#bernthal blessed

Before, whenever he’d been in the vicinity, Frank had simply walked into your café and chatted with you over one of your delicious coffees and pastries. He’d done that for months, even before you had realized who that recurring customer, Pete Castiglione, was, and he’d continued to do so after your friendship had turned physical. Something he’d berated himself for over and over again, even now, despite coming back to you every time. From the very start, you had refused to push him away, refused to let him push you away. And you still refuse to do so, no matter how much or how often he’s tried to warn you about who he is. However, through it all, Frank can’t help but feel grateful for how easily you have accepted him. How you’ve always called him out on his behavior but made it easy for him by always welcoming him back into your life, no questions asked, and never pushing for something that he couldn’t give. 

But that’s the problem. You’ve made it too easy. Too easy to fall.

Frank hadn’t noticed it happening. He hadn’t even thought—no, he had been certain—that he’d never feel something akin to love again. Wouldn’t even have wanted it to happen if he’d thought it to be possible. But then the storm happened a few months ago, the organ trafficking, coming to your place when he hadn’t been in the right state of mind, his feet carrying him up to your apartment on autopilot. He’d used your place as a safe house regularly, at your own request and despite his initial reservations about it. He’s tried to convince himself afterward, after you’d taken care of him, after you’d slept together for the first time, that he’d only come to you because he’d been used to crashing at your place. However, he’d still known after that night. He’d come back again and again afterward, without any danger in sight. And while you’ve had sex every time he’s been over after that night, Frank has had to admit to himself that he's been coming back just to be with you. 

Nevertheless, while he has finally accepted his feelings for you, that’s as far as he’s willing to take this. Because if there’s one thing that he’s more afraid of than his own feelings, then it’s yours. Unlike Frank, your feelings don’t seem to have crossed that very fine line yet, and he can’t allow for that to change. You’re already too involved, already know too much, but you don't—can't—know everything. And if he lets you in even more, lets you get closer, you will come to realize how deep you’re already in. That’s why, for your sake more than anything, he’s begun to pull away from you. There’s simply no future for the two of you, and Frank can’t let you entertain thoughts of this kind. A friendship, if even that, is the only thing possible, the only thing he can allow himself. 

Thankfully, his current mission, which he’s been working on for the past few months, is the perfect excuse to finally take his distance from you. But of course, because he can’t seem to say no to you, Frank did promise that whenever he’s back in town, he would come to see you. A promise that he has honored. Until recently. After coming back from a nearly three-week out-of-town trip this time, over a week has gone by since he’s been back, and he has neither contacted you nor walked inside the café. 

At least, he has mostly stayed away. As in that you haven’t seen him. After several days of being back in the city, Frank had caved and not been able to resist the need to catch a glimpse of you. That’s how, for the last three afternoons, he’s been standing in that spot across the street for hours on end. He only left whenever you did, fighting the urge every step of the way to walk up to you and see your face light up at the sight of him. He’s resisted every time and walked back to his place. 

Until tonight.

He doesn’t remember consciously crossing the street, but the need to do more than just watch you had clearly triggered his body into moving on its own. And hearing your voice only strengthened that desire. In his mind, he knows that he should walk away, but he can’t. Not now that he’s so close again. All he wants is to be near you, to be with you. Needs—craves—to feel you in every possible way. 

Frank goes completely still when Sandra calls out a goodbye to you as she heads out of the door, but she walks past Frank’s hiding spot without noticing him. As his eyes move from her and back to the door, he knows that this time, you’re the only person left. 

Resolve cracking entirely, Frank moves out of the shadows. He knows that the door will still be unlocked. In truth, he hates that you leave it unlocked after closing time and that anyone could just walk in. He hates it even more because he knows that it’s for him. You’d done so from the start, leaving the door unlocked for whenever he could spare a moment or just wanted to see you. Even now, you still expect him to show up at some point.

Standing before the door, he wonders what you would do if he walked in right now. What would you do if he…

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You whip around at the sound of Frank’s voice as he pushes the door open. The bright smile that illuminates your whole face when you see him feels like a gut punch, but the need to touch you only grows sharper. 

“Frank,” you exclaim, walking around the kitchen island to meet him for a tight hug. 

Frank’s eyes instantly close at the feeling of your body against his, your familiar scent surrounding him as he lowers his nose into your neck. His arms tighten around you as he groans in his chest. He’s missed this so much. Missed you.

“I missed you,” you sigh into the side of his face, your breath grazing his ear and echoing his thoughts.

A shiver runs through him at both the words and the brush of air against his ear. Then he’s moving again, reaching for your hair and fisting his hand in it to pull your head back. He barely has the time to see your stunned expression before he’s crushing his mouth against yours. You make a sound of surprise, but you don’t pull away. You never do. Instead, you grab at his hoodie and open your mouth to his insistent tongue. This only makes him want more; your easy abandon makes him want to push for more. With the same hand still in your hair, Frank creates the smallest of gaps between your bodies, just enough for him to grab you by the arms and turn you around. You have fooled around in this kitchen, and Frank can still remember how beautiful you’d looked, remember the way you’d come on his fingers, but tonight, he needs more than just that. For a moment, Frank wonders if you’re going to stop him; he can feel the surprise in your body as well as hear it in your sharp intake of breath after he roughly turns you around. Again, Frank pushes your boundaries to see your reaction as he slides his fingers around your nape, his thumb at your rapidly beating pulse point. However, you don’t show any resistance whatsoever when his fingers squeeze lightly and exert a pressure forward. You lean your upper body over the workstation without a word and cross your arms underneath your head. Normally, the both of you are more vocal, more playful. You’ve never hesitated to egg Frank on and have enjoyed making him snap in the best of ways. But tonight, you’re as quiet as him, and your silent agreement, as always never asking for anything more than he is willing to give, has Frank’s heart racing and his cock hardening. Breathing harshly through his nose, Frank takes a brief second to rake his eyes over your body before he pushes up your top and reaches for your pants to quickly undo them. Without a word, you change your stance to make it easier for him to pull them down your thighs, and soon, you are exposed to his ravenous gaze. You’re gorgeous like this, all spread out for him and waiting for him to take the next step. Unable to wait a second longer, Frank unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans before hastily taking himself out. He spits into his palm before wrapping it around his dick, slicking it as best as possible. He’s too needy to wait and add any form of foreplay, but he doesn’t want to hurt you either. When he moves all the way against you and sets his free hand into the middle of your back, he touches the tip of his cock to your entrance and presses forward. You gasp and then groan when Frank breaches you, but to Frank’s relief, the sound is only composed of pleasure. As it is, Frank utters his own long grunt at how hot and tight you feel around him, the position of your legs, which are almost completely closed, creating the perfect friction. A shiver runs down his spine at how good this feels, finally being able to touch you again, be inside you, and hear your little sounds of pleasure. Driven by his need, Frank grabs for your hips and starts moving. He doesn’t take it slow; he can’t. All he can do, all he wants, is to hear you, feel you, more and more of it. He needs to take this because this might be—should be—the last time. He shouldn’t even be in here in the first place, so he needs to take as much as he can, as you’re willing to give. Your cries and moans of pleasure spur him on, and fuck, he wants to see your face, see your eyes, but he can’t allow that. Because he can’t let you see what’s really driving him tonight. Instead, he listens, follows the sounds you make, the sounds that he knows so well by now that he can tell when you’re getting close. Then, in this unspoken moment, in this silence broken only by the sounds of your mutual pleasure, you suddenly cry out his name. Your fingers curl around the edge of the countertop as you come, your head hanging low, but his name still rings loud and clear through the kitchen. 

That’s what triggers Frank’s orgasm. Not the feeling of your walls clenching around him or the sounds you're making, but his name falling from your lips. He lets out a sharp gasp, his hips locking against yours as he comes inside you, and lowers his head until he’s leaning over you and touching your shoulder with his forehead. Neither of you moves or says anything as you let your hearts calm down, but you hum softly when Frank brushes his lips against your nape. After allowing himself another minute of this proximity, Frank straightens and slowly pulls out of you. His eyes lower to where his cum is starting to slip out, and he feels a sick measure of satisfaction at the sight. He shakes his head, forcing the emotion away, but you’re taking the sight away anyway since you’re turning to face him and pulling your pants back up. You’re tilting your head at him with a small smile, but Frank can see the question in your eyes. What just happened isn’t normal behavior for Frank. He has acted erratically around you, has been in a dangerous state of mind, and has fucked you to cope with a traumatic event, but he has never acted like tonight. Not so silent and almost removed. Yet, like always, you’re waiting for him to do or say something. Always so patient when needed. After a moment, your smile turns softer, and you take the few steps needed to be in front of him. You’re so damn beautiful it hurts. One of your hands lifts for his jaw, slowly, while your mouth parts as you start to speak. 

“Mark, hi.”

Frank startles at the name and blinks back to reality. Blinks back to the shadows of the alley.

In the end, he never walked inside. He's still hiding between the fire escape ladder and the dumpsters, exactly where he’d been when Sandra left. 

Mark is there, though, standing in the open doorway with a bright smile. 

“I saw the door was open so I figured I’d quickly say hi.” 

“I was just about to close, actually.” You appear in the doorway, smiling widely at Mark as he takes a step back to let you walk outside. 

Something inside Frank shatters as he finally sees you, your happy expression making your face shine as he watches you interact with Mark. Mark, who makes you smile and laugh. Mark, who Frank knows is a great guy from seeing him around you and his reputation around town. Mark, who’s clearly interested in you. That man would let you shine. Not like Frank. Frank would only tarnish that shine until you’re as dull and broken as he is. Frank doesn’t deserve you. You deserve anything but him. You deserve something that Frank can never give you. And that, as he watches you easily laugh with Mark, he has to accept. There’s no love left for him. He’s undeserving of it. Especially yours. 

“You’re heading back to the restaurant?” 

“Yup, wanna grab a bite?”

“Thanks, but not tonight. Paperwork's waiting for me,” you sigh with a little laugh. 

“Fun,” Mark deadpans, making you snort. 

“If anyone gets that, it’s you,” you grin before turning around and locking up. 

Mark groans dejectedly and rubs over his head. “Tell me about it.”

In the darkness, Frank grits his teeth, loathing himself for how much he wants to burst out of his spot and grab you away from the other man. It’s a nightmare to watch you like this. 

“What’s on the menu tonight, by the way?” you ask as you begin making your way up the alley and back to the main street, walking past Frank as you do so. “So I know what I’m missing out—”

Frank holds his breath as you suddenly stop talking mid-stride and turn back, your face just illuminated enough to see your expression. You’re looking into the dark alley with a curious frown, your eyes landing not far from where Frank has become one with the shadows. 

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you mumble in the end. “I just thought I saw something.”

Once you make it out on the street and vanish around the corner, Frank slowly steps out from his hiding place. With the hood still over his head, Frank approaches the street and watches you walk with Mark, still chatting animatedly. He doesn’t follow you, though. Not anymore. 

It was time to let you go for good.

"Fuck, Brax!"

Braxton's heavy balls are slapping against your thighs, jolting you forward with each stroke. The idea of him being so fucking full, so needy for his release in your cunt, is bringing out your feral side. Hooking your ankles behind his ass, you drag him closer, as much as you can be closer to someone fucking out your brains anyway.

He gives you a cocky grin, his slick-shiny tongue sticking out between his teeth. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

Rolling your eyes at him, you start digging your nails into his shoulders experimentally. Not everyone's into it. You didn't even know you were or you wouldn't have gone with the stiletto manicure.

The effect is instant, and beyond anything you could have imagined.

The groan ripped from his throat travels through his chest into your skin, setting all your nerve endings on fire. Bucking up into your nails, he tries his best to keep the rhythm of his hips going, but he's failing spectacularly. He's trembling against you like a live wire, a dragon chomping at the bit, wanting to take flight. All you need to do is give him a tiny nudge in the right direction.

Part of you wonders if this is the right choice, but your lizard brain is winning this one. Love me till it hurts.

You bear down onto his shoulder blades, your nails leaving tiny marks behind. Braxton muffles the scream tearing apart his throat against your shoulder, hot, humid puffs burning your skin.

Your can't bring yourself to scratch down his back, but you thread your fingers through his hair, yanking with authoritative sharpness.

"You gonna fuck me now, Brax? You gonna be good, huh?"

The whimper against your chest breaks your heart. Fuck, you shouldn't have said that. Brax needs reassurance, not criticism, and-

He's off like a rocket, his hips snapping forward over and over. Folded in half against his chest, you can feel each stroke of his thick cock right against your swollen clit.

"Good boy," you whisper as you yank him right up to your face. "You're my good boy, Brax."

His dark eyes are unreadable in the twilight of the early morning hours, but something complicated passes through them, the kind of emotion that has too many layers to explain easily. Exploding into action seems easier for him. It's for you, too. Don't need to talk everything to death, right?

You kiss the sadness from his lips, tasting his sweat and your cream until your eyes roll back into your skull. Brax rocks impossibly deeper into the cradle of your hips, like he's trying to slip inside of you, shape you both into a symbiosis of pleasure.

With the next snap of his hips, he slides deeper into you than he's ever been, than you'd thought was possible for anyone to be.

You can't be sure, but you swear you can see the faint outline of his dick under your belly, and that- you just don't know what to do with such a mindblowingly hot image other than to scream his name, over and over, until your voice gives out.

When you finally come, you rally and scream into the darkness, not caring who hears. Brax bites down on his fist.

The worst part about your morning routine, other than wakefulness itself, is doing your makeup. It feels like slipping on a mask, something to hide behind, something to cover up your beastly nature.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see Brax snuggled up in the comforter, his face softened by the light coming through the bathroom door. When he's awake, he's a whirlwind of motion, hands flurrying, feet stepping.

Never stand still, never stop all that manic energy bursting through every single pore on your body, Brax.

You turn back to the mirror, finishing your winged eyeliner with a slightly larger flourish than is advisable for an office job. It makes you look like a fucking warrior queen, the kind whose merciless gaze makes her enemies quiver in fear. If you need to play by their rules, if you need to be tame and sweet and domesticated, at least you can get away with this.

Having finished the mask, you strap yourself in the straight jacket of your Spanx, your sheath dress. Tasteful jewelry, heels, and you're ready for another day at the office, another day you're chained to a desk when you'd rather be chained to Brax.

Leaning down impulsively, you kiss his cheek, feeling his stubble drag through your lipstick - something real through layers of civilization.

Braxton wakes at around 11, his stomach feeling like a black hole, the kind that sucks in everything and feels satisfied with nothing.

Turning onto his back, he stretches out his legs blissfully. Feels good to have enough space after an endless series of flights. It's perfect with the exception of the grooves in his back, dug by sharp little nails the night before. That was... something else. You're never boring in bed, but you were like a woman possessed, like you were trying to scratch his pleasure out of him, take it by force if he wasn't going to offer it up willingly.

Fuck. He loves a good ride like that. Speaking of which, maybe that's what you're going to do tonight. You could ride him - take what you want and maybe give him some matching marks on his chest.

Humming under his breath, he wanders into the kitchen (butt naked, of course), and grabs the first thing he sees - a box of Cheez-Its. Perfect. Dad never let him have that kinda shit food growing up, but he sure as fuck is going to have it now that he gets to make the choice. He's kind of a shit cook, but he's gonna throw something together for dinner later, surprise you.

You have another two days before he needs to be at his next job, and he's gonna make them count.

He chokes on the first fistful of crackers, hacking like a cat throwing up a hair ball. Shit, he's getting sloppy, killing himself with a cracker. Christian would be appalled if he knew about this.

But then he can't stop coughing, no matter how much water he guzzles, and he's thinking, maybe this is something else entirely.