: : : frankspinkbelt : : :

You could smell him before you saw him. The familiar scent of weed and mint, mixed with a hint of his cologne. Frank, your best friend, was picking you up after yet another tinder date gone horribly wrong. You called him after you ran out on your date and hid around the back of the bar while you waited for him to come and pick you up.

Frank parked up across the street, the gentle spring breeze blowing his scent in your direction as he headed towards you, hands shoved into his cargo shorts pockets and that stupidly cute grin on his face.

"Poor girl," he cooed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you in for a hug as you pouted at him, then froze when he heard your name being called from the front of the bar.

"That him?" Frank asked, jaw clenched.

Your eyes widened, pleading with him as you placed a hand on his chest, shaking your head.

"Leave it, Frank. I'm fine, he's just a fuckin' weirdo. Can we go, please?"

Frank ignored you, pushing you behind him. "Wait here," he said, then began to storm around to the bar entrance. "Hey, fucker!" He yelled, and you followed him, calling after him in a panic.

He was squared up to him, fists balled at his sides while he stood in your date's face. Your date looked shell shocked, unable to get away as a crowd formed around them.

"What's your fucking problem, hey? You get off on making women uncomfortable?"

Your date was falling over his words, trying to talk his way out as Frank's anger bubbled over. He shoved him in the chest, causing your date to fall backwards onto the floor. Frank stood over him and spat at him, muttering under his breath as you finally broke through the circle of bystanders and grabbed him by the arm to roughly yank him away and towards the car.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You yelled, storming ahead of him.

Frank laughed, loud and unamused. "Me? What's wrong with you? Why do you always have to pick shitty guys?"

Your mouth hung open in disbelief. "I can't believe you just said that," you murmured, stopping in your tracks. "You know what, asshole? I'll walk. Thanks for embarrassing me."

You began to walk fast down the street, arms wrapped around yourself as you ignored Frank calling your name, and eventually you heard the car start and the low hum of the engine getting closer to you.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. Please get in the car," he begged, leaning out of the window to look at you. "I don't know why I said that, I didn't mean it. I'll make up to you, sweetheart. I promise."

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and your tough exterior melted when you saw the way he was looking at you, eyes wide and full of regret. You sighed, slowing down your pace and turning to look at him fully. He stopped the car to let you walk around and climb into the passenger side.

After driving for a while, you realized you were headed in the wrong direction for your apartment. Frank seemed to read your mind.

"I'm takin' you back to mine. I got snacks and good movies," he told you, his fingers drumming mindlessly in time with the rhythm of the music playing from his car. "And I really am sorry about what I said earlier. It was the heat of the moment."

You smiled to yourself, turning your head to look at him as your face softened, eyes full of warmth. Frank could be abrasive and stupid at times, but he would never intentionally hurt you, and he always showed up for you, no matter what. He caught you looking at him and he became flustered, avoiding your eyes and gripping the steering wheel tight.

"Has anyone ever told you you're amazing?" You asked him, pulling your legs up to hug your knees to your chest on the seat, forgetting that you were in a skirt.

Frank's eyes flickered to you, then immediately looked away as he spoke. "Not that I can remember," he managed, keeping his eyes glued on the road.

"Really? Nobody?" You were shocked. "Well, you are. Any girl would be lucky to have you in her corner like that."

He laughed quietly, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, a thing you'd noticed he did when he was nervous. "Maybe I don't want just any girl," he mumbled.

The car fell silent, but his words were loud, lingering in the air around you. As if on cue, he pulled into the parking lot outside of his apartment building and turned the car off, then stepped out and walked around to open the door for you.

The two of you headed into his apartment, and you immediately kicked off your shoes and slumped down onto the sofa, grabbing the blanket that was always out to wrap around you and picking up the half smoked joint in the ash tray on the coffee table. You lit it, taking a drag and holding the smoke in your lungs before exhaling, feeling yourself sinking lower into the sofa cushions with each drag.

"What were you watching?" You asked him while he grabbed snacks from the kitchen. You had noticed that the TV was paused half way through a movie already.

"Friday the 13th," he called out to you, bundling up the snacks into his arms to bring them to the living room. "We don't have to watch it, I can put something else on if you want," he told you, placing the snacks down onto the coffee table and picking up the TV remote as he sprawled out next to you.

You turned your body to face him, placing your legs over his lap and handing him the joint. He took a few long drags, then passed it back to you.

"No, finish the movie. It's fine," you insisted. "I've seen it before."

Frank pressed play on the remote and leaned forward to grab a bag of chips, keeping one hand placed on your leg. He ran his hand up and down your shin, an innocent gesture that was supposed to be comforting, grounding, but instead felt oddly intimate in a way you'd never felt with Frank before.

Then you remembered what he'd said in the car, or rather how he said it, about not wanting just any girl.

"What did you mean earlier?" You asked him after stewing in your thoughts for too long. His hand ceased all movement, his body going tense.

"What do you mean?" He asked, acting oblivious.

"You know what I mean." Your face was deadpan as you sat up, stubbing out the joint and reaching across his lap to grab the remote and mute the TV.

Frank was quiet, staring at the silent screen as he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. A shy smile spread across his face, and he leaned back, letting his head rest on the back of the sofa as he looked at you, his eyelids heavy.

"It's stupid," he insisted, finally giving in. "I just, kind of have a thing for you."

You laughed. You didn't mean to, but the weed had made you feel fuzzy and light, unable to take the situation seriously. Frank began to laugh with you, like it was contagious, giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Since when?" You got out between breaths.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Since, like, forever. I don't know."

You poked him in the chest playfully. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He just shrugged, but his smile faltered when you spoke again.

"So have you, like, you know...jerked off to me?" Your intrigue was piqued and you couldn't stop the words as they left your mouth and settled around you like a thick smoke.

His eyes flicked to your chest, then your lips, then looked away guiltily as he began fidgeting with his hands in his lap. An idea sprung to mind.

"Show me," you said quietly, but your words were confident, like an order.

His eyes widened as you slid off the sofa and crawled between his legs, sitting on your knees and resting your hands on his thighs, looking up at him with hungry eyes.

"Show me what you do when you think about me."

"Are...are you serious?" He stuttered out, his voice raspy. You nodded eagerly, sliding your palms up and down his clothed thighs. His breath hitched in his throat, the fabric around his crotch becoming increasingly strained.

With shaking hands, he began to unzip his pants, fingers hesitating at the hem of his underwear. You nodded again, biting your lip in encouragement. He pushed them down, his cock springing free, half hard already.

You shuffled closer, resting your chin on his thigh as you watched him wrap his fist around the base. He began to pump himself, slowly, letting his thumb trace over the slit as precum began to leak, spreading it and using it as lubricant. He bucked his hips into his hand, a quiet whine falling out of his open mouth as he creased his brows, eyes burning into you as you watched.

"Fuck," he breathed, his movements becoming faster as you dug your nails into his thigh.

"You're doing so good," you praised him, relishing in the sounds that were coming out of him. "Cum for me, Frankie," you encouraged. "Say my name."

"Ah, y/n," he panted, squeezing his eyes closed as he thrusted into the air, pumping faster. "Shit, you're so-," he cut himself off with a gasp as you reached your hand up to grip his jaw.

"Look at me," you told him sternly, leaning over him, your lips inches from his.

His movements became stuttered and jerky, bucking into his hand as he came on his shirt, a long groan forcing its way out of his mouth along with your name.

You sat back on your heels, placing your hands on your knees as you looked at him with a smug smile. He looked down at you, suddenly looking worried, like he'd done something wrong. He struggled to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling fast.

"I'm sorry," he started, about to stand up, but you pushed him back down by his chest, then began to pull your shirt over your head.

His eyes dragged over your soft curves, watching as you undressed, letting your skirt drop onto the floor around your ankles. He didn't move while you began to tug at his pants, pulling them down to his knees.

"You think you can go again?" You cooed, climbing on top of him to straddle his thighs, rubbing yourself on his cock that was already hardening again.

He swallowed hard, nodding, and you pulled his shirt off over his head, then grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips, letting his cock drag through your folds as you began to rock back and forth.

You leaned down to hover your lips over his ear, nipping at his earlobe. "Good boy," you whispered, shifting your hips to line yourself up. "Show me what you've thought about doing to me."

You sunk down onto him, inch by inch, taking him slowly as he inhaled a sharp breath. The stretch burned and you let out a soft moan when your clit brushed his pelvis. His hands grappled at your waist, clearly wanted to touch more of you but holding himself back.

"It's more, ah," he managed, neither of you moving yet. "It's more what you do to me," he finally said, and your eyebrows raised in acknowledgement.

"Really?" You said, surprised, then lowered your voice, speaking softly as you looked down at him. "And what do I do to you in your fantasies?"

When he didn't respond, you began to gently rock your hips, trying to draw the words out of him.

He dropped his head back to rest on the back of the sofa, hands flexing on your hips as a frustrated noise fell out of him.

"You- you use me," he finally said, lifting his head to look between you, watching you as you slowly circled your hips.

"Like this?" You asked, grinding down a little harder as you ran your hand up his chest and to the back of his head, gripping onto the hair at the base of his neck like a handlebar. "You like this?"

He whimpered as you tugged at his hair, nodding his head quickly. Your free hand found his, and you brought it to your chest, placing his palm over your breast.

"Use your words, Frankie," you drawled, leaning down to trace your lips over the sensitive spot on his neck, just below his ear.

"Yes," he whined. His eyes fluttered closed when you picked up the pace, fucking yourself on him. "Shit, y/n." His voice was thick and husky, and he began to repeat your name over and over again, his hands now groping you as he leaned forward to begin placing wet kisses over your neck and shoulders.

He placed his hand on your lower back, encouraging you to take him deeper, harder. Your walls tightened around him the closer you got, nails dragging over his skin, fingers still pulling at the hair on the base of his neck to keep his head up, looking at you.

You arched your back, thighs beginning to shake. The noises were obscene, wet and fast as your orgasm took over your body, clamping down hard as the wave crashed over you.

Just the sight of you so undone on his cock sent Frank over the edge once again, coming with a cry as you continued to move, drawing out your orgasm, fucking him until you had nothing left in you.

The sounds of your laboured breathing filled the room, the glare of the TV screen casting a shadow of your bodies on the wall behind you. You began to laugh again, resting your forehead against his as he looked up at you with glossy eyes.

"Is that what you thought about?" You asked him breathlessly.