by manu. 27. he/him.

she doesn't like that, the way he catches himself. corrects himself. it bothers her, like a thorn in her side, under her ribs where she can't reach. her own name somehow feels like an insult. she doesn't like any of this. the distance. the space. it makes her nauseous almost, like staring at an open wound and watching it pulse and bleed. " either's fine, i just... wanted to be sure... " because she wanted to say she thought the waiting was surely the problem in itself. he wasn't just a bystander in his own life, what was he waiting for?? but what did she know?? nothing, it felt like. absolutely nothing. jordan doesn't know how to answer that without sounding like she was lying, but the truth felt like too much for how he asks it, casually. like asking about the weather. " i... dunno, honestly," not fine, not happy, not okay. flat felt more like it. a little hollow inside, but she doubted he wanted to hear that.

There were easier, faster ways to deal with this. He could have disappeared, cleanly, off the face of the earth for a good three weeks, that was probably long enough to ruin everything. He could have gotten so positively fucking drunk and high that she'd need to take only one good look at him to ruin any desire she ever had. He could have dug his heels in and made it worse, screamed more, louder. Things were all broken already, might as well take a baseball bat to it. They'd all at least shorten the immediate misery of having to sit through this. The problem there, as usually was the problem in most of the solution Frank came up to his problems, was not the effectiveness of it, but how much they'd hurt her. "i just wish..." He shrugged, lips pressed together in a thin line as he once again inhaled slowly, and exhaled even slower. "Never mind, It's, I'm just saying sad shit. I, it doesn't matter. It's not—" Frank shook his head. He wished he had a bottle to take some hefty sips from at least. "I don't know how much you wanna hear that right now or at all, but I am, I am sorry, that, I, er," he had to clear his throat at least twice, swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat. "I'm sorry that i hurt you. i wasn't trying to, I, It doesn't, I mean, I know it doesn't matter, but I wasn't. I don't know what I was trying to do, but I wasn't trying to hurt you, and I did and that's— 'm sorry, Jordan."

she hummed quietly, fingers picking at the fray in the knee of her jeans. " are we doing conversation right now or are we doing vent session?? "

he couldn't help but chuckle. the noise mostly all air, as frank ran a hand through his hair before sighing deeply. head thrown back against the couch as he allowed himself a moment to breathe. frank wasn't really in the business of wanting things. it always ended terribly for him. but were he able to ask anything out of any powerful force in the universe, he'd ask for things to be a little easier. not too much that it stops being the punishment it is supposed to be. just a little. "i don't know, i never know what i'm talking about, ba—" he cleared his throat, forcing his eyes elsewhere. "jordan." just a little easier would do. s'all. "how you doing?"

The sharp sting of his stubble against blonde's neck is enough to send little sparks of pleasure along her skin. Her head falls to the side, granting him more access to her skin, as a soft sound escapes her. The sensations Frank offers her already feel almost overwhelming and her body can't decide if it wants to press up against his fingers or rock back, grind herself against the weight of him. "Frank," Bowie gasps, the name still feeling a bit foreign on her tongue. She has not called him Mr. Hamilton since the first couple of months of being friends with his daughter but she also rarely had to opportunity to address him directly. Until now. The desire to seek out the feeling of his hands against her chest wins out as she finds herself arching up into the touch. "It feels good," she admits. A bit too overwhelmed by the feeling of him pressed against her, touching her, to think straight.

The moment he imagined it: Her laying in her bed, hands between her legs, letting out breathy little moans that sounded too much like his name, as she bucked her hips into her own hands. The moment he thought about it, he knew he was fucked. It didn't even really need to be real, no. The fucking idea of it would do enough damage. No way he was easily getting rid of that mental image, even after this was done.

brow shoots up at his words -- mouth opening and shutting at the same time, "i -- did you really fucking quote one of my songs to me?" a disbelief scoff escapes her lips as her arms crosses over her chest. the audacity to ask if she understood, when she written about their experience; how she felt about them. a frustrated sigh escapes her lips, chest tightening because she doesn't want this to end, but it was clear that they weren't working out. "we can't keep this constant back and forth going. it's draining the both of us."

he blinked, head tilted to the side, "what— i. no? i'm just, i'm just trying to explain how i feel, i'm not quoting anything." noah had listened to all of her songs so many times by now, maybe they all had just buried themselves so far deep into his mind that he couldn't tell his thoughts apart from hers anymore. maybe he was quoting her, just not on purpose. "i'm trying to tell you—" he sighed, shaking his head. "i don't get it, okay? i just, i don't get it. i love you. i know, i know i do. when you are not around, it's like i can't think. there's just a pit in my stomach and the oxygen in the room is in short supply. so how, how do we always end up here?"

Not that she is thinking about that at the moment — Especially with the way the counter digs into her hips, skirt scrunched up by her hips and his warm weight against her back. There is a rather noticeable flush to her cheeks, a small shiver as fingers tease along the swell of her chest. Her friend could come back at any moment, of course, and there is the possibility of someone else walking in on them. That only serves to make her flush even more, teeth digging into her lower lip to muffle her noises.

Open mouth kisses traced a path up her neck, stubble scratching soft skin. He rolled his hips into her ass, palming her chest as his thumb teased her nipple through her shirt. His ability to think straight temporarily compromised by the very hot very warm body standing between him and the kitchen counter. "Shit. Look at you." He groaned, hands only moving off of her to slide under her shirt, before they were back at it again. "Jesus Christ. I should have done this a long time ago."