayed close, forehead still near yours.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “For tonight.”

Your eyes snapped open. “Already?”

“Yes,” he said, firm but kind. “I don’t rush things that matter.”

Something in your chest twisted — frustration and relief tangled together.

He squeezed your shoulder once, affectionate, familiar.

“You good?”

You nodded, swallowing. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He smiled, soft and real. “Go home. Drink some water. Sleep.”

At the door, he paused, hand resting at the small of your back — just for a second.

“Next time,” he said, voice low, “I’ll touch you where you actually feel it.”

Your breath caught, then he let you go.

You knew better than to wear that. You realized it the second Santiago’s eyes dropped to your body and stayed there a beat too long before he caught himself. Not hungry. Not obvious. Measured.

“You’re late,” he said mildly.

“Five minutes,” you replied, breathless from the stairs.

His mouth tipped into a smile. “I didn’t say it was a problem.”

You stepped inside. The door shut behind you with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have. You didn’t wait for instructions this time. Shoes off. Purse down. You stood there, hands at your sides, heart thudding. He noticed.

“Come here,” he said.

You did. He stopped you an arm’s length away, gaze flicking up to your face.

“You remember the rules,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you’re still choosing this.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Sit.”

You sat.

He didn’t join you immediately. He circled slowly, deliberately, like he was giving you time to change your mind - or giving himself time not to rush.

“Hands,” he said.

You placed them on your thighs. He crouched in front of you this time, close enough that your knees brushed against him. The intimacy of the position made your breath stutter.

“Look at me.You’re already warm,” he observed quietly. “Did you notice?”

Your face heated. “I-”

“That was a yes or no question,” he said gently.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hand came up, slow, and rested on your knee. “Tell me if this is okay.”

“Yes,” you whispered.

His thumb traced a lazy line along the inside of your knee, not high enough to be scandalous, not low enough to be innocent. You inhaled sharply.

“Easy,” he said. “Breathe.”

You obeyed, chest rising and falling too fast.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

His touch drifted higher now, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. Every nerve ending screamed awareness. Your thighs tensed without permission. He noticed.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You don’t need to chase it.”

“But—”

“No,” he said, not unkindly. “You can want it. You just don’t get to move.”

The words hit low and heavy, settling deep in your stomach. His hand pressed flat against your thigh, firm now, anchoring you in place. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, through everything.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said.

“Sensitive,” you breathed. “Very aware… of you.”

His eyes darkened. “Good.”

He stood, closing the space between you, and slid one hand to your jaw, thumb brushing along your lower lip.

“You know,” he said quietly, “if I wanted to make you come right now, I could.”

Your pulse jumped.

“But that’s not what you need,” he continued. “You need to feel how badly you want it first.”

Your thighs pressed together on instinct. He noticed; of course he did.

“Don’t,” he warned softly, thumb pressing just slightly harder at your chin. “Open your legs.”

The command landed like a match struck in your chest. You hesitated, just long enough to feel the weight of the choice, then obeyed.

“There,” he said. “That’s better.”

His hand slid down, stopping at your hip, fingers splayed wide. You could feel the tension coiled tight in your body now, unmistakable, aching.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Did you know that?”

Your breath caught. “Santi-”

“I’m not touching you there,” he said calmly. “You’re doing that all on your own.”

He leaned in, mouth near your ear now, breath warm against your skin.

“I want you like this,” he whispered. “Aware. Open. Wanting.”

His hand squeezed your hip once, possessive.

“And I want you to know,” he added quieter than before, “that I’m choosing not to take it.”

A whimper slipped out before you could stop it, and he smiled against your temple.

“Good girl.”

He pulled back then - slowly, deliberately - leaving your body buzzing, humming, painfully alive.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly. “Stand up.”

You did, unsteady. He steadied you with a hand at your elbow, warm and grounding again.

“You’re going to go home,” he said. “You’re not going to touch yourself.”

Your eyes snapped to his. "Sant -”

“Tonight,” he clarified. “You’re going to sit with it.”

Your breath shook. “That’s not fair.”

He smiled, soft and wicked. “I didn’t say it was.”

At the door, he paused, hand resting at your waist, not sliding, not teasing.

“You did beautifully,” he said. “Next time…”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“I won’t stop where I did tonight.”

Then he opened the door and let you go.

The tub-shower combo in your apartment was way too small for this. The tub itself was too narrow for you to comfortably be on your knees in front of Santiago, and the two of you in there together trying to bathe and be intimate was absurd.

It took you and your brother’s friend no less than three times to determine that shower or tub sexy times were not going to happen gracefully at your place. Didn’t mean you did keep trying. You couldn’t very well do this at Santiago’s house, given your brother was his roommate and had expressly forbade any of his friends from pursuing you. That made you like catnip to Santiago though, and it wasn’t long before your secret tryst began.

“Jesus, the water pressure is so fucking inconsistent in this building!”, you lamented as you turned the shower on and ran your hand under the fluctuating stream of water as it heated up. 

Santiago crowded you from behind and snaked his arms around your middle and kissed the crux of your neck and shoulder, and chuckled. “Mmmm, nothing gets me harder than when you bitch about your apartment's shitty plumbing."

You scoffed, but didn’t stop you leaning back into him, nor did it stop the smile from appearing on your face. “You’re terrible.”

“And you’re fuckable.”, he grunted as he bunted his hips into you, his hardened cock nudging your lower back. He was clearly desperate to be in you and you couldn’t deny that you loved him like this.

You were crowded into the shower and under the tepid blast of water, eliciting a shriek from you as you turned around in shock. Santiago muffled your surprise with his mouth on yours, and pushed you up against the cold, fibreglass surround of the tub. The water grew hotter, the steam adding to both your growing arousals. You didn’t have time to react as his knee pushed up between your thighs and his hand moved to hitch your leg up on your hip. He clearly needed you far more than he cared about keeping you warm. His cock was nudging your hole and his mouth moved slightly off yours, and his eyes were heavy lidded. 

“Come on, baby… lemme in…”, he grunted against your chin before gently biting it. He was breathing heavily, right against your face. 

You tried to rest your foot on the built-in soap dish in the shower, completely forgetting that you had, in fact, put a bar of soap in it. Your foot punched down on it and then slipped right off the bar, causing you to slide down the wall, one leg kicking up and between Santiago’s legs. While your foot narrowly missed colliding with his ballsack, your body’s momentum hit his legs and knocked him forward. As he went down, Santiago grabbed the shower curtain and knocked over the shower caddy under the showerhead, then landed on top of you.

You just stared at each other, stunned, water still pouring down like applause.

After a moment, Santiago quipped, “So… should we try again?”

You glanced at your soon-to-be-bruised-up knee, the crooked shower curtain, and the shampoo bottle floating away like it wanted no part of this. “No,” you said. “The shower has made its feelings very clear.”

You untangled yourselves and shut the water off. Wrapping each other up in towels, you both agreed that nothing rekindles passion quite like ibuprofen and a mutual vow to never try to fuck in wet places again.

Frankie stood up from the table, feeling heavier. He found every time he hung out with Benny and Santiago at this late night diner, he left with his gut stuffed. Last year at this time, Frankie could have argued that he still had abs when he was dehydrated, but now, his middle was more than a paunch when stomach was empty. His sides were softer and so-called love handles now sat above his jeans, and when his belly was full, like it was tonight, it sat heavily, dipping over his waistband.

“You out, Fish?”, Santiago asked.

“Nah…”, he stood, stretching, his rounded belly peeking from under the now too tight t-shirt. “Just need to stretch.”

Frankie knew it was probably time to head out, he’d eaten enough already, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was happening this evening. He’d noted the way that Benny and Santi shared glances at one another when Frankie polished off a plate of fries or ordered another beer, and they weren’t shared looks of judgement, more… amusement? No… no, it wasn’t that. Frankie couldn’t put his finger on it.

He sat back down heavily in the wooden chair, hearing it creak under him, and looked at the food remaining on the table. 

Benny spoke up, “Better finish it, Fish. Waste not, want not, or whatever the fuck it is.”

Frankie clicked his tongue. “Nah, I’ve had enough.”

“No you haven’t.” Santiago’s voice cut in, softer and with a chuckle. He leaned forward and pushed the plate towards Frankie. “Come on… go for it, big guy.”

Frankie felt his cock twitch in his jeans at the way Santiago made eye contact and called him big guy. 

He then felt Benny’s elbow graze the side of his belly as he moved to bring the plate closer to him. “You got room for this. I know you do.”

Frankie looked between Benny and Santiago. “Heh… almost like you guys are trying to fatten me up or something”, he said with a nervous smile.

Neither of the men laughed, but Benny smirked with a brow raised and Santiago sat back and crossed his arms as his eyes flicked to Frankie’s gut.

“That a bad thing?”, Benny mused, testing the waters with his fingers softly touching Frankie’s belly.  

“I.. uh…”, Frankie stammered as he stared at Benny, the blond man’s hand now making bolder moves as he smoothes his palm and presses into the top of his belly. 

“You got room, Fish. Can see it from here.”, Santiago stated, voice low and a little commanding. “Been eating more every time we come out. That little bit’s nothing for that gut you’re carrying now.”

Frankie felt his cheeks heat up at Santiago’s words, and his cock grow harder. Benny must have seen the slight shift he made in his seat and heard his breath hitch. The hand he was rubbing Frankie’s belly with made its way down over his belly button, pressing into the heft of food and fat there then slipped over his crotch and gently cupped his growing erection.

“Oh, he likes this.”, Benny cooed, leaning in  so Frankie could feel his warm breath on his neck. “You like this, like the attention you get from Pope, huh?”

Frankie swallowed hard and let out a soft grunt. 

Santiago stood up and walked around the table to stand next to Frankie, and he leaned down face to face, one hand on the table and the other on the back of Frankie’s chair. 

“You always liked it when I got bossy, Fish.”, Santiago murmured, eyes intense. “Liked it when I took over.”

All Frankie could do was nod stupidly. Santiago’s voice was hypnotic and his eyes bore into his, and Santiago was right - he did like being told what to do by him, always being able to influence Frankie or say just the right words to get Frankie on board with whatever he was planning.

But this wasn’t a job or a heist. This was Santiago telling Frankie to eat more, and, with Benny’s help, had been what Santiago had been doing every time they came out, but just not so obviously. 

Santiago’s hand firmly planted itself on the front of his stomach and gave it a little shake. “You got room. Eat up.”

Frankie heard a soft chuckle from Benny to his side, then felt the younger man’s lips gently graze his neck. “Do what Pope says, Fish.”, he murmured against Frankie’s skin. 

Frankie finished what was on the table, and then another beer.

VISUAL ARTS SUBMISSIONS MUST INCLUDE:

YOU PICK THE CHARACTER TO MAKE SUFFER (unless you want beef to)

The prompt you receive based on your choice

The following wording: Tis the [explicative optional] season.

Fruitcake (or reference to) must be incorporated somehow

NOT SURE WHAT CHARACTER TO MAKE SUFFER FOR THE HOLIDAYS? There is always Late 1990's Xerox Commercial Pedro

FIC SUBMISSIONS MUST INCLUDE:

YOU PICK THE CHARACTER TO MAKE SUFFER (unless you want beef to)

The prompt you receive based on your choice

The following wording: Tis the [explicative optional] season.

Fruitcake (or reference to) must be incorporated somehow

NOT SURE WHAT CHARACTER TO MAKE SUFFER FOR THE HOIDAYS? There is always Late 1990's Xerox Commercial Pedro

When Frankie broke it off with you, it hurt. A lot. You really never knew you could feel that level of hurt. 

It wasn’t like it was out of nowhere, but it still shattered you when he said, “It’s not working for me.”

He’d said it after you’d finally confronted him about him pulling back, making excuses to not see you and taking far longer to answer your texts than normal. You’d felt like a fool, not seeing Frankie readying himself to pull the rug from under your feet, and you’d left before he could look you in the eyes and state clearly that he didn’t want you.

In your haste to stop your body from feeling like it was a pile of burning embers, you blocked him across the board. Sure, it was an immature response, but you were already feeling horrible and if someone wanted to judge you at your lowest, so be it. You didn’t want to give him a chance to reiterate that he was done with you or feel the sting of him blocking you first.

That was almost four months earlier. 

On the outside, your life had returned to normal. Inside though, you were still licking your wounds with enough force to hinder their healing. You silently questioned every connection, every relationship, and looked at everyone in your life with far more scrutiny than necessary, as you waited for them to dispose of you, too.

But externally, you smiled, you laughed, you didn’t let on how badly Frankie had fucked you up by tossing you aside. Despite having his socials blocked, you laid awake at night, imagining how happy he looked in all of his posts, that gorgeous smile telling the world that he was better off without you. You knew that this was unhealthy, but you pushed those thoughts to the back of your head at night and let yourself wallow in your grief. 

You thought you had the right to feel this way. You’d given Frankie three years of your life, among other things, just for him to decide it didn’t work. 

Every night you were bitter, and every morning, you pulled yourself together just enough to mask the hurt.

It was finally Friday, and not only that, it was a Friday before a long weekend.

You smiled to yourself and bopped along to the upbeat songs playing on your car stereo as you rounded the corner, turning onto your road. Then you saw it: Frankie’s truck in your driveway. There was no mistaking it. You knew that truck well, having ridden in it and ridden Frankie in it many times. You slowed as you felt your blood pressure and heart rate spike, and your stomach flip flopped.

As you got closer, Frankie got out of his truck, and you tried to calm yourself. You parked next to the truck and got out of your car, unsure of what to do next. Do you greet him? Demand to know what he wants? 

Instead, you grabbed your purse and headed quickly to your front porch, opting to run and hide.

“Hey! No- wait!”, Frankie called and you heard his heavy footsteps closing in on you. “I just want to talk!”

That stopped you. Talk. He just wants to talk. Your anxiety caved into anger and you whirled around to face him. “Talk?!”

He nodded, his eyes darting all over you but repeatedly stopping on your face. You also took a look at him, seeing the stained grey t-shirt pulling tight over his middle under the unbuttoned flannel, indicating he’d probably just left work. His beard looked a little more unkempt and his hair a little longer as it poked out from under his cap. 

You finally gave him a nod to follow you, and turned to open your door. He’d been in your home countless times before, but you could tell this time he was uncomfortable. He stood nervously at the entrance, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like he was waiting for you to give him instructions. 

“Take off your boots.”, you nodded to his steel toe footwear, and he toed them off, stepping off the tiled area and onto the carpet. 

“I didn’t want to just show up bu-”

“But you did just show up.” , your interjecting tone biting. You didn’t recognize your own voice, like your anger and hurt had taken over and you were stuck in the backseat.

Frankie raised his hands placatingly and his face looked hurt and worried. “You blocked me on everything and I just wanted to talk to-”

“Frankie, it’s been four months! What could you possibly need to say to me now?” 

He froze, the panic in his eyes growing. “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to end like that. I wasn’t trying t-”

“To what?? To break up with me? Bullsh-”

“Stop interrupting me!”

The way his voice raised and boomed out of him made you step back, wide eyed and tense.

“I just wanted to talk to you! I wanted to see you! I wanted to tell you that I made a mistake and I -”, he pleaded and took a step towards you. “I made a mistake.”

If you had never loved him, you might have thought he looked pathetic. The desperation in his words and the way you could tell this was an absolute necessity for him to get out silenced the rage in your mind. There were flecks of the man you had loved so hard in those desperate brown eyes, now searching for something he could hold on to.

He took another small step towards you. “As soon as you left, I knew that I was wrong, and then you’d already blocked me. I couldn’t call or text or even just see your face to make sure you were okay, and it’s killing me!”

“You said it wasn’t working for you.”

He nodded, and looked down, his closed mouth twisting in frustration and pain. “I know I did.”

“You pulled away.”, you stated quietly before raising your hand and pointing at him aggressively. “You pulled away and didn’t even have the balls to tell me why until I asked you!”

He sighed, sad and scorned. “I know. I know I did. I was wro-”

“Don’t you dare say you were wrong! Don’t you d-” Your voice hitched as an angry sob cut you off. Frankie’s eyes softened and he looked at you utterly broken before you continued. “Don’t you dare tell me you were wrong! You don’t get to just take that back!”

His now teary eyes watched you start to fall apart as all that internal hurt bloomed on your surface, and he felt the full weight of your anger and grief. He stepped towards you and cupped your face, making you look up at him. 

“I was wrong.”, he said quietly, his voice catching on his emotion. “I was so wrong. I did want it and you were so much more than I could have ever asked for.”

He pressed his forehead to yours and you didn’t fight him. The intimacy of his face being so close and the feeling of his skin on yours was like a salve to a wound. His breath shakily washed over your mouth as he softly cried, holding you against him. 

At that moment, it didn’t matter to you why he’d done what he’d done. He had you in his hold again and all the pieces started falling into place. 

You pushed forward and caught his mouth on yours, knocking his cap off, and he pushed back almost instantly. Whatever softness in your kiss evaporated as four months of unsaid need and hurt from both of you poured out. As his mouth was on yours, you backed your way down the hallway and he followed, backing you into your bedroom. He pressed you up against the wall, mouth ravenously devouring yours and both your hands were under and over the other’s clothing.

Frankie’s hands pulled up your work attire pencil skirt up around your waist then pulled your panties down, letting them pool around your ankles. His fingers were then between your legs and he groaned into your mouth as he felt that same comfortable warmth he had been missing. His mouth moved to your neck and you tilted your hips, giving him more access and urging him to go further. 

“Frankie…”, his name on your lips was huskier and needier than you meant it to be, but it was responded with him grunting your name into your neck.

He dropped down on his knees on the floor and roughly grabbed your hips, pulling your backend away from the wall and then lifted your leg over his shoulder. Your shoulder blades and the back of your neck sat flush against the wall behind you as he pressed a kiss on your weeping seam. 

“So fuckin’ sorry…”, he murmured before he licked a strip, his tongue parting your lips and running the length of your velvet folds. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and closed your eyes, your hips jerking slightly as his tongue circled and pressed on your clit. His hair was just as soft as you remembered as your fingers ran through his head of disheveled curls and gripped them. 

He sucked your clit between his lips and his teeth nudged it ever so slightly, making you cry out. He did it again, willing you to cum, to feel so good as he apologized without words. 

You were already so close, panting and keening as he ate you whole, and then he began to tongue fuck you, his nose pressing on your little bundle of nerves. You were right there, the coil tightening to an almost painful degree, when he brought his thumb up and in between his nose and your clit, rubbing it ever so gently.

The coil snapped and the floodgates opened. You cried out, your hips rocking in time with the clenching and fluttering of your hole as Frankie took everything you gave him. 

You were just starting to come down when he stood up, face wet and dazed with a feral look in his eyes. His hands were on his jeans, yanking them down enough to free his cock, and he then crowded you against the wall. No further words were exchanged and he lifted your leg on his hip and pushed into you. Your breath escaped you and didn’t come back right away. Frankie seemed to feel the same as he stiled, heavy and seated in you. His mouth was open and a low grunt finally careened up from his chest and out of his lips. 

He kissed you, messy and wet, and the musk of you was present on his breath, as his hips began to move. 

God, it felt so good It felt like he was finally home. Back in your arms, back in you. You felt whole for the first time in months and you hoped he fucking felt the same way. You managed to open your eyes and found him watching you. Both of your breaths were inhaled through your nose and out of your mouths, occasionally culminating in a sound, yours higher pitched and whined out, and his low and deep. 

“Frankie…”, you murmured, wanting to ask if it was the same for him, but you couldn’t get the words out; he was already working you up to another orgasm.

He nodded, his brows starting to tent and furrow, feeling not only your walls fluttering around him, but the way you perfectly enveloped him like no other. The way he felt lost and broken without hearing you say his name. The way he had sat in his mistake and let the guilt begin to fester and grow on him like mold. And all of that faded the moment you let him touch you, you let him feel you again, you said his name.

“Come for me… baby, come for me… I know… I know, baby, you’re- fuck… you’re right there… lemme feel it… lemme feel it…”

You fell apart, gripping for him. He kept moving in you and his mouth found yours again, swallowing your sweet song that he knew every note to and missed so much. Your walls squeezed and pulsed around him and he felt the tug and his own end build up in him. His rhythm faltered and he soon came, spurting his spend into you. 

Once you both had come down, you cleaned up, changing into comfier clothing, and met Frankie out in the main area. 

As you entered, Frankie stood up from leaning on the kitchen counter and reached out to you, pulling you into a hug. You sighed, happily but also apprehensively. You didn’t know what to expect.

“I need to expl-”

“Frankie, please… no. We can just move -”

“No.”, he said with a quiet firmness. “No. I can’t just let you let me back in if- if, you know, if I don’t explain myself.”

You could hear the need in his voice, the desire to just put it all out on the table and then let you make the decision. You nodded. 

He took a deep breath. “I got scared. I pulled away because I had never really been in a relationship that I felt like I could lose myself in, and I- I panicked.”

He shrugged with you still held closely against him. You wanted to look him in the eye, but he held you firm. You got the hint that he needed to get this out before he could face you. 

“As soon as I told you it wasn’t what I wanted, I regretted it right away. Like instantly. And I saw you take everything I said then just leave. You blocked me so I couldn’t reach out, and I sat with all of this until I couldn’t handle it.”

You stopped trying to pull away from him and leaned into his hold. 

“I realized that I wasn’t losing myself in you - in us. I was… I was opening up and you were seeing every bad thing I was trying to hide… and I got scared. But I realized I’d rather you see me and everything wrong with me than never getting to see you or speak to you or hold you again.”

Your heart softened further and you buried your face into his, your broken smile and tears matching his own. You realized that Frankie had been hurting just as much as you had these past few months. 

You inhaled his scent, and a laugh, heavy with emotion, came from you. His grip on you softened, and you were able to pull away enough to bring your hands to his face. You held him there for a beat, just looking at him, and seeing the same fear and brokenness that had defined your inner turmoil these past few months.You want so badly for this to be your new beginning…

“I missed you,” he admits in barely a whisper.

“I know.”

You smile, but it’s the kind that hurts a little. Because maybe Frankie will get scared again; maybe you’re not worth the fear of the unknown. Maybe this was just closure, written in heat and skin and quiet forgiveness.

Still, when his hand covers yours, you let him intertwine his fingers. At least for now, the ache in your chest felt a little less raw; the bitterness beginning to sweeten.

“God dammit!”

You heard the telltale signs of Jim’s patience wearing thin in the shag-carpet and wood-paneled living room of your doublewide trailer. You already knew what was pissing him off - the new computer you got from your California-based, tech-savvy cousin. 

You’d already been dicking around with it for the past week in the evenings, but Jim was meeting this thing for the first time. 

As you rounded the corner and felt the transition from slightly tacky linoleum to the carpet under your feet, there he was, hunched over and semi-hidden in a cloud of cigarette smoke wafting out with each frustrated breath as he bogarted the almost-to-the-filter embered nub. His brows arched in lupine madness as his fingers, one at a time, tried to type in the DOS coding you assumed from the paper you had written out next to the keyboard.

“Fuck!”, he barked, jerking his hands back from the keyboard after another mistake was made. 

You tried to hide the smug smile that tugged on your lips. “Hit ‘return’ yet?”

“No.”, he snapped back, eyes not moving from the black screen littered with green text, 

“Then hit ‘backspace’ and fix the error.”

Jim paused and held his hands up off the keyboard with his index fingers still pointed down. He looked like a confused t-rex with the little arms and fingies out. His eyes looked to be scanning the keys, then, like a rabid chicken, one hand struck out and the finger hit the ‘return’ key. 

“FUCK!” Jim stood up so fast that your kitchen chair fell back onto the carpet with a heavy thud. “Fuck this bullshit! This shit is rigged! Can’t even get to the fucking menu or anything!”

You watched him start his meltdown with your arms crossed and leaned against the brown and orange-patterned, highback chesterfield. “You mean you didn’t even boot it yet?”

“Boot what?!” He finally looked up at you, his jaw tight, and the last pathetic flickers of the cigarette burned out against the filter in his mouth. “What didn’t I boot??”

You stared back, but with far less intensity and more amusement. “You mean you couldn’t type ‘P1” then hit ‘return’ twice to get to the main screen?”

He just froze, except for his adam’s apple bobbing, at your question. After a beat, he shifted on his feet, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You - what? The P- what?”

“P1. Return. Return.”, you said with a little more emphasis, your hand coming out and making a circular motion along with your words. “Like it says on the paper.”

Jim looked at you a little more frazzled and confused. “What paper?”

Your brows furrowed. “What were you typing?”

“The code stuff!”

“What code stuff?”

“From that computer show!”

Now you were getting frustrated. You had no idea what ‘computer show’ Jim was talking about, so you came around the makeshift desk in your living room and looked at the screen.

$ whoami LOGIN INCORRECT $uname -a LOGIN INCORRECT $ login -n root LOGIN INCORRECT # bin/history INVALID COMMAND run self-awareness; INVALID COMMAND login/backdoor INVALID COMMAND vi LLLSDLaserControl.c INVALID COMMAND ./sanity_check INVALID COMMAND ./configure -o test.cfg INVALID COMMAND

The little cursor blinked below the lines of declined coding and your eyes widened. “What the fuck is this?”

Jim sputtered, angry and just as perplexed as you, motioning to the computer dramatically. “The code shit from the computer show!”

“What the fuck is the computer show??”

“You know, the one with the people in the computer and the lights and the hookers?!”

“The hookers?!”

With every response, you each got louder and more confused, before it dawned on you. 

“TRON??”, you demanded loudly. “You’re typing code from TRON into my computer??”

“Yeah! The computer show!”

You let out a deep breath, eyes still wide, and shook your head at JIm. “There aren’t any hookers in TRON!”

“Yes there are! The freaky neon ladies, hanging out in the computer’s recreation section or whatever!”

“Oh my fucking god, Jim!”, you hollered, not believing that he would think for a minute Disney would have computer hookers in a kids movie.

“THERE!”

Jim grabbed your shoulder with one hand as the other pointed at the screen. “There! Computer Hookers! See? Right there!”

He had paused the vhs, causing the screen to ripple and distort, at the moment that Flynn was running through the Grid, and passed a pair of neon-clad women, watching him provocatively. 

You leaned forward and squinted at the curved, glass screen of the TV. “Well, I’ll be damned…”

“That’s right!” Jim stood up, arms raised in celebration; he then turned and pointed at you. “I told you! You don’t mess around with J- oof!”

Jim bent over, holding his belly where you’d landed your forearm across him. 

“It’s rude to gloat, Jim.”, you huffed. “But yes, you’re right. There are apparently hookers in a Disney kids movie.”

Still smug, Jim stood up straight, chest puffed up, and walked over to the computer. “Stupid fuckin’ thing… can’t even handle computer hooker commands!”

When his fist was raised back as he was going to punch the screen of the computer, you stood up and hollered out, “No Jim!”

But he didn’t listen. As his fist collided with the static-charged screen, it was like a portal opened up, and his entire forearm disappeared into the black with green text. He looked at you, confused, then BOOM. A bright flash was followed by Jim’s body reducing into 8-bit pixels along with the fax machine-sounding scream he let out. 

You covered your eyes as another bright flash lit up the room and when you uncovered them, Jim was gone. You ran over to look at the now black screen, and up in the top right hand corner, you saw:

opt/LLL/controller/laser/jim.hopper.compu.punch.exe ACTIVATED

“Huh. Guess the computer really CTRL-ALT-DELETED Jim from existence.”, you sighed and then unplugged it from the wall.

Another night with you walking down the silent and vacant streets of Jackson alone. Another night of believing Joel might think you’re more than a good lay only for him to send you back home when he got what he needed from you. 

The sound of the gravel seemed so much louder without the people in the streets to absorb and overtake it. The hollow sadness and rejection were just on the cusp of your mind, but your satisfaction of the way Joel railed you with the gratefulness that you were still alive and had someone who actually wanted to fuck you kept those nasty things at bay - for now.

You’d met Joel when you first arrived in Jackson a few years ago, and he was just one of the residents who had a massive chip on his shoulder. He was aloof for the most part and downright unpleasant if you approached him, from what you saw, so you kept your distance. But then he sought you out.

You were standing near the back of the room during a townhall meeting, Tommy at the front, dictating town business, when you felt a presence next to you. Actually, it was more Joel inadvertently made his presence known because he had a nose whistle from being a bit stuffed up. You later found out he had allergies to the wildflowers that grew around Jackson. You turned and gave him a quick glance, noting he was faced forward but his eye was looking sideways at you. You felt like a squirrel and Joel was an owl with a stuffy nose, and you had been targeted.

It escalated from there. Joel would seek you out, the awkwardness in the way he spoke to you lessening each time he did, and eventually, you wound up seated next to him at the Tipsy Bison, three straight drinks in, laughing at just about anything he said. You saw him really smile at you, at least that’s what you thought you saw in your drunken haze, and he took you to his house that night. On the couch, you clumsily undressed one another and he made you see stars. No sooner after you were both satisfied, he redressed your drunk self and sent you on your way home, citing that he didn’t need his kid to see you naked on his couch in the morning. 

This is how it went. He would rarely make an appearance at your house, and the conversation between you was limited to discussions about the weather or the latest horse to give birth. It was just sex.

This evening, before he had closed the door upon you heading out again, you’d tried to bring this up. 

“Is this all we are?”, you asked as you sat on the edge of his bed, pulling your sock up. 

A deep sigh came from behind you, followed by the creak of the bed as Joel sat up. “Don’t… you know what this is…”

“I don’t. S’why I’m asking, Joel.”, you huffed out with a shallow, small smile turning to look at him over your shoulder.

He was sitting up in his bed, jeans on but not done up, and his big hand rubbing his face as he sighed. 

“I’m not asking for a ring or nothing, but come -”

“I don’t do relationships or feelings or any of that crap. I don’t do couple shit. You know this. We fuck, you leave. The end.”

Upon his last word, he looked up at you, his eyes cold and his face firm. You looked over him briefly then nodded. There was nothing else to say because you really didn’t have a leg to stand on in this argument except for the deep yearning in your chest to be needed more than this. That and Joel didn’t do feelings, so your words would’ve fallen on deaf ears. 

So you left, like you always did, but this time, you didn’t wait for him to walk you down the stairs. You didn’t know if he’d come down or followed you, and you really tried not to care. This was nothing but sex and that was final.

Never in a million years did you think Joel would be a common archetype in the apocalypse, but then you met Kyle Turner. He was newer to Jackson and had formerly been some sort of ‘special agent’ who worked in national parks. That wasn’t something you’d ever heard of so you listened as he gave you his qualifications.

“... so that’s what I did.”, he spoke in a low, gruff, matter-of-fact tone, looking down at you.

You blinked up at him, taken by how deep and brown his eyes were, like Joel’s, but warmer. 

Kyle cleared his throat, and you were brought back to reality. The reality where you were doing work detail assignments for new residents of Jackson. Your face heated up as you looked around and saw the other people lined up behind Kyle were peaking around his tall frame, trying to figure out what the hold up was.

“Right. Yes. National parks, and all that. Uh… well, patrol. You do that. Patrol. Yeah. Patrol.”

Kyle nodded, eyeing you with a concerned yet amused hesitation. “Patrol.”

“Patrol.”, you repeated and handed him a small thick piece of homemade paper, the word ‘PATROL’ scrawled on it. 

“Patrol.”, he said again. 

Then off he went, leaving you feeling flushed and alone in front of a bunch of new Jacksonites with raised eyebrows. 

Yep. You definitely had a type.

Unlike Joel, Kyle didn’t pursue you. No, he knew you were intrigued and he sat and waited for you to come to him - at least that's what you told yourself. He would catch you watching him during dinner or when he was walking around, and at one point, you thought he was going to approach you but he was intercepted by another man and walked in another direction. 

This game of you being the hunter - a piss poor one at that - went on for a few days and in that time, you’d inadvertently rebuffed or ignored Joel’s subtle cues for you to come over. He would head towards you, then you’d catch Kyle somewhere across a room or the street, off you would head, not even noticing Joel’s presence. 

You were intrigued and somewhat enamoured by Kyle, and you wondered if he was a different kind of hunter. Was he a fisher, dropping lures for you to take a bite and he would hood you on? Maybe. Either way, you were not dissuaded.

Finally, it happened. You were at the Tipsy Bison, and you scoped Kyle standing at the bar, waiting for his turn. You sided up next to him.

“Hello there, Special Agent Kyle.”

He turned his head and nodded at you, then looked back at the bar. 

You didn’t like how dismissive this felt, so you tried again. “You settlin’ in okay?”

His mouth tightened and he nodded, this time not bothering to turn to you. “Yeah, as much as I can be.”

“If you need anyth-”

“I don’t want any trouble. And I don’t need any tagalongs making things more complicated."

You were slightly taken aback at that, and quirked your head. “Neither do I but this is just a conversation an-”

“I was already informed who’s your significant other and I don’t want any trouble.”, he spoke more emphatically. 

Shit. Joel. “Did Joel say something t-”

“Nope, but I have it on good authority that he doesn’t want anyone talking to you. And frankly, you don’t look worth the work so move along.”

You stared up at him, scrutinizing the way he kept his eyes forward and nonplussed at your presence, as if offending you was just another task he needed to complete for the day. You scoffed and finally pushed yourself off the counter, walking away. 

That stung. Yes, he was fully capable of not being interested in you with or without Joel’s threats, but knowing that you weren’t even slightly appealing to him and that the only man in this town giving you attention was only doing so because he wanted sex and you were the hole he wanted to fuck were massive blows to your ego. 

As you made your way to the other side of the bar counter, a familiar grip wrapped around your wrist and held you firm, tugging you towards the exit. Joel. Once he had you outside he backed you against the exterior and got his face close to yours.

“You been avoidin’ me.”, he said in a husky, chiding voice.

You tightened your jaw, knowing he’d only been looking for you for one thing. “Have not. Been busy.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his mouth in a scowl. “Busy? Busy doin’ what exactly? Busy ogling the new guy? Followin’im ‘round like a lost little puppy? Tryin’ to get him to notice you?”

Again, you felt the kick to your self esteem. “Joel-”

He planted his hands on either side of the wall behind you and leaned in further, his nose nudging yours, and he spoke lowly, almost patronizingly. “You know noone’s gonna fuck you hard’n deep like I can… get you to make them pretty noises…”

One of his hands moved down to your waist and gave it a squeeze before sliding down between your legs. You shifted and sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed the seam of your jeans’ crotch into you, gently moving his hand forward and back. Joel had never been this overt before; in fact he’d never even acknowledged anything sex related between you outside of his house for the most part. 

“Think he knows what makes this pussy wet? Think he can make you squirt? Nah…”, he cooed as he dragged his nose and lips along your jaw line. “I know what you need.”

As good as you knew he could make you feel, you knew this wasn’t a declaration of love - it was a bid to keep you in place and complicit to his needs. The realization of this hurt more than his rejection of you as something more, and you planted your hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. 

He pulled back his face and looked at you, slightly confused and irritated. You didn’t mean for your tone to sound so firm when you spoke lowly. “What I need is someone who sees me more as a partner and less of a body to fuck, Joel.”

His eyes narrowed as he processed your words, his mouth skewing just before he let out a deep huff. His words careened out of him in almost a growl. “I know you’re just gettin’ snippy on account of not bein’ properly fucked in a bit, so I’m gonna let this little attitude of yours slide this once.”

You scoffed and looked away from him; you shouldn’t be surprised by his audacity, given that he could switch from looking at you like he wanted you to looking at you like you needed to leave in a heartbeat, but this was something else. 

“Attitude?”, you asked, a small, incredulous smile on your face. “Joel, I swear to the almighty that this is not becau-”

“You sure you wanna finish that sentence?” His words were sharply spat out as he interjected. “I really don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue what you want.”

You shoved him off you and shot your finger up in his face. “Don’t you even think of tellin’ me what! I know you’re not capable of givin’ me shit, Joel!”

He moved to grab the hand with the offending finger but you yanked it away and shoved him back again. 

His head tilted, his deathly stare trained on you as a dangerous smile spread on his face. “Didn’t know you wanted it so rough, baby… playin’ hard t’get. Alright, I’ll bite…”

Joel moved his weight against you, knocking you back against the wall harshly, and he growled into your ear,  “Baby, if I’d’ve known you were needin’ to get fucked so bad that you wanted to play games, I would’a gotten my hands on you sooner.”

He roughly kissed and nipped at your jaw and neck, his teeth dragged along your skin, and his hand shoved right back between your thighs, his movements now much harsher. “Thought you wanted it soft… guess I was wrong.”

Fuck, it felt good, but your guts twisted in shame at how easily this man could play you like a desperate fool, and you knew yourself better than to believe he actually wanted you. 

“Joel!”, you huffed while trying to push him back. “Joel, stop it!”

He ripped himself away from you and took a few steps back with an irritated growl, glaring. “You’re really fuckin’ tryin’ my patience, you little cunt!”, he snarled.

Moving towards you with a menacing slowness, he continued, “You think you’re something anyone else wants? You think another guy’s gonna wanna touch you, knowin’ you been mine?”

“I haven’t been yours, Joel! That’s the whole fuckin’ problem!”

Before he could get his hands on you again, a voice called out from the direction of the doorway. 

“Everything alright here?”

Your attention was pulled from Joel to the owner of the voice - Kyle Turner. Your eyes quickly darted back to Joel for a brief moment before going back to Kyle, and you nodded.

“Yeah, uh… just wrapping up.” Despite how much you straightened your body and nodded with confidence, the quiet catch in your voice gave away your unease and nervousness in the situation. 

Joel huffed a snort out, and you could hear his jaw grind as he sucked his teeth in anger. You could only imagine the lengths he’d gone to ensure that no one would come near you and potentially nab his plaything away, and yet here was Kyle, already giving your backbone strength with three words. You turned to watch as he stalked off without having to hear or say another word, more than likely going home to brood.

A low, huffed chuckle sounded out from Kyle as he moved to stand next to you, seeing Joel’s figure retreat into the night. 

“He always so… hospitable?”

“Yeah…”, you breathed out, now feeling a bit unsure of what Joel’s reaction meant. Was he expecting you to follow? Because you weren’t going to. Was he done with you and going to find another woman to bed? Maybe… the thought didn’t immediately sit right with you, but once Kyle moved to head back inside, your mind was pulled back to where you stood, leaving Joel in the night.

You followed Kyle back to the bar only for him to continue to ignore you.

Almost a month had passed since that night, and while Joel had kept his distance, his obvious sculking and monitoring while not interacting with you directly had caused you more irritation than yearning.  He reminded you of the barn cat who used to stalk you; sitting in the rafters, watching, laying in wait. You never hazarded trying to pet it, but its vulching and watching of you was enough of a warning.

Except Joel pretended he wasn’t obviously watching you when you caught him. In the general store, you caught him peering over the pile of matched shoes and when your eyes met his, he scrambled to look away before he quickly pretended to be interested in a pair of dirty, pink runners. Or when you saw him trying to see around a tree in front of the garden you were working in, and when he realized you could see him, he smacked his head on a low hanging branch trying to get out of sight.

It was getting pretty pathetic. Whatever Joel had tried to make you feel about him not being around had clearly uno-reversed back to him. You thought about confronting Joel, but no matter how annoying it was becoming, it was almost too entertaining to watch this thunder cloud of a man be reduced to a love sick, shy teenager. 

And it wasn’t only you who had noticed; others in Jackson had borne witness to Joel’s reduction, including men in town. You’d had a couple of them approach you, some more friendly than others, so that was something to get used to. But Kyle had still kept his distance, and you began to wonder if you really just weren’t that interesting to him.

When asked why he interrupted you and Joel outside the bar that one night, he shrugged and downed the rest of his whiskey, and muttered, “Heard a ruckus and figured one of you wanted out of it.”

And that was it.

… until it wasn’t. 

It only occurred to you when someone within earshot of you mentioned they hadn’t seen Joel in a while, a week maybe, and you thought back, trying to recall the last time you’d seen him skulking around. Maybe it had been a week, maybe longer. You had tried to not notice him if you did catch him recently, but you really couldn’t think of a time lately that you’d seen him. 

That was odd. 

It all came together later one evening; you’d left the bar after another fruitless night, heading home alone and remaining unfucked another day; despite the potential attention you’d picked up recently, nothing had panned out. You sighed as you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, and walked along the dark street towards your house. The loneliness had started creeping into your bones as of late, and you were almost desperate enough to go to Joel’s door, apologize, and accept whatever scraps he was willing to throw at you, just to have some sort of connection again.

You walked past your house, purposely not looking at the front windows that looked at you with such judgement as you slunk by, when you heard footsteps coming up from behind you. They were getting closer and you readied yourself for the attack; you closed your eyes as you swung around at the last minute to lay your assailant out flat, only to be met with a large, firm hand gripping your fist in the air. You peeked through one squinted eye and saw Kyle attached to the hand that held your arm in its grip. 

“Kyle?”, you asked, confused as you opened both your eyes and relaxed slightly. “What the hell are you doin’, sneakin’; up on me like -”

“You should really have your eyes open when you’re trying to fight someone off. You have shit aim.”, he gruffly stated, brows twixed in a frown. 

You stared back up at him, slightly offended. “Well, you shouldn’t be sneakin’ up on people like that! What the hell were you thinkin’?”

He stared you down, as if he were silently willing you to just knock off the back talk. Through gritted teeth, he said, “I stopped by to see if you were around. Wanted to show you something.”

You cocked your head to the side, narrowing your eyes. Your words snarled out of you, the displeasure fueled by insult careening around each syllable. “Uh huh, sure. Did I suddenly become worth your time, or were you just hopin’ I’d be around for a quick fuck?”

Kyle’s jaw twisted, clearly not liking the snarky tone you used. “Isn’t that your MO? Be available to the first guy who shows you a shred of attention? Or is it a ‘charge-by-the-hour’ sort of deal?”

That shut you up. You narrowed your eyes as his smug small smirk sat on his face, and turned, walking… where were you walking? You didn’t remember where you were headed before your already squashed ego was obliterated. 

“Hey! Where you going?”, Kyle called out. “Said I wanted to show you something!” You didn’t bother turning around; you swore you could hear the grin in his voice and you weren’t mentally fortified enough to face it head on. 

His hand, not as meaty as Joel’s but still big, wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. You tried in vain to tug it away from him, but he held firm. His grip wasn’t harsh or demanding, it just was there, refusing your advancement away from him.

You didn’t look at him, and his voice came out again, less rough. “I asked where you’re going.”

“I heard you.”

“Okay, so you heard me. Didn’t answer me though.”

“Don’t need to.”

There was a beat of silence before Kyle let out a low, huffed chuckle. “Not feeling like playing nice? I got a surprise for you…”

You raised your eyes to him, and sneered. “Fuck you.”

He smiled, showing you his teeth, and stepped closer to you without letting go of your wrist. “Don’t tell me you’re sore about what I said. Not you - the one who let Joel fucking Miller walk all over you just so you could get that pussy filled.”

His other hand moved up to gently brush past your cheek, throwing you off and making your skin heat up, before slipping around the back of your head and gripping your hair. His voice came out huskier, gritting out from between his teeth as he got right into your face. “Can’t handle a little haggling? Huh?”

Rage coursed through your veins along with the white hot arousal. “What the fuck does -”

Kyle’s mouth crashing down on yours cut your words short. He backed you roughly against a telephone pole, the splintered wood catching your hair and clothing like the worst kind of velcro. The harshness of this all added to the surreal ambience of the situation. He then ripped his mouth from yours, breathing hard and his eyes boring into you. 

“Got a surprise for you at my place.”

Kyle had gotten you back to his little cabin and in record time. His hands moved over your body with intention and had you reeling as he pulled your clothing off. 

He backed you into a bedroom and on the bed, then raised your legs and peeled your panties off you slowly. Your head was spinning from how he seemed to be ensuring you knew he wanted you. It was like all the time before this point was the foreplay: his indifference, your pining. 

He slipped his hand between your legs and circled your clit, firm and slow, his eyes never leaving yours, and there was something lingering behind his intense arousal, something darker.

“Gonna make some pretty sounds for me.”

It wasn’t a question. You nodded and he pushed two fingers into your pussy at an achingly slow pace. 

A half grin pulled at one side of his mouth, and his voice careened out of him lowly. “Figured I start with two since you’d been so popular ‘round town lately.”

Before you could object, you heard a familiar voice hollering out from the closet.

“What - who was that??”, you squeaked out, pushing him back from you with your foot on his shoulder, and turning to look at the closed closet doors along the wall parallel to the bed.

He turned and kissed your ankle with a soft smile. “That is my surprise for you…”

Once he opened the closet, you saw it.

Retirement had done something for Javier that he didn’t think it could have - it made him content. Each day that passed, he felt the need to right the world’s wrongs start to fade a little more. It still lingered, but more of a faint itch rather than a full on need. This stage of life had also afforded Javier something that he didn’t think was possible in his lifetime - truth. He was honest for the first time with himself and now was married to you: a slightly younger man who didn’t love Javier despite his faults, but regardless of them. 

He was content… albeit a little bored, and this boredom fueled his sweet tooth and snacking habits. While he was assured that you didn’t mind the extra weight he now carried, he couldn’t help but wonder.

But with that contentment, there was an undercurrent of restlessness that would rear its head every now and then, and today was one of those days. You were at work, probably sweating your balls off in your office that Javier knew had no AC, and he was seated on the front porch of your home, drinking a lemonade, watching the traffic on the highway past the waves of various crops and livestock. 

Normally, he would stay busy through the day and relax with you in the evening, but it was just too fucking hot; even the shade felt like it could burn his skin. He just didn’t have the same tolerance for the higher temperatures that he once did, and as he thought more about it, he had to huff a laugh quietly to himself as he thought of his father, Chucho. He had worked laboriously outdoors until he passed no matter what the weather or heat and Javier just gave up on account of his age and the reminders of comfort that now sat around his heavier middle. Javier knew better than to vocalize it, but he did feel sheepish in the shadow of his father’s memory as he sat on this porch, getting old and fat, with his little plastic cup of lemonade that he had done nothing to earn that day. Javier let out a deep sigh and groaned as he got up, then headed into the house.

Your work day consisted of two things: being hot and lamenting about how hot you were to anyone who would listen. Laredo’s heat waves were no laughing matter, as you had learned, and truly felt like hell on earth when you were forced to sit in a stagnant and stale oven that was your office. Your button up dress shirt’s top button was undone and the sleeves were rolled up in your attempt to cool down your body, but it was useless. As you sat in a dazed stupor from the stuffy heat, your mind wandered to your husband, Javier, and how you’d left him in the morning. 

He’d gotten up and had breakfast with you, enjoying his bowl of Lucky Charms and a black coffee while you ate your toast. His faded DEA t-shirt pulled tight across his now portly belly, a hollow dip in the middle from his belly button, and he’d looked good enough to eat. But you were almost already running late, so you’d had to suffice with just a playful pinch of one of his newly sprouted love handles as you kissed his hair and hurried out the door.

A small, satisfied smile pulled gently across your face as you thought of him, grumpy from the heat and trying to stay grumpy as you kissed down his gut and pushed him back on the couch. You could imagine his breathing picking up as you ran your hands along his open thighs, kneeling down between them and -

“You have the file for the Olsen’s?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by Jennie, your coworker. Blinking, your brain came back from the happy little respite from the heat and you looked up at her.

“Uh… yeah.”, you huffed out, now shuffling through all the paperwork on your desk, looking for the manilla folder with ‘OLSEN’ scrawled on the top tab. 

“You looked a million miles away, I almost hated to disturb you.”, she grinned as she crossed her arms and stood with her hip cocked. 

You gave a small, huffed laugh in response, and luckily found the folder. Handing it over to her, you sighed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… this heat does weird shit to me.”

Jennie laughed softly, a smug smile on her face, like she knew you weren’t in a daze from the sweltering temperature. “Yeah, the heat can do that.”

As soon as the day was done, you made a b-line to your used Honda Accord, and rolled down both the passenger and driver’s side windows, before sliding in on the ass-melting vinyl seats. At that moment, you needed to get home and Javier hose you down in the yard; you were too hot. 

You weren’t built for this. You were a cold winter, mild summer kind of guy, and the only reason you tolerated this fucking heat was because of your husband, who wanted to be closer to his roots and where both his parents were buried. You loved him enough to do this, and in truth, you really didn’t need to live anywhere near your conservative, midwest family, but this heat was really challenging that right now.

Your Accord’s AC was struggling to pump out anything but hot, mechanical air in your face as you drove out of town and down the dusty, dirt road that held your home at the end of it. You didn’t think, you just pressed your foot flat to the floor of your car and sped up. As you got closer to your house, you saw Javier coming out the front door and down the steps as you got closer, unintentionally speeding up, just in pure need to cool down.

You reefed the steering wheel hard and came to a heavy, hard stop in your parking spot, dust billowing around you, and you got out of the car, not even bothering to close the windows. As the dust settled, you saw Javier with his arms crossed over his stomach, his yellow aviators perched on his nose and highlighting the unimpressed scowl on his face.

“What the hell was that?”, his voice growled out. You heard the gravel beneath his feet as he stepped towards you while you hard turned with an eye roll and grabbed your briefcase.

“Baby, I am hot and I don’t want to do this right n-”

“Do what?”, Javier retorted. “You don’t wanna talk about how you came flying down the road, scaring Gonzales’ livestock - that I am going to have to hear about, thank you! - and kicking up dust for no other reason than you can’t stand the heat?”

You dropped your shoulders with your sports coat in one hand and your briefcase in the other, and groaned. “I’m sorry, alright? Can you just- please- can you just spray me with the hose or something? I’m fucking hot, Javi!”

A smirk flicked on one side of Javier’s mouth. He tried to hide it by tightening his lips, trying to look like he was in thought as he took a step towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him, sensing he was up to something.

“What?”, you asked in frazzled huff.

“What?”, he responded with an easy smile, showing his unfairly straight teeth. His tone wasn’t harsh anymore, but softer and darker, like he knew he once again had the upper hand and wanted to play with you.

You groaned out a sigh, your tone turning a bit whiney, “Javi… come on. Knock it off.”

“No no…”, Javier grinned. “I think I like this at-the-end-of-your-rope version of you…”

You grit your teeth, not wanting to play any games. The dust that had blown around you had stuck to your sweat soaked skin and clothing and you were over being hot, sticky and dirty. 

“Just get the fucking hose and cool me off!” It came out more of a barked demand rather than a needy pleading question, and you knew it before you closed your mouth.You winced as Javier’s smile dropped into a slightly warning look. 

“You sure you wanna go that route, mi amor?” Javier took another slow step towards you and you saw less of your husband and more of the cop you’d only heard stories about. You couldn’t deny that it was insanely sexy when he did this, but you were truly just over the day and needed to cool down and clean up.

“If it means I get to fucking stop being so goddamned hot and gross - yeah!?”

Your leg shifted like you were trying to suppress a tantrum-fueled stomp, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Javier. He cocked his brow and licked his lips, stepping closer, face smug behind those aviators. 

“You keep this up, mi vida, and I’m gonna have to take you in.” His eyes raked up your sweaty, damp, office attire clad body as he purred his words out. “Mouthing off to a cop? Baby, that might land you with a strip search.”

You let out a pathetic groan mixed with eye roll; all this meant was you were less likely to get any respite from your misery while Javier wanted to play the cop. “Fuck, Javi! I am in no mood!”

Javier chuckled lowly and saw just how over this you were. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. Smiling, he spoke softly against your mouth, “Pobrecito mi trabajadorcito. Getting all riled up from a little heat…”

He pressed his mouth against yours softly, cooling your temper.

After a cold shower and a dinner that required no heating, you felt a bit better. Laid out on the couch in nothing but your boxers combined with the cold beer you were drinking was exactly what you needed. Having the oscillating fan blowing directly over you was just icing on the cake. You must have looked a sight because Javier chuckled and grinned warmly at you as he walked into the room, an unlit cigarette dangling in his mouth. He too was a vision, as he raised his lighter to his cigarette, his other hand shielding the flame. His own boxers were slung low on his hips to account for his thicker and heavier middle, the elastic waist bowing under the weight of his belly and his dinner. Your unabashed gaze washed over him and his eyes met yours. 

Javier pulled the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled a plume of smoke. “You’re ogling an officer.”

“You’re retired, Javi.”

He grunted in response, and that told you what you needed to know about his day. He’d stayed lowkey on account of the heat he was teasing you for being affected by and his mind had wandered back to when he was younger, slimmer, had more stamina… and closeted. You smiled softly and held your hand out to him. “Baby… come’ere.”

He didn’t move right away, but when he did, he pulled you up from the couch by your outstretched hand and swung you around,  holding your hands behind your lower back as he bogarted his cigarette between his lips.

“If I recall, you were getting pretty sassy over me telling you off for speeding earlier.”

His breath washed over the back of your neck, and a little smoke slipped across your shoulders then around you.  In one hand he held your wrists with no real firmness, all in fun and not really holding you back from anything. His other hand slipped around your waist, pulling you back against his body before sliding down over your half hard cock. 

“You carrying a concealed weapon?”, he grunted into your ear, and you rolled your eyes, almost losing the grip you had on your horniness.

With a tired smile you huffed out, “For fuck’s sake, Javi -”

“You got a permit for this?”, he pushed in a low voice that vibrated from his chest through yours as he cupped your cock and balls in his huge hand.  He was clearly wanting you to play along with his role playing. “Gonna have to frisk you now, you punk.”

Javier let you go and snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray on top of the entertainment unit, then sauntered towards you. He hooked his index fingers into your boxers and tugged you towards him, then released the elastic with a snap against your skin.

You leaned in and kissed Javier, and he responded by deepening the kiss, not with urgency but more along the lines of needing you to understand that he loved you just as much as you loved him.

Parting your lips, you allowed him entrance as you snuck your hand on his shoulder down to fold above his love handle, gently massaging your thumb into his soft side.

Javier pulled back slowly, brow raised in playful scolding. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Appreciating.”, you hummed back.

“You like the extra weight, huh?”

“Claro que si, it means there’s more of my husband.”

His face was very close and his nose gently nudged your brow as he spoke in a low, husky tone. “Carrying a concealed weapon… who d’you think you are?”

You smiled and bit your lip, stifling a small laugh. You loved this man with every fibre of your being and him playing ‘tough cop’ just for you was maddeningly hot. Javier’s eyes looked into yours warmly, and he smiled. “You’re a security risk.”

You snorted a laugh. “A security risk my ass!”

“You saying I need to do a cavity search?” Javier’s brows wiggled as he gave you a mischievous grin.

“Oh god!”, you laughed as he pulled you in around your waist and you in turn had one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck. You were grinning like idiots at one another, slowly rocking in a slow dance to the sound of ‘Wheel of Fortune’ playing quietly on the tv.

This was love. This was marriage. This was domesticity.

It’s an odd feeling to get - the call to divert from your usual route home, but that’s what happened after your latest session with Maggie.

While you wouldn’t call it a breakthrough, you did finally start to feel the progress you’d been making in therapy.  You felt lighter, more flexible in how you thought through decisions and interacted with not only Benny but also yourself. You weren’t rigid and tethered to the idea that you were worth less and therefore took up too much space when you were feeling low. This could all have been part of the high before another crash, so you weren’t allowing yourself to feel overly confident, but you also didn’t rain on your own parade.

On your way out of the building Maggie’s small office was in, you didn’t walk up the street to the parking lot. Instead, you turned left and headed down the sidewalk. You were sure there was a little ice cream shop and, feeling emboldened to embrace any small victory, you felt you deserved a treat.

You came to realize that there was no ice cream shop - that was several blocks over near Benny’s veterinary clinic - and you were about a block from the bistro. Ezra’s bistro. 

Shit.

You stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to cross the street, and wondered if this was a sign. Was this the little treat you thought you deserved? Was the universe trying to tell you something?

Or were you just that terrible at navigating without Google Maps that you’d wander down any street in search of fucking ice cream?

Despite thinking the latter was the main culprit, you continued down the street until you stood outside the bistro door. Maybe it was the universe…

You took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Stepping in, you stole your bravery as firmly as you could, but what you saw as soon as you got further in made your legs almost give out under you. 

This was definitely the universe…

Frankie sat across the bar from Ezra, both seemingly engaged in a conversation. You could have pissed yourself and not even felt it at that moment. 

You wished you could evaporate. God dammit. Wait.. maybe they didn’t know who the other one was.  But you watched in horror as Ezra held up his finger, telling Frankie “Just a moment, friend.” and turned to greet whoever just came in through the door.

His eyes locked on you and then Frankie’s soon followed, and you stared right back, your face no doubt displaying the absolute shock and fear you felt reverberating through your body. 

Your eyes darted over to Frankie, assuming his own would hold some sort of callous hatred from how you left him a few weeks ago. But instead, you were met with just Frankie looking back at you nervously.

The three of you seemed to be frozen in place, until the door behind you opened and a couple pushed past you, breaking through the paralysis. Oddly enough, it was Frankie who moved first, standing from his chair and motioning you awkwardly to come towards them.

You felt how bad of an idea this was in your bones, but you still made your way over, feeling Ezra’s sparkling brown eyes watching you. You had no idea what you were going to say, if anything, but as soon as he walked out from behind the bar towards you, you caught Frankie moving closer, glinting in his eye.

What does this mean? What is happening?

“Hey, sweet bird…”, Ezra spoke softly, raising his hand to your cheek to dole out just a whisper of a touch as a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged on one side of his mouth. 

You nodded, eyes a little too wide and smile a little too forced as Frankie stood perpendicular to the two of you. You felt unsettled with him watching you try to reconnect with his successor. It felt wrong. It felt weird and cruel and a little too - 

“Frank and I have been talkin’...”

Hearing Ezra softly speak his name and watching the way he lowered his eyes to his hands as they gently reached for yours was making your stomach churn. 

“He shared with me so much, sweet one. Gave me the jist of what happened between you two.”

A lead weight bled through your veins and settled in your stomach. He told Ezra.

“Wait… no. It wasn’t like that, Ezra!”, you pleaded, soft yet frantic, as your hands gripped his. “It was a-a-a lapse in judgement. You’d just left an-and I was so- so in-incredibly broken and it was just once on the floor in the living roo- ”

“Mouse!”, Frankie’s voice snapped you from your confession. You caught his wide eyes staring at you. Shit. why did you say that? And why did you say it was on the floor?

Looking back at Ezra, his brows were furrowed with confusion and his head tilted slightly. His voice was soft yet uncertain, a hint of concern and something a little darker lingered underneath. “What are you saying?”

“Listen, Ezra. Mou-Bird… fuck- whatever we call her now!”  Frankie spoke with a lighthearted chuckle, stepping closer to Ezra, and planted his hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle shake. “She’s had a rough patch but like I said, man, you’re it for her!”

Ezra turned his head and looked at the hand on his shoulder, a small sneer pulling his lip. Frankie pulled back like Ezra was a threat, and you felt both their eyes turn to you.

Shit. shit shit shit. He hadn’t told him. 

“Ezra - Ez, honey, I -”

“Don’t.” 

The sharpness in Ezra’s voice was foreign to you, as were the eyes that stared into you when he turned to face you.  

“I am many things, Birdie, but I am not a fool and yet here you are playing me for one. You think me such a fool in fact that you have your- your broken equal come in here and ply me with sweet words about how you and I are made for one another all the while you and he are equally treacherous?” Ezra threw his hand out at Frankie then back at you as he spat out his words.

“Ezra, it wasn’t like that! It was a mistake! You left and I didn’t know what to do! It was one time and I-I needed a connection!”

“I don’t think you can connect with a man without his dick in you. I wan -”, his voice cracked as his eyes started to tear up, but then he raised his voice. “I wanted so badly to be what you needed but all you needed was to be fucked on the floor like a dog!”

The bistro was silent; all eyes were directly focused on you and Ezra. His eyes weren’t soft or warm or inviting. They were dark and cold, like a shark’s as it bit down into its prey. You heard your heartbeat in your ears, fast and hard, rhythmically hearlading Ezra seeing you for who you really were - exactly as you had feared.  

Frankie quickly came towards you and dragged you out of the bistro; you couldn’t rip your eyes from Ezra’s until Frankie dragged you through the doors and they closed behind you. 

Once you were outside and next to Frankie’s truck in the parking lot, you finally looked up at Frankie - he looked so… distraught? Disappointed? Angry?... you couldn’t tell. But the way he stared back at you told you one thing: 

You had authored your own downfall, and now you had to sleep in it.

The days that followed should have been painful, but they were hollow. Something broke in you that day, and the cracks that had formed allowed your light to slowly leak out, leaving you to run on auto-pilot empty. You didn’t wallow in bed or spend your days crying. No, instead you moved through your days devoid of anything. You worked from your home office, you ate and bathed as you did normally, you sat and watched tv with Benny in the evenings, even engaging in pleasant small talk. 

It all sat precariously in a sick balance until Frankie showed up at the apartment, holding a box of donuts. He sat down heavily on the couch and Benny gave you both a warning glare before he went to his bedroom to give you privacy. 

You felt life creep back into your bones as you watched Frankie nervously fidget with the zipper of his jacket, like he wasn’t sure how to start. Watching him felt raw and sour as your mind and body reconnected again. Anger flooded through you and your jaw tightened. 

Frankie cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Uh, so… how are y-”

You interjected harshly. “Why were you there?”

He visibly swallowed his own frustration as he looked back at you, silently warning you to knock it off with his stare. His shoulders rose and fell with each quick breath. “Mouse… don’t. Honey, please… I want you to be hap-”

“Happy? Happy?!” You stood up over him, raising your voice. You were angry and the only outlet your rage could find was directly at Frankie “Why were you there??”

His own temper reared its head and he slowly stood up, dwarfing you. 

“You are going to let me speak.”, he stated firmly, pointing a finger scoldingly at you. When you opened your mouth to fire back, he took a small step forward and leaned over you ever so slightly. This was the temper Frankie had spent the majority of your relationship trying to temper, to hold back so he wouldn’t scare you away.

He didn’t have to worry about that now.

“Keep your mouth shut, Mouse. You’re going to listen to me, especially after that shitshow you started with Ezra.”

Your face felt hot with embarrassment as shame pooled in your stomach. You nodded, your eyes not quite meeting his, not feeling so brazen anymore. His jaw clenched slightly, and he blew a deep breath out of his nose and he gave his head a subtle shake. 

“I mean it, Mouse.” His voice was quieter, almost softer, pleading, like he was trying so hard to make you understand that what he said was actually real. “I want you to be happy and… and after the last time I saw you, I am pretty fuckin’ sure that I am not the one to do that.”

His tone changed, growing a touch harsher and he quickly followed that up with, “I don’t want to be that for you. I’m done. I don’t want you in my life like that. I mean it. I know I was a fuckin’ shitsdhow without you but since that night you showed up at our-my house and-and we… did that and you left… I feel like I can breathe. I can think clearly.”

You finally raised your eyes to his, and what you saw in his both alarmed and soothed you. It was honesty. You and Frankie really were done.

Frankie’s voice softened and his large hands gripped your face gently, like he was holding something precious that was on loan to him. “It’s not that I’m not grateful for what we had. But even I can see we’re done. You’re out of my system.”

The ache of letting something go for real settled in your chest as you held Frankie’s gaze. You saw the same thing in his eyes and you truly knew you were done. You allowed him to pull you into a tight hug. 

“I mean it… I want you happy. And I hope you want the same for me.”

“I do, Frankie…” You hugged him back.

A comfortable silence held you both, but as Frankie took in a deep breath, you knew he was about to rupture it.

“I gotta ask: why did you tell Ezra about us - you know - sleeping together?”

Your body sagged as you let out a soft groan. You could hear the pinch in his voice as he clenched his jaw. His voice came out in a hissed whisper.

“And why the fuck did you tell him we fucked on the floor?”

One evening, you laid back in your bed, window open so the crisp breeze could come in, and you heard the balcony door open and you heard Benny and Frankie talking. It was softly at first, like they were very aware that they were outdoors and could be heard, but then as the conversation became easier, their voices rose and became more animated. 

They were catching up. They talked about their work and the plans they had coming up. The latest news on their favourite sports teams… But you also heard something else. Frankie met someone. He and Benny had been going to the gym together, working out and trying to rebuild what was burnt down, and Benny had introduced him to one of the girls behind the juice kiosk in the gym. Tanya. 

Upon hearing that, you were hurt and felt that sour taste of bitter jealousy creep up in your throat. Why had Benny not told you? He didn’t even run it by you. He never even mentioned that he and Frankie were going to the gym together - you only knew it because you overheard them talking about it.

But once you were able to breathe through those emotions, like Maggie had coached you, it was clear why Benny hadn’t shared this. It was none of your business. Like it or not, Benny had no obligation to share anything with you. 

“Haven’t said anything to BirdMouse…”, Benny said a little softer. You almost smiled at his new nickname for you, but then he followed it up with. “Yeah… I  dunno what I’m gonna do about her. Hard to be around her these days.”

It hurt to hear what you feared confirmed. Benny had definitely pulled back from you, and while trying not to fall into a spiral of self pity as you listened, you came to understand why. You were a shit friend and shit cousin. You’d sucked up every good faith offering and kind hand he’d given you and given nothing in return. 

Frankie sighed and responded, “You know, she’s just having a rough t-”

“Why are you defending her?” Benny’s quick and rough interruption made you flinch. As much as you wanted to know why, you didn’t think you could handle hearing anymore. You reached up and carefully slid your window closed.

You laid back and worked to hold the tears back, mind whirling in justifications for Benny’s ire. You opened a new browser window and pulled up listings for apartments in the city, fully accepting that you’d over stayed your welcome. 

About 10 or so minutes later, there was a knock on your bedroom door. There were only two options for who it could be and neither of them were ones you were ready to face right now. Despite this, you forced out a “Come in” and took a deep breath.

Benny opened the door and leaned on the frame, crossing his arms. You looked at one another for a moment, neither of you sure where to start. 

You broke first. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

Benny, tightlipped, nodded, staying in place in your doorway. You figured this was him getting you to talk more, so you then stated as placatingly as possible, “Don’t worry, I’m looking for a new place to live.”

Benny didn’t cave and beg you to stay, or give you a sad look. Instead, he nodded again. That action crushed you. You really were that terrible. 

You tried to smile, and nodded back, feeling the emotional weight of this interaction eroding your ability to hide how much this hurt. You could feel his eyes boring into you, seemingly demanding more. You managed to choke out, “Thank you for- um… thank you for all this. Let… let me know how much I owe you for back rent and ev-everything else. I -”

“Mouse…” Benny’s interjecting sigh of your name made you feel even worse. You couldn’t look at him.

“I mean it, Benny. You’ve done way more for-for me than you should have and I need to do something and -”

“Mouse, please.”

“No, Benny! I don’t know what else to do! Just tally up what I owe you and we’ll work out a payment plan! I know this is not enough! But it’s all I can offer after everythi-”

“Mouse!” 

Benny’s barked voice made you look up at him and you saw the tears in his eyes. He shook his head and moved into your room. You cut him off.

“I know I can’t fix this with money, but you deserve something! Something to show for this!”

You were fully crying at this point, unable to hold back the wall of self loathing that was ready to swallow you whole. 

Benny’s eyes looked so sad. His voice came out thick with hurt. “That’s not what I want. I want you to get better. And stop pulling everyone near you into your black hole.”

With that, Benny turned and left the room, closing your door softly on the way out.

In your next therapy session, you’d been honest with Maggie about the damage you had done, and that forced you to really look at yourself. 

Benny had been hurting from the tattered relationships caused by him taking your side. His own brother was a tense stranger with him now, and he’d only just started to have a friend in Frankie again. You’d wondered aloud to Maggie whether Benny regretted his decision to side with you or not. 

Like it or not, you had become the villain. 

“Benny was right to call me a black hole.”, you murmured as you sat back in the chair to Maggie.

This whole time, you’d had Ezra right there - the one person who was willing to help you pick up the pieces and glue them back together. He had said over and over that he would wait for you to take flight and he’d be there to catch you if you fell. He was like a dream come true. Maybe that’s why you so naturally pushed him away; he was too good to be real.

“Black holes suck things in, not push them away.”, Maggie offered gently. 

You wanted to roll your eyes at her and tell her to knock it off with the semantics, but you just nodded, sighing out, “Yeah...”

As you stared at her discoloured popcorn ceiling, you realized she was right, semantics aside, and the push and pull you’d protected the ugly little bits of yourself were more harmful than not. It was like a switch was flipped. 

Three weeks, two days, nine hours and about 15 minutes to the day, you finally pulled your head out of your ass and headed to Ezra’s townhouse.

Standing at the door, you really wondered if you knew what you were doing. It was like you were edging your anxiety with the ‘to knock or not to knock’ game you were playing. You’d practiced your words over and over in your mind, determined to give Ezra the apology and closure he deserved. Braving through your fears, you knocked.

A moment passed, nothing. 

The lights were on inside, so he was home, but you also had to accept that he may have known who it was and decided to ignore you. You sucked in a deep breath and turned, moving down the few uneven brick steps, ready to accept this as another ending. 

Then you heard the lock click and the door open. You turned around and there he was, backlit by the bright amber glow of his household’s warmth. He didn’t smile, he just stared.

“Little Bird…”