#tps ff

You take in a sharp breath as Frank’s fingers tighten over your thigh. The pressure isn’t strong, but you want those hands somewhere else, squeezing that bit harder. You can feel the last shreds of your patience falling away, your body already turning to Frank, when the driver stops you by speaking and the car coming to a halt.

“Here we go,” he says before announcing the price for the drive.

As fast as you can, you retrieve your wallet and hand the money over to practically throw yourself out of the car right after and hurry to the entrance of the building ahead.

Frank is behind you a second later, pushing the heavy glass door open after you’ve typed in the digital code. Once inside the lift, you press the button to your level and lean against the wall. Your hands fidget, wanting to reach for Frank so badly, but not now, not yet. You only have to wait a little more. Frank isn’t making it easy on you, however. And why would he? He knows exactly what is going on in your head and enjoys himself immensely as he tries – and succeeds – to rile you up further. Like he’s been doing all night and doing now by pressing closer, standing right in front of you and leaning into your space. He’s not touching you, but he’s so large, his presence so intense, that it’s like you can feel him anyway.

The elevator dings and the metal doors slide open after some very long seconds that tear at your sanity. You’re out of the lift and at the door to your apartment in no time, cursing when you remember that Frank is the one who has the keys. The bastard is taking his lovely time walking over, his hands deep in the pockets of his slacks and highlighting his-

You tear your eyes away with a force of will that you didn’t know you still had and look in front of you, tapping a heel on the floor in frustration. Frank sidles up to you and opens the door, walking into the apartment with slow steps.

As soon as the door has fallen shut on you, you fall to your knees in front of Frank, who has already turned to face you, smirk in place over his smoothly shaved face.

“A bit impatient?” He dares to ask, and if you weren’t as turned on as you are, you’d have a biting reply ready for him. But you are turned on, incredibly so, meaning that you can only nod as your eyes drift over him to take his appearance in once more.

Frank had opted for simple clothes, yet they are so beautifully tailored to his features, that they highlight him perfectly. The chocolate colored shirt he’s wearing has a zipper that, fully opened as it is, shows the top of his chest. The material stretches over said chest, showing off his pecs and giving you the urge to grab them. The shirt is already doing things to you, but the dark slacks have been driving you crazy all evening. As simple as they are, they sit around his strong and long legs nicely, but the best part is that they’re so well-fitted that they span deliciously over Frank’s ass and his crotch.

You can’t explain the intense reaction that you are having towards his appearance tonight. It isn’t like you’ve never seen him well-dressed before. Just like having seen him naked several times as well. You know what to expect. And yet here you are, on your knees and desperate to open those pants and reveal him to you. The bulge, apparent even soft, has been teasing you all night, and it’s getting worse and worse as it’s getting bigger, Frank’s cock thickening behind that barrier of clothes.

“Please,” you breathe, your hands reaching for the fastenings of his slacks.

Frank takes a step back with a click of his tongue.

“Hands behind your back. It’s only your mouth tonight,” he instructs, voice rumbling and making you shiver at the directive tone.

You comply without a word and look up at him expectantly.

“There you go, Sweetheart.” He opens the top of his pants, the belt-like fastening slightly tricky to open, but stops there. “You want it? You gonna have to work for it.”

Swallowing thickly and emitting a small noise at the want running through your body, you shuffle forward on your knees and lean in to try and catch the top of the zipper. You manage to get it between your teeth on the third try, the tiny metal piece making it harder to seize just right, and pull it down. You’re instantly greeted by his dick, coming to slap you unexpectedly in the face. You are taken aback for a second because Frank rarely goes commando, but it also explains why you’d been able to see so much of him tonight.

“You did it on purpose,” you accuse him, suddenly realizing that Frank must have known how you’d react. Your words lack any heat, though, at least not the heat that is running through you.

Frank’s answer is in the form of a smirk. You swallow thickly, your breath catching at his show of confidence. Frank knows you so well.

Taking himself in hand, Frank presses the tip of his cock against your lower lip, dragging it down slightly and smearing some of his pre-come over it. You reflexively poke your tongue out to catch more of it, groaning at the taste of him.

“Now, open your mouth, Sweetheart, and show me that tongue,” Frank orders casually, but his eyes never leave your face, scanning your every expression.

Dutifully, you do as told and stick your tongue out. Frank slides the head over it, from side to side, before slowly pushing into your mouth. You automatically close it around him, already humming at feeling his size inside you, but Frank makes the same displeased sound as before and pulls out.

“Didn’t say you could suck it, did I?” The thumb of his other hand strokes over your cheekbone, the touch soft in contrast with his rebuke. “Keep your mouth open and tongue out… and don’t move.”

Swallowing again, you nod and do just as ordered.

“Yeah, there we go.” Frank lets his cock slip and slide over your tongue, sometimes around your lips and under your tongue, teasing you.

You have to fight to keep in position when Frank enters your mouth again, wanting nothing more than to suck him in, do something, take him deeper. Because he’s not pushing far, at least not far enough to put any strain on your throat. He’s just using your tongue for the friction while sporadically fisting his hand over the entire length, his other hand gently keeping your head in place by your nape.

“You’re doin’ so good for me. Makin’ me feel good,” Frank praises, voice deep and guttural, forcing your eyes closed at his words and the way they sound. “Alright… now you can suck me off but,” he stops you right before you hungrily lean in to do just that. “I set the pace. Got it?”

You nod, your mouth closing for a moment to swallow from keeping it open for so long, and take the tip of his cock between your lips when he leans in again.

Frank takes his time once again. It seems to be the theme of the night, Frank driving you crazy with want at the slowest pace. Since you aren’t allowed to do much, you use every possible move you can with your tongue instead. You press the flat of your tongue hard against his whole length as it thrusts in and out unhurriedly, before teasing along the nerves right under the head with the tip of your tongue. Frank doesn’t complain about it, quite the opposite, really. You lift your eyes to his, finding him staring at you, his nostrils flaring every time he exhales, and you suck or lick over him just right.

“I thought of this all night,” Frank suddenly starts talking again, gaining your full attention. “‘Cause I know you like how I look tonight, but you have no idea what you did to me, did ya? Lookin’ at me all the time. Shit, Sweetheart, you were like an open book. I could practically hear you thinkin’. Did ya know that you kept suckin’ on that fuckin’ straw in your cocktails? Even when it was empty?” Frank pushes a little faster inside before retreating and letting you suck just over the tip again, groaning deeply as you do it.

You stare up at him, eyes wide as you realize that you did not, in fact, notice any of it. You’d been too focused on Frank and unconsciously projected your desire.

“But you’ve been so good tonight, Love, so good. Think you deserve a reward,” Frank groans as he pulls out, and you let him go with a disappointed pop, believing that you’d get to have more of him finally.

Instead, Frank slowly starts jerking himself off, staring at you intently.

“Touch yourself for me,” he rumbles.

You gasp, having thought for a moment that you wouldn’t be allowed to come, and bring your hands back to the front and tug at your clothes to gain access to yourself. You waste no time, stroking yourself rapidly as you watch Frank staring back at you, taking in each of your moves.

“Gimme that tongue again.”

You moan and open your mouth, letting the tip of his cock press against your tongue as Frank pumps himself quickly.

“Already so close, hm?” Frank’s voice drops into a half whisper, while the hand still at your neck slides into the base of your hair to angle you perfectly for what he has in mind.

“Mhm, mhm,” you moan, feeling the first tingling of your release at the end of your spine. It’s unsurprising with how strung high you’ve been ever since the party. But you're holding back for Frank, wanting to come with the taste of him on your tongue, knowing exactly that this is what he’s aiming for.

He doesn’t make you wait long, himself having held on for a long time and teasing himself while he teased you. Frank's climax hits him so hard, that the hand in your hair leaves to catch him on the door and makes him lean further over you. You never lose your rhythm on yourself, though, and manage to keep your head at the right angle to catch all of Frank’s release on your tongue. It isn’t an easy feat, since you shatter at his feet, your own orgasm ripping through you and leaving you winded, only able to gather Frank’s come on your tongue before retracting it in your mouth.

You're sitting up in bed, book in hand, and lift your eyes to the slightly opened bathroom door, wondering what got Frank so angry.

"You're alright?" You ask, when the dark mumbling continues, unintelligible now.

You get out of bed and walk to the bathroom when you don't get an answer. You have to bite your lower lip on a laugh at the display in front of you and lean against the door jamb. 

Frank is standing in front of the sink, clad in only a pair of sweatpants, and glaring at his right hand. 

His beard weirdly streaked through you notice.

"Need help?" 

Brown eyes meet yours through the mirror in front of them. They narrow when they take in your amusement. You lift your hands in a show of peace and step closer, renewing your question by raising your eyebrows inquiringly. Frank sighs in defeat and turns to face you, handing you a beard trimmer.

"I like the longer beard," you announce, swiping a finger over his jawline where he tried trimming it.

Frank's face splits into a shit-eating grin at your statement. That earns him a slap to the shoulder. You know where his thoughts just went. Namely, to the last time he'd left a beard burn on your inner thighs. You can't help grinning in return after a second, though. It had been quite the night.

"Okay, sit down, smart-ass." You indicate the rim of the bathtub. 

Frank does as he's told and lifts his face for you. You grab a small towel, putting it over Frank's shoulders to catch the hairs that you’ll be cutting off.

"Don't move," you instruct, stepping between his spread legs for easier access. 

You check the number the dial on the trimmer is set to, in case it needs adjusting later, before bringing it to Frank’s throat, the man looking at you expectantly. 

“Here we go.”

You’ve never done this before, so you take your time, making sure not to miss a spot as you move from neck to jaw, small hairs falling over Frank's towel-covered chest and the floor below. You like this, you quickly realize. The buzzing sound of the device, the regular movement of your hand while you concentrate on your task. And Frank's gaze on you. You ignore his stare for the longest time, not wanting to lose your focus. Frank is making it difficult, though. You're not touching. Not really. You have a hand on his shoulder to keep you steady or on his jaw to guide his head where you need it. His thighs are barely grazing yours. But you feel his every breath on your skin, his body heat, his distinctive scent. Simply Frank's whole presence. 

A pleasant shiver runs down your back at his continued observation. It's the only thing he can do, really, but it still has the same effect as a touch. You finally make eye contact. You almost regret giving in, because it does break your focus like you knew it would. You need to breathe in and out deeply a few times at Frank's intense gaze. He's clearly enjoying this immensely. 

Large hands come up to rest over your hips. Not grabbing or holding. Just there. The only movement comes from his thumbs, stroking up and down. You're wearing your usual night getup (a pair of boy shorts and a tank top) so that his touch over your clothes feels like he were touching your skin directly. 

"Don't move," you croak your earlier words before clearing your throat.

Frank smirks but remains quiet. His eyes never leave you, though, and you have to push his stupidly, handsome face away with a palm to make him laugh out loud and break the spell he's put you under. 

"Stop it." You shake your head in amusement, turning his face this way and that way to have a look at your progress. 

"Ain't doin' anythin'," he rumbles innocently, his hands falling away from you.

You snort but resume trimming his beard.

It only takes Frank another minute to touch you again, fingertips skimming over your ass this time. You jump slightly and draw in a sharp breath, managing to stop your hand from hitting Frank with the trimmer in reflex.

"I said. Don't. Move. Frank!" You swat his hand away, Frank chuckling, highly amused.

His hands leave you once more as you grumble silently, your words swallowed by the sound of the trimmer.

Frank is good for the next few minutes. Long enough for you to relax again and work around his mouth carefully. All the same, you don't know why you thought that Frank is done playing, because you still shriek in surprise when his fingers tickle the skin right behind your knees. A few things happen in the same second that you scream: your hands jerk up in shock at the unexpected touch so that the thumb of the hand holding the trimmer skids over the dial, setting it to the lowest number, and makes you shave a bare patch of skin into Frank’s bearded jaw and cheek.

You both freeze, the small device still buzzing away merrily in your palm, and look at each other in shock. Frank lifts his good hand to his face, feeling over the bare skin.

“I told you not to move!” you yell at him, right before exploding into loud laughter at the sight of the now ruined beard. "Serves you right, Mister I-can't-keep-my-hands-to-myself. You know how ticklish I am."

Frank turns his head to the mirror to inspect the 'damage', thumbing over the shaved off part. He snorts.

"Guess we need to shave it all off, now."

"You think?" You snark, still chuckling and turning the trimmer off. 

"Alright, smarty-pants, think you can shave it all off and not slit my throat?" Frank laughs, reaching for his shaving kit without having to move you from between his legs, and getting the shaving cream and an actual razor out. 

"Depends on you." You level Frank with a highly skeptical gaze, one eyebrow raising over your forehead. "Think you can keep your hands to yourself for that long?" 

"Sure. No problem." He's pressing shaving cream into a palm, but stops after a second to add, "You might wanna put on a bathrobe or somethin', though."

You burst out laughing at the admission and take his face between your hands to pull him into a kiss. You planned for it to be a short and sweet kiss, but you didn't count on Frank to grab your ass, shaving cream and all, and tug you further into him. You make a small sound of surprise and offense at getting shaving cream all over your butt, before sitting sideways on one of his thighs so that you both don't go tumbling backwards into the bathtub. 

"So I guess you can't keep them to yourself," you grin against his lips, linking your arms loosely around Frank's neck. 

You squawk when he retaliates by slipping his sticky hand under your tank top and slides the fingertips over your ribs, making you shriek again and laugh uncontrollably. 

"Stop! Stop!" You beg in between sharp breaths and laughs, slapping and pushing at his chest repeatedly. 

Frank moves so that you're suddenly lifted into his arms, bridal style, and carried into the bedroom. He practically throws you onto the bed, but he leaves you no room for any kind of comment as he immediately follows and slips between your parted legs. 

Fun fact : I got the idea with the accident from something that actually happened to me last summer. Ever since the first lockdown, I’ve been trimming my husband’s hair. The third time I did it, I accidentally touched the dial while removing excess hair from the top part and when I started trimming again... it resulted in a huge hole in my husband’s hair. OMG, my face in that moment, you guys. Just pure shock. I obviously had to come clean pretty quickly, but he took it better than I had first anticipated. I must add that he wears his hair very short to begin with, so that the difference wasn’t that terrible. But it was pretty close to just shaving his whole hair off. I check the stupid dial every time I do this for him now. 

"You think I can't keep my hands to myself?" He rumbles against your month. "Lemme show you just how much I can't then."