Work Text:
~*~ A/N 2.0; There's also a playlist attached to this fic. It isn't required but can help add some atmosphere to your experience. ~*~
:: Playlist ::
Fade Into You // Mazzy Star
The Way I Feel Inside // The Zombies
Head Over Feet // Alanis Morissette
Knee Socks // Arctic Monkeys
Bad Idea! // Girl In Red
:0:
You aren’t entirely sure when or how Frank become ingrained in your life but it happens regardless.
It starts off as a one-off act of kindness ( or rather pity you assure yourself ) when it’s below freezing and you let him shelter in the store. Dripping snow-melt onto the worn down tiles while his face is still beet-red and wind chapped. You pass him a steaming cup of black coffee, fingers brushing accidentally, and you watch as he swallows it down in a few smooth pulls.
“Dammit you’ve got a lead belly don’t you?” You say watching him, meaning to poke fun.
“Would you rather I spit it in your eyes?” Comes his quick reply.
You think that’s where it starts.
Over the course of a the next few months your fascination grows despite yourself. And he does plenty to keep your attention. Hanging around the station in the wee hours of the morning to bum cigarettes and leftover food that’d sat under the burner since the beginning of your shift. You make a big show of telling him off, shooing him away with a broom even. But eventually you relent because he looks thin and gaunt in the dark and you don’t have the heart to turn him away. You aren’t that callous. And eventually it falls into a rhythm, the mundanity of it soothing as your life marched ever onward.
It’s a bad idea, you tell yourself, to trust a man like him. A man like him, one with a reputation and a rap sheet a mile long. But again you ignore it, if you’re honest with yourself it’s because you’re too tired to really care. Life in a small ski town is one boring slog, days blurring together without variance until the rush of ski season when everything goes by too fast.
At least bickering with Frank is a welcomed distraction.
Somehow he ends up over at your apartment after you hand off to the A.M shift after he’s insisted on walking you home. The walk home had been nearly silent, his long-legged strides forcing you to jog a bit to keep up. Freezing pre-dawn air stinging in your lungs,
“When’d you start acting like a gentleman?” You asked, swiping through notifications on your phone.
“Can you just pretend to be grateful for once?” He quips back, nudging you with his shoulder – a touch too strong, making you stumble from it.
You shove him back but he doesn’t budge, for a beanpole he’s oddly sturdy,
“Shut the hell up, I don’t need an escort.”
But you can’t shake him, and neither can you shake the feeling of … rightness that you felt walking alongside him. He walks along the outside of the sidewalk, hands shoved into his jacket pockets and face hunched down against the wind. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was your guard dog wrangling you back to your pen.
You reach the stoop of your apartment and he doesn’t leave, just looks up at you with those dark puppy dog eyes. It’s annoying almost, how it makes your stomach clench, when you look at him and he doesn’t go running.
“What.”
He shrugs, like he’s expecting something, you roll your eyes, tone sharper to cover up the tremble in your voice,
“I don’t have time for charades Frank, what the hell do you want?”
A grin splits his face and lights up his eyes, “I thought you were gonna invite me in.”
Silence lapses between you, the quiet ambiance of early morning filling up the space in between. His breath clouds in the air, his tongue darting out to wet chapped lips, rays of sunlight turning his dark eyes honey-gold. You bite your lip, clench your hands, the bite of your keys cutting into your palm, a slight tremor following the action. Your mind wanders, weighing the risks of inviting Frank into your house – the neighborhood gossips would eat this shit up. Frank’s boot scuffing in the ice is echoing in your head as you mull the scenario over…
Damn it all, life’s too short to care about that.
“Fine. Get up here.” You grouse, turning so quickly at the top step you nearly slip and bust your ass. Frank snickers behind you and ascends the stairs to join you.
You hate how nice it feels to have his heat against your back, his breath brushing against the stray hairs at the back of your neck. The lock is fiddly and sticks a bit but eventually you get it open and all but dash into the foyer, not waiting for Frank. When you hazard to turn, to look at him toeing off his boots and taking off his coat like he belongs there, it makes your breath catch. He stands there, the top of his head only having an inch of clearance above it, too big for your little house, your little life. But for now he fits better than you wanted to admit.
“What?” He asks out of the side of her mouth, a lopsided grin stretching across his face.
You shake your head dismissively and kick your shoes off, stomping down the hallway, your voice trailing,
“Nothing. Just don’t break anything jackass.”
It starts like that, and snowballs soon after.
Frank hanging out occasionally for breakfast after your shifts turns into him hanging around on your off days, and his little friends tagging along too. They’re scruffy like him, misfits, unwanted. And they look up at you like you’re some kind of saint. It makes you slightly uncomfortable. It feels too patronizing, you just give them a sheltered place to share cheap booze and food – nothing special. But when Frank turns that same kind of appreciation your way all of a sudden your stomach is doing flips. You hate him for it, maybe just a fraction more than you hate yourself for feeling this way.
He sits close to your side the first few times his little pack come to the house. You notice that immediately, the way he tucks himself right against you when you’re sitting on the little love-seat, or stands in your personal space in the kitchen. At first you brush it off, telling yourself he only sits right next to you because there’s just nowhere else to go. Or that he’s only standing right up in your business because he likes to annoy the shit out of you when you’re washing up. Both are completely plausible, completely realistic and reasonable, but a part of you wonders if it could be something else.
Something dormant that makes your voice stick in your throat when he looks at you across a room, that makes your hair stand on end when his arm is slung over the back of the love-seat. You feel stupid, of course you do. Because Frank is – well – Frank – and it’s obvious that he doesn’t feel that way. He doesn’t have time to, he’s busy hustling and scraping together pocket change, surviving. When he isn’t doing that he’s annoying you, pestering you at work, walking you home, sleeping on your couch when everyone else has already gone home.
Okay. Maybe there’s something there. Maybe.
But you don’t have time to process it either, too busy with work, with grinding yourself down to the bone – just like him. So instead you stew in it, let it worm under your skin, knock around in your head like a rock in your shoe. And along with that unplaceable feeling you feel a begrudging sense of admiration bubbling up alongside it. For all his annoyances Frank is… useful to you in his own way. Useful, that’s the word you’re going to use to describe what he does for you.
Because that’s the word that best describes it without feeding into this fluttering feeling that’s growing inside you. Taking up real estate in your mind every second that he isn’t tucked against your side or antagonizing you. So you bury it, in irony and elbows in his stomach and calling him a “jackass” when he shows up to shovel your walk for you. But despite your efforts Frank doesn’t waver even an inch. It’s infuriating, but he’s insistent and doesn’t stop even when you squabble and rough house with him.
It keeps you close to him. Keeps a repertoire going, a volley that’s rhythmic and soothing despite the oddity of it. And you have a suspicion that he likes it too. Because otherwise you don’t think he’d bother playing nice with you. You’d seen – and heard — just how nasty Frank could be to others. And while he hadn’t exactly been all sunshine and roses with you it’s miles beyond the treatment he dishes out to others that piss him off. And the few times that you did get heated with him – pushing his buttons and getting in his face – he’d shown a remarkable amount of restraint.
The first time it happened you were a little tipsy, a little antsy and in a foul mood from a difficult shift and he’d gotten under your skin. He’d tracked melted snow and mud into the house for one, and had nearly tripped you when you walked into the living room for two. And the final nail in the coffin was when he’d stuck an ice cold beer can against the back of your neck, howling with laughter when you yelped in surprise. You rounded on him with a quickness that surprised you, even two drinks deep your anger kept you sharp.
“You little shit.” You’d seethed through clenched teeth
“What ? Cmon you’ve got the heat on don’t cry about it,” He was grinning, eyes crinkling at the edges, “ You said you sweat a lot when you drink, I’m just trying to help.”
You kicked him in the knee, making him jolt and suck his teeth, and in turn, kick you right back. His booted foot caught you in the hip, leaving a light smear of mud on your pale peach nightgown. That’d done it, you were livid now, you’d screamed, high and shrill, and all but leaped on him. Your hands sought to wrap around his throat, to wring his neck, and you could feel his own digging into your ribs. It was a painful squeeze, to be stuck in his grip, but you curled your fingers in his collar, a litany of swears falling from your lips.
He laughed as he squeezed you, sounding harsh and cruel almost. There was an attempt to shove you off but you moved quicker, leveraged your weight to pin his hips in place. It’s an instinct – a desire to win , to be in control. You don’t have too long to dwell on it more, and on the heat between your bodies and how hard your heart is pounding. That’s because with your added weight, and Frank already leaning back, the chair tilted until you both were sent crashing to the floor with a loud boom .
The both of you stared at each other for a moment, neither of you spoke, simply stared at each other with something unsaid shining in his eyes. The sound of someone pounding on your apartment door broke your reverie. You leaped off of him, as if you’d been burned, though his hand snagged your wrist you shook him off.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” You grumbled, kicking him in the ribs – where he barely had meat to cover him – for good measure.
You trotted to the door, shivering as the adrenaline coursed through your veins and pasted a fake smile on to greet who ever was at the door. It was your neighbor, Jake, who looked tired – and a little pissed. Worry creased his brow at the signs of exertion on your face, the sweat that pasted your hair to your face, the way your breath quickened. But you waved it all away, smoothing it over with the practiced grace of someone with years of retail experience.
Eventually Jake seemed satisfied with your response, and just rolled his eyes. Offhandedly he threw a remark over his shoulder, casual and indifferent. But to you to hit you like a ton of bricks,
“Next time you fight with your boyfriend can you try to be a little quieter?”
Boyfriend.
Boyfriend .
Your neighbor thought that Frank was your boyfriend .
You were still gobsmacked when you turned, the door shutting with a soft click . So shocked in fact that Frank noticed, quirked his head and scratching at his short cropped hair,
“You uh - you okay?”
It snapped you out of your daze, heaved a sigh and scrubbed your hand down your face,
“No - yeah it’s just - Jake he –” You struggled with how you wanted to phrase it, if you should even tell Frank at all.
“What’s he complaining about this time?”
He’d replied with a smirk, and as you looked at him you realized that he’d set the recliner to rights. Even fixed the ratty afghan that you had draped across the back, his thick, calloused hands stark against the delicate pastels.
You found yourself staring, breathing hard,
“He thought … you were my boyfriend.”
You said it like it was a grave secret, like something shameful. And before Frank was able to say anything you stomped away from him and into your bedroom – like a coward.
For the rest of the night you didn’t come out of your room, and Frank left soon after — without saying goodbye. For some reason that irked you to no end and it left you wide awake.
The two of don't speak for weeks, and it’s unnerving.
You find yourself missing Frank’s presence in your life, even though you liked to pretend you hated it. Your shifts pass without any visits from him, but they’re far from slow. You’re constantly on your feet ringing up customers and keeping everything from falling apart due to the influx of skiers blowing into town. Normally this was easy for you, routine and second nature. But the incident with Frank was taking up real estate in your mind it’s hard to stay as focussed as you need to be. It’d gotten so bad at one point that you nearly scalded your hand trying to pour coffee when you weren’t paying attention. The skin on the back of your hand was throbbing and felt like you were on pins and needles but you barely noticed it.
It wasn’t like you were worried about his wellbeing persay. You never concerned yourself too much in his affairs, an unspoken boundary between you to not ask too many questions. It kept things simple, and kept your fights from becoming nastier than they usually were. But now, without him around to bum cigs and stale food or pester you, that lack of clarity gnawed at you. The thought that there could’ve been something wrong with him, or that he’d skipped town, worms under your skin like an unwelcome houseguest.
You’re so lost in thought that when you stumble out of the station, into the freezing early morning you don’t realize that Frank is already there, waiting for you. He trails you, at a distance at first, stalking almost. His hands shoved into his pockets his expression tense, jaw tight, eyes squinting. By the time you reach your front door the sun the warming the side of your face and that’s when Frank chooses to speak up,
“You plan on ignoring me?”
It startles you, and you drop your keys with a loud clattering of metal. You have to take a few breaths to slow your racing heart, the cold air stinging in your sinuses. Turning to look at Frank takes more strength than ever before, he looks … older, weary even. It makes you frown, squinting against the harsh sunlight to look down at him. He has one foot on the stoop and bends down in a fluid motion to pick up your fallen keys by the little pink pom pom keychain (the one he bought for you). The keys look so small in his reddened palm, dirty snow-melt running into the lines of his hand.
Carefully, slowly, as if you were scared he’d snatch your wrist, you reached out to grab the keys. The tips of your fingers lightly brushed his, a shiver racing up your arm at the contact. In that fraction of a second he’s stepped up the stoop until you two are eye level. Normally Frank was a good bit taller than you, normally it was him that looked down at you. But with you at the top step and him a step below your eyes are matching up, mouths a hairs breadth apart.
Shakily you exhale, and the way that Frank’s lashes flutter just slightly makes your heart lurch. Your stomach hurts from the anticipation, hands shaky and numb. Frank notices the slight pinch to your face, the tremble that runs down your arm. And his hand clamps down onto your bicep as if the quell the shiver running through you. His eyes are half-lidded, uncharacteristically soft, voice barely above a whisper.
“We need to talk.”
You agree with a nod and the moment dissolves into awkward silence. Normally it would be easy to play it off, but now it wasn’t. Now you had a lump in your throat as you unlocked the door, heart hammering against your ribs as Frank followed you through the entryway. For some reason he seemed bigger than ever, immovable and steadfast. It makes you hate yourself a little, to be so swayed by him, to be frazzled and hot behind the ears like a schoolgirl.
You disappear into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you as you changed into loungewear. Baggy basketball shorts that skated your calves and an oversized shirt that hung loose on your body. It hides the shape of your body, made you feel safe, invisible. The notion was strange, uncomfortable even. There was never a time before the incident where you’d felt … self conscious around Frank. He didn’t leer after you – at least you thought he didn’t.
When you peek out of your door you see him standing in your living room, back to you. It felt slightly voyeuristic to watch him without him knowing. Frank was always on the cagey side, like he were tiptoeing everywhere he went, always on guard.. But in your house he seemed to relax a fraction. At least it was like that before what happened between you two, before a rift had opened up and swallowed up all that goodwill you’d spent time building.
He drifts over to the loveseat but you don’t join him, instead you stand in the kitchenette, putting distance between the two of you. You choke down a glass of lukewarm water, anything to try and calm yourself. It works and you, if only a little, and your head stop spinning. You gather the courage to look in Frank’s direction, only to find him staring. Not just your face but your mouth .
Your lips twist as if in response to his attentions, hand rubbing away stray droplets of water. Voice coming out a little rougher, husky and soft,
“You wanted to talk?”
Frank makes a soft grumble of assent, hands still in his jacket pockets but his thighs spread comfortably. Your eyes drift down to them, long legs wrapped in snug denim. You can distinctly remember the strength of them, how they felt flexing under you as you were in the process of choking him. The memory makes you choke a little and you have to cough to disguise it, to tear your eyes away. Instead you stare resolutely at the peeling old paint in your living room instead.
“Why are you here Frank.”
Your voice is accusatory, but it softens around the edges, as if you know why he’s here.
Frank is here because you’re all he has and because there’s nowhere else to go.
“I just want to know what I did.”
That gets your attention and you turn your eyes back to him. To his ruddy face and sparkling eyes, there’s no snark in his voice, no snide curl of his lips. Just an open and honest expression, for some reason that scares you more than anything. You heave a sigh and nearly collapse into the recliner that he’d tipped over the last time he was here. Drawing your legs up in a cross legged position, as if to safeguard yourself,
“It wasn’t - it wasn’t just you. It was both of us and you know that-”
“But you started it.” He quips back.
“That’s not the point and you know it.” came your terse reply, “You always start it-”
Now that wasn’t entirely true and you knew that. Your relationship was just as much give as it was take. To assume otherwise would be just … silly. But your stubbornness rewards you in a way because Frank smiles, a flash of bright teeth that melts his tense expression.
“Do I ? I mean if I start it that means you follow right along.” He shrugs and you can feel your blood pressure rise a bit as he does so.
He’d be the death of you.
“Again. Not my point.” You said through gritted teeth.
“Then what is your point ?” Frank shrugs, sounding slightly annoyed himself.
Something tells you that maybe he was assuming that things would go a different way, or that this whole mess could just be swept under the rug. You half expect him to tell you that you’re overreacting, like he always does when he hits a nerve. It’s rare, for him to go too far with you. Even rarer for him to acknowledge and apologize. You’d long since accepted it as the cost of dealing with someone as prickly as Frank.
“My point is that you always do this with me. You always wind me up, and when I - when I get pissed off you wanna laugh it all off.”
The words are hard to get out without shouting, and you have to grind your teeth to temper yourself. You didn’t want to fly off the handle, make him see you as emotional or fragile. Survival relied on you being tougher, but around Frank you struggled to keep those emotional walls up. His presence had been like a sledgehammer trying to bring them down.
His features pinch, his eyes narrowing and jaw tight. When he speaks there’s a low heat to his tone that made a wanton shiver crawl down from the base of your neck,
“You’re just sensitive .”
You bite your tongue at that, trembling with silent anger. Rising to your feet you feel blood rushing in your ears, crossing the living room in short strides. Frank is looking up at you again, his hands are out of his pockets now, balancing on his spread knees. If you focus hard enough you could see them twitching with anticipation.
“And you’re just an asshole,” you replied tersely, kicking him in shin to punctuate your statement, “You come into my house, drink my beer, put your feet on my furniture – and call me sensitive?”
You’re about to lay into him more, pick and prod and get out all of the anger simmering inside of you. But Frank stands up suddenly and its like the wind was knocked out of you. He isn’t massively tall but he still makes your stomach quiver when he looks down on you. You stumble a few paces but you’re determined to not fall, instead squaring your shoulders and looking directly back up at him.
“Stop it.” He says softly, voice husky.
Frank’s hand is a hot brand on your arm, thumb digging into your pulse point, nostrils flaring. His touch was immobilizing, not comforting as it’d been before and that sent a spike of some unnamed feeling lancing through you. Weakly you squirm, trying to yank yourself away but you’re unable.
“You know I’m right.” You reply back, voice breathy in a way that’s nearly unrecognizable.
Your eyes look briefly at Frank’s parted lips, honing in on the subtle show of his teeth and tongue. A deep breath should’ve steadied you, cleared your head, but all it does is draw you further into his orbit. He smelled good, earthy and bitter with the tang of beer and sweat. Tension radiated between your bodies, sparks rattling around in your chest as his knees knocked against yours and the buckle of his belt dug into your stomach.
“Frank…” It’s almost alien how soft and vulnerable you sound.
A beat of silence passes and seems to stretch on for an eternity, you don’t dare move, afraid of what you’d do if you did. But Frank moves, his hands squeeze into your arms, cutting into your arteries that thump wildly as he does so. His eyes are dark, framed by his surprisingly long lashes, mouth twisted up in an unreadable expression. You extend your arms in a slow, almost disjointed motion, laying them against his — now heaving – chest. Again you call his name, as if to snap him out of this … fog he seemed to fall under.
He doesn’t respond, and a tingle of danger curls in the base of your skull, a primal response to the strange – and slightly precarious position you’re in. Summoning a level of strength that you didn’t know you had you shoved Frank in the chest, managing to knock him off balance. He stumbles for a moment, his grip faltering, but rather than separating it ends with you on your back and Frank looming over you. Your head connects with the back of the love-seat, radiating pain going off like sparks behind your eyes. It’s enough to make you wince, to snap out of the stupor that he’d put you under.
“Get the hell off of me-” Your voice comes out more strained than you wanted to admit – more desperate.
Frank doesn’t respond verbally, only shifts his weight so that it pressed you more firmly into the love-seat. You squirm, but don't make much headway, his voice is low and soft when he speaks up, breath tickling your ear,
“I’m not letting you go until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
Was he serious?
“Frank you’ve got to be kidding me-” You clip, exasperated at his line of questioning.
He shakes his head and does the unexpected, instead of capturing your wrists again he grabbed you by the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. You squirm, even kicking your legs out from where he’d pinned you, but all attempts prove fruitless. And instead of getting you closer to freedom you’re confronted with the dark, determined look in Frank’s eyes — and the heat in your own body.
“Do I look serious to you?” He asks, a tiny glimmer of mirth shimmering in his eyes.
“You never look serious — because you never take anything seriously.” You shoot back.
There’s another pause as your words sink in, as they pierce the shell that seemed to always keep Franks emotions bottled up. He had this sheen of bravado on the surface, at first you thought it was just typical machismo bullshit but it seemed to go deeper than that. It was his defense mechanism, to keep himself safe. You want to take back what you said, to apologize and say you didn’t mean but the words stick in your throat.
So you say nothing, you just stare. You stare into Frank’s eyes and see yourself reflected in them, see the way muscles in his jaw tighten with every inhale and exhale. You feel him too. Feel his weight and warmth sinking into you, his knees digging into the outside of your thighs, his rough hands holding your wrists. His grip tightens, jolting you, making you roll your neck involuntarily,
“I take you seriously, I take the way you feel about me seriously.” He replies gravely.
“You don’t how I feel.”
Your words come out much harsher than you intended, more defensive. Part of you wants to tack on a flippant ‘ And you don’t care. ‘ but you manage to keep the hurtful words to yourself – an amazing show of restraint given your current state. But Frank looks hurt regardless, his features crease, a frustrated expression settling onto his face.
“Are you really that mad that someone thought you were my girlfriend?” He asked.
The question throws you for a loop, like this whole situation had. You gather your wits quickly, a scowl twisting your features as you struggle in his grasp, your attempts to escape reignited,
“Just get the fuck off of me — I’m serious Frank.”
You were bucking your hips now, trying to dislodge Frank from where he’d pinned you. He’s heavy, with his clothes and just the strength of him he’s heavy. The buckle of his jeans digs into your waist, something else making it’s presence known against your thigh. A scandalized gasp falls from your lips, and in the brief moment Frank is caught off guard you manage to get your leg free, kneeing him in the ribs sharply. The reaction is instant, his body leaning instinctively away from where you’d struck him.
But much to your surprise (and horror as it were) he doesn’t release you. It turns into a scramble, you trying to kick and claw your way out from under him, and him trying to stall your efforts. Push and pull, immovable object and unstoppable force. A constant see-saw as the balance of power teetered dangerously between you.
Something hot burns in your gut, clawing at your insides and making you painfully aware of your physicality. Of the rough strength in Frank's hands when one grabs you by your jaw while the other shoves your thigh flat. The contrast exaggerated by him leaning in, the position leaving you vulnerable, his dark eyes furious and zoned in on yours,
“For god's sake for once be good and shut up.”
There’s no malice dripping from his voice, if anything he’s unusually quiet. Unusually focussed and that scares you, in a deep animalistic way you can’t name. An instinct that lights up in the back of your mind, it’s like an alarm going off but you’ve got your head underwater. Something about the harsh urgency of his voice lights up another part of you too and has your stomach rolling from anxiety.
Heat trickles down your spine, pooling between your thighs, throbbing with your racing heartbeat. It should be shameful, to be getting so hot and bothered while being pinned down by your supposed friend. And while you – the rational part - are ashamed, the much less rational, much more hormonal part of you is rejoicing. Living in a small town had made your prospective dating pool thimble-deep and you’d long since abandoned attempts to dip your toes into it. It was too messy, too many complicated emotions and overlapping histories to make anything substantial out of.
And you were okay with that for a long time, you made yourself okay with it. Instead of lamenting you focussed your attentions into work, into making money and stretching that money as far as you could. You hadn’t realized how long it’d been since someone had touched you so intimately until Frank was pressing into you. His warm lithe weight a solid contrast to the cushions beneath you, his breath tickling against your skin.
You squirm again, freeing your hand to push at Frank’s chest, nails digging into the bare skin of his throat. He growls, teeth bared to you in a way that’s almost animalistic and the rumbling timbre of it made you throb unintentionally. You shove again, harder, using all your strength to push him off of you in a messy sprawl. In the scramble you get away from him, leveling a well-aimed kick to his midsection in the process.
This time he can’t dodge it as easily and takes the brunt of your strike against his solar plexus, making him grunt and back off. You scramble for ground, to put space between you two until you’re backed up against the arm of the loveseat. His eyes are wild, breath coming in deep ragged pants, hands twitching at his sides. You realize too late that your legs are open, and that Frank is staring, the tip of his tongue peeking out to lick his lips subconsciously.
“What the hell are you staring at?” You ask breathlessly, part of you already knowing what it is he’s looking at – and maybe even what he’s thinking about.
Your shorts were threadbare, thin enough you’d felt the heat of him through it when he’d pinned you. Felt the throbbing and weight of his cock as he’d practically humped you under the guise of immobilizing you, keeping you from hurting him. A dangerous current of unsaid tension seemed to crackle in the air like electricity, only intensifying with each passing second,
“Are you wet right now?” He asks, the timbre of his voice scraping lower than you’d ever heard it, eyes pinning you in place.
“ What -” You nearly shriek in response, cheeks hot from embarrassment.
“Don’t lie to me - “ Frank crowds you in sitting with his hand on your bent knee, “Are you?”
You squeeze your thighs tightly, biting your lip and averting your eyes, shame sending hot shivers down your spine. That heat pools in your gut, throbbing in cadence with your heartbeat. Frank Inhales sharply, as if he could smell it on you, could feel it like it was his own heartbeat, hand digging into your thigh, just above your knee, vainly you try to bat his hand away. Stopping just shy of clawing at his digits until he released you,
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” You hiss back guarded.
“It’s my business when I can do something about it..” His reply is barely above a breath, trailing off into tense silence as he stares you down again.
Those night-dark eyes of his are honed in on you, pupils wide, lips slightly parted like a predator hunting prey. Never in all your time of knowing him have you seen Frank look like this, and certainly not at you. The thought is disorientating, equal parts thrilling and scandalizing. You knew that Frank was interested in women, a least marginally, but you’d long thought yourself excluded from his attention.
He cursed, smoked and drank around you with no consideration for you being a woman. You weren’t hopelessly old-fashioned enough to really be miffed by it but it still stuck in your mind. And you didn’t expect Frank to be a gentleman – not after all the roughhousing you two did, but it still stuck in your mind as strange. This wasn’t the kind of conversation that friends had, wasn’t the way you’d tease someone who didn’t have intentions toward.
“Frank…” You breathed, heartbeat pounding in your ears, lips twitching as he leaned in.
“I’m right here baby, right here-” There’s a soft kind of gruffness to his tone, one that makes shivers rush down your spine like a lit fuse.
Baby.
You don’t think he’s ever called any of his other friends baby before.
“I’m not … not your baby,” you hiss back but it lacks any venom, “ I’m - not-”
He’s a hairs breadth away now, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, eyes soft and half-lidded. He hums, amused almost before he closes the remaining distance to kiss you. Softly, with no tongue or roughness you’d assume would come with kissing Frank. The reaction is instant, warmth trickling through your veins more and more with each second that passed.
You’re so shocked that you don’t dare move, as if it were some kind of hallucination your were having. It had to be, an illusion a dream. It couldn’t be real, Frank of all people couldn’t be kissing you on the mouth right now. And softly too, that’s the kicker, he’s gentle and kind in a way that’s heartbreaking.
Because you know better than to indulge yourself in it.
To try and distance yourself from the guilt rising in the back of your throat you turn away from him, avoiding his seeking eyes. You hear the soft cadence of his disapproval, feel the roughness of his fingertips on your jaw trying to turn you back to him. His mouth seeks yours again but again you deny him, covering your own mouth with your hand. It felt childish, and his sound of displeasure seems to echo that sentiment,
“Y/N..” He scolds, “Cmon, don’t tell me you’re scared of me now-”
Frank, for the first time in the very short time you’ve known him, sounds scared. Unsure of himself in a way that makes his voice shake, the sound of it makes your stomach curdle. It’s an uneasy kind of feeling, that settles in you like a lead weight dragging you down. You shake your head but don’t have the strength to speak, or to remove your shaking hand from your lips.
“We can’t do this.” You whisper, shivering as his hand slipped down the line from your shoulder to your wrist.
“Why not?” He asks in reply with a smile that looks volumes softer than he’d ever been.
You take a second to think about it, to genuinely weigh the risks and rewards. Cost-Benefit analysis the rational part of your brain calls it, though there’s nothing rational about what you’re doing – what you’re feeling. And that lack of control, of rationality is what scares you.
“You know we can’t do this-” You croak back but Frank’s smile doesn’t falter an inch.
“We’re adults. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing if we both want it.”
He’s not lying, not really. There’s always been a crumb of truth in what Frank says, even when it really really pisses you off. You’ve always been able to take comfort in that too, that there were boundaries, unspoken rules that formed around the two of you – even now,
“Really?” You feel stupid to ask.
“ Yes really.” comes his quick reply, his fingers tilting your chin to look up into his eyes.
In the moment it takes for your eyes to meet you feel stripped bare. You nod, not trusting yourself to verbalize your consent, praying that he can read into your body language. And he does, if the way he smiles and leans in to kiss you is any indication. It’s melting and soft, gentle in a way that’s deeply uncharacteristic for a shady character like Frank. He doesn’t sink his teeth into your wobbling bottom lip, or grope you so hard your eyes water.
Instead he’s chaste even, at least for a little while. It’s only when you start to relax that his hand snakes up the expanse of your back to tug at your hair. It’s a shot of pain straight down your spine, a yelp of surprise diffusing against his grinning mouth. The sensation isn’t overwhelmingly painful or cruel you realize in your foggy mind.
It’s firm, a tight grip winding through the locks of hair that fell loose at the nape of your neck, but it’s also a careful grip, an experienced one. His fingers are curled close to the roots, digits brushing against your scalp, your skin, sending shivers all throughout you. The pressure is enough to shock you. To imbolize you for the few precious seconds that it takes for Frank to manuver himself so that you’re pinned beneath him again. The position is somewhat similar to how you were before, only this time Frank hooks one of your legs up over his hip with a free hand.
It brings your bodies together in a way that steals the breath from your lungs, makes you jolt in his hold – which only tightens as you struggle. His weight settles over you, pinning you, hips thrusting experimentally against you, you shiver and hiss through your teeth. It isn’t enough stimulation to be fulfilling or all-consuming but enough to tease you, to make your body hypersensitive. Frank’s belt buckle still dug into your stomach but the slight discomfort was a welcomed contrast to the soft, melting pleasure that was currently coursing through you.
Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, curling in the collar of his shirt, nails digging into bare skin wherever you can get to it. It seems to urge him on, because his hands leave your hair to grip your hips instead, tilting them up into a more receptive angle. He’s stronger than he looks, manuvering you like you weighted nothing at all. The new angle puts pressure on your spine but the heat between you smothers the pain with sparks of pleasure. The fingers of your free hand curl around his belt loops, shyly reciprocating his experimental thrusts.
“That’s it – right there - good girl ,” he purrs above you, voice low and dirty, “Just like that, feel what you do to me-”
The evidence of his arousal throbs against you even through his jeans, potent and undeniable – just like the rest of him. The awkward see-saw of your bodies continues for a few moments, the sound of your overlapping breaths ringing in your ears. The lack of genuine stimulation becomes frustrating after a few moments and without thinking you find yourself whining.
“You want more?” He asks, sounding drunk, it hits you like a bucket of ice water.
You open your mouth with a soft, wounded sound that goes beyond words. Frank seems to understand, stroking your cheek with a rough hand. He cranes himself down to kiss you, this time it’s slow and much deeper than before. Before you realize it you’re relaxing, mouth open to let Frank’s tongue explore. The pace is melting and soft, making you huff gently against his mouth when he finally pulls away.
Frank’s lips press against your pulse point, teeth scrapping gently as his hands skim over your body. Even through your baggy clothes his touch is searing hot, excited and needy. Carefully his hands – which you only now realize are shaking slightly – cup the shape of your hips, fingers yanking down your shorts until they’re around your knees. You squeal at the suddennes of it, hand flying down to protect your dignity.
You hadn’t planned on anything happening between the two of you so you’d gone without underwear under your pajamas. Now you realize what a mistake it is when Frank’s grin turns wolfish. There’s a dark, feral glint in his eyes as he muscles your hand away, shoving his knee between your legs to keep them parted. When his eyes trail down the line of your exposed stomach and hips you swear he drools a little.
“God – you’ve been holding out on me -” his hand reaches down, brushing down your lower belly, the touch making you squirm from how lighthanded he was being, “I never knew you had such a cute pussy… fuck .”
You whine, embarassed and scandalized by Frank’s choice of words. Unconsciously you cover yourself with your shaking hand, but he won’t have any of that if the way he yanks your wrist away is any indication. He sneers, brushing the back of his fingers over your lips, smiling broadly when you twitch against his touch. The tips of his pointer and middle finger ghost over your clit, his head tilting in curiousity as he experimented with pressure. Despite his attitude his touch is gentle, as if he’s scared to push too hard too fast. You don’t have time to dwell on it all because soon his questing fingers slip lower.
Lower and lower until they’re teasing against your entrance and finally slipping in to the second knuckle. You choke on your tongue a bit, part of your brain screaming to push him away, to say no – to get him to stop. But you don’t, instead you relax, lean your head back as Frank finds his rhythm. He tests the waters at first, as if he’s studying you, trying to figure out what makes you tick. Shortly the answer comes to him when he curls his fingers over a sensitive spot that has your limbs tightening up.
Frank’s smile is cruel when he realizes it, redoubling his efforts with a vicious efficiency that has you cursing through your teeth,
“What the – what the fuck-?” You slur, confused almost, a jolt of pleasure singing under your skin as his thumb presses insistently against your clit.
“What d’you mean?” He asks, draping his lithe body over you to press kisses to your cheek, your neck, “You telling you that no one’s ever touched you like this?”
You want to bite his tongue off.
“It’s none - none of- oh fuck - none of your goddamnit business.” You barely choke out.
It’s becoming increasingly hard to talk, to snap back at him like you usually do. And you can tell that Frank delights in it with the way he presses a sickly sweet kiss to your forehead,
“Aww c’mon it’s okay - no need to be ashamed, I’ll take care of you baby.”
You huff but loosen your iron grip on his wrist, half expecting to see claw marks left behind. Frank kisses along your jaw and neck, taking a deep inhale against your pulse point. He shivers against you,hips still moving in a jerky, stilted rhythm that lines up roughly with his hand between your thighs. It’s almost like he’s imagining what it’d be like to fuck you but abstaining – just barely.
Your heart thundered in your ears as you climb higher and higher. His teeth catch against your skin, tongue messily tracing a path from your jaw to the base of your throat. The contrast of his hot, soft mouth and dull scrape of teeth made you suck in a shaky breath. Without thinking your hand winds in the short, coarse hair at the nape of his neck, tugging when his curious mouth teased the collar of your top.
“Quit drooling on me-” You hiss, and if to further spite you he leans up to plant a wet kiss on your lips.
Eventually though he does obey and pulls away, giving you breathing space. The moment lulling to a tense silence when you look back up at him. Your eyes drift down to where his hands lay against your body, how securely he held you – how unafraid he seemed. His breath was a low rhythmic cadence, and you could practically feel his cock twitching through his jeans against your hip. His calloused hands slip under the hem of your top, mapping uncharted territory with a soft drunk smile on his face.
He strips you with fast, jerky movements, breath fanning hot and urgent over your skin as he bares you inch by inch. Throwing your loungewear to the floor in a messy pile, his own jeans pushed down to his mid-thigh, belt jangling as he undid it. The contrast between soft sincerity and almost feral desire was dizzying. His rough hands skim down your sides, groping and pinching at the softness of your hips and thighs, even going so far to smack you on the ass while he was at it.
You yelp at the sting, wiggling under him and slapping him across the face. Not one to be outdone Frank spanks you again and nibbles playfully on your fingers, growling playfully as he does so.
“I swear to God Frank -- stop it!” You struggle beneath him, realizing that this playfighting is only making his cock throb more and more the longer it goes on.
He grabs your wrists, squeezing tight enough you felt the tender skin begin to bruise and throb. You wiggle, getting a knee up to dig into Frank’s unprotected ribs, he hisses but doesn’t relent. When Frank speak his voice is low and soft, a laugh curling around his words,
“Oh you wanna wrestle huh?”
“Go fuck yourself.” You bite back but you know it’s an empty threat.
Frank smiles, a smug kind of satisfaction bringing a softness to his face that should’ve infuriated you but it didn’t. Him and his stupid half smirk had you trembling and throbbing against him. He overpowers you, your softly mewled protestations disappearing under the soft kisses he peppers over your cheeks and neck. Teeth lightly graze the already abraided skin, sucking marks into the base of your throat, tongue teasing your pulse point. The stimulation stops abruptly and you find yourself snapped back to reality when you hear Frank’s belt and jeans hit the floor.
You jolt a moment, half sat up on the couch and he gives you the space to move, leaning back on his haunches. He’s nude, completely nude, and you find yourself staring at everything on display. His skin is pale, with sparse dark hair from below his belly button down between his thighs and spreading over his legs. You find your fingers absentmindedly tracing through the hair on his thigh, feeling the muscle and tendon jumping under your touch. Frank’s fists were clenched at his sides and he tilted his head back to exhale, his cock jumps as you let your palm smooth over his stomach. His body hair is surprisingly soft, skin hot and smooth as you explore.
His breath hitches, teeth bared in anticipation as you drag your hand slowly from tip to base. He’s pulsing already, precum easing the way, helping you find an easy rhythm, you can feel him throbbing in your hand, his heartbeat pulsing rapidly with every stroke. You wondered how he’d felt this when he curled his finger inside you – holding your heartbeat in his hands like you were now.
“I don’t have condoms.” You whisper, chewing your lip. Frank curses under his breath when you squeeze his cock and watch as his precum beads over your fingers.
“Me - Me neither.” He replies, hips slowly moving in tandem with your hand, his words come out breathy, unfocused almost.
“Did you plan it out like this? Did you want to do it raw for your ego?” You barely even register what you’re saying, lust settling over you, clouding your judgment, making your voice syrupy and slow with want.
Frank’s fingers dig into your wrist as your pace picks up – the sound of you stroking him is too obvious to ignore now – but you don’t stop or slow down. His nails dig in, breath hissing through clenched teeth, the expression on his face is almost pained . You love it. Maybe it’s some kind of latent sadism, a mean streak that permeated both sides of the relationship. You lean forward, spitting into your hand before returning to stroking his cock, redoubling your efforts and delighting in the wet sound that it makes with your introduction of impromptu lube.
“Oh fuck – shit -” He curses head tilted back and Adam’s apple bobbing. You want to watch him fall apart in your hands, you want to take pleasure in knowing that you , brought him to that point. But Frank has other ideas. He grabs your wrist, tight enough that you’re sure you’ll bruise and you yelp at the pressure. It’s a kind of strength that belies his slender frame, one that gives you butterflies in your stomach. Your skin stings a little and you finally release him, but he doesn’t, if anything he squeezes hard. The bastard.
“What?” You ask, heartbeat racing even as you giggle softly out of nervousness.
Frank wasn’t laughing, his blunt nails dug into your skin hard enough to sting. You hiss and try to yank your hand away but he refuses to let you go, moving with you to prevent your attempts at escape. His other hand shot out, faster than you could react, gripping the base of your throat and shoving you hard, flat on your back. You clipped the back of your head on the arm of the couch, leaving you dazed for a moment.
A moment long enough for Frank to straddle you, shoving your thighs apart again, forceful enough that your hips strained from the effort. Frank’s voice is a low growl against your ear, chills running down your spine with the intensity and vulgarity of his words,
“I’m tired of playing around with you - “ he clipped, teeth briefly biting into the sensitive skin of your neck, making you yelp, “I’m taking what I’ve always wanted – what I deserve- ”
The implication has your heart lurching in your throat, core clenching in anticipation without you consciously realizing it. Frank reaches between your bodies, briefly releasing your wrist to grasp himself and you gasp when you connect the dots. Oh God, this really was happening. You don’t want to squirm away, your limbs heavy with want and your breath coming out in short pants. Frank seems to enjoy it, a lazy smile breaking over his previously angry face. He chides you gently, rubbing the head of his cock against you in teasing thrusts,
“Someone’s needy – I didn’t know you were easy like this baby…”
You huff, but say nothing, instead concentrating on hooking your legs over his hips, squeezing his torso between your knees. Faintly you can feel his ribs compress under the pressure and feel him breathing as you do so. Desperately you angle your hips, willing him to just shut up and fuck you already. He clicks his tongue, seeing through your attempts easily, and for your trouble he grants your wish, hips stilling a moment before lowering to align himself with your body.
And all too slowly Frank pushes inside of you, his hand squeezing tighter and tighter around your neck as he does so. It’s not enough to strangle you, but enough to leave you pleasantly dazed. Your muddled senses make the sensation of his slow, deep thrusts all the more electrifying. His lips seek yours again when he finally bottoms out within you, a warm sort of fullness curling low in your belly. The kiss is soft and makes you feel like you’re melting into the couch below you, his hand on your throat the only thing grounding you in the present.
Your free hand snags the edge of his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle there and holding for dear life as his pace picks up. The shift is abrupt at first as he finds his rhythm, faster, harder until the room is filled with the sounds of your strangled breaths and the sound of skin meeting skin. You’re sure to have bruises on your stomach and hips tomorrow with how rough he’s being, and how fast the sharp lines of his hips meet the softness of your receptive body. But you can’t find it in yourself to care, because the mix of pain and pleasure is exhilarating.
An edge of danger that set your body on fire, that kept you slowly climbing the mountain yet again. You don’t know how long you’ll last like this, and Frank doesn’t seem to be fairing much better. He was panting, his chest shaking with each heaving breath, hips moving like he’d die if he stopped. His eyes were glued to the point where your bodies met, a pained sort of expression marring his features the longer he watched. The hold he had on your wrist loosened, instead choosing to guide your hand down between your legs.
You gasp at the implication, toes curling when he guides you towards your neglected clit. Just the slightest brush of your fingertips was like a shock to your system, the compounding stimulation making you curl your toes and clench down. Apparently, that was exactly what Frank wanted.
“Ohh - oh fuck-” You babble, breath wheezing through your teeth when you piece it together.
“Just like that baby – c'mon-” He goads, pushing down on your hand, forcing you to apply more pressure.
And you do, middle and ring finger ghosting over your swollen clit in tight circles. bringing you to tears almost and you have to bite down on your lip hard to concentrate. You hold onto him for dear life as he rocks into you with a pace that makes your heart leap. His rough fingers easily manipulate your legs to a more advantageous position, one leg pinned against the couch cushions and the other tossed over his shoulder. He leverages his weight, essentially folding you in half in a bid to get deeper, closer – taking your breath with every downstroke.
It’s a bit suffocating in a way, a cocoon of warmth that leaves your skin prickling, whole body shaking and your chest falling and rising at a rapid pace. You claw at his back when you cum, and you’re sure that you break skin with how he hisses. He eases you through it, slowing his pace and reaching to hold your head steady. His dark eyes lock onto yours, his expression as soft as he can manage, thumb gently swiping along your bottom lip and chin.
“Shhh shhh, easy baby just look at me okay? Just – Just like that – good girl.” He soothed, his voice rumbling low in his chest.
When his thumb probs at the seam of your lips you acquiesce, letting the digit slip along your tongue, bringing with it the tang of his skin. He sighs, contented with himself almost, the rhythm of his thrusts turning choppy – a telltale sign that he was close. As he reached his peak, dragging you along (oversenstive and all) Frank’s body curved over yours, his breath brushing against your ear. He spasm briefly, groaning low in your ear, a sound that tapers off into a soft whine until he’s out of breath. The sensation is alarming at first, almost alien to feel something so hot deep within you and you squirm at first, teeth biting into his thumb to take off the edge.
He has to wrangle to get you to let go of his thumb, which you do, bright red imprints of your teeth visible when he pulls his hand away. Frank doesn’t move much after that, squishing you beneath him, skin on skin, racing heartbeat pounding against your stomach. Your throat feels raw and scratchy, limbs heavy and uncooperative. You try to push him off, but only get as far as wrapping an arm around his neck and turning your head to the side.
The breathing room gives you time to think. To try and collect your scattered thoughts as your sweat cools and Frank presses absentminded kisses to your collarbone. A million questions ran through your mind but you were too tired to analyze them. To dissect the feelings that welled up in your chest the longer you too stayed tangled together. A few moments passed in stillness with you lost in thought. You could feel him softening within you as you regained your strength. And when you move to push him away you hesitate just a moment.
He peels himself off of you, his arms shaking as he settles on his haunches. Slowly he withdraws from you, leaving you feeling empty – and sore. Frank tuts when you hiss in discomfort, snagging a towel you’d left crumpled on your armchair and tucking it between your thighs.
“Sorry.” He says gruffly, bashful almost.
“Sorry my ass – I feel like a damn Twinkie.” You pout back, but you relish in the gentleness he showed.
Frank rolls his eyes but laughs along anyway, closing your legs and stumbling to his feet. He leaves you for a second, pulling on his sweatpants and disappearing into your bedroom. When he comes back he has your robe over the crook of his arm and your water bottle in hand. You groan but sit up, curling up into a ball on one side of the couch. You’re much too exhausted and mixed up inside to be precious about nudity. And you don’t flinch when Frank plops down beside you, draping the robe around your shoulders and pushing the water bottle into your stiff fingers,
“Now.” He begins, “Let's talk, for real this time.”