#arson writes randos

You shouldn’t be in his car, in his lap— in his vicinity at all because it always leads to something like this. Messy and sloppy and hurried, so desperate. The two of you gave up on resisting this a long time ago, but that doesn’t keep your brain from questioning it.

He’s not even divorced yet, can’t even convince himself to sign the papers given everything that Mira had done. You’re his breath of fresh air, the only thing besides his daughter that makes him feel alive these days. But you’re also his closest colleague’s graduate assistant. The reasons that getting caught would end poorly for both of you are not small, hidden, or easy to brush away.

Those reasons don’t change the delicious way his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs under the skirt you have on. The dip of his tongue into your mouth, licking and searching feverishly. They don’t lessen the arousal sitting in your lower belly. You’re not sure if anything could because when you’re at the center of Jonathan’s attention, it feels like nothing matters beyond the two of you.

You groan into the next kiss, and Jonathan shivers beneath you, some desperate sound of his own echoing into your mouth. Accompanying the intoxicating taste of you is rain on your lips. You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes skintight and a few shades darker from the rain that continues to pour outside of the confines of his car. Every kiss, every touch of his warms you from the inside out.

“We’re committing public indecency,” He murmurs, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop using his grip on your ass to grind you down against the swell of his clothed cock.

He isn’t wrong but this is the best you could do in a pinch.

Your roommate is another graduate assistant, and though she doesn’t work in your department or Jonathan’s, she’d surely recognize him if you were to bring him over. There’s some unspoken agreement about his place, the house where he lived with Mira. You don’t feel ready to go there yet and thankfully, he isn’t quite ready to let you in. So he picked you up from your apartment complex and drove to the nearest park. Usually, the two of you plan a little better— there’s a long drive a couple hours away, some cozy little Airbnb on the edge of the city with the promise of going unrecognized hanging in the air.

This thing that shouldn’t be happening is practiced, meticulously planned but today is something different. If you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of him against you, you’d ask what has him so riled up. A little voice in your head can guess, but that would just complicate things. Instead, you’d really like to focus on this, that warm feeling he brings, and you hope that his concerns about breaking the law aren’t too intense.

“Do you want to stop?” You ask, breaking the kiss but only to kiss at his neck.

“No, don’t stop, baby. Don’t stop.”

And there is nothing that compares to the sweet sound of Jonathan calling you baby. You've never said no to Jonathan and you don’t plan to start when he begs for you like this.

“Kiss me again.”

Jonathan obliges, grasping the nape of your neck with gentle strength and pulling you forward to kiss you as if he’s trying to consume you.

You use your knees to raise up, sliding your hand between the two of you so that you can palm at his erection through his jeans. He whines into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. Both of these things spur you on and your other hand drops from his curls, working with the other to undo his jeans so that you can slip your hand into his boxers.

“You’re so sweet, so soft,” He murmurs as he begins to kiss and bite his way down your neck. You can hear the strain in his voice, how he’s trying his best to keep it steady and show that you aren’t affecting him.

There’s not a world where you have even half the discipline that he does. You are nothing but desperate for him— needy, always prepared to beg and whine until he gives you what you want. But, there’s no harm in trying to make him show how desperate he is for you too.

“Professor, please. I need you.”

“How am I meant to say no to you when you call me that?” He teases the skin of your neck with his teeth and you writhe in his lap, just like he wanted you to.

“You’re never supposed to say no to me, that’s the point, Levy,” You tease, hand tightening around his cock. His hips jump into your touch and you know that if you work just a little harder he’ll be exactly where you want him.

Jonathan’s hand skates up your torso. With your wet shirt, your nipples are practically on display through the fabric and he runs his thumb over one playfully before rolling the peak between his fingers, “And where’s the fun in that? You don’t want to earn it today, sweet girl?”

“No—“ You gasp through short breaths, chest heaving into his touch, “I just want you to give it to me. Please.”

His other hand finds your other breast, his touch more insistent as he pinches your nipple, “Desperate, sweet girl. Tell me what you want, I need to hear it.”

You fix him with that look that you know will get you anything you ask for, “I want your cock, I want you to let me sit on it.”

“You’re so fucking filthy, so needy for me aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jonathan, please.”

And while he thoroughly enjoys the way you call him professor, or Levy, his name rolling off your tongue makes his heart skip like he’s some teenage girl having her first kiss. Any teasing and pretense of having discipline go right out the window. His hands are gentle but sure as he moves yours out of his boxers and lifts you to bare himself to you.

“Are you ready? Can I—“

“Yes, please, fucking yes.”

Jonathan uses one hand to line himself up with your entrance, the other immediately gripping your hip and sliding you down onto the length of his cock. The kiss you two share is hardly that, but messy teeth and tongues that meet as you both moan.

“Ride me,” He says against your mouth. He wants it to sound like a demand but you both know what it is. He’s finally just as desperate as you are— he’s begging.

There’s nothing in you that wants to fight him, there never is, all you want is more and more of him— whatever you can get because despite the passion, the ease of spending time with him, there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that screams this is temporary.

It’s unhealthy to think that each time you and Jonathan fuck it might be the last, but you refuse to take him or any moment spent with him for granted. You place one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching back to find purchase on the dash so that you can bounce on his cock in earnest.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good, it’s made for me,” He groans.

Your eyes are glued to his face, drinking in the sight of him. He rests his head back against the seat rest, mouth ajar. His glasses are propped up on the crown of his head so as not to fog up, and a light goes off in your head. Shifting most of your weight onto your thighs you swipe the glasses from his head, sliding them onto your face.

The sound he makes has you upset that you haven’t thought of this move sooner. His hips snap up into you harder, making you yelp as the tip of his cock presses against the spot deepest inside of you.

He’s breathless as he says, “Oh god, you filthy fucking girl.”

“Do they suit me, professor?” You pant with a smirk.

His eyes go dark, as he gazes at you from under his lashes, “All of this suits you, everything about us together suits you. My name in your mouth, my cock in your pussy, all of it.”

His words make your head spin, and you quickly remove the glasses so that you can kiss him properly, smashing your mouth to his. You roll your hips, taking him as deep as you can before you start to rock, bouncing in his lap once more.

The back and forth between you dissolves into a frantic madness, both of your bodies focused simply on giving and receiving pleasure. His hands find your hips, helping you bounce more quickly and firmly as both of your breaths go shallow and whiny. The pleasure in your lower belly builds, chugging higher and higher each time you come down against him. You’re surrounded by the smell of sex, the sound of it, the heat of it. The windows fog and with each thrust of his hips up against you there’s the sound of skin on skin, of how incredibly wet you are for him.

“Jonathan, I’m—“

“You’re so close aren’t you, baby? Gonna cum for me so I can fill you up nice and deep? So I can make you mine again?”

“M-make me yours,” You repeat his words but your version is a beg, full of desperation.

He shushes you, hand sliding between your slick bodies to find your clit, “Let me help, let me give you what you need.”

Despite the soft gentleness of his fingers against your clit, the shockwaves of pleasure they provide melt away the last of the barriers between you and your orgasm. You melt around him, so warm and tight as you cum with a soft cry. It’s impossible for him to resist, and he joins you, body going stiff as he fills you up.

“I love you,” He whispers unthinkingly in the postcoital haze.

“I love you too,” You whisper back easily, leaning forward to rest against his chest.

Neither of you allow that usual feeling of dread of returning to your lives as they are— of having to deny each other day in and day out— to settle in. Instead, you let the softness in, the love so young and new but no less meaningful. He holds you right, like he’ll never let you go. And for the moment, you let him.

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While his mouth works it’s way down the path of your exposed skin, his fingers ruck up your dress, punching it around your hips so that your silk panties are bare to him. He groans at the sight, slipping one of his hands into the waistband to run his fingers through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet already. How long you been thinkin’ about me, honey?” He teases, pressing the pad of his fingers against your clit.

You’d open your mouth to answer but all that leaves you is a wet gasp, your knees buckling as pleasure skates down your spine.

“I’ll take that as a while,” He murmurs, slowly dropping to his knees.

There’s not much space in the tiny closet the two of you are in but he makes it work, sliding your panties off and tucking them into his slacks pocket before he hikes your thighs up over his shoulders.

You gaze down at him with glassy eyes, noticing the way his glitter back at you. This is a sight you could get used to, his salt and pepper hair neatly styled, a silver watch on his wrist, suit jacket fitting snugly around his broad shoulders. You need to come up with more excuses for him to get dressed up. Santi’s a vision in anything he wears, but there’s something about him a suit that gets you revved up. It’s what led you to this closet in the first place.

Santi leans in, nuzzling his nose against your clit in a move that makes you whimper. He glances up at you with an eyebrow raised in warning, and you remember his command, pressing your hand over your mouth.

“Good girl,” He murmurs into your pussy before he starts in on you in earnest.

With your hand over your mouth, you give into him, allowing yourself to moan and whimper all you want. Santi’s mouth is unmatched, so insistent and skilled as he eats you out. He knows how much pressure to flick his tongue with, how long your clit can take the direct stimulation, when to press inside you to lick at your slick. It takes no time at all for him to bring you to your release, and when you do, your other hand flies down grasping at his curls as you drown in a wave of pleasure.

“Next time I make you cum in a closet like this, it’ll be at our wedding,” He says, turning his head to plant kisses on your inner thigh.

You grin down at him, running a hand affectionately through his greying (now messy) curls, “Guess I should go catch the bouquet for good luck, huh?”

Santi helps you into your panties and rights your dress, rising from his knees with a soft groan before leaning into to kiss you. He mumbles against your mouth, “Show’em you got hands, baby.”

The sound is tolerable during the day, in the bright warmth of the sun, in the comforting cocoon of being with all of you. His brain can tune it out, make it soothing background noise, a simple distraction easily pushed into the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

It’s later now. Yes, the pool has a waterfall and his window is nearest to it. In the quiet of the night its cadence rings loudly in his head. There is no escape, nowhere to run. The window is shut tightly, a pillow over his head, and still, it plagues him.

All he can think about is the rain they froze in. The weight of the water, how the raindrops fell so hard they seemed like they were the size of baseballs. How at least then, even as they sat on the brink of hypothermia, soaked to the bone, there were 5 of them, that he’d have lived the rest of his life there if it meant that Tom lived.

It’s the middle of the night and he goes to find the switch. There is no way he can spend a week in the house like this.

He pokes around, walking circles around the waterfall in hopes to find a switch. When he has no luck, he looks at the filtering system for the pool. Still nothing. Maybe it’s in the pool. He knows it’s a long shot but he’s out here, he might as well try. He’s in his boxers already, so he strips off his shirt, before jumping into the deep in near the waterfall.

With the chill of the night, the water is colder than usual, and goosebumps ripple across his skin. It feels as if every strand of hair on his body is up, standing at attention. He paddles through the water, dipping under the surface as he searches for a switch of some sort.

“What’re you doing?” You call from behind him.

He whirls around in the water, sending a wave to wet your feet. He glares at you, crossing his arms, “Fucking Christ, announce yourself would you?”

You glare back at him with a feigned offense, “I was here first, actually, Santiago.”

“And you just sat in the shadows like a fucking creep?”

“Maybe. What’re you doing?” You repeat your question, but this time you get up, coming to the edge of the pool.

“Trying to turn this goddamn thing off,” He gestures to the waterfall, water splashing.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Santi is quiet for a moment. So much is wrong. There’s not enough time to explain all the things that are wrong with him, some of them so old and faded he’s not even sure they count anymore. There’s always been something wrong, some empty feeling has sat in his chest since he was too young to name it. His service didn’t help, the gorge had just grown bigger and deeper. New wounds accompany it.

“It’s uh, just keeping me up,” He finally offers, his gaze faltering.

You can tell by his tone that there’s more to it. But, you've never been privy to meaningful information from Santi, never been deemed important enough.

“I’ll switch with you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You didn’t, I offered. I mean, you could sleep with me if you’re really worried about kicking me out. It’s a king-sized bed.”

You’re skating on the thin ice that’s between you and your feelings for Santi. When Frankie offered to introduce you to his friends, you hadn’t given it much thought. You take care of his daughter while he and Vanessa work, he’s like family— it made sense to get to know him better through his friends. And so you’d said yes, not realizing that you were going to meet Santi.

Santiago.

Just the taste of his name on your lips can be too much. But, he’s never shown any interest in you— and if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s flirting. You’ve seen him in action, seen him charm many women in various places, from bars to grocery stores to the concession stand at one of Benny’s fights. But, he’s never tried to charm you, and that’s enough for you to keep your mouth shut. Keeping him at a distance? Well, that’s harder than it should be knowing what you do.

“Sleep with you,” He repeats clumsily, as if he is speaking some language he doesn’t know.

“Yeah, so you won’t hear the waterfall, I won’t have to move all my things. You wake up early anyway, you could head back to your room before anyone else is awake, y’know so no one thinks—”

“They won’t think anything.”

“Right, of course not,” You say sharply, and Santi immediately notices your tone.

“Wait a minute—”

“There’s a towel I brought down just in case I decided to swim, take it,” You point back at where you were sitting. “Just knock on the door once you’re good to go.”

Before Santi can explain what he meant you turn on your heel and head back into the house. He doesn’t get to say that none of them think anything because they know he couldn’t risk losing you. Since Frankie had introduced you two, all of the guys noticed a change in him. Santi is tender with you, even if you don’t realize it. You are delicate, as delicate as a flower just as it blooms, and he’s known for destroying anything he touches. The last thing he could bear is destroying you.

He wades to the stairs, slowly climbing from the pool and drying himself with the towel you spoke about. Once back inside the house, he dresses in some sweatpants and an old army tee that’s much too thin for him to be holding onto. He hesitates when he makes it to your door, standing with his fist raised for several moments before he knocks gently. There is no answer and so he knocks again. And again, a bit harder this time.

He’s about to head back to his room when you finally open the door, out of breath.

“Sorry.”

He frowns, reaching out for your arm, “Are you okay?”

You fight off the urge to shiver, moving with the opening door so that his hand falls away, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. C’mon.”

The two of you do this song and dance, awkwardly asking about which side to take. Staring at each other and looking away as you make it to your respective sides of the bed. Quickly sliding in and turning over, as if the sight of the other amongst the sheets is some sacred ritual for worthy eyes only.

You’ve never seen him like this before and the only thing you can contribute to is him having to spend the night with a woman he doesn’t want. With you.

You turn that thought over and over in your head, the start of a spiral you’re sure will keep you up all night when he speaks.

“What I said earlier, about them not thinking…I didn’t mean it in the way you thought I did.”

“There’s one interpretation of what you said, Santiago. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“What were you doing when I got to your door?”

“What?”

“When I knocked, you answered out of breath. What were you doing?”

“Pacing.”

He turns over to face your back, hoping that you’ll turn over so he can read your face. “Pacing?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you—“

You refuse to go through this back and forth with him. You’ll face it hea-on, get it all out in the open so that you both can look it in the face once and never again. Maybe this way, you can still keep in your life with minimal awkwardness. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d bear any amount of awkwardness if it meant you got to keep him in your life.

Turning over with a frustrated huff, you say, “Because you’re you, and I’m me and this is just…not in the cards for us, Santi. Okay? Do we have to talk about it? Is it not glaringly obvious enough?”

Santi blinks rapidly at you before his face softens, “Not for the reason you think.”

Now it’s your turn to blink, confused by his words, his tone, his soft eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s too much here,” He gestures to himself, to his heart. “I can’t let you see it. I won’t. I won’t do that to you.”

For a handful of moments, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. All of the pieces fall into place. He’d held back for you. He’d ignored this for you. He’d been resigned to holding onto his feelings and doing nothing about them for you. To hide you from his pain. To protect you from whatever overwhelming mixture of emotions bubbled inside of him.

“I’m not afraid of what’s inside of you, Santiago, it’s all you. That’s what love is, it’s witnessing every part of someone and staying.”

“Love?” He repeats cautiously.

“Love,” You say again, reaching out slowly to run your thumb over the swell of his cheek. It feels like had always imagined it— a contrast of smooth and prickly from his stubble.

He leans into your touch eagerly before he grasps you by the nape of your neck, every piece of his resolve crumbling under the weight of you. The weight of your love and care for him. The gasp you let out dies when his mouth presses against yours. It is not gentle, not slow, or steady. Santi is starved for you, his kiss firm, tongue licking into your mouth like he’s finally found all he’s been searching for. He’s so frenzied that the kiss turns sloppily, loud, and wet and exploring as he holds you tightly in place. You groan, trying to match his fervor, his passion, but there is no matching Santi— there is only succumbing to him.

“Love,” He whispers affirmatively, his eyes cloudy with it.

Your smile is bright, giddy like a kid who’s won some sort of contest and gets to pick out their prize. But you've already gotten yours. You hug him, latching to him tightly before you pull away to look at his face again.

This is all real. Santi is yours. All yours. Will he let you in now?

“Tell me about the waterfall?” You ask delicately.

There’s no holding back once he sees the sincerity in your eyes. You want to know, to be there for him and he trusts you in a way that he trusts no one else. Sure he trusts the guys, but there's something different about the vulnerability he’s sharing here with you tonight.

So he tells you all of it. Every single detail. He lets you gather in his arms, holding him close to your chest as he spills, not only words but tears. You wipe his eyes, listening intently and when he’s done, you know there’s nothing you can say to make things better. But you aren’t trying to be his savior, just his support, a shoulder that he knows will always be there and unbiased by his work, a sliver of peace. Eventually, he goes slack in your arms, the tears melting to snores.

You grin, holding back your giggle as his snores grow louder and louder. You had told him what love is, that it means witnessing it all. But, you had never promised you wouldn’t tease him about some of it—not when he currently sounds like a freight train.

This is Frankie you’re talking about. Santi’s best friend. Isn’t there some unspoken rule about having feelings for your brother’s best friend? Even if there wasn’t, Santiago would invent it the moment the word feelings flew out of your mouth.

Nevertheless, you remember everything about Frankie. You know the meaning of every expression you’ve ever seen grace his face, you know his order at all the restaurants in town. And though you were just 6 years old, you remember the wide grin on his face when Santi’s parents— your parents— brought you home from the adoption agency.

Frankie’s been what dreams are made of since the day you were brought to your forever home and he will continue to be until the day you die. You accepted that years ago.

So why is your heart beating a little quicker in your chest when he looks at you this way? Why for the first time are you not sure what the look in his eye means?

“You okay?”

You blink, drawn out of your trance. You give him your best smile, “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Do you feel sick? We’ve got pedialyte,” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the window.

“No, I’m alright really. I drank a lot of water, I just…well you know how my parents are. They think I’m some princess who does it all right.”

“Aren’t you?” He teases, bumping his broad shoulder against your own.

“I’m not,” You say firmly, chin tilting up in a defiant manner that makes him chuckle.

He raises a brow at you, looking playfully skeptical, “You had three drinks, and would only dance with people you knew. You’re worried enough about your image to come here instead of going home to your parents. Hell, I mean, Santi thinks you're still a virgin at 26.”

He knows right away that he’s said too much. It can’t be the alcohol— it left his system a while ago making it safe enough for him to drive home. But he’s so comfortable, so at ease. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s 2 a.m. and the two of you are home alone. Maybe it’s the way that your warm body is pressed against his, the way your eyes shine in the light of the moon.

You glower at him, “That asshole should mind his own goddamn business.”

Frankie tilts his head at you in disbelief at how defensive you get, mouth dropping open for a moment before he’s able to form words. “Tell me he’s not right, querida.”

When you stay silent, your gaze faltering, he reaches out, running his hand comfortingly along the length of your thigh. His hand lingers there, “It’s not a bad thing. But you’ve…you know what pleasure is, yeah? You’ve— uh, shown yourself, right?”

“Oh my god, Frankie.” You groan, embarrassed; so embarrassed that it’s easier to ignore the way your heart jumps in your chest at his delicate touch. You bury your face in your hands, refusing to look at him as you say, “Yes, I know what pleasure is. Fuck this is– can we not talk about my lack of sexual experience?”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. C’mon, it’s fine. You want to know what it’s like right? You’re just…saving it? You could if you wanted to?” He asks, trying to understand.

His line of questioning is even more mortifying because it makes you confront your delusional thinking. Of course, you had been saving it— for a man that would never have it. A man that was off limits. Him.

“Stop, please, I can’t— I can’t talk about this. Not with you.”

“It isn’t easier with me? I’m not your brother or your parents, I’m not gonna give you shit or make you promise to save it for marriage I just—“

“Frankie, please. Stop.”

“Help me understand.”

You frown at him, confused, “Understand?”

“It makes no sense to me, there have to be men and women lining up for you. You’re…well you’re you.”

Now it’s your turn to look at him in disbelief, a soft chuckle leaving your throat. “I’m me?” You repeat skeptically.

“Yes. Beautiful and kind— intelligent— silly, silly’s a really important one,” He teases and you bite away your grin.

Your heart feels as if it stops before it begins to beat quickly, driven by the deep yearning you have for him. It starts there in your chest and spreads throughout your entire body. You crave him.

Before you can think better of it, you say softly— so softly he almost doesn’t hear it, “I was saving it for…for someone I could never have.”

Frankie simply stares at you for a moment, trying to digest what the words could mean. He doesn’t want to assume that you’re talking about him. Many circumstances could make someone off limits, not just the fact that he happens to be Santi’s best friend. But, his heart aches with hope, wanting it to be him.

“And who’s that?” He asks softly.

Panic rises in your throat. “Frankie…”

“Is that your answer?”

You look away, and you brace your hand on the fire escape, prepared to get up and leave, “I— I can’t. We can’t, this is... I should go.”

His grip on your thigh tightens as if to say don’t go, “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Tell me. Say it, please.”

“You…what?”

“Say it,” He urges softly, cupping your cheek in his large, warm palm.

You lean into his hand on instinct, some of the fight leaving you. “You. I was saving it for you. I had this stupid idea that somehow you’d…it’s silly. Silly just like me, like you said.”

“It’s not silly, querida. That I’d want you? I do. I want you.”

“Don’t. Don’t get my hopes up, please, not if you don’t truly mean it,” But even as you say these words, your eyes flicker to his plush mouth.

Your plea breaks him— his heart, his resolve, his brain. He holds you still, surging forward until his mouth is pressed firmly against yours. You freeze for a moment, a dreamy haze taking over your limbs as you try to convince yourself that this is truly happening. Frankie nips at your bottom lip and the hunger inside of you has your hand finding its place in the curls at the nape of his neck as you lick eagerly into his mouth. He groans, the hand on your thigh gripping you tighter and pulling you closer so that you’re almost in his lap. The shuffle makes the kiss a little awkward, and you pull away, resting your nose against his as the two of you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck, Frankie, you could’ve given me a heads up,” You gasp again him with a chuckle.

“I’ll remember that for next time. Was that okay?”

“It was perfect. I…I want you, Frankie. If you want me,” As you speak, your voice grows softer, more timid.

He nuzzles his nose against yours, whispering breathily, “As much as I want to take you here, I won’t scandalize you on this fire escape, especially not on our first go.”

His words make you tremble. They speak more, that this won’t be the only time. But you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Do you always say insanely arousing things like that?” You ask breathlessly.

He purses his lips at you, like he’s in disbelief, “You found that arousing?”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry, almost closing as your body hums with anticipation. He grins, it’s a little sly but very sweet and he leans in once more, pressing one last kiss to your lips before he scoops you up in his arms with no problem. You feel tiny, weightless in his arms like this. His hands are firm, one curling around your waist.

Despite the shared current of eagerness sparking between you, Frankie is patient and gentle. Once he’s carried you to his room, to your surprise he sets you on your feet in front of the bed and drops to his knees. His calloused hands are warm and sure as he drags down the zipper on your leather miniskirt. The moment the skirt pools at your feet, his hands rise to knead your thighs, marveling at how soft your skin is.

He looks down at you with wonder and lust, eyes slowly drinking in every inch of you. This sight…he would’ve bet his life that he’d never see it but here you are. You’re in nothing but panties, strewn out across his bed like you belong there. There’s a bit of moonlight streaming in through his blinds, making your skin glitter. He traces every curve with his gaze and it’s like you can feel his warm hands on you.

“Frankie,” You breathe shyly, head turning to the side to break away from his intense gaze. Your eyes fall to the pile of aviation magazines that rests on his desk— stacks and stacks of his dreams.

The bed dips as he lowers himself to lay beside you. His hand rises to cup your cheek, tilting your head towards him so that your gazes meet.

“You have to look at me, pretty girl,” He teases softly.

“I know, I’m sorry but you make me so…” You trail off, unsure of how to explain what you’re feeling.

“Yeah? You don’t think my heart’s jumpin’ out my chest right now?” He asks. To prove his point he takes your hand and presses it against where his heart beats erratically.

“It’s just me, Frankie. You’ve seen everything.”

“Not everything, not this,” He murmurs, sliding his hand through your breasts, and down your stomach to cup your clothed sex.

“Oh god. I feel like I’m gonna pass out. Is it— is it supposed to feel—“

“So overwhelming? Yeah,” His voice is gravelly, full of need as he answers.

“Overwhelm me some more,” You whisper bashfully. The sound of his voice and the hunger in his eyes makes your entire body feel as if it’s on fire.

“Trust me, I will. I’ve gotta take my time with you, so you can take it all. Every single inch of me,” He breathes against your neck, continuing to kiss his way down.

His handling of you is some confusing, erotic combination of tender and commanding. He’s so gentle and yet you bow under his touch. He doesn’t use much force though he absolutely could. But there’s something about his confidence that you will allow him to move you wherever and however, you want that makes the arousal in your lower belly burn hotter.

He kisses and sucks every inch of your skin, soft moans sending shivers through you, eliciting goosebumps. His path is clear, and when he settles in between your legs he removes your panties and then uses his hands to firmly pin you to the mattress. The groan he lets out at the sight of your glistening sex is deep and broken, close to a whimper.

“Fuck, you saved all this for me?” He whispers, almost to himself. You aren’t allowed to answer, not because he forcefully prevents you but before the first word can even form in your brain he leans in to lick a stripe up your pussy.

Frankie’s starved for you. His mouth works you over with a desperation that’s grown inside of him for years. He’s wanted you for so long, and to have your thighs around his ears, your taste in his mouth, and the scent of you buzzing in his brain like a colony of bees, drives him insane. He pulls away for a moment just to nuzzle his nose against your clit, breathing in the rich, heady scent of you. It makes him hungrier and soon his mouth is on you again. He sucks and licks and thrusts his tongue deep inside of you.

Your whines have him smiling against you, and his eyes raise to meet your cloudy gaze, “Makin’ me the luckiest man on earth right now, you know that?”

You’ve cum before, sure, but this— the combination of his words and his mouth makes you feel as if your body is fit to burst with pleasure.

“Frankie,” You whine, unable to think of anything else to say. He consumes you, surrounds you and this is just the beginning. You aren’t sure how you’ll survive the rest of the night, but you’re determined to. This may be the only time you’ll ever have him, and you refuse to give it up.

You hear the grin in his voice, “I can hear it, you’re close. Give it to me, querida. Cum all over my face.”

Your body breaks at his permission, and you cry out loudly, hand flying down to ground yourself by gripping at his hair. He groans but doesn’t stop, his tongue greedily wanting to lick up every drop of your release.

You’re just starting to recover, your breath slowing when Frankie gently presses a finger inside of you, any air that you’d gathered in your lungs escaping in a gasp of surprise.

He lets out a filthy groan against your thigh, pressing a kiss to the skin there, “Look at how well you’re taking it. One more? Can I give you one more and I’ll give you whatever you want, yeah honey?

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Your yes is all Frankie needs to press another finger inside of you, stretching your further. He doesn’t want to hurt you once he’s truly inside of you, but he wants to give you all of it, all of him. It will be a tight fit, he can tell by the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, but he will make it fit. He wants to be buried as deeply inside of you as he can get, to be deeper than you’ve ever been inside yourself. Part of him, some delusional part that he rarely indulges, believes that you were made for him, and that part of him knows that you’ll take all of him.

“More, Frankie. Need more. Can I have more?” You gaze down at him between your legs with desperate eyes.

He pulls his mouth from your thigh to grin up at you, chin and beard glistening with your arousal, marking him as yours. “Yeah, let’s get you opened up for me,” He murmurs, adding a third finger with an ease that makes him moan again.

Your hips pivot up, as you feel yourself flutter around him. “So good, you feel so good,” You gasp, feeling that knot in your stomach twist tighter.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby. D’you see?” He leans in to press a soft kiss to your clit, and you shiver again.

“Just for you, Frankie.”

“Just for me. All for me. Nobody else,” Each word is accompanied by the wet sound of his fingers thrusting deep.

His possessiveness, the feel of his fingers, the wet sounds of sex, they all come together to overwhelm you. For the second time tonight you fall over that edge, though this orgasm is softer, more relaxed than the first, your walls gently clenching around Frankie’s fingers. He guides you through it with the sweetest, filthiest praises, kissing at your thighs as you shake and shiver against him.

Gently, he cleans up all of your release with his tongue, before kissing his way up your body until his lips meet yours. You can taste your saltiness on his tongue and eagerly lick into his mouth. This taste is proof of the two of you together like this and you close your eyes, memorizing it.

“Oh…oh my god,” You breathe into his mouth, smiling weakly into his kiss.

Your entire body is tired, exhausted from the two mind-shattering orgasms he’s already given you but you want more. You want to truly feel him, want to feel him pressing against you and inside you and all around you all at once.

He smiles at you, eyes focused intently on your face, like you hold the world, “You alright? Should we take a break, querida?”

“No,” You whine brokenly. “No, no, need you, baby, please.”

Your beg, sweet and desperate has him shuddering against him and he nods, gently settling his hips between yours. His cock slides against your clit, making you shiver and twitch from sensitivity but you’re still eager, pivoting up against him.

“Slow, we’ll go slow. Keep your hips still for me, alright?” Even as he asks you, his hand drops to your hips, holding them steady.

You nod frantically, not wanting to waste your breath or any time protesting when you’re so close to feeling him.

The first press of him inside of you makes your limbs tingle, though it is shallow and gentle. He’s made you cum twice already to open you up for him but still is cautious, wanting there to be minimal discomfort for you.

“How’s that? You okay?” He asks, eyes roaming your face.

“T-there’s no way you’re playing fair. Does it— is it all like that?” You ask him breathlessly, staring up at the spinning ceiling.

“I’m pulling out all the stops for you, baby.”

Slowly and so delicately, as if you’ll break, he grinds his hips more firmly against yours until he’s as deep inside you as he can go. The kisses the two of you were sharing cease because his mouth goes slack, a soft depraved sound coming from the back of his throat now that he’s fully inside of you.

“You— okay?” You choke out, your fingers buried in his unruly curls.

“It’s your first time and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“I thought there was more…thrusting involved. You aren’t moving,” You say shyly, looking away when his mouth pulls up into a grin.

You don’t know what you’re asking for, that much he’s sure of.

He guides his hips back slowly, withdrawing, and though you’ve asked for it, though you know he’s going to fill you right back up, you whine at the loss of him. The first thrust of his cock into you is gentle, you can tell by the way his neck strains and the broken moan that leaves his throat, but you can’t think about that very long because the stretch.

Your head falls back, eyes screwing shut as you try to handle taking all of his cock, breathing out, “Francisco—“

Frankie leans in, kissing your now exposed neck, “I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here, it’s okay. You can take it for me.”

You nod but that’s all that you can do as try to breathe through the delicious feeling of him splitting you open with each thrust. His hips are flush against yours and grinds, causing your pussy to clench around him.

“You’re so fucking tight, so wet for me, do you hear? Listen.”

You try to lower your loud, erratic breath to hear the sound he talks about, and you do, the wet squelch of you taking him even louder than it was when it was just his fingers.

As he continues to thrust into you, your hips begin to recognize his rhythm. Guided by your neediness, your hips pivot to meet him thrust for thrust, driving him even deeper than before. He groans into your neck, bracing one arm so that he can press your hips down, keeping you still.

He grins down at you, bending to press a kiss to your mouth “Let me do the work, honey. I want you to lay there and take it. All you have to do is cum on my cock, okay baby?”

“B-but, deeper,” You beg, blinking up at him.

“You want it deeper? Want me to stretch you further, fill you up even more?” He asks, and you whine, nodding desperately beneath him. “My sweet, naughty girl.”

He readjusts, taking the weight off of his knees so that his legs are fully extended and grinds— stealing both of your breath. The tip of his cock presses deep, so deep that you could swear you feel him in your tummy.

“This deep enough for you?”

“Mhmm, don’t stop, please, wanna cum for you again.”

“Squeezing me so tight. Can I— fuck, can I cum inside you?”

“Yes, god, please,” You plead, reaching up to brush back the hair that's fallen into his eyes.

Frankie leans into your touch, the soft hazy look on his face in contrast with the way he’s pounding you into the mattress, “You’re perfect. Cum for me one more time. Need to feel you.”

If there was any doubt that your body was his, it is washed away with your last release. You tighten around him as soon as the words leave his mouth, gasping and sputtering beneath as every nerve in your body sings with pleasure. You force yourself to keep your eyes open to see him reach his peak.

The flutter of your pussy around him pulls him down. His hips stutter against yours, before he grinds again, filling you up with his warm release. The heat of him makes you shiver, but you tilt your hips up, wanting to keep all of him. After a moment, he rolls onto his side, keeping an arm around you to bring you with him and keep him inside of you.

“How was that?” He whispers against your temple.

You look up at him, pressing a hand against his chest as if to admonish him, “How was that? Are you kidding me?”

He grins, wide and boyish, with a shrug, “Maybe.”

“Good. You were so good, so gentle with me.”

“You’re incredible,” He breathes, capturing your mouth with his in a chaste kiss.

You’ve never felt so sated in your life. The two of you lay tangled together for what felt like an eternity until Frankie suggests a bath. You aren’t as wired as you were just 30 minutes ago, but a bath sounds lovely, especially since Santi won’t be back until morning.

This is your little sliver of peace, laying back between Frankie’s legs in steaming hot, fragrant water. He presses a kiss to the back of your head before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly close.

You hum, turning your head so that you can nuzzle your temple against his mouth. That feeling that you’ve gotten over the years since being adopted by your family— the one that tells you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be— rises in your chest. There are so many words that you want to say to him, and you think you might find the courage to when a loud sound comes from down the hall. Your blood runs cold as you look at Frankie with wide, scared eyes.

“We have to be quiet, Fish’s sleepin’,” You hear Santi say in a shouted whisper. If you weren’t so afraid you’d find it funny how loud he is while insisting that they must be quiet. But you can hardly form a word, let alone a laugh, your throat suddenly dry.

“Baby—“

You shake your head, swallowing away the panic, “I have to go. When he gets her into his room, I have to go. He thinks you took me home.”

“No,” He says firmly.

He’s just gotten you, finally gotten you— there’s no way in hell that he’ll let you go. Not even for Santi.

“Frankie—

“Don’t think or worry, just trust me?”

“Alright.”

“We’ll wake up early, I’ll take you to breakfast and drop you off at home. How does that sound?” He cups your face, running his thumb over your cheekbone soothingly.

You look at him skeptically for a moment but with the pleading look in his eye, you know that you’ll agree to it. With how drunk Santi sounds, and the late hour, he’ll be asleep most of the day. It should be safe. There’s still a lump in your throat despite his plan because it doesn’t make the future clear. Sure his words in the best of passion spoke to doing this again but they could be just that; words.

He drops you off and then what? The two of you pretend this never happened? You’re set to graduate from your masters’ program in a few months and then you’re off across the country to start your doctorate. What then? There is no forgetting Frankie— not before tonight and certainly not after it.

But you say none of this, clearing your throat once more to whisper, “Alright.”

Frankie helps you out of the water as slowly and quietly as he can. He drives you both off quickly, though his hands can’t help but linger, brushing against the curve of your hips, dancing across your collarbone. Once you’re both dry, he wraps you up and carries you across the hall to his room before falling into bed with you in his arms.

He kisses you breathless for several minutes until you pull away with a yawn.

“I’ve kept you up long enough, get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Frankie,” You mumble, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck.

He feels the exact moment you fall asleep, noticing the way your body melts into his. He kisses your temple, murmuring three words so softly that his ears don’t register them. Then, he slips into sleep with you.

—

Santi doesn’t even bother knocking. Any other morning Frankie wouldn’t mind but a morning like this— one that he will remember and cherish for the rest of his life— is the exception.

“Fish, c’mon—“ Santi stops his tracks, eyes wide. When he finds his voice it's filled with disbelief and anger. “What the fuck am I seeing right now?”

You jump at the sound of Santi’s voice, immediately remembering where you are from the scent of Frankie beside you. Frankie’s reaching for the sheet, pulling it up to your chin before he gives you a look that clearly means to stay quiet.

He looks to Santi, raising a hand, “I can explain.”

“Yeah, you better fucking start. What the fuck?”

Frankie gets out of bed quickly—in nothing but his boxers— and pushes Santi by his chest out of the room and into the hallway.

You hear Santi’s voice coming through the door. In turn, you hear it all, their entire conversation.

“Tell me what the fuck I just saw because I did not see her in your bed, Frankie.”

“Santi, if you just—“

“I should kill you. Rip your throat out. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It’s not what you think.”

Santi narrows his eyes, “It’s not? I didn’t just see my baby sister in your bed?”

Frankie shakes his head with an exasperated sigh, “She’s not a baby, Santi.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t you fuckin’ know?”

Frankie grimaces, “Pope—“

Santi lunges forward, pressing Frankie into the wall with a thud as he asks, “Did you deflower my baby sister? Did you take advantage of her?”

His words rub Frankie the wrong way, and for the first time, some anger bubbles in his chest. He struggles against the shorter man, before pushing him away and straightening.

“She’s not a baby, she’s a woman. And I would never take advantage of her.”

“So you didn’t? She’s still a virgin then,” Santi stares at Frankie waiting for him to agree with him. But Frankie just stares back at him and Santi’s vision starts to blur, his rage getting the best of him. “Where’s the scissors? I hope you aren’t too attached to your dick because I’m cutting it off.”

“I love her,” Frankie blurts out. “I’m in love with her. I always have been.”

Your heart jumps in your chest at Frankie’s declaration of love. He loves you? The boy you loved all your childhood, the man that you’ve seen him grow into with all his hopes and dreams and potential. He loves you? You stare up at the ceiling, a bashful smile spreading across your face.

“Don't you say that if you don’t mean it. I won’t let you get her hopes up. She’s been looking at you with those lost puppy eyes all our lives Frankie and I swear to god, if you just used her—“ Santi says, and your heart swells at his attempt to protect you. You know he has good intentions even if he’s going about it the wrong way.

“I love her, Santiago. I do,” Frankie says firmly.

“Did you tell her that?”

“I was planning to, but her fuckhead brother’s got me hemmed up first thing in the morning. We have plans.”

“Plans.”

“A date, I’m taking her out. If you release me.”

Santi’s eyes narrow, and the two stare at each other quietly for an eternity, “I’m talkin’ to her first.”

“I’d…give her a minute?”

Santi’s glare sends a chill up Frankie’s spine.

“Just let me tell her to, uh, cover up.”

You hear the dilemma and lean over the side of the bed, looking for your clothing immediately. The graphic tee you wore was just fine, and you shrug into it, but having the talk of shame in your brother’s best friend wearing the mini skirt he slid you out of not even 12 hours ago isn’t ideal.

Frankie peeks his head in and gives you his best smile though you can see the anxiety in his eyes. Maybe even some fear.

“Hey, Pope wants to talk to you. Get dressed for me?”

“Do you…could I maybe borrow some sweatpants?”

He nods to a set of drawers, “Last drawer, take anything you like. I’ll go make us some coffee.”

“Alright,” You whisper, rising out of his bed. Your shirt is a little big, falling to the middle of your thigh.

Frankie’s eyes fall lower, drawn to your bare skin and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as you make your way to the drawers and bend to search for pants.

“The coffee, Francisco,” You remind him with a chuckle, still able to feel his eyes on you even as you chose a pair.

Frankie flushes, his eyes darting away from you as he realizes he was staring, “Right. I’ll be out there if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you, Frankie,” You smile shyly at him over your shoulder.

He wets his lips before returning your smile, “Don’t mention it, sweet girl.”

“Hey, watch it!” You hear Santi yell, and then Frankie’s eyes go wide as he’s seemingly pulled back, the door slamming shut.

You hear some shuffling and a bang before the hall goes quiet. A minute goes by and then there’s a soft knock and Santi calls through the door for you. You slip into the sweatpants and sit on the edge of Frankie’s bed before telling him to come in.

He can’t look at you once he steps inside, standing right in front of the door with his arms crossed. You can’t completely decipher the look on his face but you can see some betrayal and confusion.

“What the hell is this? Some way to hurt me?” He asks quietly.

You roll your eyes, “This isn’t about you, Santi. Not everything is about you.”

Santi glares at you, pointing at his chest like an indignant child, “He’s my best friend.”

“He’s more than that to me, he always has been.”

“He’s only ever been my best friend to you,” He challenges.

“It’s not like I could tell you I had feelings for him. Clearly,” You add, returning his glare.

He comes to sit beside you, brow furrowing as he thinks this through. He sighs, looking over at you, “You have to let him down easy.”

“Let him down— Santi, I heard what he said and I love him too. It’s always been him. I can’t just walk away from that.”

“What if he hurts you? We’ll both lose him. I’ll have to kick his ass. It won’t end well for anyone.”

“He’s Frankie,” You say as an explanation.

The words are loaded with meaning— Santi knows that Frankie is one of the most decent men on this earth. That he would never think about hurting you, let alone do it.

“Yeah, he is.”

“He’s not gonna abandon you, Santi. Neither am I. I’m not taking your place.”

“I know. I know,” He repeats when you look at him skeptically.

“Good,” You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He pretends to hate it but hugs you back before ruffling your hair. “I’d really like to go on that date now, if you’re done throwing a fit?”

“I wasn’t throwing a fit.”

“I heard you knocking his head against the wall.”

Santi’s mouth twitches, “What else was I supposed to do when he had my baby sister in his bed?”

“I’m not a baby, Santi.”

“I know. He said that. I know.” He’s quiet for a moment before looking over at you, “Are you gonna marry him?”

You choke on nothing, coughing to clear your throat, “Jesus Santi, from one extreme to another, huh?”

He shrugs, bumping your shoulder with his, “Don’t know, just always thought I’d make a good uncle. I’m fit for it.”

“Alright, now you’re really out of your mind, kids are a ways away.”

“Yeah, but they’ll get here eventually.”

“You two done in there?” Frankie calls out nervously.

Oh thank god.

Santi’s brows furrow further as he stares at the door, “Have you been eavesdropping, pendejo?”

“Be nice,” You whisper-yell at him, elbowing him in the side.

He lets out a grown and pushes you over, “Just because you two are in love or whatever doesn’t mean I’m not gonna give him hell. Come in, Fish.”

Frankie comes in with two steaming mugs of fresh coffee. You light up at the sight of him and his heart flutters like he’s some teenage fan girl meeting her idol.

“Thanks for the coffee, Frank,” Santi reaches for a mug once Frankie is close enough.

“This isn’t for you. Get out.”

Santi smirks at him as he begins to lean back into the bed, “You know, I think I’ll get nice and comfy.”

“Y’sure you wanna lay down in that bed after last night?” Frankie asks with a smirk of his own.

“Francisco,” You scold, feeling embarrassed.

Santi pretends to throw up but quickly rises to his feet, “Insufferable. Disgusting. I’ll leave you to it.” He makes his way to the door and gives you both one last once over. Though his nose is wrinkled in disgust you can see the happiness in his eyes.

If two of his favorite people in the world love each other, who is he to complain?

“Keep it down,” He quips before closing the door.

You and Frankie both let out deep breaths once the coast is clear. He takes a seat next to you on the bed and holds out a mug for you. “Hi,” He says tiredly.

“Hi. Thank you,” You nod to the mug.

He leans over, pressing a kiss to your temple, “No problem, baby. You alright?”

“I’m fine. Are you? I heard some tusslin’.”

“I’m fine. Good, now,” He wraps an arm around your waist, resting his head on yours.

“Yeah, me too. Did you…how much did you hear?”

“Enough to know we’ll be doing this for a long time. I hope.”

“I heard you too.”

“I thought us overhearing the other would make this easier to say.”

“Not the case I see,” You tease nervously.

“You can always go first.”

“Frankie.”

“I’m kidding,” He points down at the mug in your hand. “Got a good grip on that mug?”

“The goodest.”

His gaze is so soft and tender, the words sit in his eyes even as he says them, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in, hand resting at the base of your neck to hold you still for his kiss. It’s deep and exploring like he’s kissing you for the first time but much less frantic than last night. When his tongue slips in beside yours, your brain goes gooey, whatever signals it had been sending to your hand to hold the mug in your hands blinded by the sweetest of Frankie’s mouth. The mug slips right out of your hand, spilling warm coffee all over your legs and feet, but thankful stays intact.

You yelp into his mouth, pulling away with wide eyes, “Okay so maybe it wasn’t the goodest, but you’re also really good at kissing.”

Frankie can’t argue with that, not when you’re boosting his ego and looking so cute doing it. His mouth is pursed in disapproval though it twitches as he tries to hold in his laugh. He helps you up carefully, then bends to grab his mug off the ground which is full. Lifting you so that your feet won’t get any more wet than they are, he sits you down once he gets you to the chair in the corner of his room.

“Sit down, and here,” He hands you the mug and immediately cups his hands around yours. “Tight grip, please,” He teases.

The grin that spreads across your face is so wide it makes your cheeks hurt, “It’s tight, I swear.”

“I’ll strip the bed, and when I get back I’ll get you set up for a shower. Do you still want to get breakfast?”

“I’d love to.”

He bends, resting his hands on the arms of the chair to cage you in as he kisses you, soft and sweet, “I love you.”

You smile into the kiss, “I love you, too.”

“Insufferable! Nauseating!” Santi yells through the door, making you jump.

You and Frankie share a look, though you’re already giggling.

“Go away!” You and Frankie yell in unison through hushed laughter.

He’s told you to keep your mask on, that these are dangerous woods and you can never be too careful. It’s clear that you’ve been hanging around overly confident Pope too much when you remove it, citing that you can handle anything these woods hold. But then you step on something that looks harmless and it dissolves violently into a red powder that gets in your mouth and nose, entering your bloodstream in a matter of moments.

Frankie’s on you quick, scooping you off the ground and sprinting away with a speed you didn’t know he possessed. He’s functioning with adrenaline pumping through his veins, the only thought on his mind is to get you out of there. Once back to the car he drives like a maniac, gets you back to the safe house in an amount of time that would frighten you if you could think straight.

You babble the entire way there, groaning about the sensations pulsing through your body. You’re confused, not sure what you’re feeling, but it’s incredibly warm and everything hurts, even the brush of your clothing against your skin makes you grimace— until it doesn’t.

“Frankie, it’s hot. It’s so fucking hot, and I’m aching, it all hurts. I need you,” You reach out for him, hand finding the expansive muscle of his thigh.

He looks down at your hand then up at you in confusion, unsure of what it could’ve been that you ingested to make you feel like this. Nonetheless, he leans over and settles his hand on your cheek, “I’m right here, what can I do?”

That’s when you’re hit with it in its entirety, no doubt about what’s happening to you. Arousal.

It’s now flooding your body, turning your brain to mush, and with the musky, pine smell of Frankie so heady in your nostrils you can’t keep up any sense of decorum. The way his skin feels against yours, just the brush of it feels sinful and you need him.

“Touch me, please. Make me feel good.”

His eyes go wide with nerves and surprise, and he tries to rip his hand away from your cheek but you hold it there, hold him there while he rejects you, “Ace, you don’t mean that.”

“I mean it Frankie, I need you to touch me and make me cum, please. I’ll do anything, whatever you fucking want just make me cum okay? Please?” You whimper, eyes pleading at him with a distress he’s never seen before.

He gets both of you unbuckled, and you hurl yourself out of the car, practically dragging him into the foyer of the safe house.

“Let’s go in the bedroom so that-“ He tries to usher you down the hall but you sink your heels in, lean back against the wall and pull him with you.

“No, Frankie, here, please? Please baby, just fuck me against the wall?”

Baby.

Dear fucking god, you’re trying to kill him. The term of endearment curls around his ears like warm smoke, and any hesitation about helping you melts away.

Your pants and panties are off in no time and he groans upon seeing that he doesn’t even have to get you ready, your pussy shining with your arousal. When he slides into you, you clench violently around him, and with just three gentle strokes you cum, a garbled version of his name leaving your throat.

His lips brush against your temple as he stills, “Better?”

You look up at him frantically shaking your head, “No, Frankie, don’t stop please, you feel so good. I need you.”

“I’ll take care of you, Ace,” He grits through his teeth, his forehead pressed against yours as he starts to thrust into you again.

“Will you cum inside me? Please, Frankie?”

His pace falters at the question, “Sweetheart-“

“Francisco, please?” You grip the collar of his shirt in one hand, your other hand knotting in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Whatever you want, whatever you want. How’s this?” He asks, resuming his previous rhythm, pleasure sparking down your spine and into your lower belly.

“Good, like that baby, just like that,” You praise and he drops his lips to the spot beneath your ear, kissing and sucking the skin there.

The sound of him entering you is obscene, and he can feel your slick completely coating him and the mound of curls at the base of his cock.

“Fuck, baby you’re so wet,” He says in a soft, honeyed voice.

You’d think that Frankie was hit with whatever the hell you were with how frantically he moves his hips against yours, fucking you up against the wall with an urgency. And while a lot of it has to do with how your brow smooths with each of his thrusts, he can’t deny that some of it is because you feel so tight and warm around him, that he’s been wanting to do something like this since the moment he laid his eyes on you.

You’re whispering all these filthy things in his ear, praising him as he fucks further and further into you, and when you beg him for his cum again he loses it, an animalistic sound leaving his throat as he fills you to the brim. You crest again, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your fingernails now digging harshly into the flesh of his back. But it's still not enough. Your body’s still hot, still begging for more, and when Frankie pulls away to check on you he already sees it in your eyes.

“More?” He asks, running a thumb over your bottom.

“Please, baby.”

He can’t say no to that, and he doesn’t want to but he’s definitely going to need some time to recharge for another round.

His lips find your ear, voice raspy and send a chill through you, “You want my mouth? Hmm? Can I eat your pussy?”

“Fuck, yes. Please,” It comes out almost as a cry.

It's silly, the way he doesn’t want to pull out of you because he wants to keep his spend inside of you. It's even sillier how he carries you– still fully sheathed inside you– through the safehouse to the bedroom. He wastes no time once he enters the room, getting you on the bed and pivoting your hips up as he drops to his knees in order to keep his cum inside you.

When he comes face to face with your pussy for a moment all he can do is stare, you’re slick and swollen, the thick white of his seed just barely pushing out of you, and a chill runs through him when he leans forward and gets his first taste.

He’s ravenous and if you weren’t full of some chemical you’d be overly sensitive to the way his tongue messily runs through your folds. He sucks your clit between his lips, his eyes shut with concentration, and the sight makes you fall back against the bed.

“So fucking sweet, baby,” He murmurs into your pussy.

Your hand falls to his hair, knotting in it as you grind yourself against his face. He groans at the feeling of your hand is hair, doubling his efforts and soon you cum again. He licks up all your slick, his hands holding your thighs open with a firm grip.

His smell, his essence, his touch is the antidote, feeling like cool water against your feverish skin, “You feel so good against me, Frankie, please more.”

More. More, more, more. It’s all you've been asking him for since he put his hands on you, and he’s trying to hold back because this shouldn’t have been your first time together. But you’re looking up at him with desperation and hunger that he can’t resist. He has to take care of you and give you what you need.

Pushing up on your elbows to look at him, you frown at his lack of action, “Fuck me again, please, just one more time, please, Francisco?”

The last time is slower, lazier, the press of hips against each other slowly, both of you exhausted, but your body still calling to him. You don’t know how he’s kept up, but he feels so good, overwhelming in the best way. His mouth skates over your warm skin, mouthing kisses everywhere but where you actually want him. You wonder if he’s avoided kissing you on purpose, and more than anything you want his lips pressed to yours.

“Frankie?” You gasp through drags of pleasure, gripping his shoulders.

“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles looking up at you, his mouth still at your shoulder.

“Kiss me.”

“You sure?”

“Baby,” You plead, trying to lean closer, eyes falling to his lips.

He nods, surging down to slant his mouth against yours, his thrusts still steady, and after licking into your mouth he pulls away, “Squeezing me so tight, still. Fuck.”

There’s a pressure, a force building deep within you. It feels good, intense, and you can’t even find the words, looking up at Frankie open-mouthed, hoping that your eyes are screaming don’t stop, because if he can just keep fucking you like this, with deep, fast thrusts, you’ll cum and it feels like it’ll be the end. Like if you cum one last time it’ll be the antidote, saving you from whatever this is.

It’s his undoing that pushes you over the edge. He grunts your name, pumping his cum deep. The warmth of him, the roughness of his voice breaks the dam inside you. You gush around him, it’s loud, it’s wet, but it feels so good and your back arches pushing your chest against his as you let out a silent cry, your orgasm pulsing through every nerve in your body.

Frankie groans when he feels you cum, resting his face in the crook of your neck as the both of you gasp air, trying to get your breathing back under control. You feel scores better, that heavy desire has left your limbs and a tiredness has replaced it. You could lay here forever if you weren’t so embarrassed about everything that just happened, especially the squirting— something you’ve never done before.

“Did I just…” You begin timidly.

“Don’t be embarrassed sweet girl, you needed it,” He coos into your neck, beginning to kiss a path down your body.

“But, Frankie-”

“Shh, let me taste you like this,” And through all of this, you notice how deep and needy his tone gets.

This is less about you and more about feeding his own hunger, and you happily lean back for him, letting him lap up the mixture of wetness from between your thighs with a constant satisfied hum in his throat. He kisses his way up your body– soft, sensual kisses that feel like more– and when his nose comes to rest against yours, you surge forward, capturing his mouth again. He tastes of you, salty and sweet, but of something distinctly him, and you lick into his mouth eagerly, wanting to memorize his taste since this is it.

“Better?” He asks again breathlessly once he’s pulled away.

“Much better,” You murmur softly, the gravity of everything that’s just come to pass hitting you like a ton of bricks. You feel your skin warm under his thoughtful gaze from embarrassment and maybe a hint of lust that still grips you. But you no longer feel like you’re dying, the discomfort subsiding. You shift in the bed, putting a small space between you, and he falls back onto his back beside you. “Thank you and…I’m sorry? I don’t really know what the protocol is here.”

“I did it because I wanted to, querida,” Frankie reassures, his fingers tangling with yours as he grips your hand.

“Yeah?” Your voice cracks, nervous but hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Maybe we could…do it again after dinner sometime? No crazy sex biochemical agents involved,” You giggle, squeezing his hand tighter.

He joins in on your laughter, turns on his side again so he can look you firmly in the eyes as he says, “I’d like that a lot.”

He can tell that you’re brooding by the tension in your shoulders, the way you’re rocking back and forth as you stare straight ahead. He knows you better than he knows himself— possibly better than you know yourself— though he’s not sure why you’re upset in this instance. Not yet anyway.

He’s right– it is cold. Despite the extremely warm days in Miami, the nights can grow cold, especially standing on the sandy plains of a beach such as this one. You don’t bother turning around to look at Santi, continuing to stare out into the darkness of the ocean. It's stupid that you’re out here, that you feel a way about how tonight’s gone. Santi isn’t yours and the depth of your friendship, or your romantic feelings for him doesn’t change that.

There’s always a risk with bringing Santi anywhere. It’s not a deadly risk, but sometimes he looks so absorbed in someone else that it feels like your heart might give out. He’s good at it, at making someone feel like they’re the center of attention or all that matters to him.

He’s a natural flirt, so charismatic that most people don’t believe he’s been in the army or that his day job is in operations and the execution of them. People— including all of your single cousins, who have been all over him since the moment the wedding reception began. You couldn’t blame them, even if you weren’t in love with him, there’s no denying that he’s one of the most attractive men you've ever seen.

Tonight everyone is treated to a rare occasion. Santi’s in a suit; it’s black and fits him perfectly. The top two buttons of his crisp, white button-up are undone giving the most sinful view of his strong neck. His unruly curls are styled neatly for once and with the short stubble dusting his chin it's practically game over. He’s Santi, he rarely turns down showing a woman a good time– because that’s just what women deserve according to his creed– and being with your family means he’s pulled out all the stops, always trying to make a good impression.

You’ve been friends with Santi since college— you signed up to be pen pals with someone in the service. When you saw the name Santiago Garcia, you pictured some sauve man who wouldn’t give you the time of day if he’d seen you walking on the street. It made you nervous, and you didn’t send him a letter— except in a twist you never saw coming, he wrote you first.

You were correct, he was sauve— is sauve, but so incredibly charming. So understanding and playful in the short length of a single sentence. So devastatingly handsome. There was no resisting him. Your friendship with Santi unraveled parts of you that you were unaware of. The deep yearning, the lightness in your chest, the craving for adventure. With Santi by your side, whether in person or words on a page, opened a world for you. One you’re completely sure wouldn’t exist without him.

The first time you’d met six months after exchanging your first letters, you had to swallow the notion you’d been denying for months. You love him. Staring into his mischievous brown eyes, witnessing his bright smile for true and not just in the photo he’d sent you in one of his letters only solidified that. But, he’s Santi. You and Santiago… make sense as friends. And so you fake it. You fake not loving him until it’s almost believable.

“Cariño?” He calls again, breaking through the hazy thoughts of your mind.

You glance back at him for just a moment, and the smile that you flash him doesn’t touch your eyes, “Just needed some fresh air.”

“You’re gonna get a cold in this dress,” He murmurs, slipping out of his jacket as he closes the gap between you.

When he starts to drape the jacket over your shoulders, you turn to him, taking a step back, “I’ll be fine.”

The bite in your voice, the way you don’t look at him as you say it makes him realize that he’s done whatever’s put you in this state. He ignores you, wrapping you in the jacket before pulling you a little closer, dipping on his knees so that he can try to catch your gaze.

His eyes are pleading, “What’d I do? Just tell me, I’ll make it better, you know I will.”

“There’s nothing to say,” You insist stubbornly, looking down at where your feet are buried in the sand. You wiggle them, trying to do anything to distract you from this conversation you and Santi are on the cusp of. Maybe he’ll give up.

He sighs, using a finger to raise your chin so you must look at him. And when you try to pull away, his thumb grips you, holding you in place, “There’s plenty to say if you’re upset, so let’s stop playing this game, yeah?”

You fix him with an empty stare that chills him to the bone. “Fine, there’s nothing I feel like saying. Happy?”

He glares at you, tightening his grip on your chin, “Fuck, no, you know I’m not. Words. Speak. Tell me, right now, cariño.”

Getting both of your hands on his chest, you push him back gently, forcing him to let go of you. Angrily, you murmur, “Would you stop with the cariño and the puppy dog eyes, for fucks sake. Go back inside, I’m sure the girls miss you.”

Santi takes a step toward you, and he’s close enough that you instinctively take a step back— he prevents it though, grabbing you by the lapel of his jacket so you’re cemented in place. Santi’s eyes widen to an almost comical size as he realizes what’s happening.

Are you…jealous? Jealous that others would look at him, that he might be theirs. Do you want him?

“Is that what this is about?” His question is vague so as not to make a fool of himself.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I asked you to come with me, of course, you’re here for me. Not standing around while you whisk women out on the dance floor would be nice,” You grumble, fiddling with the lapel of his jacket so that you won’t have to meet his gaze.

“No, I’m here for you,” His other hand raises, cupping your freezing cold cheek.

“Don’t, please, I can’t. It’s not the same for us Santi. It’s never been the same for us,” You whisper desperately.

“You think I give a fuck about anybody in there but you? Do you? Hmm?”

You open your mouth to answer, though you’re not sure what you would say. He continues to speak, not even giving you a chance.

“You think I wore this ridiculous fucking suit to impress your cousins?”

“I…I don’t know what you mean,” You repeat, swallowing to try to rid your throat of its sudden thickness.

“You’re jealous?” He tests, too in disbelief to say it as a statement though there’s no other explanation for this.

Your mouth twitches, brow furrowing as you step back, “I am not.”

“I know when you’re lying, your mouth, it does this thing,” He says, eyes wandering your face with wonder.

Yes, you’re jealous. It thrills him— his heart pumping so loudly it drowns out the sounds of the tide.

“You’re jealous, and there’s no reason for you to be because I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, cariño. Understand?”

“What?” You whisper, taking yet another step back. You look like a wild animal, like prey looking predator in the eye, desperate for an escape route.

“I’m here for you— I need you. There’s no one else,” He murmurs, taking a slow step toward you.

“Is…is this real?” You stutter out, the fear in your voice palpable to both of you.

Slowly as not to scare you away, he takes both of your hands, pressing one to his chest, the other to his stubble-covered cheek as he gazes down at you, “Does this feel real? Do I?”

You blink rapidly at the feel of his stubble beneath your palm. It’s a new sensation, it almost tickles and his skin is warm despite the chill of the night.

“You’ve never felt real to me,” You admit quietly. “You came into my life like a shooting star, I’ve just been…”

“Yeah? What’ve you been doing?” He encourages softly.

“I’ve just been waiting for you to disappear like all shooting stars do.”

“I could never leave you, baby, don’t you get it? From the first letter…I knew. I knew,” He repeats firmly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You grumble, your hand twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

A humorless laugh leaves his throat, “You’re the most unreal thing I’ve ever had. I thought— I was afraid you would slip through my fingers. That I’d wake up and you wouldn’t be there, that this is all a dream. I don’t get things like this. I don’t deserve you. I got lucky. I’ve been waiting for you to disappear, can you believe that, cariño?”

“That could never be true. Walking away isn’t an option for me, trust me, I’ve tried to free myself from the torment that is having feelings for you.”

“Sweetheart—“

You cut him off, seeing the disbelief in his eyes, “It’s not, Santiago. It’s not, there is nothing more that I could ever want more than you. I want you so much that I can’t breathe.”

“Then I’m yours. All of me, for you.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“Believe it,” He implores, cupping both of your cheeks and pulling you closer. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation but then he stops, his mouth brushing against your cheeks as he begs for you, Let me kiss you. Please, I’ve wanted it for so fucking long, querida, let me?”

“Yes,” You breathe, trembling against him. He smells divine, like fresh linen, a soft summer breeze, and something uniquely Santi.

You allow yourself to get lost in it, to get lost in him for the first time because it’s safe. He’s right here, getting lost with you.

He presses his mouth to yours and groans, gripping your face so tightly that his hands ache. He forces himself to take a step back and let you go, chest heaving as his eyes roam your face for any evidence of discomfort.

“W-why’d you stop?” You ask the whine evident in your voice despite its breathy tone.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, kiss me again, Santi. Right now,” You demand as you bury a hand in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

When Santi leans in once more to kiss you, you meet him eagerly, capturing his lips in a bold move that only he could elicit from you. He falters for a moment, still in shock that this is happening before he matches your passion, one arm curling around your waist while his other hand cups the back of your head so that he can dip you.

You smile into the kiss, gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter on instinct as he tips you back. It's impossible to not know that Santi’s a charmer and flirt even upon first meeting him, but this is different. You can feel the way he forces himself to be delicate with you despite his hunger. All of this is as painstakingly romantic as it is cheesy, something you’d never expected despite knowing him so well.

He breaks the kiss when he feels you clutching him, nuzzling his nose against yours as he whispers, “I won’t drop you.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that his words are true. Through everything, Santi has only ever done his best to take care of you, he’s shown up for you as much as you would let him. Now that you both have been honest with each other his devotion to you will only grow sweeter and deeper.

You grin up at him, closing the small space between you to press the tenderest kiss to his mouth, “I know.”

And while the food and dessert he prepared for you was delicious, the gesture wholeheartedly appreciated, nothing is better than the way he’s nestled in between your legs with his mouth on yours right now.

“Jonathan,” You gasp into his mouth, fingers tangled into his messy curls.

“So proud of you, sweet girl. Can I show you?” He murmurs between kisses, starting a path down your jaw and neck.

As soon as you say yes, he works fast, getting your underwear down to your ankles and pushing up your skirt before his hands fall to his own pants and boxers.

The heavy make out session has you extremely wet, and when Jonathan works himself free, he slides in to the hilt with no protest from you or your body. Both of you moan, deep and filthy, the sound echoing through the other’s mouths. Sex with Jonathan has its shades, it can be rough and frantic, deliberate and controlled.

But today— it’s sweet.

Syrupy slow thrusts, tender caresses of skin, he takes you in a way that feels like worship. Every brush of his skin against yours, every thrust, the feel of his mouth, all are like soothing water quenching your thirst. Your hands are still in his hair, running through the curls, keeping his mouth desperately close to yours.

Jonathan looks down at you, taking in your soft, hazy beauty and realizes there’s not a day he wants to go without you. He’s been here before and gotten his heart crushed, but he knows you, truly knows you and sees nothing but love reflected in your eyes.

He kisses you hungrily before pulling away, “Stay here. Just stay. Be with me and Ava always.”

“Yes,” You breathe with no hesitation, legs tightening around his waist as you rise to the precipice of your orgasm.

His release hits him all at once, no steady build for him to warn you of and he captures your lips once more, continuing to move his hips, wanting you to fall over the edge with him. He’d stay between your legs forever, fucking himself into you until his entire body buzzed with overstimulation, if it meant you were able to cum.

Your body takes it easy on him, and with just a few more deep thrusts, you join him, white-hot pleasure singing through every thread of your makeup.

There are no words, not yet, and so the both of you hold the other close, letting your hands roam and say all the words you’re too fucked out to say.

Suspended in the quiet of Jonathan’s backyard, wrapped in his arms, this feels like home.

He claims it’s because it wasn’t supposed to happen until you, that no one he’s ever met is like you. Before this, he never felt safe enough, loved enough, or strong enough to be so unapologetic about his feelings. No matter how many missions went successfully, how many takedowns or hit targets, nothing’s made him feel as secure as the love for him that glitters in your eyes. You render all of his training useless— the sight of you makes his knees go weak and his heart flutter like a lovesick teenager.

You turn Santi to mush from the moment he sees you. All that logic goes out the window when Will and Benny introduce you to him. He’s used to thinking with his dick and his brain respectively, never his heart. When he meets a woman he turns the charm up to the nth degree, flashes that perfect smile of his while he trails his eyes over every curve of her body.

But when your hand slips into his, soft and warm, your smile brighter than the sun, he can hardly think. You murmur your name to him gently, and give his hand a firm shake. Will and Benny introduce him as Pope, along with another friend named Frankie.

His heart beats fast in his chest, his mouth cottony as he forms his reply, “Santiago. Or Santi.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Santiago,” Your mouth caresses his name in a way that makes his hands tremble, and do you notice. You make a note to yourself to always call him that.

That night you make him dance. Not his usual completely uninvested sidestep, the known ritual before he takes a woman home to the real show. He’s wrapped around your finger, literally and figuratively, his body tight and hot against yours on the crowded dance floor. You’ve got your hands fisted in his greying curls, his hips follow yours, mirroring your every move. When you look up at him his eyes are glazed over, completely absorbed in you. He would lay the world at your feet right now, and plans on doing so for as long as you’ll let him.

The moment you lean in and kiss him he’s woefully unprepared, frozen into place as you patiently coax his mouth open. He feels like a fucking idiot— you’re kissing him and he’s just standing here, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights as you open him up. Then you slip your tongue into his mouth and switch flips in his brain. He’s kissing you back, messy and wet, his hands finding your hip and the nape of your neck to pull you closer.

Benny, Will, and Frankie stand on the sidelines, all too entertained with the sight of Pope like this to look for dance partners of their own. Nursing beers and talking crap, taking in every detail so they know every little way to give Santi shit at a later date. And while they all know they’ll joke around, there’s an unspoken feeling that spreads around the table— it’s good to see him like this. Carefree, relaxed, not haunted by all the shit they’ve seen and done. Momentarily free of the guilt and grief. But they focus on the lighter things, a crowded bar isn’t the place to begin unpacking their baggage.

Frankie leans in closer to Benny and Will, shouting over the bass music that thrums through the foundation of the bar, “Where the hell did you meet her?”

“Family friend!” Will calls back, though his eyes don’t leave the two of you on the dance floor.

“She’s got him in a puddle,” Frankie nudges Benny with his shoulder, grinning when he sees that the man is pouting. “And neither of you tried?”

“I did,” Benny replies begrudgingly, “but apparently I’m not enough to handle.”

Frankie and Will try to hold in their laughs, the first man masking his with a cough. Benny throws him a glare, pushing him on the chest.

“You’re plenty to handle in your own way, Benny,” Will assured him.

“She tamed the lion,” Frankie’s in awe of you, his eyes drifting back to where you and Santi are glued together.

You lean to get close enough to whisper in his ear, “Do you…wanna come back to my place?”

A chill runs through him at the unspoken promise your question holds. He shifts, and gets his lips close enough to whisper back not wanting to burst your bubble, “Is that what you want?”

“Mhmm.”

“Whatever you want is what I want,” He murmurs softly, a hint of wonder in his voice.

That’s how the beginning of your relationship unfolds— how Santi ends up being needed in a way he’s never been before. And even though he has no experience in being the perfect partner, in being a partner at all, he’s nothing if not competent, striving to be everything you could need and more. Disappointing you isn’t an option. Being the second best at loving you isn’t an option. He’ll do right by you, on his own terms, at any cost. Even his love for you has a code of ethics he’s created.

It’s that principle that lands you in his lap months later when you’re stuck in bed with the flu.

“You’re going to get sick, Santiago,” You try to lean away when he dips his head for a kiss, but he gets his hand around the base of your throat, and holds you firm while he licks into your mouth. If you weren’t sick this would be ending a hell of a lot differently.

He pulls away, giving you his usual smirk, “I have the immune system of a thousand men. I’m only worried about you.”

“I’m already sick, there’s nothing you can do.”

He looks a little offended by your words, and while you know he hates being told he can’t do things you didn’t know it would apply to this, “There’s plenty I can do, starting with warming you up, you’re fucking freezing cariño.” His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush to his chest.

It’s days of that, bundling up together because your skin is cold as ice, just to wake up hours later hot as a furnace. Santi doesn’t complain once, just unwraps the both of you, and puts an ice pack on your forehead to cool you down. He creates a regime for you, and no matter how tired you are or how much you want to sleep he makes you stick to it. He’s gone over the labels on all the medication, knows which ones you can mix and which ones you have to take in the morning or at night. He plies you with various types of tea, some for congestion, some for aches and pains, others just because he’ll know you’ll like the taste and you need to stay hydrated. His fingers burn as he grips the bowl he feeds you soup from.

While he’s optimistic, your symptoms start to weigh on your mental state, and when he comes back with your tea and soup one afternoon he finds you curled up in bed, a crying heap. He sets the tray he’s carrying down on your dresser before crossing the room and getting in bed with you. He gets his hands on either side of your head and starts kissing away the tears that are streaming down your face. It's unbearable, seeing you like this.

“Hush, baby, it's okay. You’re okay. Hey, you’re my strong girl right?”

You sniffle, wiping your nose haphazardly with a nod, “Yes, but I’m tired, Santiago.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “I know, baby, but you should take a turn for the better in a few days. I called the doctor and she said you're almost there.”

“I want to be there now,” You almost whine, and he nods against you, gives you another encouraging kiss.

“Soon, cariño, I promise. Are you hungry?” You shake your head. He tries again, “Thirsty?”

Another negative.

“How about a bath, does that sound nice?”

“That sounds amazing,” You flash him a smile he hasn’t seen in days.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, gauging if it’s alright to leave you alone. And though your face is tear stained, your eyes look lighter and softer than they did when he’d returned to you. You bump your nose against his, murmuring that you’re fine and it’s okay. It takes him no time to get the bath full of piping hot water, just how the two of you prefer. The water’s soaping and fragrant, the perfect mix of lavender and vanilla.

When he comes back to get you, he’s just in his boxers. You try to protest when he goes to scoop you up, knowing that this isn’t good for his knees or his back, but he shushes you, and carries you to the bath with what seems like little effort. Clothing is on the floor in just seconds, and you aren’t sure how, but he lowers you both into the bath no problem, not even a splash or wave in the water.

The warmth of the water soothes your sore muscles immediately, and you even get hints of the aromatic oil through your congested sinuses. A relieved sign stirs in your chest, you feel the best you have in days, though the sickness is still definitely with you.

“Comfortable?” He asks softly, his hands kneading the flesh of your neck.

“Yeah, nice and warm,” You hum in response, sinking further into the water as your eyes flutter shut.

“I love you baby, get some rest.”

“I love you, Santiago,” You murmur sleepily, leaning your head back against his chest.

There’s nothing like the sound of his name in your mouth, it’s a comfort he’ll always covet. As he holds you close he sinks into the unfamiliar feeling of being home, one he only gets with you.

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