you're... something with frank. you're not dating him, he doesn't take you out. you're not just fucking him, you've practically moved in. there's just not a word for you two, you pivot between hate and love every day.
today, in particular, leans closer to hate.
it's only because you've been talking to your friend- in your defense, it's so hard to coordinate a phone call with her, and in his defense, frank has so little time to relax that he likes to spend it in bed with you. he'll take no for an answer, of course, but he doesn't like taking busy for an answer, so when your call with your friend starts bordering on five hours long while you're lounging around his apartment in his shirt and your panties he's got blue balls and he starts getting pissed off.
you're just trying to talk to your friend on the phone and he's in a pissy mood, throwing shit around, slamming cabinet doors and muttering obscene curses under his breath every time you say something particularly vapid that could probably be a text or at least a phone call after he's gotten to blow his load in you. the noise is so disruptive that you snap at him to stop, 'jesus, frank, could you throw your temper tantrum a little quieter? I'm on the phone.'
you've struck a very sensitive chord here; you've made him feel like he's less important than your phone call. and the last thing he'd ever do was admit that, but you can't give him a nice long look at your ass in a thong beneath the hem of his shirt and expect him to sit quietly and wait for his turn- especially when your guys' conversation stopped being important hours ago and has turned into a useless rehashing of past drama. just the look he gives you, before he says anything at all, makes you realize that you might be in trouble.
'are you kidding me?' he asks, his voice a grating drawl, 'you're gonna lounge around my fuckin' place and tell me to shut up? If you don't like it, sweetheart, you can get out.'
You try cutting him off with a hasty 'Frank!' but he doesn't care, hands wildly waving as he gestures while he talks
'You two aren't even saying anything important anyways. You've been talking about old college drama for hours- you don't have anything better to talk about? You're gonna tell me to shut up- weren't saying that last night, were you? How 'bout you tell her about the way I made you fuckin' cream, huh? The way I grabbed you and tossed you on the couch before you could even turn the lights on. You wanna admit to her how loud you screamed? how the whole fuckin' block knows I was poundin' your pussy last night- you wanna talk about that?'
It doesn't matter how many times you try to stop him once he starts shouting, he's not going to. he's so loud the neighbors can probably hear it, but he's not wrong about them being able to hear you last night, too- they probably do know almost everything that goes on in frank's apartment.
all you can manage is mortified silence and he scoffs, that stupid smirk on his face, 'yeah, that's what i thought, princess'
he means it in a prissy way, and maybe he's right that you eat his food and lay on his couch in his shirt but won't look his way. but maybe he's mean too, and you should be able to talk to someone else for a few hours without him getting jealous and throwing a fit. and you two really don't work well together and you just get so angry at each other, but that's where you really thrive with frank. he gets on your nerves and you get on his and you guys fuck it out like animals. he definitely leaves bite marks on you that night, on your ass, on your shoulder, his hands rough and bruising as he manhandles you, murmuring against your mouth that you've gotta 'start behaving otherwise i'm kicking you out, baby'
