I like it because it is bitter

The three guys were standing together chatting when you came out, laughing it up over what you assumed was stories from the glory days. Sandy and you circled Dina, grooming her like a pair of handmaidens, making sure her hair looked good and her outfit popped just so.

The crowd was petering out, the flood of people from the arena slowly reducing down to a trickle, when a booming voice sounded from within:

“Now was that a fight, or was that a fucking fight?”

Benny emerged into the fluorescent orange light of the parking lot, and made straight for the squealing Dina, who locked her arms around his neck. His hands went to her thighs, hoisting her up and wrapping her legs around her waist. Turning, he sandwiched her against the wall, and busied himself with kissing her senseless. Judging by some of the moans she was letting out, they were also squeezing in about 50% of their foreplay for later.

You didn’t quite know where to look. You settled on kicking a piece of gravel on the ground, before:

“Yeah.”

The voice was right in your ear, and you jumped. Frankie stepped up beside you, shoulder knocking against yours, and repeated: “Yeah.”

You looked him up and down, in what you hoped was a casual manner, at the arms crossed over his chest, at the muscle standing out on his forearms.

"Yeah what?"

"If you need me to do that too, I’d be OK with that.” he rubbed a hand under his chin, and shrugged. “I’m just trying to anticipate your needs."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a smile and ignore the way a blush suddenly roared up your neck. “My needs?”

He nodded, eyeing you as if talking about your needs in the parking lot of a shitty arena was the most natural thing in the world. From the look on his face, he was clearly giving it a lot of thought.

An ear-splitting whistle pierced the air and everyone turned to the source; Santiago, removing his fingers from his mouth. “Benny!” he shouted. ”Put the lady down. Come on, we gotta buy you some drinks for that fight."

Benny and William were the only ones legal to drive. Benny led the way to his car still carrying Dina, with Santiago and Sandy in tow, while William slid behind the wheel of a battered old pickup that it turned out belonged to Frankie.

“It’s gonna be awful snug with four of us in the front,” William said, trying his level best to make room on the seat, “Unless one of you gents wants to take the back?”

“I’ll go,” you said, “I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of a pickup.”

“Well, it’s nice to have goals,” Tom smirked, and your smile was practically beatific in response. Fucking superiority-complex lech. “Want some company back there?”

“Sure she does,” Frankie said, passing you both with an armful of coats. “Vamos, chica.”

You couldn’t resist dropping Tom a wink. His answering smile was queasy, but he swung himself into the front seat without a word. By your count he was four drinks under, so it was only a matter of time.

Frankie swung easily up into the truck bed, before reaching a hand down to you, and you scrambled up to join him.

Any loose debris was kicked roughly away, before Frankie laid the first coat down. He gestured magnanimously, and you sat on the coat with your back against the cab. With a flourish, he laid the other coat over you before joining you on the floor. It was a huge oilcloth raincoat, lined with fleece for warmth, and offered decent protection from the cold wind. He reached up and banged a fist on the window above you, and the pickup rattled to life before pulling out.

“Won’t you be cold?” you asked. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits, and shook his head.

“I’ll survive,” he said. “It’s only ten minutes.”

You pfft!-ed at him, before lifting the coat. With minimal eye-rolling, he shifted sideways, and allowed you to drape part of the coat across him. You wriggled closer, keen to leech every bit of warmth you could from him. In an attempt to conserve heat, your hands were tucked against your waist, under your jacket.

Not a moment too soon, you felt his hand settle on your leg, and you spread your knees ever so slightly to accommodate. His touch was like a flame that licked gently to your core, making you crave him everywhere. Your heart went from idle to racing on a dime.

Fuck. You were far too sober to do what you were about to do, but you needed to do something about this situation. If nothing else, it would be a story to tell.

“Frankie,” you said, struggling to keep your voice level. “Can the guys see us?”

He threw a glance back over his shoulder. The window to the cab was a good half a foot above your heads.  “No,” he said, a note of reluctance in his voice, and your hand clamped down on his before he could remove it. In the alternating light of passing streetlamps, it was hard to gauge his reaction.

You nodded, and ran your fingers gently over his hand. “Good.”

You turned to look up at him. Your heart rate accelerated, to the point that it was practically vibrating. Now or never.

“You mentioned my needs?”

In the alternating light you caught glimpses of his face, eyes burning into yours. His grip twitched, tightening convulsively on your thigh, and you took a breath at the want that surged through you. You dropped your gaze, looking down at the coat that covered the both of you.

“I think,” you cleared your throat, ignoring the heat that had started to creep up your jaw, “I need you to do a little more than just touch my leg.”

You released his hand, and waited. His grip didn’t alter, didn’t increase or decrease, and you thought the warmth and weight of his hand on your leg would drive you insane if he didn’t do someth-

“Only a little more?” He asked, voice low, and after being on a knife edge for an hour the pitch of his voice shot straight to your cunt. His hand inched down, and stopped at the hem of your skirt.

You hooked your fingers under the material, pulled it up ever so slightly, and spread your legs wider under the coat. The way your knees were spread increased the gap where the freezing wind could get in, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that there was a hand on your thigh, branding you, and you ached for it to move.

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, and swivelled your face up to his. The light had improved - you were now rolling down a main road that was well-lit - and it was enough to see the hunger in his face, the tight lines of his jaw.

Frankie’s mouth worked, and he looked away. Looking out at the road receding behind you. After the longest five seconds of your life, his hand began to move again, alternating between delicate strokes up the inside of your thigh and firm squeezing as his warm hand spanned the width of your leg.

It was very hard to breathe. As in the arena, your focus narrowed to a pinpoint, to where his skin met yours. Your cunt was throbbing almost painfully, and you knew if his fingers were to brush against your panties they would come away soaked. You were transfixed by his profile, by the curve of his nose and the errant locks of hair that curled from under his cap. He swallowed, throat working, and your jaw ached with the desire to kiss him there.

"You should've said earlier,” Frankie said, still not looking at you, speaking out to the road behind, “I’d have had my hand up your skirt back at the arena.”

His tone was light, almost indifferent, and your head spun. His hand had started to edge down towards where your thighs met, but the hem of your skirt restricted him again. You began to shift, ready to hike your skirt up further, but he was faster than you.

Briskly, matter-of-factly, he pulled your skirt up all the way towards your hips, before replacing his hand on your thigh and beginning his slow crawl again. If the coat blew away, you would be sitting in the bed of his pickup with your legs fully bare and your panties exposed to the world. He still didn’t look at you, and the casual way he spoke was starting to rub against your senses almost as much as the caresses were. You felt like a toy he was playing with.

And you loved it.

“I might have started off like this,” he said, and his fingers suddenly drew in a swift, straight line towards your cunt. You sucked in a breath, unable to help the way your hips canted up to meet his hand, only to whimper just a little as he stopped short of touching you where you needed him to, where the ache was worst. He paused, and you were about to grab his hand and put it where you wanted it, when he shook his head.

“Actually, this is wrong,” he said, and withdrew his hand completely. Your stomach had time to plummet and your mouth opened to complain, just as he turned and gripped your thigh in his other hand. “It was more like this.”

His face was now inches away, eyes fixed on your lips as you inhaled a shaky breath. After the casual way he’d been speaking to you, almost ignoring you, this was like being pinned under a spotlight. His eyes ran up and down your face, and the naked desire in his eyes sent an ache straight to your cunt. This angle really was so much better. Under the coat, his elbow rested slightly on your knee, the weight spreading your legs wide.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself back there?” he asked, and dragged his fingers further up your thigh, “Do you know how sexy you looked sitting on my lap?”

Your head spun at the sensation, realising that he was nearly there, nearly touching you right where you wanted -

“Frankie, please,” you breathed, head falling back against the cab. “I need -”

“I know what you need,” he said, and finally, finally, stroked his fingers against your cunt.

His touch was lighter than a feather, and the pressure was completely disproportionate to the moan you let out. Frankie gaped and leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he felt the wetness soaking your panties.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, mouth ghosting over yours, almost half a kiss, “Did I do that to you?”

Under the coat, unseen, he changed position and your head - thunked! - back against the cab as the heel of his hand pressed up against the curve of your cunt, grinding perfectly against your clit. Pleasure skittered all the way down to your toes.

A sliding sound above you - the cab window opening - and you heard William’s voice:

“Everything OK back there?”

“Yeah man,” Frankie called, eyes not leaving yours. As the pressure increased against your clit, his fingers started to stroke over the very obvious wet patch in your panties, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’re good.”

Slowly, teasingly, his fingers hooked your panties to the side, and circled the wetness that had gathered there. You felt weak. Drained. Completely at his mercy, unable to process anything above a simple thought - unable to process anything other than your internal monologue of please please please please please. He maintained eye contact, watching every expression on your face with a fascination that bordered on awe. You could see it in his eyes - those eyes! your mind sang, about to implode with bliss - that he was feeling it too. That sense of untethering.

You thought you’d known desperation, but it was nothing to how you felt now. The pressure against your clit was sublime, but all you could think of was the way his big, thick fingers would feel as they stretched-

“Do you need me to stop?”

Fuck off, William. “Don’t stop!” you yelled, voice kicking up a pitch on ‘stop’ as Frankie slid a finger inside you. Your cunt tightened at the sensation, and he grunted. He leaned close against you, nose pressing against yours, close enough that his breath became your breath.

The window closed above you, but William and Tom may as well have been on Mars. Your whole world right now was you, Frankie, and the way his finger - his fingers were pushing up inside you, moving at a measured, steady pace that alternated with the pressure on your clit until you were writhing beneath him.

“God, you look so fucking hot right now,” he breathed. “What do you want, sweetheart? You want more?”

With what felt like all your strength, you pushed your hips up to meet his hand, forcing Frankie’s fingers deeper inside you. “Yeah… yeah,” you panted. “Please, Frankie. More.”

“More? Good girl.” Your cunt clenched around him at the praise, and he inserted a third finger, pressing against your front wall from the inside as his hand ground against your clit.

“Yeah, like that,” you said, and squeezed your eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that washed over you. “Fuck, just like that.”

“So fucking hot,” he muttered. “Are you going to come for me? Are you going to come on my hand?”

You nodded, fully blissed out. Your hips started to tilt up and down in time to his movements, deepening the angle of his strokes, and you flicked your tongue out to wet your lips. Your abdomen went tight, and you shuddered as your cunt contracted around his fingers.

“I’m close, I’m so fucking close-”

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” He shifted to the right slightly, his fingers surging deeper, and you jerked upwards. The pressure against your clit increased, and you saw stars.

“Fuck, I’m -” you choked out, and opened your mouth as your orgasm ripped through you. Before you made a single sound, Frankie’s other hand clamped down over your mouth, keeping you silent as you writhed beneath him. You moaned into his palm, cunt pulsing around his fingers, and your eyes rolled back in your head as you ascended to a higher level of consciousness. All you knew was pleasure, and Frankie’s hands on you.

Gradually, you came back to reality, sliding down from your peak. It was hard to even open your eyes. Frankie was breathing hard, and he took his hand from your mouth. You felt completely boneless, unable to even whimper when he removed his fingers too, leaving you empty. His fingers were covered in your juices and you watched, dazed, as he lifted his hand to his lips and started to lick them clean. He worked methodically, getting every last drop from one finger before moving on to the next. His eyes half-closed in satisfaction, and your heartbeat stuttered.

Without even thinking, you reached up and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling his mouth down to yours. His lips were soft, and he moaned as your tongue flicked out to taste his. There was a tangy, salty taste there that you knew was your own, and you pulled him even closer. You felt a drop of moisture bead against your lip, and you broke away to chase it, lapping at his moustache and sucking gently at his lips before dipping back into the kiss. Your combined taste was heavenly. He moaned again, breathing “Fuck,” against your lips as his hand came up to the side of your neck, holding you like a lifeline.

After a minute that felt like a second, Frankie broke off, breathing heavily. He ripped his cap off, ran a hand through his hair, and laid his forehead against yours. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said. “We’re nearly at the bar. I can’t go in like this.”

The -?

Fuck.

Frankie moved out from under the coat and turned his face toward the sky. His hair was sticking up in every direction after being trapped under the cap, making him look exactly how you felt. Taking a deep breath, he started patting out a little rhythm on his thighs. A sizable bulge at his zipper told you exactly what he meant when he said ‘like this’.

The cold was a good idea. You pulled your skirt down enough for decency before throwing the coat off yourself, and lifted up on your haunches to readjust properly. The wind caressed your warm cheeks, cooling you down.

You peeked through the cab window. William and Tom were deep in conversation, oblivious to what had just happened right behind them. You hunkered down just a little, awkwardly, and reached under your skirt to shimmy your panties down. With some maneuvering and staggering, you managed to peel them off completely, sighing as the cool breeze brushed against your cunt.

Frankie glanced over at you, then groaned and covered his eyes.

“What?” you asked. “Do you know how uncomfortable it is to walk around with wet panties?”

“Please stop,” He held his arm out in supplication, and your face reddened at the pleading look he gave you.

At your expression, Frankie groaned again. Quickly, roughly, he leaned over and grabbed you, pulling you down so you were kneeling beside him. With one hand, he took your arm by the wrist, and pressed your palm against his zipper. His jeans were still bulging, and you realised the cold hadn’t helped one bit.

“Because I am hard as a fucking rock right now,” he hissed, and the wild look on his face coupled with the firmness under your hand made your mouth go dry. “I wanna throw you to the floor of this fucking truck and fuck you until you can’t walk. But, we have to go to the bar. And I have to sit there and look at you - knowing you’re commando underneath - and keep it together.”

You were technically still coming down from your orgasm, but it didn’t stop desire from hitting you like a punch in the stomach. His fingers had felt amazing, but judging by what you could feel of him through the rough denim they were clearly more of an appetiser. The pickup was starting to slow. Raising back onto your haunches again, you looked through the cab window to see the bar coming up ahead. You squeezed him gently, absentmindedly, and he let out a strangled moan. You ignored the way his moan made your cunt throb, ignored the sudden mental image of being held down while he buried his cock inside you -

“OK then, we’re going to help each other,” you said. You lowered yourself back to sitting beside him.

“You’re going to help me out by looking after my panties,” you said, holding them up. He glared at them for a second, before grabbing them and stuffing them into his pocket. He picked his cap back up

“And how are you going to help me?” he asked, fitting it back on his head. His voice was gruff, almost annoyed, but he was watching you like you were prey.

“Well,” you smiled. “I won’t be wearing underwear for the rest of the night. How does that sound?”

Frankie looked down at you for a long minute, brown eyes nearly black in the streetlights. His gaze raked up and down your whole body, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. You got the feeling that his self-control was hanging on by the thinnest thread. The pickup turned into the bar parking lot, and he swayed toward you with the turn.

He moved like lightning. Before you could blink, he was leaning over you again, and again, his hand was up your skirt. Even though your faces were only inches away, you could see the question in his eyes and you nodded, heart suddenly racing. His fingers dipped into your cunt, gently, gathering up your come. He barely penetrated you but you shuddered at the gentle sensation of his fingers, feeling yourself get even wetter. He watched your face, studied every expression you made and how you shivered under his touch. He looked as though he’d found something he’d been looking for for a very long time.

As the pickup slowed, Frankie sat back and stuck his fingers in his mouth again. Tasting you again. He looked at you with a strange light in his eyes, as if he were daring you to stop him. Instead, all you could think about was how he would look with that gorgeous mouth nestled between your thighs, how those dark eyes would look staring up at you from that angle. He licked each finger clean, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, and that pang of want ran through you again. As the pickup engine shut off he dropped his hand back to his lap, sighed, and nodded.

Based on the MMA prelude, you decided to rethink your outfit to something a bit less… showy, and had poured yourself into a skintight skirt with a shirt that helped accentuate your decolletage just right. So right, in fact, that you’d forgone a sensible coat in favour of a leather jacket that didn’t even close properly. The clothes did little to shield you from the cold, which explained why you had chugged nearly half a bottle of Smirnoff in the cab over. 

-----------------

Dina looked every inch the fighter’s girlfriend, she really did. You didn’t even know she owned a faux-fur coat. Her meticulously-separated eyelashes were currently fluttered together, shielding her eyes from her cigarette smoke. 

Not that it helped. Your buzz was fading fast with every second you stood out in the freezing cold parking lot.

Sandy hadn’t bothered to change her outfit - “Fuck it, it can’t be any dirtier than the bar.” - and was leaning against the arena wall wearing a mini dress that practically showed what she had eaten for breakfast. The woman had legs up to her neck, and more than one man had slowed his passage into the arena to get a good look. Sandy, with legs that long since she was fifteen, and a face that had been beautiful her whole life, flipped each one off with a casual laziness you could never hope to emulate. 

The three of you were standing outside the arena waiting for Tom and the others to arrive. The crowd was known to get rowdy, and Benny had been very firm with Dina about going in with his friends. William was already inside with Benny, prepping him for the fight.

It was so cold you were nearly tempted to ask Dina for a pull of her cigarette, just to feel some warm air, when -

“Dee!”

Your face locked into a grimace, and you looked down to kick a loose pebble from under your shoe, trying to regain control of your facial muscles by the time Tom got close.

“Tommy!” Dina yelled. “You’re late, what the hell?”

“Don’t blame me,” Tom said, “Blame these assholes.”

Two sets of denim-wrapped legs stepped into your view, and you huffed out a little sigh before looking up. Tom was standing in front of you, with his friend on his right. 

His friend. Who was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He smiled at you, and you felt a small laugh escape you. 

What was that face? He looked like a Latino George Clooney. How did he get taken seriously in life?

“Hey, tiger,” Tom said to you, his lopsided smile showing a little too much teeth on one side.

“Hey… Tom.” you replied, raising a hand in greeting. He made a little ‘pfft’ sound and pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in the smell of… dear god, was that Axe? 

You heard the crunch of gravel, and a movement out of the corner of your eye told you that the devilishly handsome man was currently introducing himself to Sandy. 

Probably wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.

“Redfly, leave the girl alone.” 

A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go. 

“This is my girl right here, Frankie.” Tom said, and the proprietary tone in his voice made your stomach turn. You should have just met them at the bar.

“Crazy, I thought your girl was sitting at home looking after your daughter and -” the second half of the sentence was in mumbled Spanish, and you heard a bark of laughter from the handsome man. A quick, rough pat on the back and Tom released you, already walking into the building as if nothing had happened.

The speaker was standing in front of you; a tall-ish man wearing a blue plaid shirt over a grey tank top, with a beat-up baseball cap on his head. Just as the phrase ‘hillbilly trucker’ crossed your mind, every thought in your head promptly vanished on looking up into his face. A pair of warm brown eyes were gazing down at you, creasing gently at the corners. He wasn’t built like Tom or William; they slanted more towards beefcake, where this guy was toned and slim. He was older than you - not a surprise, William and Tom were in at least their mid-40s - but it was a very manageable older. Unruly, curling brown hair peeked out from under his cap, and the man smiled, a shadow of a dimple appearing on his cheek.

The other guy was crazy good-looking in a movie-star way, the sort of hot that had made you laugh because it was almost unreal. This guy was the perfect side of handsome, mortal enough to take your breath away just a little and not make you feel stupid about it.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Frankie.”

Maybe it was the dimples, maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from a fate worse than death, or maybe the cold had finally gotten to your brain. Whatever it was, you barely knew what you were saying until you’d said it:

“And I am so fucking yours.”

So much for not feeling stupid. His smile widened, and your heartbeat quickened just a bit.

“Ignore Redfly,” he said. “He just doesn’t have good manners.”

Another burst of Spanish from behind you, from the dark-eyed Adonis near the door, and Frankie replied in kind, with an evocative hand gesture that you were pretty sure meant ‘fuck off’.

You finally turned to get a good look at the other man. He was standing in front of your friends, angled towards Sandy in a way that boded well for her. He was terribly good-looking.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” he leaned toward you, and took your hand in his. “Santiago Garcia.”

The man was on another level. You felt like you were meeting a politician. You told him your name as if in a dream. 

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, looking into your soul, and you felt that laugh bubble up again. This was too much all at once.

Dina blew out one last plume of smoke, and threw her cigarette butt on the ground.

“Come on guys, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

----------------------------------------

The arena was chaos. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but he could have been standing two feet from you and you wouldn’t have seen him. He could have been behind you.

As the thought crossed your mind, a hand came to rest on your hip and you jumped sideways, ready to kick Tom in the fucki-

It was Frankie, hands suddenly up and visible, mouth framing a ‘whoa’ that you could never hear over the din of the crowd. You grimaced, mouthing sorry.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, uncomfortable, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He craned his neck to look over the crowd, toward the ring, and you stepped quickly toward him. Your hand raised, like you had the right answer in a classroom, and you tilted your mouth up towards Frankie’s ear. He scrunched his face and bent his head towards yours.

“Sorry,” you said into his ear, trying not to deafen him at this range. He smelled warm, and clean, a welcome respite from the arena’s smell of old beer and sweat. “I thought it might be…” one of your best friends, whom I loathe. “... a creep.” you finished lamely.

When you pulled away, he was looking at you so intently that a blush started to creep up your neck. Hands still in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he processed what you said. His tongue worked in his mouth, pushing out his cheek, before he winked ever so slightly, and nodded.

He knew. He damn well knew.

Frankie grinned and pointed towards the ring, to where your friends had disappeared, before nudging you forward.

------------------------------------

Dina and the others were sitting ringside, by Benny’s corner. Dina had shrugged her coat in the sticky closeness of the arena, and was adjusting her top for maximum cleavage. Beside her was Sandy, deep in conversation with Santiago, and Tom sat beside Santiago next to an empty chair.

The single empty chair. 

Fucks sake.

Tom saw you both coming, and had a look of fake disappointment on his face that your hands twitched to slap off. He held his hands up in defeat, before patting his thigh. A quick scan showed that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the arena; the place was jammed so tightly that you counted at least seven people on laps in this section alone. A fire hazard, and a pain in the ass. 

You’re fucking kidding me.

You went to take a step, and felt a hand grip your arm. Frankie was sliding past you on your right, pivoting to sit in the empty chair. A shit-eating grin slid onto Tom’s face, and he patted his thigh again.

You’re fucking kidding me. 

Frankie still held your arm loosely in his left hand. Reaching over Tom, he nudged Santiago, who broke off from his conversation long enough to pass him a beer. Settling back into his seat, Frankie spread his legs a little too wide and steered you into the space between them. 

He looked up at you under the brim of his cap, his face out of Tom’s eyeline. The corners of his mouth curved downward and one shoulder shrugged, as if to say ‘Why not?’.

Lightheaded, floating on a mental chant of fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell, you perched on Frankie’s knee, your knees pressing against his other leg. A quick glance at Tom’s face nearly made you yelp. The ham-coloured man was staring sullenly out over the ring, lips pursed around his mouthful of beer. The smile was nowhere to be seen.

Frankie shifted slightly, and with one hand on your waist pulled you closer until you were sitting mid-thigh. When he was satisfied, his hand moved to settle against your lower back, keeping you upright. The shape of the seat had his body angled away from you, allowing you to sit upright without being nestled against him. He leaned towards Tom and said something in his ear, something you could barely hear over the din. It was as if he’d forgotten you were there.

But not quite. Slowly, as if you were a wild animal he was trying to tame, his hand started to move in gradual, broad strokes, forward and back, forward and back.

Your stomach muscles locking tight was your only visible reaction, and you thanked baby Jesus and all the angels in heaven that Frankie couldn’t feel the way your pulse had suddenly picked up. Though that might not be far off; there was a warm throbbing between your legs that definitely hadn’t been there two minutes ago.

Forward and back. Forward and back.

This was totally normal. This happened to you every day. Every day you met hot guys and sat on their laps. Every day you got mildly turned on by hot guys stroking your back.

Looking over at Dina, the two of you locked eyes. Her grin was positively wolfish.

Fuck off, you mouthed.

You looked around, hoping that the people-watching fodder available would help take your mind off the hot man you were sitting on and what his hand was - 

As if Frankie could hear your thoughts, the rhythm of his strokes changed. Now, instead of moving forward and back, his palm started sliding up and down, with every pass downward bringing his hand closer and closer to the curve of your ass.

For a fraction of a second, your breath caught in your throat, and the pulse between your legs kicked up a notch. Trying to keep your cool, you casually - so casually! - looked over at Frankie.

Still absorbed in conversation with Tom. Fine. He clearly had no idea what he was doing, no idea of the effect he was having.

Your awareness was steadily narrowing down to where his hand touched you, to the vague sensation of warmth that each pass left on your skin. Reaching the hem of your jacket, he paused almost imperceptibly, before reaching under the leather to rest on the back of your shirt.

Dear god, were you disappointed he wasn’t touching your ass? Were you actually sad that this stranger wasn’t - 

A radiating sensation on your back, so warm and firm, and suddenly you could feel every little movement his hand made, the way his fingers were flexing against your skin so gently - 

Air you didn’t realise you had been holding escaped your lungs in a whoosh. 

“Getting bored up there, tiger?” Tom’s expression wasn’t as friendly as it normally was, and you were reminded why all of this was happening. This was purely for Tom’s benefit. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s…” you looked down at Frankie as he took a sip of his beer. His eyes met yours over the rim of his beer cup, and a smile crept across your face. When the cup left his lips, you took it deftly from his fingers and lifted it to your mouth. Your gaze didn’t leave his. Tom may as well have been part of the furniture.

The beer was not good, but you finished it, and ran your tongue over your lips. Frankie’s eyes tracked the movement, and you felt his hand pause, felt his fingers splay wide across the small of your back.

“It’s great,” you said, winking down at him. “But I think we need another drink.”

You placed a hand on his knee for leverage, and stood. Dina saluted you with her nearly-empty drink, and tapped at the low liquid level with one long fingernail. You nodded, and flashed the OK sign.

A broad chest blocked your view, and the smell of Axe surrounded you. You glanced up at Tom, who was shaking his own empty cup. 

“I’ll come too,” he said. “I could do with another-”

“It’s cool, man,” Frankie stood, easily slotting himself between the two of you, and gently but firmly took hold of your shoulders as he turned to the exit. “I got it.”

Empty cups and debris were strewn across the aisle, and you were beginning to regret wearing your heels for what was shaping up to be a fucking obstacle course. But you felt Frankie’s presence behind you, and if you put a little more sway into your walk than normal, so what?

Between a few stragglers at the bar, there was a gap just wide enough for the two of you to lean against the counter. You rested on your forearms, and flagged down the bartender.

------------------------------------

“Two beers, and a whiskey and coke.” 

“Make it four,” Frankie said. “I know it may not seem like it, but it is better to get Redfly liquored up. After about,” - his hand made a see-saw motion - “six drinks? He’s going to get real maudlin, start missing his wife, and go home.”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied, “He’s really missing his wife when he’s trying to put his hand up my skirt.”

His eyes flickered up and down your body, and he cleared his throat. One hand came up to scratch at his moustache, before smoothing it back down. 

“You know, I don’t blame him,” he said. “That skirt looks great on you.”

A low warmth pooled in your stomach, and you smiled. He smiled back, those beautiful eyes twinkling as he turned around to face the arena, elbows back on the bar.

“If I… go too far, in there,” he said, face suddenly serious. “You can just punch me in the face. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

The bartender laid your whiskey and coke down in front of you, and pulled out two cups for the beer. 

“Two more of those, please,” you told her, and took a sip of your drink. You knew you were a bit of a savage for drinking whiskey with coke, but your sweet tooth demanded nothing less. “Frankie, I’m not really OK with the idea of ‘being saved’.”

“That’s fair,” Frankie turned to the bar, and rapped a quick tattoo on the wood. “When we get back in there, you take the seat and I’ll -”

“But,” you raised a finger. “Your lap is pretty comfortable. And if you’re OK with having my ass on your knee all night, then I’m happy to stay there.”

A laugh escaped him, and you found yourself appreciating the way his moustache framed his lips so perfectly. 

“I think you’d be hard pushed to find a man who wouldn’t be OK with that deal.”

The bartender laid down four cups of beer. “$25.60.” 

Frankie laid out three $10 bills, and pulled the cups closer. 

“Do you think you could make sure Tom doesn’t put his hand up my skirt?”

He was intent on arranging the cups in a way he could carry them, to the point that you thought he hadn’t heard you. Just as you were about to repeat yourself, he flashed you a wicked look.

“Well sweetheart,” he smiled, “I’ll just have to get my hand there first.”

------------------------------------

As soon as you sat back down, it was like a switch had flipped. Your conversation at the bar had been light, to the point where you’d nearly forgotten that you’d actually been turned on a little at sitting on Frankie’s lap.

When you got back to your seats, and Frankie had handed off the beers he was carrying, he sat and pulled you down onto his lap in one fluid movement. No more tentative movements; he held your waist firmly, and pulled you even closer than before. And now, not only was his hand stroking your back again - he had put it under your jacket straight away - but his other arm was now resting on your leg. His beer cup sat on your knee, below where the hem of your skirt rode up, and he rotated it gently on your bare skin, almost teasing you with the cool feeling of the condensation on the base.

It drove you just a little short of wild. Though part of you wanted to shift against his thigh, wanted to feel some pressure right where an ache was steadily building between your legs, you kept it together fairly admirably. 

A wet patch on Frankies jeans probably wouldn't go down too well anyway.

A murmur from the crowd rolled towards the ring, and Pantera’s heavy guitar riff blasted through the speakers.

Benny was here.

------------------------------------

Ringside seats were… certainly something.

The smell of blood hummed in your nostrils, and you felt the impact of every punch. 

Benny was a monster. He had swaggered into the arena, head and shoulders above everyone, and proceeded to hammer the shit out of his opponent once the bell rang. Watching the way Dina was looking at him, you were very, very glad they were going back to Benny’s place tonight.

The six of you were standing at the ring edge, screaming and roaring with the crowd. Your blood was singing. Sitting on Frankie’s lap, his hands leaving trails of fire wherever they touched you, had rattled you something fierce, and the adrenaline from the fight was getting to you too. You didn’t think your pulse had slowed for about ten minutes, and you were breathing like you were climbing a mountain.

It was the last minute of the last round, and Benny was flagging. 

You guessed. You really had no idea who was doing better, both fighters were covered in blood and looked tired as fuck.

Santiago, Dina and Tom were rattling the cage, howling through the wire at Benny. The man was intent on his opponent, never taking his eyes off him. 

As you watched, Benny did an odd movement, stepping back, rotating his shoulders and head as his feet danced. You heard roars come from your friends, but were completely lost. 

“He’s about to kick the guy’s head off his fucking shoulders,” Frankie’s voice was low, and close. You felt his nose brush the outer shell of his ear, and you suppressed a shiver as his breath ghosted over you. He was standing behind you, so close that you felt his warmth up your body from ankle to neck. He reached over your shoulder, and pointed up at Benny’s right foot.

“You see that?” 

Benny’s foot was moving in a fan shape on the floor of the ring. He dodged as much as he needed to to evade blows, but whenever he was still his foot moved in that fan shape. 

“Why is he waiting?” Turning your head, your nose brushed against Frankie’s jawline. He smiled down at you.

“Not long now, sweetheart,” he said. “Watch.”

He stepped closer until he stood flush against your back, and crossed his arms over your chest to grip his own elbows. His beard brushed against your cheekbone, and you found yourself nestling further into his hold. He was just so warm and solid and - 

Benny moved like lightning. His opponent came too close, ever so slightly unguarded, and Benny pivoted on his left foot and -

“Fuck!” you screamed. Benny’s opponent hit the floor, and the arena erupted.