"Drink some more water."

"If I drink any more I'm gonna piss my pants," you grumble.

Hilary is there at your shoulder, shaking her head at you. She arrived five minutes ago smelling of cigarette smoke and mint gum. Frankie didn't re-join her in the room and you're too embarrassed to ask why. 

“So can I leave?”

"Doctor just told me you have to be here overnight for observation," she sighs, sinking into the chair next to the bed.

"Fuck."

You're in a hospital gown, propped up in bed with a cup of warm jello next to you. This whole day has been a barrage of nurses and doctors to take your vitals, blood, to give you stitches and x-rays. 

"I don't need to stay here overnight," you croak. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You don't look fine."

"It's just a sprain."

"And a possible concussion."

Your shoulders lower. "I'm sorry, Hil. As if you didn't have enough to worry about with Mom." 

Hilary gives you a rueful looks, shrugging. "I like an interesting life. Besides, Mom is fine. She was just sleeping when I left." 

You nod guilt and fatigue fighting a battle within your body. You lower the back of the bed slightly, sighing. 

"I can't believe some asshole blasted through a stop sign," she says before she clicks her tongue.  

"I don't have the best luck," you say blinking up at the ceiling. 

You can feel your sister's eyes on you, the sound of gum snapping against her teeth. 

"Did you get to tell Frankie everything or...?" She trails off.  

You shake your head. "No time."

"But you're gonna, right?"

You exhale slowly, thinking about it.

A part is terrified that maybe Frankie is seeing someone, or at least interested in someone else. That lipstick tube you found at his place still rattles around in your head.  There’s also the chance that if you tell Frankie how you really feel about him, that he'll reject you outright. Any relationship or friendship the two of you were embarking on will be decimated. 

And yet…

"Yes." 

 “What exactly are you hoping to get out of it? A relationship?”

There's a part of you that worries this confession will be a selfish act. That it will drudge up bad memories for Frankie. But you know he deserves the honesty, the clarification. He’s owed that much even if it ends with him banishing you from his life.

“Whatever he wants,” you say. “But mostly, I think I just want to apologize to him. He deserves that much.”

You watch as Hilary picks at her ragged nails with the chipped black polish.

"Did you ever think of reaching out to Frankie before? Like, in the years you weren't talking?"

You think back to the intervening years. To the times between bouts of hurt and sadness. To the moments when you craved being back in his arms and in his life. 

"Yeah." 

She looks up at you, eyes red rimmed and exhausted looking. "Why didn't you?" 

"I was too afraid." 

"Yeah. That's what I figured."  She seems more contemplative than usual and you're about to ask if she's alright when she jerks her chin up. "Justin called when I was heading over here." 

You push yourself up in the bed, stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Is this the first time he's called?"

"It's the first time I've answered." Hilary shifts in her seat, legs crossing. "He wants me to give us another shot," she mutters. 

"What did you tell him?"

"That I was open to it," she says, eyes stuck on the ragged edge of her nail. "That I missed him." 

You try not to look too hopeful. "What changed your mind?" 

Hilary glances at the door, as if she is expecting to be interrupted. A beat passes before she worries her bottom lip with her teeth. 

"I see how much you and Frankie care for each other even after all this time," she offers. "Even after the misunderstanding and the hurt." 

You're quiet, eyes bouncing between hers when she lifts her gaze your way. 

"It made me miss Justin."  

This is a new Hilary sitting next to you bed. The bricked wall behind her stare is lowered, her eyes shiny. You've never seen this reaction in her and it warms your entire body to see it. 

"Because you love him," you grin. 

She slumps back against the chair, arms crossing as she rolls her eyes aggressively at you. But there's a small tug to one side of her mouth. 

"Stop being so fucking annoying."

The two of you giggle gently before a calm silence settles. Beeps from machines and far off cries from other patients are heard faintly.

"Are you going to give him another shot?" 

Hilary shrugs. "Maybe."

She stays until the doctor comes in to give his overview, and as she leaves you inwardly beam, soul lightening at the realization that while Hilary has been coming to rescue you, maybe you've been able to impact her in some small way. 

THEN

"I miss her," Hilary murmurs, eyes half closed on a warm August night. She and Santi sit on her front porch, iced tea sweating in mason jars between their thighs, a cigarette smoldering in an old glass ashtray. 

"Me too." 

Santi is back before being deployed to a part of South America he can't tell anyone about. He and his team are after some big drug kingpin. 

But right now as he sits beside his cousin, Hilary feels like they're kids again. It reminds her of secretly smoking cigarettes at the baseball field after school; shitty ones Santi stole from his father's room. 

"I mean, even though she annoyed the shit out of me, the house just feels wrong without her," Hilary sighs. "Mom's always wasted and I should move out but rent is so high everywhere and ..."

Hilary draws her legs up to her chest, propping her chin on her knees and exhaling through her nose. Santi looks her way when she trails off. He's always been a good listener and in the years without you being at home, he and Hilary have grown a bit closer. 

"I don't know what I'm doing, Santi," she says quietly rubbing at her eyes with her knuckles. "I feel like I keep fucking up."

He shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Hil-"

"The most lucrative thing I've done in the past five years is have a slip and fall case at Walmart that paid out."

Santi is quiet, watching her carefully. Hilary isn't like you, she doesn't enjoy affection. She's a cat personified; only interested if you ignore her. 

"I mean, I haven't even been in a functional relationship. Just one night stands or tindr." 

Santiago shrugs. "That's pretty normal." 

"For you" she says snidely. 

With anyone else she'd have to edit herself, but Santi isn't easily offended. He just smirks, chuckling a bit to himself. 

"I'm so proud of my sister starting her life over there, but sometimes it just reminds me that I'm a huge loser."

"You're not-"

"Santi, c'mon," she says through a puff of smoke. "Look at my life. I'm not exactly enviable." 

"From where I stand you're gorgeous, smart as hell, devoted to the people you love -'

"It doesn't matter," Hilary interrupts, wrinkling her nose. "Love. Stability. That kind of shit is for someone else. My sister, maybe. Not for me."

Santi leans back in his chair, eyes distant. 

"Ever thought of talking to Pip about all this?"

"No," Hilary replies. "Never." 

Hilary brings out another cigarette, puffing away thoughtfully as her cousin looks onto their empty street. He twists his neck to scan her closed body language.

"We're not the kids we were, Hilary," he says. "You can change your future." 

"Easy for you to say," Hilary scoffs, taking another puff. "Golden boy Garcia. Everyone in town talks about the big fancy job you have. How you're out there making a difference in the world." 

He has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, face pinking slightly at the cheekbones. 

"Plus Frankie flying all over, now. Where is he these days? Still in Argentina?"

"As far as I know."

Hilary just sighs, shaking her head slightly. She can't imagine a world in which she has that sort of freedom. She isn't sure she even wants it. Maybe it's just the security she craves. 

"You ever hear from him?" Santi asks, taking the cigarette and stealing a puff before handing it back her way. 

"Frankie? No. Not unless he's in town. Sometimes he'll drop by for a beer but..." She trails off, shrugging.  

"He ever talk to you about your sister?" 

Hilary's attention which had been divided between her cousin and her thoughts now focuses in on his words.  "No. Why?" 

"I think he's in love with her." 

Santi shuffles his feet against the wood porch, the toe of his boots tapping as he considers. 

"I thought they had something going on back when they were younger," Hillary acknowledges with a nod. "But I don't think there's any love left on either side, now." 

"I don't know about that," Santiago offers, eyes hooded from fatigue. 

Hilary tilts her face his way, brows rising. 

"What do you mean?" 

He shifts from the seat, standing to go lean against the porch railing. He takes his time stretching before he swivels to face her, keeping his voice low. 

"We were deployed together a few years ago and Frankie was stabbed pretty bad."

"He mentioned that, yeah. They had to medi-vac him out of there."

Santi nods. "Yep. He was losing a lot of blood, and, honestly, I was really scared for him, Hil. I thought it was over for him. But all he kept saying over and over was your sister’s name. Even when we were helping get him out of the compound, all he kept saying was that he needed her." 

A thoughtful said silence settles between the two of them, iced distant as they both take in what this could mean. 

It's no secret that Hillary is aware something happened between Frankie and her sister. The feelings that Frankie wore on his sleeve that evening he came with flowers. She doesn't know what happened between her sister and Frankie, and their relationship isn't in a good enough place for her to reach out to her sister and ask. 

Santi leaves a short while later with a wave, promising he'll try to call more often. Hilary doesn't believe him, but she smiles and waves back anyway. 

Her mom is passed out, snoring in front of the television when she comes inside. An empty gin bottle is tucked between her hip and the cushion. A smoldering cigarette rests between her nicotine stained fingers. 

Hilary quickly plucks it, extinguishing it on the nearby ashtray.

"Time for bed, mom." 

Her mother makes no attempt to wake and Hilary gives a dark groan when she sees a large damp spot on the lap of her mother's pajama pants. The sharp stench of urine hits her nose and she recoils. 

"Christ." 

This has been happening at least a few times a year now and each time is humiliating. Her mother is too drunk, unable to be roused tonight and Hilary gives up with tears in her eyes. 

"Fuck this." 

She decides to check out the new pub that opened in town a few months ago. Apparently it has cheap drinks and plenty of pool tables. When she gets there it's only half full, mostly with tourists that wear fanny packs and sunburn painted noses. 

Her phone beeps as she heads to the bar. She pulls it out; internally sighing when she sees it's her boss at the hospital. 

Need you in for a double tomorrow. Start is at six.  I'll be there. 

She pockets her phone, eyes shutting as she lowers her head. Why does it feel like she'll never escape this life? This depressing, endless-

"Hi there." 

Hilary raises her eyes at the soft voice, meeting gazes with the man behind the bar. 

He has sandy brown hair and a thick beard. His eyes are a deep hazel, one slightly lighter in color than the other. He blinks before serving a shy smile her way. "What can I get you?" 

"Whatever's on tap." 

"Be right back." 

She shrugs off her jacket, her tight tank top pulled low. Several men walk by and she recognizes them as stoners she went to high school with. 

They wear clothing stained with paint and sawdust, their hands dirty from day labor. One of them winks when he passes - Danny.  

"Here you are." 

Hilary turns back and is struck that the handsome bartender looks at her face instead of her tits when he slides her drink across the glossy bartop.It makes her linger a bit longer there instead of snagging one of the empty booths. She takes a sip, eyes trained on him. The beer is shit, but she doesn't tell him. 

"Thanks." 

"Anything else I can get ya?" He asks her eagerly "Peanuts? Pretzels?"

"Sure. Pretzels." 

She watches him move to the other end of the bar, opening a new bag and pouring them into a small bowl. He brings it back to her proudly, like a cat with a dead mouse, and again his eyes don't stray from her face. 

"Here you are." 

"Thanks." 

She takes another sip of the soapy tasting beer, hiding a grimace. She finds she doesn't want him to move, she enjoys his calm disposition. 

"Where's your accent from?"

The man chuckles. "Oh shit, you can hear one?" 

"Yeah." 

"Canada. Nova Scotia."

Canada? Hillary doesn't know much about the country, but she knows that it's supposed to be cold. 

"Why'd you move here?”

"I wanted a change of scenery I suppose. The sun helps."

"And you chose the asshole of America?"

The man laughs and when he does Hilary observes that his nose crinkles in an incredibly endearing way. He's about to say something else when a group of tourists catch his attention, requesting some drink Hilary has never heard of. 

He moves over to them and Hilary rubs at her temples, head still pounding. After her talk with Santiago, her mom and that work text she's feeling very vulnerable, and irritated because of it. She hates this feeling of being exposed. 

She should just turn her phone off and let herself fully unwind. But she can't, fingers pinching it from her pocket as she begins to type hurriedly. 

Do you ever talk to Frankie?

Her sister doesn't respond right away. It's at least 3 minutes of nursing her beer until she sees her phone light up. 

No. 

Her sister isn't exactly loquacious over text, but she's definitely not normally this brusque. This is a no-star conversation. Hilary pockets her phone and throws back her beer. On tottering heels she moves from the stool and towards the bathroom. 

She looks at herself in the mirror, sees the smudged, eyeliner and the tired expression she wears. She wipes at her makeup, trying to look presentable. On her way out she brushes against a tall guy waiting for the men's room. His familiar cologne makes her tense up. 

Danny. 

He's got a new snake tattoo around his neck, and several markings along his knuckles but she'd know him anywhere. She gives a silent bid to the universe to go unnoticed by him. But of course he spots her when their shoulders graze; an oily grin spreading over his face. He eyes her slowly, like a predator finding prey. 

"Hey Hil. Long time no see." 

"Hey, Danny." 

She goes to move past him when he blocks her way. He smiles, body language open. 

"I didn't know you came here." 

"First time." She speaks sharply, to the point, eyes not meeting his. 

She wants him to know he's inconveniencing her but he's oblivious. Instead he gives her a wolfish grin. 

"The guys and I are heading to Lovett's place after the next game."

"Cool."

"You wanna join us?"

"I'm good thanks." 

"C'mon, Hil," he entreats, fingers attempting to slide up her bare arm. "Could be fun. It sure was last time." 

She slept with Danny and a friend a few years back during a Halloween party. When he suggested a threesome she was up for it, if only to keep the good vibes going. She was buzzed from the punch and good weed her friend Penny passed around. She regretted it the next morning, but the damage was done.

Now Danny stands there staring at her with a look that makes her flesh crawl. 

Hilary cringes, steering away from his touch. "No thanks, Danny." 

Again she attempts to move around him and again he blocks her. She clenches her teeth in frustration. 

"C'mon doll." He motions to the guys around the pool table who are watching the exchange. "My friends wanna meet you. I told em all about you." 

Hilary feels her stomach sink when he says that. She can only imagine the things he's told them about her, the details of their encounter. She sneaks a glance at the men gathered around the pool table. They're smirking at one another, chalking the ends of their pool sticks. 

"You don't have to put on the sweet and innocent routine for me," Danny croons, face nearing hers. "We both know how wet you get when you're double teamed." 

Shame heats her cheeks, humiliation causing her to remain rooted in place. 

"You looked so good that night," Danny whispers against her ear. "Like you were made to take two cocks at once." 

The scent of his cheap cologne mixing with the stale alcohol restarts her body. Her hands curl into fists as her eyes pierce his face and she speaks between gritted teeth. 

"When a guy's dick is small it makes it easier. And from what I recall, you weren't exactly packing." 

The amusement is gone from Danny's face and he backs off, an ugly sneer crossing his face. 

"Fucking slut."

This doesn't faze her. She's been called worse by better. Hilary just rolls her eyes, making her way back to the bar. 

"See you, micro-dick." 

He hisses something at her back, but she's already across the floor seating herself back on the bar stool

"You're back." 

The handsome bartender looks relieved when she settles back into her stool and motions to her empty pint glass. 

"Another one?"

"Sure." 

Why not. It's only $4. With enough of them maybe she'll get a good buzz. One that ensures she can forget her shitty life for a bit. 

Like mother like daughter. 

 Her heart pounds at the interaction with Danny, face warm when she hears the murmurs and ugly chuckles coming from the pool table.

The Canadian bartender brings her back another pint glass and stands looking at her for a moment too long. Like he’s trying to memorize it.

"You were gonna tell me why you picked Florida," Hilary prompts him, feeling the cool beer flood her mouth. 

He leans onto his forearm, a playful smirk on his face. "I kinda just threw a dart at a map." 

"You fucking didn't." 

He laughs, and his nose scrunches again. Hilary grins at the sight of it. 

"I did. I'm kind of a nomad. I like going from place to place."

"Sounds nice ... Kinda."

"Not a traveler?" He asks, starting to wipe down the nearby pint glasses. 

Hilary ponders this. If anything, she should want to travel the world, to move from place to place. But there's something about being settled in one spot that makes her feel safe. 

"I like being in one spot, I think." 

"Mhm." 

She watches as he continues to dry the pint glasses, a small little smile tugged to one corner of his mouth. He smells good, like fresh soap and clean laundry. 

"So you didn't follow some girlfriend out here then?" She says lightly, eyes tracing over his biceps. 

"Nope. No girlfriend. Haven't had one of those in years." He looks at her with seriousness. "How about you?"

"Nope, never had a girlfriend," she quips.

He laughs, a rich, echoing sound. "I meant boyfriend... Husband..." He trails off and Hilary is delighted to see his face flushing.

"Nope. Haven't had one of those in a long time either,” she murmurs before taking another long sip. This beer is weak. She'll need at least four to even hope for a trace of a buzz. 

The two share a small smile before several voices call over to him from the far end of the bar. 

"Yo, can we get some actual service?" 

"Shit. Sorry." 

He excuses himself with a look of regret before moving his way towards them. Hilary scratches at the coaster under her glass and looks at her phone as it beeps. She sighs when she sees her sister's text. 

Why are you asking me about Frankie?  No reason. Santi brought him up and it made me think of you.  Ok.  How's Mom?

This is usually the topic of conversation Hilary and her sister dance around. Pip likes to check in over text, and Hillary thinks it's because it makes her feel as if she's doing her daughterly duty. 

She's fine. Same as always. You? Got a new apartment. Two bedrooms and a view of the needle.

Hilary reads the question she'll never ask; if she'll be in the neighborhood. Two bedrooms means a guest room for visitors. 

Thoughts of going to Pip's Seattle home and seeing everything that Hilary could never hope to accomplish doesn't sit well with her. 

Hilary stares at the message for several moments before she heads outside for a smoke. She needs to clear her head. 

The rough brick bites into her jeans as she leans against the building, lighting her cigarette and looking into the parking lot.She looks at the message from her sister again before she pops the cigarette into the corner of her mouth, texting back quickly. 

Cool. 

She watches a couple moving from the pub towards the car. They laugh together, their bodies close, arms tangled. She feels a strange pain of longing, not for the sex they'll inevitably have, but for the closeness, the ability to be with another person and feel completely safe. 

"Can I bum one?" 

Hilary looks over her shoulder to see the Canadian bartender headed her way, hands in his jean pockets. 

"Don't you have to work?"

"I'm on break." 

Hilary digs into her purse, producing a cigarette and her lighter, handing it his way. He takes them with thanks, popping the cigarette into his mouth and lighting it. The end flares orange in the darkness. 

"Don't worry I wasn't running out on my tab," she murmurs, scanning his large forearms covertly as he returns her lighter. 

He removes the cigarette and blows a tendril of smoke away from her. 

"Already settled." 

Hilary stiffens, eyes casting to the front door of the pub where inside guys like Danny and his friends are playing pool. Undoubtedly he did it to fuck with her.  

"I'll pay it myself. You can refund him." 

"Him?"

She tilts her head in the direction of the pub with a scowl. "The guy with the neck tattoo." 

"He didn't pay for your drinks." 

"Who did?" 

The man swallows, voice a little quieter. "Uh, I did." 

She narrows her eyes. "Why would you do that?" 

He continues twisting his cigarette. "Dunno. Felt like it." 

Hilary doesn't like stuff like this: men who pay to play. Ones who think that once the drinks are bought she owes them something in return. 

"I'm not going to fuck you just because you bought me some shitty beer," Hilary snaps, exhausted from the day, from her life, from gross men. "I'm not some whore-"

"Whoa, whoa," the man replies, hands held up, palms facing her. "That is not... That's not what that was." 

"What was it then?" 

"You just seemed like you were having a hard night," the guy shrugs. "Guess I wanted to cheer you up." He pauses, blinking slowly as Hilary stares at him. "You really think our beer is shitty?" 

A soft, surprised huff escapes her at the question and the man seems delighted by her response. Her anger ebbs in the face of his levity, her shoulders lowering.

"What's your name?" She asks after a beat.

"Justin. Nice to meet you," he says, extending his hand to shake hers. She stares at it a moment before moving towards him. 

His brows rise when her fingers move to grip the back of his neck, dragging his mouth to hers and kissing him fiercely. His hands rest respectfully on her hips, a small gasp escaping him when she begins licking into his mouth. The sound thrills her. 

He tastes like Guinness, that sweet rich chocolate aftertaste making her heady. And when she pulls back from him, he's staring at her with a dazed, half smile as if he's drunk on her. 

She grins up at him, feeling her heart trip. 

"I'm Hilary." 

The following morning the doctor confirms that you don't have a concussion; the wound on your head is healing just fine and you can be discharged as soon as you’re dressed. As you’re leaving he hands you a prescription for painkillers and tells you that you're good to get back to life.

That's exactly what you plan on doing. 

You feel lucky in so many ways. That crash could have ended much worse. That is the thought which takes your breath away. You could have gone to the grave never letting Frankie know the truth. Never letting him know you never stopped loving him.

When you return home via cab the first thing you do is throw yourself into the shower and scrub every inch of hospital air off of you. 

Shortly after, with Rosalita at your side, you kiss your mother's weathered brow, looking at her serene face as she rests in bed. The sunlight is streaming over her face, casting her in a warm marigold glow. 

Rosalita’s weathered hands come to rub at your back in soothing circles. “I am so glad you are safe."

"Me too." 

You feel safer being in this room with Rosalita. You feel emboldened enough to reach forward and squeeze your mother’s limp fingers resting on her coverlet.  You look over at Rosalita as you do this, eyes worried. 

"She's doing okay?"

"Yes."

Your mother twitches slightly in her sleep, fingers curling around yours for a fraction. You smile at her, liking to imagine that she's giving her own kind of confirmation.  

Afterwards you move into the kitchen to find Hilary chopping veggies before dumping them into a fragrant and bubbling crock pot. 

"Justin will be here tomorrow," Hilary informs you casually when she sees you watching. "He likes chili." 

You lean against the door frame, trying not to look like the cat who got the cream. 

"He does, does he?"

"Yes," she replies primly, ignoring the grin you shoot her.

"Good," you answer with sincerity. "I'm looking forward to meeting him." 

"He's looking forward to meeting you too," she says, starting to dice the onions. 

Her response is uncharacteristically warm, even sincere. You wonder if Justin is actually excited to meet you. In the end it doesn't matter. Does it? You're happy to see your sister happy. A chirp sounds on your phone, an alert. 

"My cab is here."

Hillary pauses and looks up from the cutting board, her kohl-rimmed eyes slanted your way. 

"Frankie?"

You nod, taken aback by the toothy smile she sends you. 

"Finally."

THEN

It's late and Frankie's house is pitch-black. The alarm clock beside the bed ticks. The tap in the kitchen drips slowly like it always has. 

Frankie lies on his belly with his arm slung over your middle. His face is half smudged into his pillow, his pouty lips slightly parted. You rest facing the ceiling, having just woken up desperate for a glass of water. 

The two of you had a great afternoon of talking and having fantastic sex and talking some more. It seems like you two can't stop finding things to talk about. At home things are so quiet with Hilary and her monosyllabic way of speaking and your mom's absence.

But here with Frankie his house is full of words and laughing. He makes noise when he cooks, pots and pans banging, the radio playing in the background, his humming when he washes the dishes. And even when the two of you do find yourself in quiet moments, it's rarely uncomfortable. Sitting, staring at the stars, playing cards, passively watching television, all feels comfortable.  

It's just hard when you know you should leave for home. When the hour is late and you don't want to be caught by your mom. You hate leaving because Frankie gets this pinched look on his face; this raw expression of naked anxiety. 

Despite being an independent guy, Frankie doesn't want to be left alone here. You wonder if it's the ghost of his parents in every room or the way the house feels so oppressive in its stillness. Whatever it is, you find yourself sleeping over most nights. Preening under the relieved smile he gives you, snuggling against his chest, wrapped tightly in strong arms, his husky voice at your temple. 

"Night, baby." 

You always rush home before dawn, crawling back through your bedroom window just in time to exit for breakfast. You think Hilary might suspect, but if she does she never rats you out. 

You watch Frankie a little longer this evening, his golden skin painted silver in the moonlight. He looks so innocent like this, so sweet. You smile, fingers tracing along his cheek until he flinches and your recoil.

"Don't leave," he mumbles.

You frown in confusion before you realize he's still asleep and must be dreaming. His leg twitches under the sheets, brows saddling. 

"Pip," he whispers worriedly. His arm wraps tighter around your middle.  

"I'm here," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. "I'm right here, baby."

You've never called him baby to his face. Always too shy, even though it's passed his lips several times before. 

"Don't.... "' he groans, eyelids twitching. "Just stay...."

"I am staying," You assure him, peppering his face with light kisses. "I'm not going anywhere." 

He settles immediately, brow smoothed, worry fleeing from his handsome face. He goes slack with deeper sleep, his breathing slow once more. You kiss his eyelids lightly, snuggling tighter against him. You watch him sleep, your heart swelling in affection. 

"I'll always be here, Frankie." 

Its late afternoon when you arrive at Frankie's and despite knowing exactly what you want to say, you're still shaking as you walk up the steps to his house.  You knock with a trembling fist, breathing heavily through your nose. You wait a minute.

Then two. 

Where is he? 

It's then that you turn to scan the front yard and notice his truck isn't in the driveway. 

He's not home. 

Crestfallen, you give a small cry, head bowed against his front door. Suddenly insecure thoughts go through your head. 

He's with someone else. A woman. One who didn't inadvertently break his heart. The one who left the lipstick tube. 

Or maybe he's hurt. He's been in an accident and you'll never see him again. 

Or he's g-

"Pip?"

Your heart lurches as you hear his familiar raspy murmur, spinning around to see Frankie exiting his truck. In your fearful delirium you hadn't even heard him pull up.

"Frankie," you manage in a choked whisper. 

He walks over to you quickly, keys in hand, a worried look on his handsome face. He scans your face, eyes bouncing. "Are you okay?"

"You weren't home," you murmur by way of explanation. 

"I was at the flight school," he says. He readjusts his hair under his hat without thought, a trait you've always loved, will always love. 

"Flight school?"

"First day back. I'm officially teaching again."  

"That's amazing," you say with a beam. Pride fills you. "I'm so glad." 

Frankie steps closer, so tall you have to tilt your head up. "Pip, why are you here? Is it your mom?" 

"No. No it's..." You realize you don't want to have this talk here on his doorstep. "Do you have a minute?" 

"Of course."

Frankie isn't expecting you there on his doorstep. He assumed Hilary would have texted him when you got out of the hospital. He wanted to be there for you, maybe even bring you flowers. But now you're here and you look so anxious that it makes his guts churn. He opens the door but before he can usher you inside he feels your fingers move to gingerly rest on top of his forearm. 

"Why didn't you stay that day?"

"When I took you to the hospital?"

You nod, looking anxiously up at him. Frankie blinks, his hand still resting on the doorknob. 

"Because Hilary wanted to stay with you and Rosalita wasn't able to come to your mom's right away, so I went and stayed with your mom until she got there." 

You take a deep, steadying breath. You're satisfied with his answer, he thinks.

"Is that what you needed to talk about?"

"No. It's something else," you inform him, mouth thinned. "It's important."

"More important than going home to rest?"

"Yes." 

He swings the door open widely, large hand raised to gesture for you to walk inside but you're already moving past him into the house. 

He watches the way you move through his home as if it's second nature, as if you always belonged here. Longing hits him strong and acute as he thinks of you bleeding in his truck, at the thought he could have lost you in a completely different and much more awful way. 

He follows you to the living room, watching as you pace a moment. Your eyes move to his fireplace several times before you give a small sigh and march over to it. He watches curiously as you reach for a small gold tube he's never noticed before. You look at it for several moments before you turn around to look Frankie square in the eye. 

"I need to know if you're seeing someone." Your breathing is elevated, eyes bright. "Even if it's casual." 

Frankie steps closer to you, puzzled."What?" 

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Frankie is at a loss. None of what you're saying makes any sense. He watches your feet shuffling along his carpet, anxiously awaiting his answer. 

"That's what you came over to ask me?"

You shake your head before brandishing the tube for his inspection, fingers shaking.  

"Whose lipstick is this?" 

Frankie squints at the slender tube between your shaking fingers. He didn't even realize it was lipstick. And you got it from his fireplace mantle?

"No clue," Frankie finally says with a shrug.

"It's been here a long time," you say, holding your breath. 

Frankie thinks back to any group gatherings he's had here in the past few months. 

"One of Santi's girls probably left it here after poker night. I'm always finding their shit here." 

"Really?"

"Really. Last time I found an earring by my sink."

“So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“No.”

He watches relief bloom on your face. The sight makes his heart trip delightedly. Even with a bandaged head you're still luminous. 

"That's...good," you say almost to yourself as you place the tube back onto the mantle. “That's really good.”

"Why?" Frankie asks lightly. 

You pause before suddenly looking away shyly, lashes lowered like you're embarrassed. 

"I thought you might be casually seeing someone." 

You are embarrassed. Frankie feels the hitch to one corner of his mouth. 

"Were you jealous or something?"

It's said with levity, but he's not joking, he's desperately hoping. Because if you're jealous that means something. 

You give him a challenging look that he knows too well. He's about to be told in no uncertain terms that you're never jealous. That you had no reason to be. But then you straighten, head held high. 

"Yes. I was jealous about you being with someone else."  

He's embarrassed at how quickly his pulse quickens. His insides feel hot, body on fire for you. 

"You were huh?" He's smiling wider now, dimple popping. "Thought you hated me," he says with another light chuckle. 

His voice is too breathless when he says it, embarrassing himself. He tells himself it's just an observation about your past animosity. But he's suddenly nervous because you don't seem angry or defensive like he's used to. You're looking at him in a completely new way, soft eyes and open body language. 

"I never hated you," you finally say with a trembling chin. "Even when I wanted to."

The amusement flees from his handsome face, leaving only open curiosity. "No?" 

You scan his eyes before motioning to the couch. You give a soft grunt as you drop onto a cushion, looking utterly exhausted. 

He joins you on the couch cushion, big hand spanning over your kneecap and squeezing gently. He can't help it; he needs to touch you in some way. When you don't pull away he simply rests it there. 

"Frankie... I-"

His heart is thumping steadily, but it picks up its tempo when you look up at him with such sad eyes. "Pip what's wrong?"

You don't look away from him, even though you seem to be in some sort of internal anguish. It makes him long to pull you into his arms, but he remembered what happened last time. How you ran from him and he doesn't want to put that pressure on you. 

"You've been visiting my mom for months. Cooking and cleaning and spending time with her." 

Frankie feels his breathing stutter, thrown at the sudden change in topic. 

Did Hilary tell you? Or maybe your mom?

He supposes he was just hoping the secret would remain one. He thought maybe your mom might say something, unable to remember it wasn't meant to be shared. At the time it hadn't seemed like a big deal, but then again Frankie never imagined you and he would be getting closer this trip. 

"Uh, yeah," he mutters.

"Why did you do it?"

His face goes pink; he can feel the heat crawling up his throat. He rubs at the back of his neck, voice quieter. 

"I was on suspension because of the coke," he mutters, "I had all this extra time on my hands and Santi and Hilary mentioned about your mom and I figured it was a no-brainer. I always liked your mom, she was always nice to me."

You stare at him as you digest what he's telling you. 

"You did that even after I treated you so horribly for so long?" You whisper, eye line wet. 

"Not your mom's fault." 

Frankie wonders why all of this is coming out. Was it the accident? Maybe you do have a concussion after all. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"We weren't really talking, Pip," he says to his feet. "I mean, until this visit I don't remember the last time we had a civil conversation." 

Before Travis' party, he thinks bitterly. Before everything was ruined. 

He releases your knee, moving to rest against the back cushion of the couch. You nod, blinking the tears away as quickly as possible. Frankie stares at you for a long time, body tensed.  

"I tried reaching out to you before," Frankie admits. "Not about your mom, but to check in." 

He feels like this is a time for confessions, so he doesn't hesitate in sharing this. He waits patiently for you to formulate your response. 

"When?" 

"Around your graduation I tried calling your dorm but some guy answered," he mutters. "And you were in the background talking about going to bed..."

You flinch, clearly recalling the moment. 

"That was just some guy from a party my roommates threw. I asked him to sleep over-"

"I don't need to hear this-" Frankie interrupts. He doesn't want to know the details. Hearing this is just making him feel worse. 

"But I couldn't do anything with him," you finish in a rush as you look up at him with wide imploring eyes. "I couldn't because I just kept thinking about you, Frankie." 

Now Frankie is thrown, eyes snapping to focus on your face. You look sincere, but that's not possible. 

"What?"

"Every time he touched me all I could think about was how it felt when you touched me. And I realized how he felt wrong when you always felt right.” 

Frankie's taken aback by your candor. But also uncomfortable. You don't know what this conversation is doing to him. Your eyes go impossibly soft at the edges, matching the gentle murmur of your voice.

"It's always been you, Frankie." 

Now he feels cold seeping into his bones, his expressive face gone neutral. 

"Not always, Pip."

He goes to stand, but you cling to his forearm, wrapping your own arms around his elbow, keeping him in place on the sofa next to you. 

"Wait! That's what I'm trying to explain," you beseech him. "Please, Frankie, you have to listen. That night at Travis' party-"

"Stop, please," he says with a pang in his chest because in the years that followed your betrayal, he was plagued with the question of why you did what you did. 

He always wanted to know why your cruelty had reared Its ugly head that night. But now affronted with the choice to hear it, he suddenly doesn't want to. He doesn't want to go back to that ugly time. He doesn't want to remember another man's hands on you. 

Again he tries to pull away from you but you still haven't let go of his arm, you're pressed up so close to him he can smell the floral of your shampoo. And he's weak because he can barely move in the face of your nearness. 

"Frankie, please, just sit there and don't talk for five minutes. No, not even five. Just two." 

He watches the shaky breath you take in, voice coming out in a rush and he relaxes back, dark eyes narrowed on you. He'll hear you out. 

"That night at Travis' party I thought I saw you and Christy having sex in his parents room." 

The wind is knocked from him. "What?"

“You remember you told me Travis’ parent had a waterbed? That you wanted me to meet you up there?”

“Yeah.”

"Well I went up there and I see these two people, Christy and some guy. They were going at it and I couldn't see the guys face but I could see he was wearing your hat."

At this you make a vague motion to the Standard Oil cap Frankie now wears. Absently he touches the brim, eyes wide as your voice hitches, going low.

"I just... I assumed the worst."

Frankie is quiet, his body gone still. His ears are ringing. Something feels like it's taking over his body, something that protects him when he feels his most vulnerable. 

"Is that why you..." Frankie flinches. "You kissed him?"

"Yes."

Your face drops to your hands as you shake your head. Mortification is clear in your body language. 

"I feel so stupid. I don't know how I could have ever thought you would do that to me." 

"So all this time..." Frankie whispers, the puzzle pieces connecting. "You thought I cheated on you that night and that's why you've been so cold to me since then."

"Yes." 

"So you didn't hate me all this time," he says slowly, he needs to understand fully, he needs the clarity. 

You shake your head slowly from side to side, gaze not leaving his. 

"I couldn't ever hate you, Frankie," you admit in a shaky voice. "I was in love with you."

Frankie thinks back to his time in service, when the flash bangs would go off and leave the room and his ears ringing. This moment is similar to that, that same slightly unreal sensation that makes him feel off-balance. 

"You loved me," he whispers. 

"So deeply that when I thought you cheated on me I was devastated," you say with a flinch. "I was heartbroken."

He remains gaping at you. 

"You loved me," Frankie repeats quietly. 

"Yes." Your voice is trembling. "You're the only man I've ever truly felt like myself around. No one compared to you, even at their best."

You hear the small hitch to his breath, but you're unable to stop. 

"I've always loved you and I'm so sorry for what I did. For never talking to you. For Travis. And even though I know you can't love me after how I've treated you all this time, I just needed to tell you how much you mean to me. I need you to know I always have and always will love you."  

There, the final truth is laid at his feet and Frankie knows he needs to say something, but his body and brain aren't in agreement. Instead he lurches from the sofa, shaking off your loosening grip. He can't even look at you right now. 

He moves from the room in a hurry, feet carrying him to the bedroom, your watery gaze on his back. 

You watch as Frankie moves from you and into the bedroom, the pain in his face unbearable. But that's nothing compared to the brutal stab in your sternum at his rejection. 

I’m too late.

You whimper, eyes closing as tears rush down your cheeks. You're so fucking tired of crying but you can't stop. 

You can hear rustling in his bedroom, drawers being opened. A sickening drop goes to your stomach as you think of him packing up your hat and telling you to leave his home. Erasing every part of you that existed here. 

You're confused when he reappears still wearing his hat and a tense look on his face. In his hand is a yellowed envelope that he extends your way, eyes trained on your face as you stare at it. 

You stand, wiping your eyes with the back of your arm. "What is this?" 

"It was the first letter I was going to send you when I left back for basic." He exhales slowly as he passes it to you. "I wrote it before the party. I wanted to give it to you right before I left."

"Why?" 

"Remember you were giving me shit about writing you bad letters the last time? I figured I'd start out with a really good one." 

You hold the envelope in front of you, tracing your fingertip along the scrawl of your name over the front. "You kept it?"

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "Felt weird to throw away." 

You scan his face. "Do you want me to read it?"

"Not right now." 

"Okay." You blink up at him. "Why not now?"

"Because the things in that letter are the same things I've wanted to tell you for years."  He steps forward and you watch as his biceps curl, big warm hands cupping your cheeks. "But I want to say them to your face first."

His dark eyes trail along your face, transfixed. Like he's finding new details he'll commit to memory. Your hands fly to his wrists, holding loosely as you marvel up at him.

"You are the most singular woman I've ever met," he says. "You're funny and sexy and thoughtful. You're kind and you're brave even though you don't believe it." 

Shame floods you at the praise. After everything you’ve put him through?

"Frankie, no," you say shaking your head. "I'm horrible." 

Frankie ducks his head, finding your eyes, his own are warm and honeyed. 

"You gave a boy you didn't know a hat, just because you thought it would make him feel better," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You scaled a tree to save his kite; you stayed with him when he lost his parents even after everyone left."

Tears spill over your cheeks when his voice gets thick with emotion. 

"One thing I didn't put in the letter is that I love you," he says, raspy voice wavering as his dark eyes scan yours. "I have loved you for years and years and I'm going to keep loving you until the day I die and I needed to tell you that to your face."

Your eyes glisten as your hand finds your sternum, flattening your palm over it as you try to quell the thunder of your heartbeat. 

"You loved me back then?"

"Of course I did," he says through a wet chuckle. He brushes the hair back from your damp eyes. "How could I not?" 

"Because I'm stubborn and I jumped to the wrong conclusion and-"

Your eyes blink brightly up at him, trying not to cry when you see his eyes are shiny. 

"You trusted me to save you from that tree. To carry you when you were hurt," he says in that familiar low rasp. "You gave me your first kiss. Your first time. You've done nothing but show me love and trust from the first moment we met. How could I not love you? How could I love anyone else?"

And Frankie Morales, the boy who didn't even cry at his parent’s funeral suddenly can't hold his tears back from you. They slide down his face no matter how much he tries to blink them away. 

"I'm sorry," you choke out at the sight of them. "I'm so sorry, Frankie,” you hiccup a cry. "We had this perfect, beautiful thing and I ruined it." 

"Oh, baby, I-" he cuts himself off, strong arms pulling you into him.

You sob brokenly against his throat, arms tightly gripping him like he's the guiding light in a storm. You sob for the years missed. For birthdays and Christmases you didn't spend together. For lazy mornings in bed and his shitty French toast you never experienced. For the years of amazing sex and time spent laughing you were robbed of.  

And when you're finally finished crying, when your body feels it might turn to dust, you realize Frankie's still rocking you in his arms, his mouth pressed to your hairline. 

"You didn't ruin anything," he assures you in a rumble you can feel through his shirt. "I'm here. You're here. We're here together. We got here." 

Your arms are sealed around his waist, fingers lacing at the base of his spine. You have this crazy thought that if you don't hold him tightly, if you don't cling to him, he'll float away, gone forever. 

"I don't want you to leave," you whisper brokenly into his shoulder. Your chin is quivering when you speak. 

He makes a noise in his throat, sadness? Disbelief? Whatever it is, he holds you closer, like he's trying to physically move the love from his body to yours. 

"You're the love of my life," Frankie says in a hoarse voice. "And I'm never leaving you again."  

Those words break through the terrified crystallization of your fears, sending the shards falling away, forgotten. Frankie is the warmth, the sun melting them until you're freed from their oppressive hold. 

You feel the motion of him removing his hat, tossing it onto the coffee table. You raise your face to his and your lips are parted to reply to him when Frankie's plump mouth presses to yours. 

You kiss tenderly, lips damp, tongues searching. It's like the kiss from not so long ago but magnified now that your feelings have been shared. And it's just right. That same sensation of homecoming and safety and desire all wrapped up in one. The kiss that every other was compared to. 

"I missed you," Frankie murmurs between sighs, eyes closed. "I never stopped." 

"I never stopped loving you, Frankie." 

Your mouths meet again. Desire surges through you, arms scrabbling to wrap around his neck, mouths kissing furiously as his banded arms hold you against him. Your core pulses with a deep need as the kissing intensifies.

You coo when Frankie begins lowering you both to the couch, his heavy body resting lightly over yours.  He groans against your jaw, voice husky between tender nibbles and wet kisses against your neck.  

"You still smell the same." 

You feel the deep grind of his pelvis against yours and you moan into his mouth. It seems to echo like a plucked violin string, plaintive and mournful.  

"I need you," you murmur, tongue coming to flick gently under his upper lip. The intention is clear, your body melded to his. 

Frankie's eyes are like glossy black marbles when he pulls back. He's flushed; his dark curls have fallen into his forehead. He's never looked sexier. 

"You might be disappointed," he says, thumb grazing your jaw. "I was recently told I have a dad bod that peaked in basic."

Frankie laughs lightly, a tinge of insecurity at the edges.  

You hate that you put it there. 

You push him back slightly so that you can sit up, eyes dragging around his handsome face. 

"You know why I said that?" 

He shakes his head, jaw tensing in embarrassment. You move off the couch, dragging him to a stand before your hands go to the hem of his t-shirt, eyes heavy as you gaze at him. 

"I said that because Benny caught me staring at you that day at the beach," you admit, helping to peel the T-shirt from his body. "And I was staring because you looked so fucking good." 

Frankie flushes delightedly at this, hair fluffed from the removal of his t-shirt and hat. Your ankles cross as you move a slow circle around his body, fingers trailing over his pectorals, feeling the rise of goose flesh under the pads of your fingers. 

"You were standing there with no shirt, the sun on your skin," you recall with a sigh. "And I was hypnotized." 

You come to stand in front of him once more and Frankie watches you take in his broad, muscled shoulders, the thick biceps and tensed belly. 

"Because you're still so perfect," you whisper in quiet awe. 

He gives a shy shake of his head, about to speak, to deny this, when your finger slowly presses against those plump lips you adore, urging him to remain silent. You want to show him that you're not just saying this. That your desire has not waned in the slightest. That in your opinion he's only gotten more attractive, more masculine, more sensual.  

You lean forward and kiss his collarbone, just because you can. Then you move to the base of his elegant neck. His skin is warm; he smells the same as he always has. Old spice, laundry, fresh sweat. 

Frankie.

He makes a soft purring noise in the back of his throat, head tilting back to give you better access. Your nose glides along his throat, inhaling both him and the memories of your combined youth. You suck a soft bruise into the skin just below his jaw and are rewarded with a deep, reverberating groan. 

You love every part of him, from his body to his mind. His compassion and even his temper. You love it all because it is all of him, every piece of him a gift you want to cherish properly. 

You kiss down his warm torso, body trembling under your lips. He's so eager, so needy. You feel it pressed against your belly as you descend. 

Your lips move over the firm swell of his belly, leading a trail of kisses to the top of his hips. You both shiver excitedly when your lips move lower, to where his bronzed flesh disappears under his jeans. 

Your eyes shift now from his skin and back to his face. He's breathing through his mouth, eyes trained on you when you slowly sink to your knees, hands on his belt buckle. You unhook the button of his jeans, drawing down the tongue of the zipper without thought. 

He goes to speak, but you're already bringing him out of his boxers and into your waiting palm. He's warm, thick and throbbing in your eager hand.

"So pretty," you say looking at it with devotion as you begin to stroke slowly. "I almost forgot how pretty."

He hisses as you thumb the damp slit. His fingers reach out to graze your cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear you didn't even know was there. Your eyes are on his, glued, fascinated. 

"I never forgot how pretty," he murmurs.

The heat of his gaze and the touch of his fingers on your cheek make you feel shy. You remind yourself to stay on task when his eyes go unfocused. 

You stroke slowly, eyes on his, watching when those dark lashes begin to flutter before squeezing shut. 

"You're shaking, Morales," you tease, your movements increasing in pace, watching the pleasurable disbelief cross his face. 

His brows saddle as you tighten your fingers upon your descent, enthralled to see how his hips buck in response before his legs wobble. 

"Can you blame me?" he grunts, hands at his side in useless fists. 

You gaze up at him, tongue coming to lick the rosy head of his cock, delighted when it twitches at the contact. 

"Jesus, Pip," he groans, eyes pitched black. 

You continue smirking as you take a long, languid lick along the underside of him, never breaking eye contact. He stares down at you in awe, fingers twitching. 

You lean forward, lips parting as you take the head of his cock into your scorching mouth.He makes a muffled choking noise, one hand continuing to cup your cheek, feeling the architecture of your jaw as you widen your mouth to accommodate him. 

His eyelids flutter again as you flatten your tongue, tasting every inch you urge him to feed himself further into your mouth. 

"Baby, you're killing me."

You hide a grin as his head tilts down again, chin propped on his sternum so he can watch everything you're doing. 

He shudders as you swirl your tongue around the ridge of the head, savoring the salt and scent of him. He groans under his breath, fingers coming to tangle in your hair and you whine around him at the pleasure his grip sends skittering through your body. 

"God, look at you," Frankie groans, mouth trembling. "Still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You increase the suction, tongue flickering against the sensitive underside in the way you can remember he loves. He arches his back, his hips canting instinctively again before he stops himself. 

"Wait, Pip, wait," he whispers, his voice ragged and broken.

You pull off of him in confusion when he begins to curl over, hands warmly squeezing over yours. You give a look of concern up at him which is wiped away you see the open need in his expression. 

"I need to feel you first." 

You give a small giggle of surprise as he reaches down, pulling you into his strong arms as if you weigh nothing. He holds you in a bridal carry as his mouth finds yours, kissing you deeply. 

"Can we keep going in bed?" He rasps against your lips. "Like that first time?" 

You beam at him, arms wrapping around his neck as he moves to walk you both over the threshold of his childhood bedroom. 

"Yes."

Hours later the two of you sweaty and grinning under the covers. Its dark now, both of you lost track of time after your third orgasm. The window is cracked open a fraction to let the night air in. 

"Like we never skipped a beat," you pant, burrowing against him. 

"I dunno about that," Frankie says, flushed and impossibly happy as he kisses your forehead. "I feel like it was even better than before." 

"Yeah?"

"I mean, it was pretty amazing when we were kids but this? Next level."

You give a soft laugh of surprise. "Next level." 

"Mhm." 

"You're right," you agree after a moment's sincere consideration.   

"Finally, you admit I'm right about something," he teases. The corners of his mouth curve into a gentle smile, the kind he saves just for you. 

"Don't get too used to it." 

You press a kiss to his chest, letting the moonlight paint his golden skin silver. The window is slightly ajar, the sound of cicadas chirping in the distance. 

Despite the satisfaction and relief of knowing Frankie feels the same way about you, an ache remains under your ribcage, prompting Frankie to tap your chin gently with the crook of his forefinger.

"What is it, baby?" 

"How can you forgive me so easily?" You whisper, eyes limpid. 

"I'm not big on keeping score," he shrugs, smiling indulgently at you. "And you're here in my arms. I don't need to over think it." 

You grin back unsteadily at first; unsure if this free flowing kindness is to be believed. But again your brows saddle.

"We could have been like this the whole time," You say, brushing the curls from his face. "I just think about the years we lost-"

"We're here now," he interrupts before you can begin any further self-flagellation. "And that's all that matters." 

You bury your face in his neck, happy tears wetting his skin. His lips find yours once more and for a glorious moment it feels like nothing bad will ever happen again. All that exists is joy and togetherness and safety here in the harbor of Frankie Morales strong arms. 

Beep.

Beep. 

Your phone beeps and vibrates, drawing your attention over to the side of the bed. Your reach down to retrieve it from the back pocket of your denim cut offs. 

Frankie watches you read the text, brows knitted when you give a soft gasp. He jerks up in bed when you hurriedly start to get dressed. 

"Baby, what is it?" 

"My mom," you say with a crazed look in your eyes. "We need to get back right away." 

He doesn't hesitate, simply tugs on his jeans, T-shirt and hat before he ushers you into his truck. He holds your hand the entire way from the truck and across the threshold of your childhood home. 

"Hey," Hilary says in a quiet voice as you both enter the house. Her eyes are red-rimmed, face blotchy. But when her eyes move between the two of you and your linked hands, you see a softness to her expression. 

"About damn time, Fish." 

Frankie ducks his head shyly in reply. 

For a strange moment you feel like this is all a dream. Frankie, Hilary, your mom. Like the world is hazy and not quite solid under your feet. 

Rosalita is there at the doorframe of your mother's room. Her eyes are wet when she looks between your sister and you. 

"It is time, my dears." 

She doesn't say anything more, she simply steps back into your mother's room. 

Frankie squeezes your hand gently and you drop it only so that you can take Hilary's. Her fingers wrap tightly around yours as you feel Frankie's warmth at your back. 

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me" Frankie murmurs gently, kissing your cheek and moving back into the other room. 

You can hear the quiet, agonized breathing of your mother and the sound terrifies you into taking a step back. Hilary notices, the big sister in her causing you both to stop just outside the door. 

"I can give her a message from you if you don't want to come in" Hilary offers.

Up close you can see her eyes are swollen. You see the fatigue etched into the lines around her eyes and mouth. You see the sister that has always protected you, even when you didn't realize it. 

But she doesn't need to do that anymore. 

"I'm okay." 

You enter into the room with Hilary, the two of you coming to stand at the side of the bed, both staring down at the placid face of your mother.  Her rasping breath rattles in her narrow chest, her eyes closed, mouth parted. 

You watch as Hilary leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead before her mouth moves to your mother's ear and she whispers something. You'll never know what she said that night, and you'll never ask. 

When she rights herself, you can see the tears that have flooded her face. She wipes them away before looking at you expectantly. 

And despite the fear you've felt at being left alone with your mother, suddenly, it's all you want. A peaceful send-off. 

"Can I have a minute alone with her?" You ask your sister quietly. 

Hillary's surprised, but she nods."Of course."

She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, closing the door gently behind she and Rosalita. 

You look back to see your mother's breathing is labored, her face waxen. And this is when you want to leave, to rush from the room where it's bright and safe. You want to escape the hard things, just like when you flew to Seattle, when you started over, when you left. 

But as you take your mother's hand for what will be the last time; you do it because for once, you are choosing to stay.

Me when Pip and Frankie reunited

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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The first time he fucks you, he doesn’t make it all the way. You think you're ready, despite Frankie’s protests, begging him to fuck you, grinding into his mouth, into his fingers as he works orgasm after orgasm out of your heaving body. Through your blurry eyes, you can see the way his hips thrust gently into the mattress, fucking himself into your sheets as he eats you out, groaning into your pussy as you gush down his face. It’s fucking maddening.

He lines himself up, pressing into you gently, so gently, but God, it’s already too much. Too fucking much. You gasp as the thick head of his cock presses into your entrance, spreading you so much wider than his fingers, wider than you’ve ever been stretched. It fucking stings, and you dig your nails into Frankie’s shoulders as you try to take it for him.

He only sinks in halfway before your body just can’t take it anymore, squeezing him so tight that he can’t possibly move deeper. Tears spring to your eyes at the feeling of it, and you try to apologize, but Frankie only leans down to seal his mouth to yours, kissing the breath out of your lungs.

“Feels so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips, sounding so fucking wrecked, and you throb around him at the sound of it. “Your little pussy is so fucking tight.” 

You feel lightheaded at the destroyed rasp of his voice, and when he moves, you feel lightning rocket up your spine, whining loudly against his lips. He grins, the shy boy from the bar long gone as he thrusts until he’s halfway in again, fucking you on only half his cock as you keen beneath him. You have no idea how he’ll ever fit inside completely, how just half of him fills you up more than anyone else ever has. “Wanna take all of you,” you gasp, “want it all inside, fuck, Frankie, please.”

He shushes you gently, smoothing his hands down your sides. “Mi amor, we need more time to get you ready,” he murmurs softly. “Next time, baby, next time.”

He fucks you just like that, breaking you open with just half of his cock and fisting the base in a large, warm palm until you squeeze around him with your orgasm. When you beg him to cum inside you, he groans, pumping you full, gripping tight to your thighs. You promise yourself that next time you'll take all of him.

The first time you take Frankie, really, truly take him, you think that he’s more affected than you are.

You’re so wet, dripping down your thighs from Frankie’s endless preparation, his lips shiny with your slick as he leans down to kiss you slowly, deliberately. You find that you don’t mind the taste of yourself.

He’s been fucking you on his thick fingers for what seems like hours, spreading you so wide, wide enough that you thought you’d break.

You don’t know how many times he’s made you cum, how many times he’s told you that it’ll make you looser, get you ready. You think he just likes watching you fall apart, his eyes blown wide as you tremble against the sheets. 

When he finally, finally notches the thick tip of his cock against your entrance, pushing forward slowly, you try to brace yourself for pain. It’s so much, he’s so much, and it should hurt, fuck, you should feel like you’re being ripped apart. 

But your mind is foggy with desperation, your need to finally fit him inside, that you can barely feel the pain at all. You can only gasp for air as his cock stretches you wide, pressing in so deep it’s like you can feel it in your lungs. And he just slides in, easy as that, as if it was easy all along.

And as much as you moan and gasp, your fingers clutching into the skin of his back, it is nothing compared to the way Frankie fucking whines at the feeling of it, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he stills his hips, pressed in as deep as he can get.

“Fuck me, please, oh my God, Frankie,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his on pure instinct, desperate to get him in deeper, somehow. But his hands tighten on you, gripping so hard you think he’ll leave bruises.

“Stop,” he says, deep and raspy and fucking primal. “Stop fucking moving, shit, ‘m trying not to fucking cum.” He sounds goddamn sinful, and your pussy throbs at the sheer idea of him filling you up just from finally fitting inside you. You let him breathe through it, raking your nails gently up his back. He shivers at your touch.

You suck air in through your teeth when he pulls out, just barely, only to fuck back in. He does it again, and again, and again, thrusting so deep into you that his cock fucking drags into your sweet spot, not even trying. You’ve never felt so fucking full before.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so goddamn tight, don’t even know how I can fuckin’ fit,” he mutters, pulling your thighs tighter around his hips and pulling you down onto his thick cock with every thrust. “This little cunt is just sucking me in, ‘s like she can’t get enough.”

“God, yes, Frankie please,” you choke out between labored breaths, your vision blurring at the edges. All you can fucking feel, hear, smell is Frankie above you, warm and towering over you, filling you up so perfect.

“So goddamn pretty wrapped around my cock,” he growls, pounding into you hard enough that tears start to pour down your cheeks. “My greedy baby, am I big enough for you?”

“Fuck! Yes, it’s so- it’s so fuckin’ big, Frankie, I can feel it in my fucking stomach.” You’re slurring your words, your brain turned to mush as Frankie breaks you apart so viciously. He reaches between you to rub quick circles into your clit with a calloused thumb, and your body locks up, your back arching so far it presses your tits into Frankie’s strong chest.

“That’s right, honey, just fuckin’ feel it. Nobody else can fill you up like I can, right?” he snarls, and you can only nod frantically, choked moans punched from your throat every time he thrusts inside you. “Cum, sweetheart. Show me how much you love my big cock.”

And you have no other choice but to fucking scream, pulsing violently around him as you cum. You’re fucking lost in it, broken apart in the best way possible, and Frankie groans, stilling inside of your as he fills you up with cum. It’s pure bliss, a goddamn revelation, and you don’t think it’s ever going to fucking stop. He smothers your cries with a kiss, licking into your mouth and soothing you like a wild animal as you both ride out the aftershocks. 

When you finally feel yourself start to breathe normally again, to find it in yourself to blink blearily up at him, smiling softly when you see him already staring down at you. As he pulls out of you, you feel the emptiness immediately, whining as he shushes you gently. “I know, honey, I know,” he murmurs, falling beside you and pulling you into him. “You did so good for me.”

“Damn right I did,” you murmur, sleep already weighing down your eyelids. “Who else is going to take that monster dick of yours?”

He laughs, loud and gruff in the most perfectly Frankie-way you could possibly imagine. “Don’t act like you didn’t fucking love it, hermosa.”

You smile back a little awkwardly and position yourself in front of your private parts, making small talk, explaining that you need to relax and all that sort of thing... But you don't really listen to him, you just look at the ceiling hoping that it all will work out, that even if it's not the way you wanted to have children, that you would have preferred to find true love, a love that everyone has sold you for years, a love sold to little girls from a very young age... A false vision of life.

But you don't feel sorry for yourself, you've learned more every day of your life and decided to forge your own vision of happiness, and thank goodness for that, otherwise you would have had far too high expectations of the world, far too false, and probably would have ended up depressed, or in a relationship that you would have forced to be perfect.

So here you are, in this room, creating your version of happiness, hoping that it will work the first time.

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

After standing with your legs in the air for a good ten minutes following the doctor's insertion of your donor's semen, you leave the clinic with a smile on your face and take a taxi, trying to keep your legs dry, foolishly thinking that it might all fall apart.

« 7 St… »

You pause when you notice that a man has just climbed in from the side of the road at the same time as you. He stares at you for a few seconds and then turns to the driver.

“Could you take me to…”

"Excuse me sir, but this is my taxi."

“What you own it ?”

“No but I am about to rent it!”

“ well we could share it.”

"I have to stop at my house to change and go across town for a party at a friend's house, I don't think you want to wait that long. So you could just get off and take another taxi"

" I got in first "

"I'm pretty sure I got in first, pretty sure that if we ask the driver, he can confirm it!"

The driver, who was watching you in the rear-view mirror, took in the magazine and pretended he hadn't heard.

You slump back in your seat and fold your arms, knowing you're about to get engeared again by Nina who is trying for the fourth time to introduce you to her boyfriend.

"She'll end up thinking I'm doing it on purpose..."

The man next to you removed his cap to fix his hair, and got out of the taxi without saying a word.

You suddenly feel slightly guilty for having chased him away like that but you are far too eager for remorse towards a stranger, and ask the driver to hurry up as you are already far too late

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

Nina walks towards you with her arms wide open and a smile on her face, jumping up and down with the joy and good humour she always exudes.

"You came!!!"

"I told you I would".

"You also said that the other three times... So the doctor?"

"I don't know yet it's too early but I hope it worked..."

"I'm going to be an aunt..."

"I'm going to be a mum mostly"

"Never mind" she said as she pulled you by the arm "this is William"

You find yourself in front of a rather tall man with blond hair and a rather sweet smile, who holds out his hand to you and you take it, telling him your name.

"Will will be enough"

You smile at him and your gaze drifts to the group of boys he was talking to just a few moments ago, all of them looking at you and greeting you with a slight shake of the head after Nina introduced you as her best friend. And you returned their greetings until your gaze landed on one of them.

"The taxi thief"

"You left me the taxi..." you said, smiling, still feeling a little guilty, wondering if he was going to be unpleasant with you, and thinking that it would be totally deserved. But no, he just gave a slight smile and took a sip of his beer.

You smile back at him without saying anything, watching him turn to the beers and offer you one, which you politely refuse.

He's quite handsome, you think, watching him chat with the other boys... Well, he doesn't really chat, he seems to listen to them and not say anything, probably being the quiet one of the group... Not like that Benny who talks a LOT, but seems to be a lovely person.

The evening is beginning to fall and you feel that you are not likely to go home despite being tired, trying to please your best friend. Nevertheless, you decide to move away to the terrace to get some fresh air, to enjoy some peace and quiet and you are obviously not the only one who had this idea.

"Is the seat taken?" you ask the handsome dark-haired man, whose name you still don't know.

He turns to you and smiles again, more strongly than before, bringing out lovely dimples and slight creases near his eyes... Those beautiful brown eyes that suddenly give you butterflies in your stomach.

"I don't own it and I am not about to rent it" he laughs at you

"I'm still sorry about that... I felt bad after you know..." You stop and see that you still don't know his name. You stop and realize that you still don't know his first name

"Francisco...Frankie" he says to you, holding out his hand.

You grabbed it and told him your name again.

"There's nothing wrong, I saw you coming out of the clinic so I thought you must be ill.

"Not really... but thanks"

He looked at you for a few seconds before taking a sip of his beer.

"So I lost my taxi for nothing.

"Oh no, it was for a good cause, I can assure you.

"And what do I get from this good action?"

You understand where he's heading but you can't do that, not in the state you're in... But you don't know what state you're in, you don't know it worked... So it can't hurt you… can it...

"And what would Francisco-"

"Frankie."

"FRANSISCO."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds and turns to you, putting his beer down.

"You're annoying you know"

"And you seem to like it"

He opens his lips and changes his mind, then says nothing for a few seconds, and you wonder if you have been too rough.

You don't know that he's already thinking about taking you out to dinner, while wondering if you'd accept a former addict with a child and a rather unpleasant ex-wife... You don't know that he thinks he's much too lowly for you, a mere woman he's talked to for less than twenty minutes in his life.

You don't know what he's thinking about, but you can see that he's thinking about a lot of things for a simple proposition that you made to him.

"If I've gone too far I apologise I-"

"No! No, it's just that... I'm - I'm thinking about a lot of things, sorry..."

He runs his hand through his hair again, lifting his cap slightly, and turns to the crowd.

You feel an awkwardness coming on between you and decide to leave first so you don't have to go through the fake apology part, not understanding where this all went wrong... You were chatting pretty well...

You sneak through the crowd touching your belly hoping more than anything that it worked, because you're sure of it now, it's the only love and happiness you'll have for the rest of your life...

"I have to go Nina I don't feel well..."

"You think this is..."

she says, pointing to your belly

"Probably" you lie to her

You place a quick kiss on her cheek and pull yourself away from the crowd to feel tears running down your cheeks, tired of trying...

But before you could walk away, you suddenly felt a hand grab your arm on your way out.

"Where are you going?" said Frankie with a puppy look on his face, how gives you another time butterflies in your belly.

"I don't feel very well..."

He stands in front of you for a few seconds, and seems to hesitate, before resuming.

"Can I have your number? I'd like to take you somewhere... I don't know where yet but somewhere..."

"I thought you were trying to get away from me outside to be honest"

"I've got some problems I don't want... I don't know if they'll be a problem for you..."

You look at him and realise that he looks more than sincere and quite worried, that he has self-confidence issues, and that you may have judged him a bit too quickly. So you reach out and grab his phone.

"Try to use this number, I'd be pretty disappointed if you didn't Francisco..."

He gives you a shy smile and you slip away, leaving his beautiful smile frozen in your mind.

When you turned on your phone the next day you already had a message from that dear Frankie, asking if you had slept well and if you would like to spend an afternoon in the park with him.

His message put a smile on your face, thinking that his first instinct was to ask you if you had slept well, a thoughtful and kind man like you have never known and then you smile at his request....

You couldn't help but smile all day as he told you stories about him and his friends, and then when he asked you to go for an ice cream in the hot weather, to sit by the fountains, to enjoy the nice weather... You had a nice afternoon, the kind of afternoon you haven't had with a man since... well, since forever when you think about it. He is simply gentle, kind, without any specific ideas in his every move or action, or maybe he has some but in his cases, he hides it very well from you...

you find yourself fantasizing about the slightest smile he gives you, the shine of his skin in the heat, wondering if he'll be like that when he will thrust into you...

You spent many afternoons like that, in the park, at the bookstore, where he just seemed to want to have a good time with you. And every night, when he walked you home, he would just watch you close the door, never accepting any of your invitations to go home, but making sure you got home.

And you watched him all those nights walking away down the street illuminated by the street lights, smiling from your window, butterflies in your stomach...

A whole week went by at this pace, where a friendship formed faster than you would have thought with this man you got to know a little more each day, you learned that he had a daughter named Isabella, only 2 years old, that his former marriage did not end well, and he promised you that one day you would meet the little Isabella...

Your phone vibrates and that smile that has become a daily occurrence appears with his name on your screen: pack a swimming costume and something to sleep in, I'll pick you up in 10 minutes. You don't ask any questions and answer with a simple "ok" before running to change and pack a beach bag.

When the car honks, you're already on the front porch and climbing in before it's time to go downstairs to open the door. He's so handsome today... He always is, actually, but those sunglasses... that white shirt accentuating those shoulders even more... that hair shining in the sun... and that smile he gives you when you stand next to him...

Butterflies in your stomach... that's all you have... butterflies...

My god what is he doing to me...

"Hello Francisco"

"Fran... I don't know why I keep trying"

"I don't understand either" you say, placing a kiss on his cheek "Is it going to be a long way to the beach?"

"I never said we were going to the beach" he says with a smile.

You don't pick up on the fact that he obviously doesn't specify the destination out of sheer will...

And God forbid, he smells so good...

Frankie blushes slightly at your light kiss and feels his cock twitching in his Bermuda shorts, at the scent of your body that he craves every moment he's around you...

"Dada?"

You jump and turn around to acknowledge the presence of a beautiful little girl, darker skinned than Frankie but way less than you, with the same hair, the same big curls, and the same beautiful dark chocolate eyes...

"You must be Isabella," you say, touching her foot.

She smiles to reveal beautiful dimples, and small teeth that make you feel warm... She is so beautiful... Like him...

"She looks a lot like you"

"Apparently" he said as he started to drive "I'm sorry her mother dropped her off at the last minute"

"I don't mind, I've always loved children... I've always wanted one and..."

You suddenly cut yourself off, remembering your procedure, having totally forgotten to check if it had worked... You've spent so much time with him... Thinking about him... That you forgot this very big detail...

Frankie put his hand on your leg that sent shivers down your spine.

"Are you OK? You don't look well..."

"Yes I'm fine thanks, I forgot to do something very important..."

" I can go back if you want?"

"No Frank-Francisco, it's okay, it can wait until tonight"

He smiles as he realizes that you were going to call him what he would want you to call him and gets on the highway.

He doesn't remember being so comfortable with a woman... He hated you for a moment in that taxi, but liked you straight away a few hours after he had actually met you. It was never like that with Isabella's mother, his relationship with her was all arguments and sex when he had to forgive himself, stress and lack of compassion when he had his drug problems and his only comfort was in Isabella's presence, the only good thing to come out of his marriage.

She didn't give him the thoughts he has about you, about wanting to be next to you, about dreaming of your perfume at all times of the day, about watching and recording every part of your body and later touching himself thinking of your lips on him, your body against his. Oh it will be a long road...

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

Isabella runs out of the car as you drop her on the ground in front of what appears to be a beautiful family home.

You look around and see no other house, only this one, set on a large plot of land, overlooking a green valley... A peaceful place...

"It's so beautiful... Where are we?"

"At Isabella's and my house," he says, taking your bags. "I started construction a few years ago after... After I earned some money... In South America"

You nod and join Isabella as she beckons you from the doorway to come and open it for her, probably looking forward to playing with her toys.

"There's a room for you opposite hers, mine's down the hall," he says quickly before being swept away by the little tornado pulling him by the leg.

You walk towards the room leaving them to settle in.

A nice little room, with light falling directly into the room, filled with plants and colours illuminating the room, a very welcoming place where you could once again see yourself spending several moments... That is, if you are not pregnant...

"I'm going to get some pizzas - is there one you like in particular?"

"We don't have any to make? It might be fun for Isabella".

Frankie smiles at the thought of including Isabella in your plans, already seeing you as a good mother figure to her

"I... I don't really know how to cook," he says a little embarrassed

"Well, I can! Let's go and have a look... ISABELLA DO YOU WANT TO MAKE PIZZAS?"

Your question was followed by babbling and small steps coming in your direction, making you a smile...

The pizza workshop went exactly as you imagined it would in some respects: Isabella putting food everywhere but on the pizza dough, in her pretty little curls that you promised to wash afterwards. And other less predictable parts...

Frankie running his hands around you to add things to the pizza, his body grazing you every time he passes behind you, not enough to be indecent but enough to make you feel what you want to feel. And you pray with each pass that there will be another one, that he will put his arms around you out of pure desire and not the intention of putting damn cheese on one of the pizzas...

Frankie remained posed at the start of your little activity in the doorway to the side, swearing he was cursed with food. He just watched you and Isabella, looking carefully at your body, at your buttocks on which he imagined he would place kisses and slaps... Grabbing this hips to give you only what you deserved...

Then he joined you in the composition and only in the composition he said... He took the opportunity to wrap his body around you, not in the way he would like but close enough to you, holding back from putting his daughter to bed in the moment and then taking care to put you in his.

This is how the evening went... For the composition... And the cooking... And the film, where Isabella fell asleep in your arms and Frankie couldn't help but imagine you more and more in his life every moment...

When he went to put his daughter to bed you watched him do it from the corner of your own door, just smiling at the small gesture of natural affection he has with her, a pure love he seems to have only for her.

Such a thought makes you run a light hand over your belly, like an instinct of love that would be coming for yourself, but this brings you back again to a closer reality, to the man who is coming towards you from his daughter's room, a man with whom you could have envisaged a future if you had waited one more week...

"You really seem like a good father to her."

"I'm not perfect... but I try for her"

"Did you always want kids?" you say as you follow him into the kitchen, where he pulls a beer from the fridge and offers you a glass of water after that you had refused the beer.

"Yes... But there was a time when I was sure I wouldn't have any.

You raised an eyebrow, quite intrigued, encouraging her to tell you her story

"... I didn't think anyone would want a child with someone like me."

You laugh inwardly, not seeing what he's talking about, thinking about how perfect he is with his daughter, how sweet he is, and the most obvious thing is that he's a very handsome man... Very handsome man...

"I don't understand why Francisco... You're a pilot, kind, very gentle, a great listener and...-"

You think before you say too much but in this case compliments never hurt anyone... right?

"-And a very handsome man. So I don't see why... I don't understand why a woman wouldn't want to have children with you... I think you're flawed like the rest of us, but not so flawed that you couldn't consider a life with someone..."

Frankie doesn't answer you right away, slightly reluctant to tell you anything as profound as what you're about to give him, but he feels strangely a bit more comfortable with you than with other people he talks to in everyday life...

"I was an addict not so long ago... I took some things that changed me for a while, thinking they would help me in a certain period of my life... And I..."

He pauses for a moment, and you place your hand on his and smile, understanding that despite his desire to talk about it with you, he is nevertheless not comfortable with the subject at the moment...

"You don't have to talk to me about this right now... Or ever if you're not comfortable with it, but you know... I'll never judge you for it... Everyone has a vice that could have ruined their life at some point you know... I'm thirty years old you know and I've always killed myself at work, favouring my work above all else... And when I say everything I mean everything... I wasn't seeing anyone, I... I'm not comparing my little situation to what you went through, never, but I just want to... At least I'm trying to tell you that you don't have to be ashamed of that. We've all had bad times in our lives, addictions, low moments... It happens to everyone, and that's no reason to think you're entitled to less than others..."

You pause, noticing that he says nothing, and find only his brown eyes deeply focused on you. You wonder what he's thinking, how he feels about your words.

He lightly presses the hand he has in yours and places a kiss on it without taking his eyes off you

Refusing to take his eyes off you. A woman so beautiful, so kind... A woman who he is convinced he doesn't deserve.

"I'm going to bed... I"

He paused for a moment as he walked down the corridor to his room and finally turned to face you

"Thank you" he said nothing more, nothing less and before you could reply he had disappeared.

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

When you wake up (a little later than you would have liked), Frankie's daughter is gone. Her mother apparently picked her up during the day, having forgotten that they were invited to a family party… But Frankie doesn’t seem convinced about it…

So, you spend most of your morning thinking about the previous day's events while chatting with him, and quietly watching him in your corner, observing how those puppy dog eyes crinkle up completely when he laughs, how his shoulders look much wider than they already are when he bends over to pick something up, and you allow yourself the freedom to wonder what his broad shoulders might look like on top of you…

And Frankie's wandering movements are not as light as they were the day before, when there was still a child in the room and he couldn't grab your hips as he passes you like he does throughout the day whenever he's in your path, and you don’t know it, but he's also observing you, discreetly, keeping the memory of your scent on his mind every time you pass him, hoping never forget and never has to forget every single detail of it.

You don't want to and can't let anything happen between the two of you, but you want him to touch you, you can't say no to him and let yourself succumb to his kiss, you'd let his body crush against yours without struggling, you want him more than anything... But life has decided otherwise, and you can't do that to a man as good as him... Don't tell him that you're probably going to be a mother...

Later in the afternoon you lay on the chairs behind the house, watching Frankie uproot dead plants for which he refused your help.

He only asked for your help to pass him a few small tasks like bringing him something, or checking his phone, or in this case drinking.

You handed him his glass with a straw, and he tried to take it from your hand, but you pulled him back and put the straw to his mouth

"Your hands are dirty" you said, putting the straw in his mouth.

He watched you for a few seconds and took the straw into his mouth without taking his eyes off you. You watched him for a few seconds, exercising such a harmless movement and yet... Seeing him swallow that water, while looking into your eyes simply made you lose your nerve for a long moment, making you bite your lips against your will... Your face is getting dangerously close to Frankie's and the glass that was between you is no more. You suddenly share his air, though your breath is completely cut off, trembling slightly as you feel his hand brush against your arm without reaching for it, lest you get dirty.

You close your eyes and your lips pause in front of Frankie's, feeling his nose close to yours, the heat of his body invading your space, that little moment between your lips feels like an eternity, your breath completely cut off, waiting only for the moment when one of you decides to put his lips on the other's burning body.

And you feel him coming towards you... A little more... A little more... And suddenly Frankie stops, stepping back, leaving you to foolishly watch him walk away and answer a call.

You don't know where to put yourself and decide to simply sit back down, without talking about it... Because he doesn't know how to pass... When the opportunity was there...

"We have to go back," he says suddenly, cutting you off.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, don't worry, I'm only called away on a job tomorrow morning... And I'd rather be in town already, you know..."

"Oh yes of course!" You say, giving him a pouty smile, secretly sad that you won't be able to spend more time with him, and hurry to your room to gather your things.”

On the way home there is not a word exchanged and you wonder if he is as disappointed as you are...

Frankie can see that your face is less jovial than usual and feels a little guilty, he doesn't know why but instinctively does, and simply puts his hand on your thigh and strokes it lightly.

It's only then that you realise how tense you were and relax a little, putting your hand on his without really thinking about it.

When he drops you off at home your heart squeezes slightly in the same way that his does when you leave.

You fall against the wall of your house and feel your heart pounding in your chest, so much so that you don't immediately hear it pounding against your door, wondering how you can stay friends with him when your heart has this kind of reaction. You get up weakly, more exhausted than anything else, wondering who could be coming to see you at such a late hour, but when you open the door you realise it's only Frankie...

"Did I forget something?" you ask.

He stands there for a second before pressing his lips to yours.

You'd like to push him away... No you wouldn't, you'd like it to stay like this forever... And you return his kiss wrapping your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the little space you share, letting yourself breathe his air that you've wanted to breathe so many times. You let him hold you tightly, to the point where your bodies could merge, you want that... to have him inside you forever...

You suddenly feel something pressed against you, something growing, something you want more than anything else at this moment... But you push him away lightly reminding yourself that you still haven't done your test, swallowing the sweet thought of being crushed by his body, while being brutally pounded inside...

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... I should have asked you..." he says to you with a slightly broken look in his eyes... Another rejection he must be thinking.

"No, I wanted to... It's just that I'm tired and... Just drop in one night, this week... If you can... Please..."

You wrap your arms around his neck like you would with a friend, to give him a hug and don't get his hopes up too high even if you just asked him to come over on night, before continuing in a low voice in his ear "I'll cook and we can talk if you want..."

He doesn't really want to talk anymore, but smiles at you with another idea in mind , and then, pulls away from you slightly to look at you with a slight smile on his face, keeping his hand on the back of your neck, caressing it lightly, giving you the tenderness you need once again. You close your eyes and let him cherish you for a few seconds before he places a kiss on your forehead and moves towards the door.

"I'll come by in a couple of days if you're free?"

You nod with a smile, and watch him get into his truck, then drive away from you, again...

You hate it...

When you lock the door to your house, you run into the bathroom and unwrap the test and use it. You don't really know what you want: on the one hand, you've always wanted this child if he's already here... But on the other hand, this could possibly prevent you from having a possible future with the first man who seems to suit you...

After taking the test you sit on the cold bathroom floor not knowing which option you prefer and wonder why you can't have both...

When the test comes up a wave of joy comes over you, followed by a moment of sadness as you realise that nothing will be possible with Frankie... Those butterflies that you feel every moment you spend with him escape your life and disappear from your sight: you are pregnant.

You walk away with the test in your hand into your living room and look at him smiling in spite of yourself, realising that you want this more than anything else.

You want that little baby.

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

The days passed and you already started to look for ways to arrange your little flat for a new little being. You didn't reply to Frankie after you told him you didn't want that dinner after all. You didn't open the door when he came to your door and asked if he could talk to you, if there was something wrong...

You couldn't answer him so you just locked yourself in your room crying waiting for him to leave that day... And you haven't heard from him since... For almost three weeks now...

Nina jumped for joy when you told her the news and you made her promise not to tell Will or the others, not wanting Frankie to know about this... Not yet.

The next day she insisted on taking you to the funfair in town, claiming that you don't get out enough and that you have time to prepare for the arrival of the little one she says she's going to cherish as much as you.

And she was right about you not getting out enough: the crowd makes you anxious, too many people all at once, enough people that you don't realise there's a child clinging to your legs until you try to take another step. As you look down you see a little face you know well smiling at you, giving you her beautiful dimples: Isabella...

You bend down to hug her and see the boys over her shoulder with her father... Of course...

You turn to Nina and give her a dark look. But she pretends not to understand.

You turn to Nina and give her a glare, but she pretends not to understand, "Oh boys... what a coincidence to find you here..."

Will smiles at you understanding what she wanted to do and before you could say hello to him, Frankie came over and gave his daughter a candyfloss.

"Hello," he said without looking up at you.

"Francisco..."

He smiled bitterly before taking his daughter's hand and handing it to Pope, who gave you a slight smile in greeting, presumably knowing what you put his best friend through.

"Have I done something to you?" said Frankie before the other guys had even gotten far away enough.

"No..."

"Then what? Why didn't you ever answer me? Or open up?And I know you were there... I just wanted to talk to you... Just to know..."

When you finally looked him in the eye you could see a confused and probably hurt man...

"Is it because of my past? I thought that -"

"I'm pregnant Francisco!"

Your eyes widen as you realise that this is only coming out to not let him think that this is all his fault, to not let him spin a little more around his deepest insecurity.

You can't look him in the eye though, you don't want to see the disgust he might have at the thought that you might have let him think you could have something when in the end you were only wasting his time.

You suddenly felt his hand around your wrist and before you knew it, you were away from the crowd by the parking lots.

"There was that night at my house, when I was drinking but I don't remember drinking that much."

"No Francisco this is not yours... you are not..."

You can't finish your sentence and burst into tears in front of him, feeling guilty about the situation.

Frankie can see that you look lost and simply hugs you, hating to see you like this. You hold him tighter than you'd like, feeling his scent settle around you, a comforting smell that you've missed so much. He lets go of you after a long minute to pick up his phone and walks away for a few seconds (you hate this fucking phone, always taking him away from you), before beckoning you to come with him.

"Where are we going?"

"To your place... or mine, but we need to talk in private and quiet space."

"Isabella..."

"I just got her godfather, he'll take care of her for as long as I need..."

Pope...

You nod and get into his truck, thanking God you came in Nina's car and not yours.

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

You're a little anxious as you walk to the kitchen, fiddling with the bottom of your dress, wondering what he's going to say about all this, but you don't expect much to be positive ... probably by fear of being disappointed, as you've always been

You offer him a beer on the way back, which he declines before you sit down opposite him at the table.

"Why didn't you tell me?..."

"I didn't know... I wasn't sure..."

"No, I mean after our weekend... Why did you just... I'm a friend of Will, and you're with his girlfriend, I would have eventually seen that you have a child at some point..."

"I felt like I wasted your time... I wasted it all so I just cut it off"

He watches you for a few seconds and finally gets up to get a beer from the fridge.

"Do you know who the father is? Not that it matters... But is he still around?"

"...I don't know actually... I had an insemination..."

He nods with a neutral look on his face, which disturbs you to no end. You'd really think he'd be a bit more responsive to all this despite his rather gentle nature...

"Do you know if it's a girl or a boy?"

You tilt your head to the side, not sure if he's serious, or if he's planning to make fun of you at some point, that he's trying to stay calm and not snap.

"Francisco... You don't seem to be reacting to the situation"

"How would you like me to react?"

"I don't know..."

He again sees a kind of emptiness forming in your eyes which he gradually loses, thoughts clouding your mind: you are anxious. So he comes over and sits down, putting his hand on yours and forcing you to focus on him again.

"You wanted this child, didn't you?"

"YES ... yes. More than anything.

"...And I want to be with you."

You look up into his eyes, your eyebrows furrowed, tears welling up in your eyes, not understanding how he could want a woman who is carrying someone else's child.

"But..."

"It didn't bother you that I had Isabella, did it?"

"Of course not, but..."

"And why is that?"

"Because I... Io... I like you."

"Well, I like you too," he says, giving you his tender smile, flashing his puppy dog eyes. You can't hold back any longer and dive into his arms to crush your lips to his.

He absorbs your kiss like it's the last thing he'll ever do in his life, taking you on his legs, one on either side of his hips, giving him access to your mount that he so desperately craves.

You gasp between his lips as you feel his fingers ghost over your pussy and let him put his tongue in your mouth deeper, giving him full access to every part of you.

"No underwear?" he says against your lips slightly smiling, running his hand once more under your dress.

"Rarely with dresses..." you reply, placing kisses on his neck, on his veins that you have wanted to kiss more than a dozen times.

He lifts you up and pushes everything off the table with his free arm, placing you gently on it, letting his hand slide from your neck to your collarbones where he leans in for a kiss that makes you shiver and you bite your lips to keep from making a sound you might regret so early in the evening

You watch him take off his cap and throw it God knows where, followed by his shirt... Lord that body... Broad shoulders, a fine chest accompanied by a little bit of belly he must have gained with age and a very small waist contrasting with the rest of his body...

He leans over you again to kiss you on the lips and gradually moves down to bare one of your breasts from your dress, to take it between his lips, making you moan at the feel of his tongue caressing your nipple, making them both harden with excitement.

« You look beautiful » he says as he kneels in front of your pussy, his view more than pleasing, as your sex is glistening with excitement. He brings you a little closer to the edge and before you can even respond, his tongue is tracing a long line from the bottom to the top of your fold. You gasp again at the pleasant sensation he makes you feel with that little movement alone, and when he takes your clit between his lips to suck on it as you like, you moan louder than you would have liked, clinging to his hair as if for dear life, at this very moment, letting him make splendid movements with his tongue on you... Then inside you, growling at the taste of your cheek which he seems to enjoy as well as the way you pull on that hair, letting the vibrations accentuate the pleasure you are feeling right now.

You try to keep your eyes on him, and he keeps his eyes fixed on you, watching you choke on his name, making his arousal grow stronger and stronger, holding back from touching himself right away, wanting his full attention on you and only you.

One of his hands moves up between your breasts to squeeze the one that is already out. Your hips come off the table, arching your back at the stimulation. When he realises that you are overstimulated, he stops and kisses your sex once, then twice, moving up to one of your breasts to nibble it, making you gasp in surprise.

"Frank-...Francisco!"

"You taste so good, beautiful... so good... are you gonna cum for me?"

You nod, almost not knowing how to string words together, or form a simple sentence. He perseveres in his efforts, and you feel his tongue curl into you and tickle that precise spot that makes your legs tremble and his nose.

You hold on, one hand still in his hair and the other on your breast, enjoying the vibrations of his moans in your pussy as you finally cum between his lips, calling out his name, making sure everyone knows who you currently belong to.

"Good girl" he says as he watches you lose yourself on him wiping his mouth wet with your juice, watching you pussy complain about its emptiness.

You can't help but look at the long, thick cock in front of your eyes, eager to feel it inside you, eager to feel him inside of you. Frankie doesn't miss it, smiling and stroking your thigh so as not to lose any contact with you, satisfying you because you're now only looking for friction.

"Do you have a condom?" he asks, pumping his cock

"No but I'm clean...And already pregnant so, if you're clean..."

He laughs at your little joke, and you smile at him, glad that he is not uncomfortable with the situation.

"I haven't had anyone since my last test to try and get my license back..." he says as he positions himself in front of you.

You straighten up to pull your dress completely off over your head and take the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, taking him with you as you lie back down on the table.

He teases you, not immediately penetrating you as you would like, instead he pumps his cock before positioning himself in front of you, moistening the tip of his cock with your arousal, and grunting as he dips the tip of his cock inside you, making you wiggle your hips in anticipation.

"Please I want you inside me fran... frankie..."

He smiles and kisses you tenderly in contrast to the fact that he plunges into you with a sudden jerk without warning, grabbing your hips to thrust himself deeper into your wet hole.

You gasp at the brutal sensation of this penetration, this delectable stretch.

You open your mouth, moaning as he begins to open you with painful but pleasurable slowness, not wanting to fuck you either, and when he's fully inside you, he pulls out to thrust violently with his hips, thrusting into you as he likes to do, slamming against that place you love with each thrust, making you choke on the pleasure, not giving you a moment to catch your breath. You contract around him, still fresh from your first orgasm, feeling the second coming, and he feels it too...

"Is that what you wanted unh?"

"Yes, yes Frankie," you said as you tried to catch your breath, clutching as best you could to his broad shoulders.

And he kissed you savagely, starting his thrusts into you, at first gently, making you mewl slightly, then a little more quickly and aggressively, leaving you breathless quite quickly and the only thing that ended up being heard in the room was his grunting matching your little whimpers.

He's good. He's so good, pounding against that little part inside you that makes you see stars, has you feeling every vein of his penis slide in and out of you.

And you're obviously not the only one enjoying it, Frankie can't believe how tight you are, and soaking wet for him.

You hear him say a few words you don't understand, grunting every time he pushes into you, every time he digs his fingers deeper into the flesh of your hips

One of his hands suddenly ventures onto your clit starting to make little circles.

"I need you to come beautiful I... I am not gonna last" he growls in your ear as he places a long kiss on your neck, in total contradiction with the way he's been pounding you for the past couple of minutes.

You nod and it's as if your body was just waiting for his permission to cum.

Frankie strokes the side of your thigh with his free hand and continues to thrust lightly into you to keep working you into your orgasm.

He lets you relax for a few seconds before releasing your legs to bend over you and perform five or six more thrusts, before you feel his balls contract and cum, revealing the veins in his neck which you lean in to kiss, smiling weakly at his smile as tired as yours.

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

It's been a good week since you and Frankie slept together. And most men would have reconsidered the fact that you were pregnant by a stranger... But not him. Frankie spent most of his time with you, sleeping with you, making love to you and even started helping you look at baby cots.

And you lived the big dream like that for a good two weeks until the clinic contacted you again one afternoon, a few days after you told the doctor it had worked and you went for a check-up...

"Is there a problem?"

"Well... that will depend on you..."

You instinctively touch your belly worried that there might be a problem with the baby

"What's going on, please tell me..."

"Well we hadn't been paying attention... But the donor has stipulated to be contacted if his sperm is used..."

Oh no...

You collapse on the sofa, and Frankie, who was reading next to you, looks at you a little concerned, coming to hug you directly, even though he doesn't know what it's about yet

"And so I am forced..."

"Yes... I'm sorry, I'll have to contact him and I'll let you know..."

You hang up a little disappointed but decide not to tell Frankie just yet, not having planned to have someone else in the life of this not yet born baby... he doesn't insist but you assure him that the child is fine and that's enough for him.

At least it was at the beggining, The weeks go by and Frankie has also become a bit distant, working a bit more than usual, spending a bit more time with Isabella with his ex-wife's permission; and so one afternoon you find yourself alone at the clinic, still not having spoken to her about it all...

"Can you first explain to me how this happened? How I didn't have the choice to include this person in our lives?"

"Sit down... There was a file exchange with another clinic... And I realized when I was doing your tests that... the DNA didn't match..."

"YOU GOT THE WRONG FILE?! Are you telling me that I didn't even choose my donor?!

"I sincerely apologize..."

"You can!"

You stand up for a few seconds touching your stomach trying to think, and putting your mind to the fact that you will love this child no matter what.

"...Who is the father... Don't tell me a killer please... or any other criminal... Please" you say as you sit back down

"Well he's in the army if that makes you feel any better...

"Oh my God, is he dead?"

"No, not as far as I know. We had to go through the emergency contact because his number was gone... It's an old file..."

“Oh great I'm having a child with a 70 year old veteran...”

"Not as old... He should be here soon and-"

"YOU TOLD HIM TO COME?! I didn't agree to that!"

"That's the procedure I'm sure- Mr. Good Morning!"

You hear the door open but don't turn as he stands up to greet the biological father of your child, not at the time, but you realise that you will eventually have to see his face to see what the other half of your child might look like...

You inhale and stand up to face the man who is shaking his hand at the doctor.

"Frankie? How did you know I was here?"

Frankie opens his mouth to answer you, and his eyes suddenly widen, understanding what is happening.

"Do you know each other?" says the doctor "Not family I hope..."

"NO!" you reply in unison.

Frankie walks over to you, smiling slightly and hugging you tightly.

"I needed the money to pay for my flight school studies... years ago... and... I didn't know if I'd ever have a child with the military so..."

You place a hand on your stomach as you watch him understand what is gradually happening. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders and just start crying when he put his hand on yours, a movement that he has already done before but that you appreciate more now in a way... It's his.

Frankie takes you in his arms and kisses the top of your head, feeling tears welling up in his eyes too.

"Is that why you became distant? That you weren't really talking to me?"

You nod, ridiculously sobbing

"I didn't know how to tell you that another man might be coming into our lives... I wasn't sure how to tell you I..."

He took your face in his hands and kissed you tenderly again, forgetting that the doctor is still standing in the corner of the room not really understanding what's going on.

"We're going to be a family. You, Isabella, this little angel and me and that’s all what matter now" he said with a smile.

He kissed you, and you felt a wave of joy come over you, making you realise that love may well exist in the end.You think about the fact that you are going to form a family with the man of your dreams, that you are now carrying a little bit of him inside you, a little Frankie... Your little miracle coming from the only man who could give you butterflies in your stomach...

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The tie wrapped around his neck suddenly feels too tight, the navy suit blazer suddenly too warm, the matching slacks suddenly too small.

He’s never been more thankful for the white linen tablecloth covering his lower half, for it covering his growing problem.

It’s some summer wedding, an old friend from their basic training days. Round tables on green grass, string lights and blush pink tulle matching the foliage and flowers. The guys sit with him, in their own gray and navy suits, laughing and teasing as you tell them some story from work.

He can’t focus, eyes glued to your mouth and when you wrap them around the straw to whatever fruity cocktail you’re drinking, he can’t help the devilish thought of how they would look so much better wrapped around his dick.

And with that simple thought, it’s like the floodgates opened with full force.

Scenes of you on your knees looking up at him with those beautiful eyes fill his head, the phantom feeling of your tongue trailing from his base to the head, the thought of you licking the beading precum off the tip. You’re so good at it, always making him feel so good, so-

“Fish, you good?”

Benny smacks his hand onto his shoulder and it rips him from his train of thoughts. His eyes try to refocus, to pull away from your lips, but he finds that only his head leans towards his friend, a faint mmh hmm coming from tightly pressed lips.

“Dude seriously.”

Your eyes flicker over to him and your gaze makes him regain his head. He blinks a couple times before turning to his friend. He finds all eyes on him and it makes fire rise up to his cheeks, his fingers nervously rubbing the seam of the tablecloth.

“Yeah, man.”

Benny’s eyes scan over his face, eyebrows together in that way that tells him he’s not getting away with anything. But he just shrugs and restarts the conversation. Everyone flows back into the previous rhythm and with eyes closed, he sends a silent thank you out into the universe.

But when Frankie turns back to you, he finds you already looking at him. Eyes full of mischief and cherry red lips upturned.

Fuck, he’s been caught.

He’s not sure where to put his hands, where to grab and hold on because he feels like he’s no longer tethered to this world. One threads into your hair, the other grips the wall of the small bathroom.

You look up at him through thick lashes, black from mascara, eyeshadow sparkling from the sunlight that peaks through the frosted window. Your tongue slides along the underside of him, along the vein that you always tell him you love and makes goosebumps rise on his skin.

Then you kiss the tip, soft enough it makes his heart leap with adoration and affection, and it’s as if time stopped. You pull away, one hand holding the base of him, he meets your gaze and he can feel his chest blossom in warmth. The hand that was in your hair shifts to cup your jaw and let his thumb trace the delicate skin above your cheekbone.

With those plump red lips you smile up at him and it's the most goddamn sweet smile he’s ever seen.

But then with no warning, you slide down his entire length, taking him to the base and he has to bite down a yelp. Your cheeks cave in from where you suck and suck and holy fucking shit you’re so good at this.

Tears bud and swell at the corners of your eyes, you’re doing so good for him, taking him so well, but his favorite is the way your lips wrap around him, puffy and still painted that bright red.

It makes his core tighten, and when one of your hands snakes up his thighs, trailing your nails against his skin, until you reach up and cup his balls, rolling them in your palm, he swears he meets Jesus.

He’s never come that fast in his entire life. And if you weren’t swallowing him down while staring up at him with such love he’d be a little embarrassed. But then again, you’re perfect.

Giving him one last firm suck that pulls a harsh gasp from him, you slide off with a pop! Then he watches with half lidded eyes as you rise and press a kiss to his lips. He melts even further into the kiss, humming out his approval and lazily moving against yours with practiced ease.

You smile at him, mischievous and full of mirth, hand trailing down and resting over his softening length. Kissing his cheek you smile and turn to the mirror, “Left my mark.” Then you quickly reapply the cherry red and fix your dress.

He’s confused, but only for a few seconds until he looks down to tuck himself back away. There at the base, centimeters from his pubic bone, is a ring of red lipstick painted over his dick and he has to close his eyes, spent cock twitching at the sight.

“Dios mío.”

His voice is breathless, still recovering from the soul shaking orgasm you had given him seconds ago. “Your mark” telling him exactly how far you were able to take him down your throat. His fingernails dig into his palms as he tries to regain control over his lower half.

“I think you might be my soulmate.”

You giggle and meet his blissed out gaze in the mirror. “I love you too.” Then you slide out of the bathroom door and back into the world.

It’s the little things, more than anything, that drives Frankie crazy.

Like when you’re cooking breakfast in the morning, one of his or Santi’s shirts over your frame as you hum along to the soft music coming out of your phone - you’re the pure image of domesticity, your comfort in the home more evident than ever, and it never fails to send heat crawling up his spine - a jump of his cock through his pajama pants, just so.

He can’t be in the bathroom with Santi anymore when he shaves - how he tilts his head up slightly, gentle fingers smoothing shaving cream over his jaw and chin, delicately dragging the razor across the stubble that grows oh-so-fast within a few days of a clean shave. His brows are furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, breathing light and gentle and it ignites the sudden urge within Frankie to bend the man over the counter, razor be damned.

Your lazy arm tossed over his stomach while you sleep soundly during the night, fingers grasping his shirt - Santi’s low groan as Frankie lands him with a +4 card in Uno - how the two of you bicker playfully watching movies together, legs curled together beneath the small blanket the three of you attempt to all fit under.

Frankie feels depraved, sometimes, gross with how his body reacts to the simplest of either of your motions. You two ruin him without trying, all wide smiles and soft smiles while he’s trying to adjust his fucking pants to hide the tent growing in him -

And you’re doing it now, though you surely don’t realize. You both never seem to.

It’s Will’s 4th of July party, held in his backyard with some friends from work and the army and, naturally, the three of you were among the first to receive your invites. It’s mindless fun, clutching cold beers and hard seltzers and trying to pretend that the Floridian heat in the dead of summer isn’t practically torturous. There’s a pleasant bustle of chatter and laughter around the deck and the lawn, kids running around amongst them with loud, unruly laughter, aided by the supply of water guns Will keeps specifically for this purpose. Frankie is leaning back in his seat, sipping his drink and drumming his fingers against his phone while he listens to Tom’s monotonous conversation with one of Benny’s friends from work.

He couldn’t give half a shit what they’re talking about - something with fighting and techniques that Frankie can’t even pretend to be intrigued by. His eyes are drawn, instead, to you and Santi, curled up on a lawn chair together across the deck, deep in giggly conversation with Molly and Benny. Your legs are thrown over Santi’s lap as you half lie on top of him, position making the flowy sundress you’re donning ride up your thighs. Frankie is too positive that if the wind blows even the slightest the dress will reveal to the entire party the smattering of bruises on your thighs from last night when you had ridden Santi while Frankie took his ass -

He shifts in his seat. His pants are suddenly becoming tighter and he wants to scream out at the feeling. Santi’s arm is wrapped loosely around your torso, hand resting on your waist as you dip your head into his shoulder with an airy laugh that Frankie can hear, even as far as he is - he knows you’re more than a bit tipsy, but so is Santi, judging from how touchy he’s being with you, and, hell, so is Frankie himself. Will has what feels like an endless supply of alcohol in all different forms and all of you have been consuming in some way -

The problem is that Frankie wants to consume something else now, and you and Santi look delectable in your relaxed position.

Frankie adjusts himself again. He can feel his cock hardening where it’s tucked into the waistband of his boxers and it’s more than a bit humiliating to have a boner at a fucking barbecue of all places, the image of all-American excellence and suburbian daydreams, where getting boners watching your girlfriend and boyfriend drunkenly cuddle together is very firmly not accepted. 

He grips his beer - pushes himself to stand, and Tom and Benny’s friend hardly even notice Frankie as he departs from the table they’d been seated at. They’re too engaged to have noticed him for the past ten minutes, which Frankie preferred, anyway - makes his exit all the easier. He makes his way over to the two of you, hooking his ankle around the bottom of one of the lawn chairs scattered around the deck, tugging it closer to yours and Santi’s before he plops into it beside you.

Benny and Molly have conveniently broken into their own side conversation, and you turn your head to glance at Frankie with a bright, gleaming smile. You’re glowing and radiant, unlike the personification of heat stroke that most others at the party seem to be identifying with - he wants to grab your face and jam his lips with yours - take all of your light and share it between the two of you. Three of you, if Santi would accept it.

“Hey, honey,” you say, and he can’t help but let a small smile tug at his lips. You’re most definitely a notch above being simply tipsy, your voice just a decibel louder than normal and brighter in its tone. “Where’ve you been?”

Frankie juts his chin across the deck towards the glass table he’d been seated at with the other two men, looking momentarily paused in their conversations, lifting cans of beer to their mouths - “Talking to Tom and what’s-his-face over there.”

Santi snorts softly, dropping his head against the back of the lawn chair with an exhale. “Riveting conversation, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, yeah,” Frankie says, resting his can of beer against the painted wooden arm of his chair. “Talking about some fight he’s having next week and his techniques - could hardly get enough of it.”

You hum softly, and then Frankie feels your gentle fingers against his hand. When he glances down he sees your digits wrapped around his beer, paused as though waiting for permission to try it. He lets go of it and raises his eyes back up to your face as you lift the can to your mouth, taking a small sip. His eyes are drawn to the bared line of your throat as you swallow the liquid, and his face flushes as his dick jumps again and he wants to shout out.

You scrunch your nose as you set the beer back down, wiping your mouth with the back of your palm. “It’s too hoppy.”

“Frankie likes a hoppy beer, babe,” Santi tells you, tone reeking of the lazy smile that graces his lips. It’s carefree and relaxed, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world other than beer and his lovers, which is - oddly endearing - Frankie can’t decide which of you two he wants to bury himself in more right now, now that he thinks of it.

You shrug, resting your head against his chest, and there’s still a small droplet of beer present on your bottom lip - tinged yellow against your faded lip gloss - Frankie reaches his thumb up to wipe it away. When his thumb is against your lip, intended only for a fraction of a second, you pucker them, pressing a kiss to his finger, and his stomach twists at the feel of your color-coated lips against his skin.

For a second, there’s silence between the three of you. Frankie picks up his beer to take another sip, noting the smudge of lip gloss against the edge of the can, and you shift in Santi’s lap slightly, and Santi is smiling like he knows exactly what’s running through Frankie’s mind, which could very well be true - if ever there was someone who knows Frankie more than he knows himself, it must be Santi.

There’s a knowing glint in his eyes, and his arm tightens around your waist, hand smoothing over your stomach through the fabric of your short sundress. It’s still riding a bit too high on your thighs, but Frankie wouldn’t dare complain. He likes the peeks he gets of your upper thighs, just enough to spark illicit thoughts in his mind but not enough to count as flashing anyone at the party which - is a benefit.

Frankie leans in, gripping the arm of the lawn chair you’re sharing with Santi, until his face is in between both of yours. When he speaks, it’s a low whisper, inaudible to any ears that don’t belong to his lovers. “I’m so fucking hard right now.”

Santi laughs out loud at that, and you smile, weaving your arm around his neck and using your other hand to press lightly against the side of Frankie’s face. Your hand is surprisingly cool against the warm flesh of his cheeks, surely getting a bit sunburnt from the violent Florida sun, and your touch only invigorates his desperation.

“I’m wet,” you tell him, and even in your tipsy state you still have enough sense to lower your voice - you don’t say it as if it’s something unusual or embarrassing, but rather as though you’re telling him about the weather instead of the state of your horniness. “You both look really good, honestly, been thinkin’ about it since we got here-”

“Jesus Christ,” Santi says, voice amused and broken through his grin as he shakes his head, stretching his arm across the top of Frankie’s lawn chair - unsurprisingly, the way his shirt ripples against his bicep at the motion does not do much to alleviate Frankie’s little (or, realistically, not so little) issue. “You two are fiends.”

You roll your eyes, and then lean your head closer up so your words filter straight into their ears, not a syllable getting lost to the wind and chatter of the rest of the party. “Santi, I can feel how hard you are against my ass.”

Santi doesn’t seem to have a reply to that and Frankie smiles. He loves when either of you makes Santi speechless - a rare phenomenon, and entirely appreciated.

“What are you gonna do, Fish?” Santi asks him after a beat of silence, his hand smoothing up and down the expanse of your back through your dress. “Take it to the bathroom?”

“The basement,” Frankie says, shaking his head at his boyfriend’s suggestion, and Santi raises his eyebrows.

“Getting risky.”

“Less risky than the bathroom, cabrón - who the hell is going into the basement during a barbecue?”

“Us,” you interject, scratching your nails lightly against the side of Frankie’s face. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you even if he wasn’t desperate for the feeling of your cunt around him - not when you’re tutting your bottom lip out just a bit, fuck-me-eyes on full display, the image of neediness for him.

“Alright,” Frankie says, voice quieter than he intended - and then he stands up, unneeding of more talk about it and unwilling to wait any longer, his pants straining against the fat of his hardened cock, even tucked into his boxers as it is. “Come.”

You smile, slipping your fingers into his outstretched hand when he offers it to you. He tugs you off the shorter man’s lap (Santi tugs your dress down just a bit where it’s hitched up a smidge too much) and you smile widely up at him. Your eyes are glazed slightly in your state of tipsiness, staring up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and he likes seeing that look in your eyes. Likes how much you like him.

“Gonna join us, Pope?” Frankie asks - he makes sure his voice is quiet enough for no one but you and Santi to hear, Molly and Benny’s conversation still going strong where they sit a mere few feet away.

Santi shakes his head, shifting in his seat - a drop of Frankie’s eyes to the front of Santi’s pants confirms what you had joked about before, a slight bulge present in the fabric. “I’ll stay,” he says, and your lips turn downwards just a bit. “Don’t make that face. I’ll make it up to you at home. Have your fun.”

Frankie leans down, fingers still intertwined with yours as he presses one chaste kiss to Santi’s lips, feeling the other man smile against his mouth. 

“I’ll tell people she wasn’t feeling good and you went to take care of her,” Santi tells you both. “They’ll believe it, too - our little lightweight, sick off a few Claws and a beer.”

You pretend to be offended at this notion but you’re much too bouncy to truly be upset by it (and, anyway, it is true, so it’s best not to work yourself up over the truth.) Frankie grins against Santi’s lips and then pulls away, raising two fingers in a mock salute as he pulls you towards the sliding glass door leading into Will’s house. Benny just opened the barbecue and the deck becomes a commotion of everyone shouting hot dog or burger, and it’s entirely too easy for you and Frankie to slip away through the sliding door without any wandering eyes following you. It almost feels meant to be.

Frankie slides the door shut behind the both of you, giving one final glance at Santi where he’s now rejoined Molly and Benny’s conversation - his hands have wrapped around the can of beer Frankie left at his seat, lifting it to his mouth to take a sip - which is also strangely attractive but Frankie doesn’t dwell on it as much as he wants to. You’re needy next to him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, drumming your fingers against the back of his hand as you tug him from the door.

“You’re so impatient,” Frankie informs you, as if you hadn’t already known, as you pull him through the kitchen to the hallway, stairwell leading upstairs sitting at the other end. When the sliding doors are out of your view you slide your arms around Frankie’s neck, pulling his face down to yours and clashing your lips together. It’s fast and desperate, you pressing your body into the curve of his as he leans down into you, hands grabbing at the bottom of your back to steady the two of you against each other.

You whine as he licks his tongue into you, your mouth tasting distinctly of raspberry White Claws, and Frankie curses under his breath when he pulls away. You chase his lips but he straightens up instead of indulging you, moving one hand to grab at the knob of the door beside you. He only remembers where the basement is from when he and the guys had helped Will move into this house a few years back - the basement became solely storage, made of boxes and knick-knacks that found no use in the upper, decorative levels of the home. It works out in Frankie’s favor, its lacklusterness, as he tugs you down the stairs, shutting the door gently behind you. He doesn’t trust you to go down by yourself without stumbling so he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling your body into his as you descend the steep, wooden staircase to the dusty basement.

Frankie turns on the lightswitch on the wall, and the light is dim and slightly flickering, barely illuminating the basement - there’s a small window near the ceiling that brings in rays of light from outside and he decides that’s a better option than using the failing lights in Will’s basement - he flicks the lightswitch off, instead.

You take a step away from him, walking through the dingy basement as though you’re Alice in Wonderland, exploring all there is to see of the stacks of boxes and decorations delegated to the bottom level of the home. You stand out in the gray dimness, dress flowing around the tops of your thighs and skin practically glistening from the stream of sunshine through the window, and Frankie hadn’t realized he was moving in on you until you’re close enough for him to touch. 

He reaches his hands out, grasping your hips in his large hands, and you gasp softly as Frankie tugs you back into his body. Your head drops into his chest, a soft moan trickling out of your mouth like a song when Frankie rolls his hips into yours. It’s slow and experimental, as though to simply show you how hard he is rather than try to gain pleasure for either of you - either way, he hisses in your ear when you push back into him, tightening his hold on your hips.

You hum softly when Frankie walks the two of you forward until your front is pressed to the exposed brick wall, pressing your palms to the wall on either side of your head as though Frankie is putting you under arrest - the position, the comparison, makes him huff out a chuckle, gripping the hem of your dress and tugging it past your thighs and your ass to your waist.

“Not even gonna - warm me up first?” you inquire, voice high pitched and tinged with laughter, and Frankie grins. Leans in, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, and he can taste the slight saltiness of your sweat from being outside but he loves it in a way he probably shouldn’t.

Frankie snakes one of his arms around the front of your body, palm pressed to your stomach before his fingers dip lower. Your panties are lace, fucking soaked through with your wetness but he pushes past the fabric, dipping one cold finger into your folds into your warm folds, and you jolt with a moan while he tries not to cum in his pants at how you’re practically dripping into his touch. You hadn’t been lying when you told him and Santi you were wet - he’s sure if he spent time fingering you for more than 30 seconds you would practically be dripping down his wrist.

“You feel pretty warm to me,” Frankie tells you, voice gruff with arousal, and you try to giggle at his joke but then he’s plunging his finger into your warmth and the laugh breaks off into a whimper. He curls his finger where it’s buried in your cunt, and he knows it’s the wrong angle to hit your sweet spot but you clench around him, digging your nails into the brick wall. “We don’t have a lot of time, querida.”

Still - you’re pushing your hips into his fingers, practically riding his hand, moaning so sweet and soft as you grapple for the stimulation you need. Frankie leans closer to you, pressing his hips against the swell of your ass, and with the hand that isn’t buried in your pussy, he unzips his jeans. Tugs the waistband of his boxers down over the bulge, and his cock practically springs free, rock-hard and leaking precum onto his hand as he wraps his fist around the length of it.

Reluctantly, Frankie pulls his hand out of your panties - you make to whine at the sudden emptiness but he brings his hand up, dipping his finger into your mouth and you’re more than eager to suck him clean, tongue kitten-licking at your juices. Frankie’s cock is twitching with need, practically jumping in his closed fist as he pumps himself firmly - pulls his finger out of your mouth and grabs at your thigh instead, tugging your legs further apart just slightly before reaching forward to pull your panties to the side.

He prods the tip of his cock against your cunt, sliding it through your sodden folds a few times - you groan, tilting your head so your cheek is pressed to the brick, lips puffed out and open in a soft whine.

You open your mouth to, surely, beg him to fuck you - he obliges before you even ask, surging his hips forward and jamming himself in your cunt in one swoop. He leans forward, capturing your lips against his mouth to swallow the loud moan that tears out of your mouth, and the kiss is so goddamn depraved, his tongue jamming into your mouth as he grabs at your hip, that he almost blows his load in you right then.

“Fuck,” Frankie moans into your mouth, pulling out of you before thrusting back in. He doesn’t bother with a slow pace to get you ready for him - you’re moaning already, cunt fluttering around him - he knows you don’t need any starting pace. “Don’t even know how you’re so tight, fuckin’ suffocating me -”

You move your hand off the wall, wrapping your arm around his neck to hold his face close to yours as you mewl into his mouth like a cat in heat. Frankie digs his fingers into your hip, pulling your hips back into his every thrust, forcing you to meet him in the middle as you quiver beneath the blanket of his body, frame covering yours and pressing you so close to the wall you’re practically becoming one with it.

“Rub your clit,” he tells you, then. He wants to feel you cum around him and he knows you’re already close - can see how your eyes are rolled back when he pulls away from your mouth to stare at your bliss-drunk features - but he thinks he can make you cum twice before he does. He certainly wants to. “Or do you want me to.”

It’s a rhetorical question because Frankie knows you love when he rubs your clit more than when you do it. His fingers are bigger - his grasp a bit rougher - skin a bit more calloused than your more delicate hands - and you simply nod, even though the question was decidedly not yes or no, so Frankie slides his hand on your hip around your body. Two fingers press over your clit, strumming the soaked, sensitive nub one - two - three times before your body is shuddering beneath him.

Your cunt clenches mindlessly around his cock, pistoning in and out of you with its relentless pace, and Frankie has half a mind to lean back in and slot his lips over yours again when you sob out, the noise loud and desperate and dripping with need. You may be hidden from view of the party but Frankie isn’t sure how soundproof the basement is from the outside - he doesn’t want everyone getting a goddamn earful of your shenanigans, especially when you’re meant to be yakking up your Claws into the toilet.

“Oh, yes,” you’re breathing into his mouth when you’ve ridden the aftershocks of your orgasm to completion, only prolonged by Frankie’s absolute resistance to slowing his roll at all. “Yes, yes, so good, baby, fuck -”

Your dirty talk is moderately slurred with your tipsiness, though he knows you wouldn’t have much luck talking coherently even if you weren’t more-than-slightly inebriated. Him and Santi are (according to you, not Frankie’s narcissism) the only two men to ever succeed in making you cock drunk, unable to think of anything but the feeling of their cocks pumping in and out of your cunt or your mouth or wherever else.

You’re cock drunk and real drunk, and it’s a combination that has you like jelly underneath him.

Frankie exhales a moan and then he’s grabbing your waist - pulls out of you, cock throbbing at the loss of the vise of your cunt around it - before he’s yanking you to the side. There’s a stack of boxes beside where the two of you had been fucking against the wall, suspiciously close to the height of your hips, and as you whine at the emptiness that brutalizes your pussy, Frankie presses on your back to bend you over the boxes. 

The top one is labeled FRAGILE with thick black Sharpie, Will’s handwriting distinctive even on moving boxes, but Frankie most certainly does not treat it as such as he lines his cock up and pushes back into you again.

Frankie likes this position more, he decides. It’s easier to bring his hand up and land a smack to your ass, watching how your hips jolt at the feeling - the sound of skin slapping skin becomes more pronounced, his hips pounding against the flesh of your ass - he can grope at your hips easier, tugging them back into his thrusts. Your back arches, feebly attempting to meet his cock slamming into you, and he wants to laugh at your insistence but he’s too damn focused.

“You look so pretty,” he tells you, voice choked and throttled with lust, and the words are more strangely sentimental than he had intended them to sound but it’s true no matter which way one looks at it - you’re pretty, bent over and taking his cock like you were made to do it - and you’re pretty bouncing in Will’s backyard, dress flowing around your thighs and grin gracing your face. “Takin’ my cock so well - want me to fill you up, hmm?”

Your resounding whimper-mixed-with-a-moan is answer enough but Frankie wants to hear you, so he slows his pace to a near standstill as a silent demand until you’re gasping, “Yes, Frank, please -”

He hums, picking up his pace as though he had never stopped. Your dress has fallen down from where it was tugged over your waist, the fabric flouncing downwards until it’s draped over your ass, partially concealing the spot where you’re swallowing his cock so well - and Frankie would push it back up, give himself an unobstructed view of your greedy cunt - but he fucking likes it, that innocent little sundress being given the most depraved treatment of its life.

He grabs at the fabric - tugs it down a bit further until it’s brushing against his pelvis with every thrust into you, fallen completely over the globes of your ass.

“Close, baby?” Frankie manages to grunt out, because he’s so close he can practically taste his orgasm on the tip of his tongue but he wants you to tip over the edge, too - either with him or before him, he doesn’t care. “Gonna cum?” He sees your head jerk up and down, and a high pitched cry tears out of your throat before you have half a mind to shove your fingers into your mouth to muffle it. It’s the only warning Frankie has before you’re clamping down around him, hips jerking against his with reckless abandon, cumming desperate and wild on the fatness of his cock.

Frankie wants to milk it for everything it’s worth - fuck you into it, maybe even shoot for a third, though it seems impossible - but then he feels his balls tighten, gripping your hips so tight he’s sure bruises will spout on the soft skin come tomorrow, and he meekly thrusts a few more times before pressing his hips into yours.

When he cums, he swears his body goes alight with it - his skin feels like it’s radiating, pulsating with pure desire - his head feels fuzzy and it rolls through him in waves like a fucking tsunami intent on destroying everything in its path. It doesn’t help that your pussy is still fluttering around him, swallowing every drop of cum he spurts into the depths of your cunt, your breathing raggedy and high-pitched as you practically collapse against the FRAGILE box.

Frankie juts his cock in and out of you one more time, hearing the lewdness of his cum squelching inside of you, before he’s pulling out. Slides the tip of his cock over your ass, spreading traces of cum along the soft skin that he suddenly has an urge to bite - but he’ll do that later - lick up what he left, or maybe make Santi do it, the poor bastard. Frankie pities him for missing this - missing how you struggle to lift yourself back up to stand - reaching down to adjust your panties onto your overflowing cunt, as if the soaked through lace fabric will do anything to collect the cum that’s surely to start leaking soon.

He takes a step back, and then grabs your hands, pulling you to stand and steadying you when your trembling legs look like they’ll struggle to hold your weight. Your lips are kiss-swollen, a lone tear trickling down the side of your face, and he brings his thumb up to wipe it.

“Holy shit,” you say, your voice cracked and needy, and Frankie exhales a laugh.

“I agree, princesa.” He drags his thumbs beneath your eyes, fixing the mascara that’s run slightly down from your lashes - adjusts your dress so it sits perfectly on your body, exactly as it had before, if a bit higher - combs his fingers through your hair to try and look like you didn’t just get pounded against the wall and then a stack of boxes. 

“How do I look?” you ask him, stepping back on your quivering legs once he’s finished grooming you. You do a small twirl, smile curling your lips upwards. “Like I just had a quickie with one of my boyfriends in the basement?”

Frankie shakes his head, grinning as he takes a step towards you, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s an unnatural juxtaposition to before, calm and sweet where he had been rough and unforgiving, and you practically melt into the kiss. “You look perfect,” he tells you. “If anything, you look like you just threw up in the bathroom after drinking too much of a hoppy beer.”

You laugh at that, and Frankie swats your ass, motioning towards the staircase with a jut of his chin. You ascend up the staircase and Frankie is close on your tail, resisting the urge to smack your ass because your body is still slightly shaky from cumming and you’re also drunk, and he doesn’t want to watch you eat shit on the stairs because he got a bit too frisky - his hands stay on the banister as you get to the top of the stairs, listen for any commotion outside, and then open it. 

Frankie shuffles out after you, shutting the basement door quietly. Upstairs, now, he can hear the peals of laughter and drunken chatter from the yard, and it brings him back to the moment - away from the basement and towards the rest of his friends and Santi, surely still curled on his lawn chair sipping at the rest of Frankie’s beer.

The two of you walk out of the hallway towards the kitchen, and Frankie opens the sliding door for you to step back onto the deck. The heat is almost a reprieve from the cold, stinging air of the basement when he steps out after you, sliding the door closed, and you begin the trek across the deck towards where Santi - sure enough - still sits on the lawn chair, new can of beer in his hand, chatting to Benny, Molly, and Will.

Frankie walks behind you, and he wants to lift your dress and see if his cum has broken past the barriers of your panties yet - if there’s a trail of pearly-white liquid tracked on your thighs - but he doesn’t. Resides himself to plopping back down in his lawn chair, adjusting his pants as you clamber back on Santi’s lap, largely resuming the same position you’d had before.

You, noticeably, adjust your legs so your dress doesn’t ride as high up your thighs. Frankie smiles at the motion.

“You feelin’ any better?” Benny asks you, leaning forward slightly so his voice can break through the background noise of the others at the party. “Santi said you weren’t feeling too hot.” “I’m fine,” you say, dropping your head into Santi’s chest as he wraps his arm around your waist again, hand resting half on your hip and half on your ass. “Turns out 4 White Claws is a bit too much to have in an hour. Don’t know who would’ve thought.”

Your friends laugh at that, and Frankie chuckles at how quickly you’d slipped into character, and Santi takes the break in conversation to turn towards the both of you. 

He looks decidedly amused, glancing back and forth between you both. “Looks like you two had a good time.”

“You could say that,” Frankie says, eyes glued to the side of Santi’s face as he takes a gulp of beer. “Don’t you think, honey?”

You nod, tilting your head up so your lips are brushing against the bottom of Santi’s ear and the vein that runs up the side of his throat. When you speak, it’s a soft whisper, away from any prying ears who may be within distance. “Wish you could feel my pussy right now, Santi - s’like leaking with cum -”