#contract rates trucking

[artisticdivasworld]

Navigating Q4 in Trucking: What to Expect and How to Stay Ahead

As we move into October, there are some key updates in the trucking world that will likely affect your business. Things have been up and down this year, but there are a few silver linings if you stay on top of the trends and plan accordingly. Let’s start with rates. Spot rates have been dropping most of the year, with dry van rates down by about $0.02 to $0.05 per mile compared to earlier…

[guess-my-next-obsession]

the alchemy | v. the confession

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel find peace after a hard day, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.

chapter rating: E (18+ only, MINORS DNI, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), unprotected piv, joel has a filthy mouth, appearance of this man’s obvious breeding kink, angst to end it all--may contain some typos but i can’t be bothered to check)

wc: 4.4k

series masterlist | previous chapter

The waiting room of the doctor’s office you were interviewing at for a temp job as an administrative assistant while you awaited replies from more long-term positions was bleak and empty. The cold space was bright with overhead fluorescent lighting, the soft hum of a court TV show pairing horribly with the soft clacks of the receptionist’s keyboard. It was the perfect recipe for a headache, if your earlier conversation with your father hadn’t already given you one. 

He’d been on your ass about keeping up with your chores, and though you admittedly had fallen behind on your end of the bargain, it wasn’t like you could tell him why you’d been too busy to chip in lately. 

I’ve been busy falling in love with your good friend, dad didn’t seem like a good way to get yourself back into his good graces. 

So, instead of prepping for your interview, you passive-aggressively tended to the sink full of dishes, only for him to switch gears and gripe that he didn’t mean you had to do them then and there. 

Just another reason why you needed to start earning some money of your own so that you could find a small place and put some much needed distance between you and your father. 

When the doctor and owner of the small practice finally called you back—twenty minutes past your agreed upon time—your head was pounding. If you hadn’t been so desperate to land a job, you might’ve slipped out at the five minute mark, but as it stood, you needed to see this shitty interview through. 

For your sanity. 

For some privacy. 

For the potential to not have to sneak out every night just to see Joel. 

JOEL

It had been a long fucking day. 

Between the incessant ache in his lower back from yesterday’s job putting up drywall and the shipment of tile for his latest contract—a suburban couple’s renovation of their first home together—arriving cracked, he was desperate to get home and doze away on the couch with a cold beer. 

Sarah was off at her friend’s house for the night, which meant he had the night to himself—unless you were able to sneak over and offer him some much welcomed company for the night. 

But he wasn’t counting on that fact, not when your dad had been there to watch Sarah pack her overnight bag into Mrs. Jacobs’ silver minivan earlier that morning. 

It didn’t stop him from hoping, nonetheless. 

As he pulled his pickup into his driveway, Joel was surprised to find the exact person he’d been hoping to see sitting on the front step of his place. He hopped out of the truck with a newfound purpose and tried to tame the boyish grin creeping onto his face as he took you in. You looked more corporate than you usually did, a pair of slacks and a button-down blouse taking the place of your usual t-shirt and jeans, but you looked no less beautiful than you always did. A natural, effortless thing that had every nerve in his body alight with the need to get his hands on you. 

“Hey,” you greeted him, a small smile lifting one corner of that mouth he loved so much. 

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, scanning the cul de sac as he stepped up onto his porch. “Dressed to impress, I see.”

You huffed out a small laugh and rolled your eyes as you stood, keeping a bit of distance between the two of you in case anyone happened to be watching. A fact that he loathed with every bone in his body. 

“My key broke off in the front door,” you sighed, leaning against the wooden beam beside you. “My dad’s not going to be home until late tonight, and I didn’t feel like breaking in. Decided I’d slum it here until you got home.”

He stepped closer to you, his hand twitching with the urge to stroke his thumb over your cheek in hopes of turning your frown into one of those smiles he loved so much. “Need me to break in for ya?”

“You could,” you said, biting at your lip as you stared down at your nails. “Or we could go inside and you can help me forget about the shitty interview I just had.”

It was Joel’s turn to frown, despite the twitch he felt downstairs at the implication in your tone. “Didn’t get the job?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” you scoffed. “I don’t want it, though. The doctor was a total dick. Made some joke about finally having someone pretty behind the desk to greet him in the morning. I’d rather be broke and unemployed than have to work with that bullshit.”

“Want me to kick his ass?” Joel asked, reveling in the laugh his words earned. 

“No.” You smiled, lifting your eyes to meet his as the tip of your tongue slid out to wet your bottom lip. “I have better stuff in mind for you.”

Joel’s brown arched, a smirk lighting up his face. “Oh, yeah? And what might that be, darlin’?”

“Let me in and I’ll show you.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

As soon as Joel shut and locked the door behind him, you were pressing him against the wall. 

Your lips found his ungracefully, but he didn’t seem to mind as he kissed you back with just as much unbridled need. It had been too long—three days now—since you’d gotten the chance to be truly alone with him. With Sarah at the house, the two of you had to be discreet and silent, and while it never hindered the pleasure you brought each other, it certainly dampened a bit of this passion you’d been yearning to feel. 

Joel groaned as he slipped his hands over your hips to squeeze your ass through your trousers, pressing you tighter to his body. You bit at his lower lip and let your own hands travel, one to the nape of his neck and one down to palm at the bulge imprisoned by his jeans. 

“Missed you all day, baby,” he said, his voice thick with desire as he guided you backwards towards the couch. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“Tell me what you were thinking about,” you panted, straddling his lap as he sat down and pulled you with him. 

“Thought about the way you looked when you were ridin’ me a couple nights ago,” he said, nipping at your jawline. “How you had to cover your mouth to keep quiet. Fuck, I got hard just thinkin’ about the sounds you make. Been too goddamn long since I heard ‘em. You gonna let me hear ‘em today, baby?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you moaned, grinding yourself against him as he started to unbutton your blouse, kissing each bit of skin he exposed along the way. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, lathing his tongue over the swell of your breast as it sat pushed up by your bra. He peeled your shirt off your body and tossed it across the room before settling his big, warm hands on your waist, smoothing his rough palms across your smooth skin. “Wanna hear every fuckin’ thing.” 

Your back arched as he lowered his mouth to your breast, kissing and nipping at you through the thin lace of your bra. With a skilled flick of his fingers behind your back, he had the bra unclasped and discarded on the floor along with your shirt, the cool air around you stiffening your nipples into sensitive peaks. He groaned as he palmed one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb stroking over the sensitive bud as he slowly lifted his eyes back to yours to watch your face crumple a bit with pleasure. 

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he whispered, shaking his head at you in reverence as he lowered his mouth to your nipple, kissing it softly. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you moaned, holding his head against your breast as he swirled and sucked at the bud before kissing his way over to the other. ”I need you inside me.”

Joel’s hands gripped you harder, pulling you closer. “Take me out and sit on it, then, honey. I ain’t stoppin’ what I’m doin’.” 

Your limbs felt heavy and clumsy as you dropped your hands to his lap, as if you were drunk off Joel’s voice alone. You fumbled with his belt and the button of his jeans, undoing both with little grace as you scrambled to access the hard thickness straining beneath its rigid denim confines. Joel, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped lavishing your sensitive nipples with attention, alternating from sucking to nibbling to flicking at them with the tip of his tongue, all while his big hands restlessly stroked up and down the planes of your back. 

“Stand up so I can take these off,” he ordered, tugging at the belt loops of your trousers. You obeyed immediately, letting him undo the button and slip your slacks and underwear off in one smooth motion before he shed himself of his own clothes, leaving him bare and beautiful in front of you. Joel was smiling as he tapped his lap with one hand and held your hip with the other. “Sit.” 

You let out a soft keening sound at the rough, inviting tone of his voice, obeying once again. Joel watched your face as you straddled his lap, his eyes round with reverence and lips parting at the feeling of your soft palm wrapping around his pulsing girth. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, biting his lip as his eyes fell to watch your hand pump him. “You got any idea what you do t’me, baby? Any fuckin’ clue how good y’feel?”

You replied with a hiss of your own as you flicked the tip of him along your seam, paying special attention to your swollen bundle of nerves. “Do you?”

Joel smiled for a half-second before his face crumpled into something dark and needy and absolutely sinful as you lined him up at your entrance, sinking down just enough to have his fat head inside you. He groaned at the tightness there, and you sighed at the delicious stretch of him making himself at home in the most precious of places. 

“Always so tight,” he whispered, lifting his hands to your face as he pulled you down to him for a searing kiss. “So fuckin’ wet. Best fuckin’ pussy in the world.”

You smiled into the kiss and sank down further, relishing in the choked moan you tore from his chest. “And it belongs to you, Joel.”

“Shit,” he groaned, tossing his head back against the couch, giving you the perfect chance to press your lips against his pulse. Joel’s hands splayed across your hips, keeping you flush with his body for a moment while he gained his composure. “Tell me again.”

You grinded yourself against him, your clit rubbing against the patch of hair at his base and sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “My pussy’s all yours, Joel.”

He growled, lifting your hips just to drive his own forward, drilling in deep. “Again.”

You let out a cry, fingers leaving crescent moons in the meat of his shoulders as his head found that spot deep inside you with every rough thrust upwards. “You own me, Joel.”

“Own what?,” he growled, using your body as a toy as he plunged deep over and over and over. Your face was buried in the nook of his neck as you held onto his broad frame, breathing in the scent of sawdust and warm cologne and sweat—so masculine, so distinctly Joel. 

“You own my pussy,” you cried, meeting his thrusts in harsh bounces, the room filling with the lewd slap of your ass meeting his thighs. “You own every fucking part of me, baby.” 

Joel’s hand came down onto your ass with a sharp sting, the pain blending with pleasure and driving you closer to that delicious edge. “Good fuckin’ girl. This pussy’s all mine. You’re all fuckin’ mine, ain’t ya?” 

“Fuck, yes!” You rode him without care of how you looked while doing it. It was animalistic and primal the way you needed him, the way your body reacted to even the slightest of touches. Joel shared that same inhibition, hands gripping and roaming and mouth spewing with filth. 

“Wanna carve my name into this fuckin’ pussy and make it mine forever. Put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he groaned, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear as the two of you worked in tandem to achieve pure bliss. His words had you clenching, even when you hadn’t expected to want or like them as much as you did. “That what you want, baby? Want me to fuck my cum nice and deep ‘til it takes?”

“Fuck, yes!” you cried, your walls squeezing him like a vice grip. “Wanna have your baby, Joel!”

He growled, using one hand at the base of your neck to pull your face from his shoulder so that he could look into your eyes. “So fuckin’ beautiful, honey. You’d look so goddamn pretty with my baby inside you.”

“Fuck, Joel, I’m so close,” you moaned, face wrecked with pleasure as you leaned back on his lap, your hands perched on his thighs for leverage. Joel growled at the change in position, at the sight of your body sprawled out on top of him, at the bounce of your breasts in his eyeline. 

“I’m gonna cum nice and deep,” he said, biting his bottom lip as he lowered his thumb to your clit, working it in perfect circles. “Gonna make you a mess and then clean it up with my tongue. S’that what you want?”

“Please,” you cried, too fucked out to say anything better. 

“Gonna taste us together ‘til you beg me to stop,” he said, his own voice now shaky and rough as he approached his release. “Fuck, baby. I need you t’cum for me. I’m too fuckin’ close.”

You didn’t need any more motivation, your body seizing up and crumbling on top of him with the weight of your climax. Joel gathered you in his arms and held you close to his chest, pressing kisses against your temple as he buried himself deep and let you have every last drop of his release. 

“Take it,” he murmured, fucking his cum deep into your pussy. “Take what’s yours, darlin’.”

“Jesus,” you sighed, circling your hips against his as your climax faded to a warm, tingling thing. ”You’re too fucking good at this.”

Joel laughed, soft and breathy, as he smoothed a hand up and down your back before letting it settle on your ass with a gentle squeeze. “Fuck, I love the shit out of you, you know that?” 

You froze, not out of fear or panic, but just the sheer surprise of such a confession falling so casually from his lips. Joel seemed to realize it too, as his hand stilled in its ministrations across your heated skin. 

“We can pretend I didn’t say that, if y’want,” Joel said, sounding much too shy and insecure for your taste. 

You sat up enough to look at him, watching as he avoided your stare like a nervous little boy. 

“Look at me, you beautiful man.” He obliged, carefully lifting his eyes to meet yours. You held his face in your hands, guiding him to your lips for three gentle, loving pecks. “I don’t want to pretend. I…love you, too. Fuck, I think I’ve always loved you, Joel.”

Joel’s smile dawned again, washing away every trace of hesitation that lingered before. He leaned in to kiss you again, this time slow and languid as if he’d be content to do this for the rest of his life. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this…happy. This settled before. Just want you t’know that.”

“Neither have I,” you murmured, your lips refusing to move too far from his. 

JOEL

You stayed with him later than you probably should’ve. The afternoon light had faded into evening, but neither of you paid any mind to the passing of time. You fell asleep shortly after he fulfilled his promise of cleaning you up with his tongue, your face buried in the nook of his neck as he dozed with you on the sofa. 

He woke up before you, eager to take his time in watching you sleep beside him. It had become a favorite pastime of his in the short month the two of you had spent together, waking up before you just to watch you breathe. He’d never felt this way in any of his previous relationships, so enamored and in love with a person, even in their most base state. It had always been a sort of begrudging kind of love with his exes, as if there was a large part of his biology that rejected their company for one reason or the next. He mostly just felt out of place in their company, like living with a stranger or a roommate that he fucked every now and again. 

But there wasn’t a single part of him that felt that way about you. He loved every bit of you—the woman you showed him when you were awake, kind and thoughtful and determined, and the woman he held close when you were fast asleep, all soft curves and warm skin. Even Sarah seemed to accept you as a natural addition to their family, far more than she ever did with her own mother. That fact carried more weight than you knew, or perhaps you were keenly aware of the way they both felt for you and simply chose to accept it in stride. Either way, it was endearing. 

He was just about to wake you up to thank you for existing here with him—with them—in the best way he knew how when a series of hurried knocks sounded on his front door. He’d saw the headlights of your father’s SUV pull into the driveway next door, and given your absence at home, he had no doubt that he would’ve strolled over, worried as all hell. 

Joel gently coaxed you awake with a thumb brushing over your face, feeling a bit irritated that he had to interrupt your peace. Especially given the circumstance. 

“Your dad’s at the door, baby,” he said, his voice gentle but urging. You bolted upright at the news, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as you scanned the room. “Go upstairs and I’ll send him back home.”

You muttered a sleepy okay, grabbed your clothes from the floor, and hurried upstairs to his bedroom while Joel threw on his own clothes and tried to look half-presentable. As if he hadn’t just spent the afternoon inside you. 

When things looked to be back in order, he finally marched to the door and opened it, revealing your disheveled looking father. “Hey, everything alright?”

“Have you seen my daughter?” he asked, breezing past Joel and into the half-lit living room. 

“No,” Joel lied, rubbing the back of his neck as he spotted your underwear halfway beneath the couch that you must’ve missed when fumbling for your clothes in the dark. “You wanna grab a couple beers and tell me what’s got you so riled up?”

Your father headed into the kitchen with a soft grunt, allowing Joel the opportunity to stuff your panties in his back pocket before taking a seat on the sofa. When he returned, he let out a sigh and settled into the recliner, combing a hand over his face. 

“She isn’t home,” he said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. “She usually sends me a text when she’s gonna be out late.”

“She probably just forgot,” Joel said, his knee bouncing with anxiety. Lying had never come easy to him, but if there was any time to learn, it was now. “You tried textin’ her?”

“Yeah, nothin’,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel like she’s hiding something from me. A boyfriend, maybe. I’ve kept quiet about it, but I’ve heard her sneakin’ out in the dead of night. Her car always stays here, though, so she must be gettin’ picked up.” He fixed his attention on Joel. “You seen anything?”

Joel was quick to shake his head. A bit too quick. “No, I’m in bed early these days.”

“Well, keep an eye out if you can,” he said, ticking his jaw. “I’d like to know what she’s been up to. Makes no sense for her to hide things from me, but then again, it’s been a long time since we’ve been under the same roof like this.”

“She’s probably just settlin’ in, figurin’ things out,” Joel said, his fingers scratching at the label on his bottle. “No need to go and get yourself worked up over nothin’.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, downing the last of his beer. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Let me know if you hear anything.”

Joel stood to walk him to the door, only to watch as your father’s eyes landed on a familiar looking phone case laid face down on the coffee table. 

“That’s her phone,” he said, his eyes narrowing at the object before lifting to Joel’s. “What’s her phone doin’ here?”

Joel struggled to make up a lie, his lips parting and closing over and over. “I, uh…”

“Joel,” he said, his tone harsher than before. “What’s my daughter’s phone doing here?”

Your father stepped closer, squaring his shoulders as he sized up his newfound enemy. 

“I’m gonna give you two seconds to explain yourself before I go upstairs and take a look myself,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Listen—“

“Nope.” He shook his head, scoffing in anger as he turned to move towards the staircase. Joel rushed to block his path, setting a firm hand on his chest. “I suggest you move, Miller.”

“I suggest you don’t tell me what to do in my own house,” Joel said, his protective streak outweighing his anxiety. “You can either sit there and listen, or you can get the hell out. Either way, you ain’t goin’ upstairs.”

“You gonna stop me?” Your father stepped forward, daring Joel to make a move. He had half a mind to shove him back a step, but the sound of his bedroom door opening talked some much needed sense into him. 

“Dad, stop,” you pleaded, the sound breaking Joel’s heart. “I’ll be home in a second. We can talk about this in private.”

“There’s no way in hell this is happening,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he turned to pace the living room. “You’re sneakin’ around with my daughter? And lyin’ to my face about it? For what, some hookup? Some sick fantasy of yours?”

“Dad!” You pushed past Joel to stand in front of him protectively. “It’s not a hookup or anything like that. Joel and I are together. We’re serious about each other.”

“He’s a decade older than you!” he shouted back, causing Joel to take the lead. 

“She’s a grown woman,” Joel said. “Goddamn near twenty-five. You don’t think she’s old enough to make her own decisions yet?” 

“She wasn’t twenty-five when you met her,” he returned. 

“And I didn’t act on anything all that time,” Joel said.

“How long has this been goin’ on?” Your father turned to you, and Joel fought the urge to tell him to wipe the murderous look off his face. 

“A month or so,” you said, meek and timid. “We were going to tell you.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “Joel was just sitting there lying to my face about you just needing time to settle in. All the while, he’s been the one you’ve been sneaking off with.”

“We were waiting until we knew what was happening—“

“Well that went to shit, didn’t it?” he said, shaking his head. “You know what? You wanna sneak around and lie to me, you wanna play house with him, then you can stay here. I’m not having a liar sleep under my roof.”

“Dad!”

“No!” he shouted. “You didn’t care how this would hurt me before, you don’t get to cry about it now. I’m goin’ out. You’ve got an hour to get your shit and leave my house. And you—“ He turned his attention to Joel. “You’re never going to be welcomed under my roof again. You’re dead to me. I don’t want to see your face again, you hear me?”

Joel didn’t reply, simply clenching his jaw as he reached a hand out to welcome you into his side, your tears staining his t-shirt as you buried your face in his neck. 

“Fuckin’ sick,” your father said, stomping his way to the door and slamming it shut behind him. 

In the tense silence that followed, Joel wanted nothing more than to go over and teach your father a lesson on how not to speak to you, but he was too preoccupied with holding you as you shook with tears. 

“Baby,” he cooed, hugging you tight. “I’m so sorry. So fuckin’ sorry.”

“He was so…mean,” you sobbed, hugging him tight. “He’s never spoken to me like that. Like I wasn’t his daughter.”

“I know,” he murmured, smoothing his hand over your back. “I hate him for makin’ you cry like this.”

“I can’t believe…can’t believe this is real,” you said, peering up to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I was so happy just a few minutes ago.” 

Joel cradled your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’ll be alright. He’ll come around, and if he doesn’t…well, he can go fuck himself.”

You nodded, though no part of him thought you believed what he’d said. No, you’d be torn up over this for days. Weeks, even. But through it all, he’d be there. 

“Come on,” he said, holding your hand. “Let’s go get your things, and then we’ll come back, have a drink, and watch one of those romance movies you love so much until it hurts a little bit less, alright?”

You managed a soft, but broken smile and nodded. “Thank you for sticking up for me and being here. It’s more than most men would’ve done in your situation.”

“I love you,” he said, squeezing your hand. “That means I’m gonna always be here to stick up for you, alright? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

[luxurychristmaspudding]

watch

summary: after showing frankie what he was missing, something seems to have been awoken in you all. with joel away on a contract and santi called out of town, you're left in frankie's care. except one rule still stands - you can't touch.

read part 1, listen, here BONUS: al's handy guide to reading watch

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. alright, buckle in. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, lil bit of softdom!reader and bratty!reader as well hehe. drinking, pet names (inc. little/baby girl, baby boy). rules get broken (surprise!), praise kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), exhibitionism, voyeurism, public fingering, blowjobs (m receiving and giving), rimming, mutual masturbation, phone sex, use of toys (f&m), consensual somnophilia, cumplay, edging, facesitting, anal fingering (m), mfm, anal sex (m receiving), tiny bit of breath play (not reader), light bondage, brief gagging, very high sex drives but who can blame them, once again so many orgasms i lost count, and in the immortal words of @thatredheadwriter, 'so much fluid exchange I think a hasmat team should probably go in to clean it up' reader wears dresses and has hair, but has no other descriptions. no use of y/n.

wc: 25k (i know, i'm so sorry)

an: many many many thanks to the peeps who waited an age for this. you've all been so patient and kind and i hope you enjoy! for @schnarfer, @swiftispunk, @5oh5 and @janaispunk who, without their constant encouragement and recommendation, this may not have happened at all <3 dividers as always from the wonderful @saradika-graphics

In the weeks that follow, you wait for the ball to drop. 

You wait to feel weird about what the four of you did, for the kick of it, for Joel to reveal that he actually wasn’t that sold on it. You wait for a text or call from Frankie or Santi to say it was nice knowing you, but it was a little much, a little weird to see you around now. 

It doesn’t happen. 

You stay slotted into Joel’s life like you were always meant to be there. You stay over at his, he stays over at yours. You spend lazy Sunday mornings making waffles or pancakes and getting fucked dumb. He brings you flowers when work is hard, you rub his shoulders when he’s had a rough day on site. Your body is marked beneath your clothes with his bruises, the shape of his teeth, and his is marked by yours, the scratch of your nails traced delicately down his back. 

You spend your time orbiting around each other, close and safe in the bubble you’ve built, warm and soft in the afternoon sunlight that streams through the curtains on your days off, eating in and eating out. He becomes more familiar than anyone else has ever been with the inner workings of your mind, the inner workings of your body. He introduces you to his brother, Tommy, and his wife, Maria. He talks about you to Sarah, and she says she’d love to meet you next time she’s home from college. He makes space for your books on his shelves, and your clothes find a way into his wardrobe; his squeeze into your drawers, a spare toothbrush for him in your bathroom. He kisses you, hot and open mouthed when he drops you off at work, does the same when you find his truck waiting outside for you when you’re done. He asks how the boys are when you come home from drinks with them, listens with sparkling eyes when you tell him Benny’s latest hookup is from the bar you used to work at, the place where they first met you. He chuckles and tells you he's glad Santi introduced the two of you when he did, before any of the others swooped in and took you for themselves. 

Sometimes, you think he forgets about the night that Frankie asked you out, the conversations that followed. How close it could have been. 

But that's naive of you. Naive of you to think that he doesn’t see, doesn’t seek out the claim that Frankie and Santi have also made on you. Because he knows. In some infuriating, impossible way, he always knows. 

He shows you he knows one morning, when you have already been awake for what feels like hours, watching his broad chest rise and fall with deep, sleeping breaths.

You trace the curve of his nose with your eyes, the scruff of his beard, the way his curls have grown out. Luscious and thick, spattered with grey, curling down into the nape of his neck. His lips look so warm, so soft, that you’ve been challenging yourself, seeing how long you can go without kissing him awake. Seeing how long you can go with just remembering how they felt between your legs last night, wet with spit and your release as he soothed you through orgasm after orgasm, kissing your thighs, sucking marks into your soft flesh as he held you down with one thick palm braced against your belly, the other with its fingers gently pumping in and out of you. The deep timbre of his voice when you made yourself look at him, his praise, good girl, there she is, doin’ so good for me, sweet girl through your tears, as you begged him, begged him for something else, something more. More, daddy, you’d pleaded. You'd needed something thicker, something deeper. You always do.

You squirm beneath the sheets, pressing your thighs together. Try to think of anything else. The green of his bedroom walls, the boots you know will be at the end of the bed. His trinkets on the dresser - the watch Sarah bought (and fixed, many times) for him, the picture of him and his family at Tommy and Maria’s wedding, your clothes scattered about the floor, the chair in the corner of the room, the chair where he sat that night, as he watched, as he watched you -

You roll over onto your side to look away from it, squeezing your eyes shut, barely able to control your whimper. You’re slick between your thighs, too warm as your wetness mixes with the cum still drooling out of your cunt. You try and count his freckles instead, starting from his forehead to his cheekbones, down to his neck - his neck - his shoulder, the bite mark you left there as he spilled himself into you, the hand resting on his chest, his thick fingers, his fingers -

It’s no good. It’s no fucking good. He needs to rest, so you take a deep breath and steel yourself. Coffee. You’ll head downstairs, you’ll make coffee, and when he’s slept enough you’ll talk him through everything you’ve been thinking about, and he’ll make it better. Starting with his tongue.

You press your hands to the mattress as you start to raise your torso from the bed, and almost immediately at the shifting of your weight, Joel’s hand shoots out to grab you.

‘Where you goin’, pretty girl?’

You smile, smug. So he's awake. And you know, with his grip like this, you’ll get anything you want from him.

‘Coffee,’ you say, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to his soft lips. He returns it, eyes still shut, hand shifting from your forearm to your bicep, to your shoulder, to the back of your neck. He holds you there as he draws his tongue across the seam of your lips, and with a groan you let him in. The bristle of his moustache tickles as he licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth as his free hand skates between the sheets to skim over your bare thigh. You shift against him, bringing your calf over both of his legs. The movement brings his hand forwards, dipping between your legs to trace two fingers up through your drenched cunt. You moan loudly against him, and Joel chuckles.

‘Last night not enough for you, little girl?’

You hum against him, shaking your head. He retracts his fingers.

‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you.

‘No, da-’ you start, but as soon as your lips part he has his fingers on your tongue. On instinct, your eyes flutter shut and you suck them, swirling your tongue over the thick digits, savouring the taste of you both.

‘Rude to talk with your mouthful, sweet pea,’ he murmurs, ‘Somebody oughta fuck some manners into ya.’

With his fingers still in your mouth, Joel turns you onto your back, bracing himself away from you to watch you continue to suckle on his fingers. He pushes them further back, further, further, only to watch you begin to gag around him.

‘Good girl,’ he says, withdrawing them, spit-slick, before bringing them back to your pussy. He watches your face as he pushes them easily inside, the crease between your brows, the way your jaw slackens, the way your eyes widen as he curls them into your sweet spot. He nods, pleased. ‘Think you’re wet enough to take me already, baby,’ he says, swiping them over your clit. You jolt, moaning again at the feeling. ‘What do you think?’

‘Yeah, daddy,’ you sigh, ‘Ready for you.’

Joel chuckles.

‘Always so ready f'me, isn’t she, princess?’ He says, lining himself up at your entrance, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on him. He doesn’t expect an answer this time. ‘Yeah, always dripping for me, aren’t you? Poor baby girl. Poor baby girl and her messy little pussy.’ 

He feeds his cock to you slowly, so slowly. You whine and arch against him as he does, brain trickling away from you, already so given in to the sensation; mind deliciously blank, nails scratching at his forearms as he cages you in, thrusting deep, bottoming out. When he sees your eyes roll back, he picks up his pace smoothly, thrusting faster and harder, deeper. You moan out a long daddy, and he huffs in amusement.

‘Does daddy feel good, sweet girl?’

You gasp out a yes, fuck, daddy, and he hums in response.

'There she is,’ he says, ‘Didn’t need coffee, did ya, baby? Just wanted daddy. Just needed your daddy, hm?’ You nod furiously, tongue loosened by the heavy weight of him inside you, babbling away about how good he feels, how deep, how big he is. You lock your ankles around the bottom of his spine to pull him closer, and he groans, head dipping to yours. ‘Yeah,’ he breathes, ‘You take what you need, baby. Just wanna get fucked, huh? Woke up dreamin’ a me? Dreamin’ a me fuckin’ you full of my cum again, babygirl?’

You moan again, neck pulling taught as you arch further, pull him in deeper. The coil deep in your belly tightens, jaw clenching as you scratch at him, as you tug the hair at the nape of his neck.

‘Poor baby, can’t even get her words out,’ he coos, and like he wants to prove his point, he pushes even deeper, tip kissing your cervix, the bruising feeling making you gasp, making you plead, making you beg as you try and move your hips away from him. He brings his hand away from your face to your waist, keeping you in place.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he smiles, rocking in and out of you again, ‘I know you can take it, just relax f'me. That’s a good girl. I know it’s big but you can take it.’ 

You clench around him, painfully, try to mumble out how close you are, but you can’t even summon the words. In this room, he is all you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel. The slickness of it, the heat, the burning pleasure rising inside you as you writhe beneath him.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he murmurs, ‘You’re close already, huh?’ You hum, body tight, so close, so close, head so empty. ‘Yeah, you are. Fuck, love when you get all stupid on me like this. You like getting fucked dumb on daddy’s cock, baby? Can you feel me all the way in here, sweetheart?’ he asks, moving the hand on your waist to press against your lower stomach. You clench harder as he presses down, the coil tightening, spiralling, and you’re right there - ‘Wish you could fuckin’ see yourself right now, baby. Wish you could see how pretty ya look getting fucked. You like being watched, don’t ya, darlin’? Yeah. Want Santi and Francisco to watch again, baby?’ You gasp at his words, surprised, vision blurring, hurtling towards your climax, the build up scorching, impossibly long. ‘Sure you do. Or d'you want Santi to fuck you again, make you scream his name while he’s inside you, huh?’

Fuck, okay. Okay -

‘Yes, daddy -’ you breathe, pussy fluttering around him, the beginnings of your orgasm.

‘Santi? Or is it Frankie, baby? You want his mouth on you, want to feel him stretch you open? He’s big, isn’t he? Wanna see how he feels, if he fits like me?’

He is, you remember, he is, and you could try. If you can take Joel, you can take Frankie, and oh, what a thought -

Your body pulls tighter, aching, painful, and you cry out.

‘Shit -’ you moan, ‘Shit, Joel, I’m -’ 

‘Come, babygirl,’ he tells you. ‘Come all over my cock, princess. Get it nice and wet, just how daddy likes it.’

You burst aflame beneath him with a shout, body jerking as you hiss and gasp, gripping him to you as he fucks you through it. You whimper with every thrust as he keeps talking through gritted teeth, thrusting harder.

‘Yeah, that’s it. So sweet, baby. Good fuckin’ girl. You want them again, darlin’? Want to play with 'em? Want to watch 'em play with your daddy?’

A needy whine slips past your lips as you picture it; Frankie on his knees, Santi on all fours, and you grow even wetter at the thought, the slick of your orgasm and Joel’s words making the prettiest noises.

‘She likes that,’ Joel says, almost to himself, ‘Yeah, she likes that. Dirty girl. Dirty girl, wanting all three of us, wanting to watch, hm? Wanna touch, baby? Wanna see how it feels?’ He looks so fucked out on top of you that even you’re not sure if he knows what he’s saying, what he’s asking you. But you gasp out a yes anyway, something warm and quick trickling up your spine, tightening your cunt again.

‘Another one,’ he grunts, ‘Another one, darlin’, and I’ll give you what you want.’ 

You don’t need to be told twice. Your second orgasm rips through you lightning fast and white-hot, so good that you hear ringing in your ears, so tight that Joel stutters inside of you, groaning, breathing your name as he pumps and spills and twitches. You’re both breathing so heavily that it’s all you can do to lie there, licking your lips as Joel pulls out with a moan and flops beside you. A breathless little giggle escapes your parted lips.

Joel reaches across your body and tugs you by the arm until you’re nestled into his side. Too hot, too breathless, but you breathe him in all the same, tracing patterns on his chest.

The room is quiet as you both come down from your highs, your eyes falling closed as Joel presses a kiss to your hairline. Your brain tries its best not to think, not to read into it, but even through the exhaustion, his words come back to you.

Watch, touch. 

You have to know. You have to ask, now, want to know, want it, want it, want it -

‘Do you - do you want to do it again?’ You stutter.

Joel puffs out a laugh to the ceiling.

‘You’re gonna have to give me at least ten minutes, baby.’

You laugh and nudge his side with your fist.

‘No,’ you smile, ‘No. The - the thing you said, about that night -’

He raises an eyebrow, and you bare your teeth awkwardly. 

'You know - that night.'

‘Mm?’ Tease.

You lean further onto his chest and take his skin gently between your teeth. You nip, and he relents. You lean back slightly to look at him.

Joel smiles at you, crooks his head so he can nibble at your ear lobe.

‘Baby, I’d love to.’

The sound that leaves your lips is obscene, and you don’t care. Fuck, the thought of it. The three of them together, the four of you together.

‘All we gotta do is send the text,’ he says, ‘Could send it now and they’d be here in the hour.’ He chuckles. One of his hands moves down to your thigh, hooking it over his hip before moving to your ass to rock you against him. You groan into his shoulder. Your next question leaves your lips before you can even stop it.

‘Did you - did you mean what you said, about you and Santi and Frankie?’ You ask. It sounds clumsy, almost like you shouldn’t be asking. Fuck, maybe you should have waited for him to bring it up. You tense, waiting for his reaction.

Joel opens his eyes again with a small smirk, peeking down at you down his aquiline nose. His movements still.

‘Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’

You draw a quick breath and hold him closer. You won’t ask anymore questions. Try to push away thoughts of what Joel could do with his hands, his mouth, his cock, of what the two other men could do with theirs, what it would be like to watch, what it would be like to feel -

‘I’ve never… I’ve never done it before.’ Joel says, quietly. 

You pull back from his chest and watch him watch you. His dark eyes are honest, wary, and a question forms on your lips. He said he had been with multiple people in the past, it was something he’d done, something he was clear he had enjoyed -

‘With a man. I’ve never… done anything with a guy.’

Your stomach swoops at his nervousness. You feel your brow crease, a hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

‘That’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘That’s… I didn’t realise, that’s all. ‘M sorry if I pushed you.’

Joel shakes his head. He hums beneath you, a deep rumble in his chest. 

‘Y’didn’t. You ain’t.’ 

You stroke your thumb along the patches of his beard.

‘Do you… want to talk about it?’

Joel closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath. 

‘I’ve thought about it. For a while. Watching people, watching you. I’m… curious.’

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

‘That’s normal, baby,’ you whisper, ‘So normal.’

Your mind flashes back, back to how tender he was with you, with Frankie. His warmth towards Pope as the four of you cleaned up afterwards, as you dressed in the comfiest clothes you could find. The way his eyes lingered on your body, Santi’s body, Frankie’s, the curiosity you glimpsed as you snacked and rehydrated, the goodbyes as they slipped out the door.

It makes sense.

And it’s even better to know that all this time you’ve been imagining it, he has, too.

‘I’d like to try it,’ he says, blinking at you. ‘With them. With you. If that’s okay?’

You clutch his face tighter, tender, warmth blooming in your chest at his trust. You smile wide at him, and he visibly relaxes. Tears threaten in your eyes.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘Yes. Of course it is. I… it’d be more than okay.’

He swallows.

‘You sure?’

You untangle yourself from him as much as possible, but he keeps an iron grip on your waist. You settle on your elbow.

‘Of course I’m sure, baby,’ you soothe, ‘Of course I am. I’m glad you told me. It’d be - it’d be an honour - it’s very brave of you to -’

Joel cuts you off with a snort, pulling you roughly back against him. He holds you tight within his grasp.

‘Very brave -’ he chuckles.

‘It is,’ you insist, muffled against his chest, ‘It is, and if there’s anything you want to try -’

He pulls you up so your face is level with his, and shuts you up with a firm kiss. And when you lick him a little while later, tongue pressed up, pressing in to his tight ring of muscle, you find that there is plenty he wants to try.

And plenty you want to help him with.

———

Will greets you first at the bar that evening, and you quickly lose yourself to the rhythm of the night.

The five of you are tucked back into your usual booth, bottles and glasses crowding the table, the noise of other patrons bringing you closer together, knees knocking, hands over forearms to claw yourself further into the conversation. You talk for hours, work tales being swapped, gossip about old friends, former lovers. Will and Benny seem particularly interested in your romance with Joel, and you happily fill them in, telling them about the barbeque you had round Tommy and Maria’s, how you’re meeting Sarah next time she’s home from college, and how Joel will be away on a contract next week. Frankie and Santi listen in with gleaming eyes, half-smiles of their own, sharing secrets across the table that only you are privy to. It makes your stomach tighten, your panties damp.

And the way Frankie watches you, it’s like he knows.

Seats are switched throughout the night after bathroom breaks and drinks collections, but Pope always finds a way to be close to you - a hand on your thigh, a squeeze of your palm, the press of his shoulder against yours. He stacks a small pile of peanuts on the table between the two of you, hidden behind a glass, and at any opportune moment you can, you take turns flicking them at Will or Benny. With every small, yellow projectile that smacks against their chests, arms, sometimes even faces, Frankie racks up a tally on a napkin. The game is all but lost when Benny looks at up the ceiling and asks in disbelief whether it’s raining fucking peanuts, and you and Santi collapse into fits of giggles. Benny stares at you in blank confusion, furthered by Will’s growing rumble of laughter - until he finally fixes stoic Frankie with a betrayed look, noticing the tally half-hidden by his palm, and cries out an accusatory -

‘Is that you?’ Which sends Frankie over the edge, too. 

When places switch again, Will makes sure to gather you in a headlock in his strong arms and grind his knuckles roughly into your scalp. You yelp with laughter, giggling against each other, sinking into the dirty leather as Will muses on how much of a bastard you are, wondering out loud how your skills as a former bartender allowed you to outsmart ex-Delta Force operators.

Frankie watches with his usual boyish charm, his eyes crinkling at the edges, warm and molten and wanting when they meet yours. Your tongue burns with the things you want to tell him, with what you and Joel had discussed, eventually in great detail, in bed at home. But you bite the words back, knowing what is and what isn't yours to share. Instead, you lean into Santi’s touch, scraping your nails along his jeans until he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, biting his lip in a wicked grin. He excuses himself soon after, and with his departure, Benny calls for a round of pool.

He’s already slipping out of the booth before you can protest, Will following closely behind. Frankie steps out, too, rounding your side and holding out a hand for you. You accept it, stepping out in front of him so you’re pressed chest to chest. He lifts his palm to your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to your hairline. You press his bicep in thanks before turning back to the table, hinging at your hips to grab both his drink and yours, taking extra care to subtly grind your ass into his crotch. His palm comes to rest at the top of your thigh, holding you there for just a moment, before moving to your waist. You turn back to him.  He leans in close.

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do to us tonight, hermosa,’ he breathes into the conch of your ear, ‘But it’s working.’

You grin at him as he moves his hand from your waist to the plush flesh of your ass, squeezing gently before letting go. You take a sip from your beer, reaching up to take the cap from his curls and nestling it backwards on your own head. 

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

His answering smile is dirty, thrilling, and he follows you as if on a leash to the pool table the brothers have secured.

Santi joins you soon afterwards, his cheeks a little flushed, a fresh drink in his hand. You’re split off into the most unfair teams possible; Will, Benny, and Frankie taking one cue, and you and Pope with the other. Frankie racks up the balls with swift, deft movements, taking the cue easily in his massive hands, the wood resting between his thick fingers. You feel your body warm as you watch him, still wearing his cap, trying to squeeze your thighs together inconspicuously. You bring your cool bottle to your neck as Pope winds an arm around you, letting his hand settle at your hip, stroking and pinching the flesh there. You don’t look at him, but you sigh deeply, and he lets his head knock against yours, pleased. With Frankie shooting first, there’s no great rush to grab your cue and be prepared. 

You watch as he pots ball after ball, mouth curving in a playful scowl as he shoots you a grin after each one, moving around the table with so much grace and ease that it starts to make you a little dizzy. Benny and Will cheer him on with loud hoots and shouts, and Pope makes sure the two of you boo him like a pantomime villain with every flick of his wrist. When he finally fails to sink a shot, Pope passes you the cue, and you take your time lowering yourself to press your chest to the green felt, inhaling deeply. You’re warm, relaxed, a little buzzed, more than a little horny. You wiggle your ass a little, and Will laughs, shouting something about how your distraction technique won’t work, and he’s right. It quickly backfires when Frankie sweeps around the table, pressing one half of his body over yours as he directs you on how to hold the cue, how to position it, how to cradle it in your fingers like he does. When he’s sure you’ve got it, he breathes into your ear for you to pull your elbow back with just the right amount of leverage, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that break out along your neck and shoulder.

‘You’re ready,’ he whispers, and just as you begin to snap your wrist forwards, he presses his firm cock into your thigh.

Your quick inhale stutters your movement, and you watch as the tip of the cue just catches the edge of the ball, sending it spinning off into a barren corner of the table. You stand and spin to Frankie.

‘You asshole!’ you cry, indignant and hot, pointing a finger at him as he snatches his cap back from your head and retreats. ‘You - jogged me!’ Frankie spreads his hands in front of him, pouting, his bulge only just covered by the front of his button up.

‘I tried my best.’ He grins.

‘Don’t worry about it, kid,’ Will calls from the other side of the table, ‘Fish is known for being good with his hands. Even when he uses them for evil.’ 

The men laugh as Frankie flushes, knocking his fist into Will’s belly. Despite yourself, you laugh with them, enjoying watching him flustered as Will gasps out his laughter. Pope leans in close to whisper in your ear.

‘Good with his mouth, too.’ And all the air is sucked from your lungs as you feel your own face heat. Santi laughs louder next to you, taking the cue from your hands so you can grasp your bottle instead. You watch as Benny misfires, then Pope, still giggling at his own joke, before Frankie takes over again, sinking each one until only the white remains. Not that you notice, finding yourself now caught up in the way he bites and wets his lips, how plush they look, how they’d feel pressed to your thighs, your tits, your clit -

Benny snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, waving you back to reality.

‘Ground control to Major Loser,’ he grins, ‘Frankie whooped your ass, in case you weren't paying attention. It’s your round.’ 

You scoff playfully at him, whirling on your heel back towards the bar, but not before catching Pope’s eye again as he smirks at you, leaning against the table next to Frankie.

You flip them off as you work your way through the crowd.

When Frankie parks his truck outside Joel’s, all the lights in the house are off. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, and Frankie eyes the front door a little warily, eyes narrowing at the distance between. You giggle at him.

‘Frankie, baby, the boogeyman is not going to get me in the space between your truck and the door.’

He frowns at you all the same before unbuckling his own seatbelt and jumping out the driver’s side. You roll your eyes at him as he bounds round the front of the truck, swinging your door open and helping you out. He grins at you.

‘I know,’ he says, ‘I know, just - let me do it. Humour me.’

He swings your hands between you as you walk up the front yard, and you try to stifle your giggles as you slot the spare key into the lock. It’s unlike Joel to not wait up for you, but you’d made sure to tucker him out before you’d left. You’re glad he’s finally getting the rest he needed. 

The door swings open in front of you into yawning darkness, and Frankie gives your hip a squeeze. 

‘You’re sure Joel’s home?’ he asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you nod, flicking the hallway light on. ‘He’s probably just asleep. It’s late, and -’

‘You probably spent the first half of the day making him see God, I suppose.’ He finishes for you. You smack his chest when you see his shit-eating grin, but aren’t able to wipe your own from your lips. 

‘Obviously.’ You smirk.

Frankie laughs quietly as you shut the front door behind him, letting his hands wander from your hip to your waist, up and down the span of your back, pulling you towards him. You can still feel him, warm and half hard against you, and a soft moan slips from your mouth in response to his small grind. He smiles again, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull to his chest as he rocks you back and forth, letting you feel everything while having nothing. Your own hands clutch at his shirt, shifting it higher so you can splay your palms over his bare abdomen. He looks down at you with soft, lazy eyes, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re going to kiss him. And when he leans in to whisper in your ear, you’re sure you’re going to wake Joel up and beg for him to take the two of you now. But instead, Frankie asks in a whisper -

‘Do you think Joel’d mind if I used his bathroom?’

You snort a laugh, pushing yourself away from him, and he giggles back at you.

‘Of course not,’ you say, pointing off down the hallway. ‘Just up there. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’

He salutes as he backs away, almost knocking into the bannister of the stairs, and you have to clap your hands over your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. You step quietly into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water, but only get as far as reaching up into the cupboard when there are soft footsteps behind you. You grin, about to tease Frankie for not being able to find the bathroom on his own before warm, calloused hands are on you. Shameless, needy, groping up your top, tugging your bra down, cupping your breasts, tweaking your nipples.

Your body goes quickly liquid at the familiar touch, all smart quips dying in your throat as Joel ruts against you from behind, the weight of his hard cock hot and firm against your ass, barely disguised by his grey sweatpants. Your hands come to grip at the countertop, and you try to get the words out to tell him not now, Frankie’s here, but all that escapes is a moan. 

‘’M glad you’re home, baby,’ he growls in your ear, fingers making quick work of your button and zipper. ‘Missed you. Dreamed of you. Did ya miss me, too?’ as he tugs your jeans down to the tops of your thighs.

‘Joel -’ you breathe, but you’re too slow, unable to process anything beyond the fingers he dips into your panties. Usually you love him like this, swaddled in sleep, desperate to bury himself inside you, and you’d let him take you anywhere, but not right here, not right now. Your body continues to betray you, pulsing out more of the slick that has kept your underwear damp all night - the touches beneath the table, the pressure of Frankie’s cock against your thigh during pool, him pressed up against you in the doorway. Everything you’d done with Joel earlier in the day, the way he’d come apart with your tongue and your fingers, the way he’d eaten you to the point of tears, all coming together to show him how you glisten in the low light of the kitchen. The two of you are insatiable, and he groans against you, offering you his fingers to suckle as he pulls the waistband of your panties down to join your jeans. You try to mumble out around him again - Joel, wait - but he’s too fast as he sinks himself inside of you, and every thought, every word, is wiped from your brain. 

He sets a punishing pace from the off, and you take it easily, cheek pressed into the marble, head turned away from the door as you drool and whimper around him. The thick, heavy slide of his cock, covered in your slick, the wet sounds, the soft moans and pants that ricochet around the kitchen, and when he swirls a finger around your clit, your own sharp gasp heaves you to life.

‘Joel, wait - Frankie - Frankie’s here -’

But it’s too late, far too late, you realise, when you turn your head to the other side to find Frankie already stood in the entryway, leant against the frame like he’s been silently engaging you in casual conversation. Except he looks ravenous.

Joel groans from above you, tip kissing your cervix as he pumps in and out, fingers twitching over your clit to feel you tighten around him.

‘I know, baby,’ he groans, ‘He’s watchin’. See how he’s watchin’ you?’

It’s almost impossible to look, to watch Frankie take you in. The throb of Joel’s cock inside you, his fingers, the tightening knot that threatens to burst already, it’s making it hard to keep your eyes open.

‘That what you want, hermosa?’ Frankie asks.

You nod furiously against the marble, biting back a sob as your knees begin to give way, as you tighten, tighten, tighten, as your core locks down, your pussy growing hotter and wetter. Fuck, all that thinking, all that teasing means the build up has happened so impossibly fast, and you stumble towards the edge of the cliff already, aching for the fall.

‘Just like we said, huh?’ Joel hums. ‘You wanna be watched, don’t ya, baby girl?’ 

‘Yes - daddy -’ you choke out, and he hums again, this time speaking to Frankie.

‘Hear that? Want you to watch. Be a good boy, and watch.’ 

Frankie nods quickly, every bit the soldier; his jaw set, eyes black, curls peeking out from under his cap. In this moment, he doesn’t look like your Frankie. He looks cool, almost detached if not for the burning of his eyes. And he watches every movement, every part of your skin Joel touches, everything that is revealed to him, like he’s trying to commit it to absolute memory. The sounds, the way Joel’s cock glistens as it stretches out of you, the breath that is punched from your lungs as he pushes back in. It’s like it’s the first time he’s seen this happen.

But then, you realise, it is. 

This is the quiet, obedient Frankie who kneeled behind the door. The Frankie who didn’t move an inch, the Frankie who could do nothing but listen as the three of you fucked each other. The Frankie who curled himself over your hand as he came, hot shocks of arousal and humiliation rocking his body. And now, he gets to watch. 

But oh, how you wish he could touch. How you wish he’d come closer, away from the doorframe, how you wish he’d run his hands over your body, undress you, hold you, lick and suck and kiss you, how he could fuck your mouth as Joel fucked your tight cunt until your throat was raw, how you’d take him so deep, as deep as you could, until there would be nothing left, nothing more for you to feel or think about than what went on beyond the two men and you. You watch as his eyes rake over Joel, over you. How they track every movement, the curl of Joel’s fingers against your clit, how you gasp and choke, how Joel grits his teeth as he pounds into you, getting close now, feeling you tighten and leak and flutter around him, bunching your shirt up your back so he can press a hot kiss to your spine.

‘Give it to me,’ he groans, ‘Give it to me, baby, come on. You’ve got it, you can do it. Come for me.’

You heave a broken, high pitched whine at his words, and Frankie’s eyes snap to yours. His lips part in a breath, his only visible reaction, but it’s enough. Like the command has slipped from his lips too, your vision whitens and your back arches, fingers scrabbling against the smooth surface beneath you as you constrict so tightly around Joel you can feel the way you have to stretch again to take him in.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Such a good girl. So pretty, baby, so good. Now, tell me - tell me where you want it -’

You moan again, eyes flicking back to Frankie when they roll from the back of your skull. The thought crosses your mind, but you can’t find the words, can’t feel your legs, only the grip of Joel's fingers as he changes tack - ‘Tell me, or I’ll decide.’

You gasp out a fuck, forehead pressed against the counter, trying to decide whether you’re brave enough to say it, brave enough to ask -

‘Please -’

But it doesn’t come from you. You roll your head on the marble to find Frankie stepping slowly into the kitchen, cheeks pink, chest rising and falling quickly. 

‘I can - let me help -’ Fuck. Fuck. You try to twist to gauge Joel's reaction, but his mind is made up so quickly you only get the chance to feel desperately empty before he tells Frankie to kneel.

The younger man drops to his knees beside you m, in front of Joel, chest heaving now, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously - and you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him so bad, but the thought is quickly whisked away as Joel steps closer, fisting his thick cock in his hand.

‘You want this?’ He grits. Frankie nods eagerly, transfixed by the man above him, eyes flicking between Joel’s and the swollen head of his cock, soaked with your slick and cum, dribbling the precursor of Joel’s own release. ‘Show me.’

Frankie’s mouth falls open instantly, his tongue sliding past his lips to welcome the tip of Joel’s cock. You moan, knees finally giving out, landing next to Frankie. He doesn’t take his eyes off Joel.

The older man gasps out a curse at the sight, before ropes of thick, milky cum spurt from his tip onto Frankie’s tongue, filling his mouth, weaker pulses landing on his chin as Joel squeezes the last of his release out. You tear your eyes from Frankie to the man above you, the way he pants, eyes aflame, jaw slack.

‘Swallow.’

You whip back round to Frankie to see his throat bob as he follows the instruction, and he opens his mouth again to show Joel that he’s done exactly as he asked.

‘Good boy,’ he drawls, swiping a thumb against his chin to collect the remnants of his spend before offering it to you. You open your mouth just as eagerly, but Joel seems to think twice. He spreads it across one cheek, and then the other, painting you, before placing the digit firmly on your tongue, allowing your tongue to lathe the taste of him from the pad. Frankie leans towards you, and then you feel his tongue, warm and wet against your cheek, licking away at the cum that Joel spread there. Joel chuckles at him.

‘Desperate for more.’ 

Frankie hums against you, tongue now flicking at the corner of your lips. Joel raises an eyebrow at you.

‘What are you waiting for, sweetheart?’ he purrs, ‘Show Frankie how well he did.’

You twist your head to Frankie’s, one hand going to the back of his head, fisting his curls, the other tracing the waistband of his jeans, eager fingers feeling the warm skin there, trying to touch further, trying to reach him. You lick into his mouth, tongue grazing his teeth as you palm him over the denim, and he moans against you. You retract your hand from his curls and start at his fly before a sharp, trilling noise makes you flinch back. His phone rings in his back pocket.

‘Ignore it, don’t worry about it,’ he says, pulling you back towards him, his mouth soft and urgent against yours, your fingers clumsy at the front of his jeans, twisting in the material, against metal, and fuck -

‘Why do you have so many fucking buttons?’

He laughs, breathy, exasperated into your hair.

‘It’s the - it’s the fucking style - there’s no zipper, it’s just buttons -’

You giggle as well, the ringing of his phone chiming off as you hear Joel say ‘just buttons?’ from behind you.

You manage to get two undone before his phone begins to ring again, and this time he breaks the kiss to drag it out off his pocket and silence it. He glances at the screen, hisses a fuck, and bites his bottom lip. You stall your movements, frowning at him.

‘You okay?’

‘One sec -’

He declines the call, but you see he’s missed messages as well. His brow pulls tighter as he reads them, and he scrubs an irritated hand over his face before looking back at you, his eyes dark, apologetic, pissed off.

‘I gotta go,’ he says, forehead knocking against yours before he’s wobbling to his feet, breathless, ‘I gotta - it’s Benny, I don’t know - I don’t know what it is, but -’ His phone pings with another text, and he breathes out a fuck’s sake. ‘I’m sorry -’

‘Hey,’ Joel says softly, and you look back up at him. He still looks as wrecked as before, but he’s straightened himself out and his gaze is softened by concern. Without looking, he holds a hand out to pull you up off the floor, and you gratefully accept, pulling up your jeans. ‘It’s okay, really, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry - what’s happened?’

Frankie relaxes, exhales.

‘Bar fight. Benny and Will were still there when we left. Looks like Benny’s managed to piss the wrong people off.’ he pauses. ‘Again.’ 

Joel chuckles, lands a hand on his shoulder.

‘Got a little brother just like it. You want us to come with?’

Frankie looks from you to Joel, and shakes his head.

‘No,’ he smiles, ‘Thanks, that’s alright. Can’t be getting distracted on my way there. Won’t be much help in jail.’

You grin at him, straightening his shirt, his curls, and he lets you fuss. You swipe your thumb at the corner of his mouth, and he flushes. 

‘Are you sure?’ You ask.

He huffs a laugh, adjusting himself through his jeans, and you pout a little at his discomfort.

‘No,’ he admits, ‘But I’ll be alright. Honestly.’

‘Okay,’ you say, ‘Okay.’

He smiles again, dipping to kiss your cheek before shyly, hesitantly doing the same to Joel. You watch the smile that blooms across the older man’s lips before you find yourself mirroring it. 

‘I’ll walk you to your truck.’ Joel says. Frankie nods gratefully, and you hum as Joel squeezes your waist before heading towards the front door. 

‘See you next time, baby.’ You murmur to Frankie.

‘Next time.’ He whispers back, grinning and turning to follow Joel. He makes it to the open doorway before you remember.

‘Frankie -’ you call, and he turns, framed by the night behind him. You make a motion at your crotch, and he cocks his head at you. ‘Buttons.’ You stage-whisper, and he laughs as he adjusts himself, refastening the two you managed to get undone.

‘See you soon, hermosa,’ he says softly, and you smile as he follows Joel out to his truck.

You can’t sleep.

You’d bored quickly of tossing and turning, Joel dead to the world beside you, and had slunk downstairs for a glass of water. There’s a niggling feeling in your chest, something left unsatisfied. Guilty that, yet again, Frankie had not been given what he deserved, guilty that you hadn’t had time to see it through. And you just want to know if he’s okay, if he’s safe. You shoot him a text, leant against the marble he had watched you get fucked over less than two hours ago. Just a quick hey, are you okay?

You bite at your thumb, tap out another one - did you get home safe? He replies almost instantly.

Hey. I did. All good. I’m great. Had a great time

Then -

Thank you

You chew your lip a while, frowning, trying to work out if you believe him or not. God, texting sucks. Maybe you should call. You should call, just to check, even though he stayed, even though he watched, even though he said yes, even with the text -

But Frankie takes the decision from you with the next message, a voicenote minutes long. You wind yourself up for whatever it could possibly be, but nothing prepares you for the breathy moan that emanates loudly from your phone, so surprised that you almost drop the device. It’s followed by another, and the slick sound of what you can only assume to be Frankie’s fist fucking his cock, filtered through his quick, hot breaths. You close your eyes in rapt attention, dropping a hand to cup your sex as you listen to him whimper, as you listen to him whisper how good it feels, how he wants you, how he can still taste Joel in his mouth, how he’s about to come, how he’s coming - 

It takes you an embarrassingly short amount of time to follow him, chest heaving against the cool marble of the counter top, legs shaky as you stand up right.

There’s not a peep from upstairs. You decide to let Joel sleep this one out.

You’ll send him the audio in the morning.

———

Work is slow, and is only sped up by being, in Joel’s words, an insufferable tease.

You’d bounded around the bedroom this morning, still secretly thrilled with the voicenote from last night, not heeding Joel’s pleas to come back to bed as he watched you don his favourite matching set, stockings, a tight little pencil skirt and blouse, before pressing a deep, lingering kiss to his mouth and floating out the door to work. You made sure to send him a pretty little picture of your dripping cunt on your lunch break, quickly followed by Frankie’s voicenote, and to your delight, receive a video of him coming hard in return.

You bite your lip, squirming at your desk, sure you’ll soak through your skirt when he sends you a follow up message soon after.

You got plans tonight?

No? You shoot back.

Good. Stay free, baby

And oh, you don’t plan on being anything but before he leaves tomorrow.

———

When you get home from work, Joel is waiting. 

Waiting conspicuously in a pressed white dress shirt and slacks, a couple buttons undone so you’re greeted with the warm sight of his chest as he opens the door. He looks… divine. And he smells just as good, too. You press your lips to his quickly.

‘You look gorgeous,’ you smile, palm against his chest, one hand on his cheek to smooth the hair of his moustache. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Come upstairs,’ he says, smiling. ‘I wanna show you something.’

You raise an eyebrow, all manner of possibilities flashing through your mind before you drop your bag in the hallway and take his outstretched hand.

With one hand on your hip and another over your eyes, Joel guides you towards the bed. His fingers are warm and clammy over your eyelids, and you giggle as you both stumble forwards, the shadow of a bitten laugh trickling into your ear from behind you. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘One more second, ‘n you’ll find out.’

Joel brings you to a gentle stop before positioning you at just the angle he wants before taking his hand away from your face. He chuckles to find your eyes still squeezed shut. 

‘Open your eyes, baby.’

You blink them open, taking a long moment to realise what it is he’s showing you.

Laid out on the bed is a beautiful short and silken black dress. 

A short breath bursts from your lips as you step forwards to take the hem delicately in your fingers. 

‘Joel…’ you whisper, accusatory. It feels like water, so luxurious beneath your fingertips that you want to scold him for buying it. But when you turn and find his eyes bright, excited, soft, the guilt dies easily in your chest. ‘It’s beautiful.’

He shrugs, trying to disguise how pleased he is with your reaction. 

You step back towards him, taking his face in your hands, pressing kisses anywhere you can. 

‘Thank you,’ you murmur, ‘Thank you, baby, thank you. You really didn’t have to, but thank you.’

He scoffs lightly against your lips, hands gripping your hips again. 

‘’Course I did,’ he grins. A dirty, secret little thing. ‘You needed something to wear for tonight.’

A worry tugs in your chest. Tonight? Have you forgotten something? Fuck - should you have bought him something, too? It can’t be the anniversary of anything, you haven’t even -

As though he’s read your thoughts, Joel pulls you closer, one hand drifting lower to palm your ass. 

‘We’re going on a date.’

‘A date?’

Mhm, he hums against your mouth. 

‘Surprise date.’

‘You bought this for a date?’

You give him your most serious look, head tilted, movements stilled. Pink flushes up from beneath his shirt collar. 

‘Yeah, darlin’. Special dress for a special girl.’

You frown a little. 

‘Where are we going where I’ll need to dress like that?’

Joel bites his lip. 

‘Nice restaurant. We’re all getting dressed up.’

‘All?’

Joel extracts himself from your fingers, moving to fix his slicked back hair.

‘Joel. All?’

He shrugs again, looks at you over his shoulder in the mirror. 

‘I had some help choosing the dress.’

Fuck. Fuck. Heat flashes between your thighs so quickly that you sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. Joel smirks at you through the glass as you try and regulate your breathing. Your heart thrums in your chest as the thoughts clash through your head - Frankie on his knees behind the door, his wide, hungry eyes, Frankie on his knees in front of Joel, the drip of your cunt onto the floor, the full, overwhelming feeling of Joel claiming you after Santi, Santi’s fingers on your jaw, you look at your daddy when you come for me -

Joel squats down in front of you, his knees popping, two fingers lifting your chin. 

‘Need to get ready, sugar,’ he drawls, ‘Rude to keep the boys waiting.’

You suck in a hot breath, eyes glazed, body warm and fluid already. 

‘Are - are they coming back here?’

‘Not tonight,’ he murmurs. ‘Want you to myself before I head out in the morning.’

He stands as you blink up at him, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth

‘Soon, baby,’ he reassures, ‘You’ll have us soon.’

———

Joel holds your hand as you descend the marble steps into the sunken restaurant. It’s gorgeous - classy - maybe a little too much, but you can’t find the wherewithal to care when he leads you to your table. Frankie and Santi are already seated and looking equally as handsome. They stand as you approach, Frankie flushing as he takes you in, kissing your cheek, Pope letting out a low whistle as he does the same.

You talk over glasses of wine, nibbles of bread, and your starter course; conversation often interrupted by anecdotes and jokes and observations of other patrons that definitely could have waited til later. Joel fills the boys in on the contract he’ll be away on up in Tulsa until late next week, and Pope says he will be flying back to Colombia for a few days to straighten out a couple loose ends with his last contract. You frown at him, having not been aware of this most recent development, but he’s quick to assure you that it is just that. Paperwork and documents he needs to ensure can be sealed away, picking up a couple of things from the Embassy, catching up with a couple of old colleagues, and then heading home. The boys never really talk about exactly what went down those years ago when they lost Tom, and frankly you’re not sure if you want to know. From what they have said, it was rash, greedy, and all but fucked from the start. Not something you’re particularly keen on imagining. But you’re glad that, this time, he’ll be safe and keeping away from it.

Joel and Santi share a glance over your head, and you realise you should have known. Should have known they’d be plotting and scheming.

It doesn’t take as long as it did the first time to set out the rules.

With the older men away, you and Frankie are free to spend your time as you see fit. Neither of you need to be looked after, neither of you need to be kept an eye on, but Santi and Joel phrase the opportunity to spend time together as more of a challenge. To see how you can work each other up, how well you can behave without either of them there to tell you what to do and how to do it. You’re grinning into your wine as you imagine it, all of the things you can do without actually fucking, until Joel halts your train of thought.

‘There’s one rule,’ he says. You pause mid-sip. He spears a piece of asparagus with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. ‘You can’t touch each other.’

You swallow, confused, looking across to Frankie, who is suddenly unable to meet your eye, and then to Pope, who watches the two of you with a cruelly delighted smirk.

‘We - what?’ You ask, confused.

‘Can’t touch,’ Joel says again, ‘’s your only rule. Dinner, drinks, movies, hell, sleepin’ in the same bed is fine. You just can’t touch.’ 

You stare at him. This is it. He’s lost his damn mind. 

‘Little challenge for you, baby girl,’ he says, ‘I know Frankie can do it. This one’s for you.’

You open your mouth, about to protest how that can’t possibly be fair before snapping your jaw closed again. Joel watches, amused. This is not an argument you will win.

‘Fine.’ You say, even as Santi snickers at the fact that it’s evidently not. You decide on a change of tact. ‘And myself?’ Frankie finally looks up at you, eyes wide. Your lips curl in a pleased smile as Santi takes a steadying sip of his drink.

‘You can touch yourself, darlin’’ Joel says, unfazed, ‘Never said you couldn’t do that.’

You nod, gears turning. An idea forming, one you tamp down by resting your hand on Joel’s thigh.

‘Was Benny okay last night?’ You ask Frankie, changing the subject. Your fingers begin their slow and steady stroke up and down Joel’s thigh as you watch the younger man flush.

‘Yeah,’ he nods, ‘He was only arrested for starting a bar fight -’

Your hand pauses only briefly on Joel’s thigh.

‘He was arrested?’

Frankie grins.

‘Yep. Not the first time. One day he might learn his lesson.’

You chuckle along with Joel and Santi.

‘Was he okay?’

‘Always is,’ Frankie says, ‘Lucky motherfucker. You should see the other guy.’

You smile, scraping your nails along Joel’s pants now, pleased when he shifts in his seat. He leans in close to your ear.

‘Knock it off, princess. I know exactly what you’re tryna do.’

You raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Never said I couldn’t touch you, daddy.’

You turn back to face Frankie, and he eyes you suspiciously. 

‘Don’t miss those days,’ Joel says, and Frankie’s eyes flick to him. ‘Tommy straightened out once he met Maria. Think the worst time I had to bail him out was the night’a my 36th birthday. He near caused a riot at some bar downtown. They still won't let him back in.’

‘Can imagine Tommy raining hell down on ‘em,’ Pope says, beside you. ‘He and Benny would make a hell of a team.’

Joel chuckles.

‘Sure would,’ he says, and you slide your palm over to cup him through his pants. He’s rock hard, cock twitching at your touch. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. ‘She made him into a better man, my sister-in-law. Keeps him far outta trouble.’

His hand finds your own thigh beneath the table, squeezing as Santi begins to regale a story from his younger days with the boys. He starts the same ministrations as you, stroking, scraping, higher and higher, up to where you’re dripping, soaking yourself -

‘Joel.’ You whisper, something urgent in your voice. Why isn’t he stopping?

You’re suddenly nervous at the fact you’d decided to forego any underwear for the sake of the dress, before realising that is exactly what Joel had wanted. Like he knew you’d be running your hand up and down his thigh at the table, like he knew you’d be teasing him. Like he knew he could not only tease right back, but win the whole damn game. Smug bastard. He can read you like a book.

He leans in close to murmur into the conch of your ear.

‘Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby,’ as he pushes your dress higher to cup your sex. You clench your jaw as he chuckles underneath his breath, feeling how wet you are, how much more slick spills out at the pressure he applies. 

His fingers move up to circle your clit gently, and you let out a shaky breath. You watch him from the corner of your eye, his chin in his fist, eyes sparkling as he listens to and watches the two other men, as his movements against your cunt grow firmer, faster. You reach for your wine glass, eyes flicking to Frankie, only to find him looking at you, eyes bright with amusement. You narrow your eyes, and Joel leans in again.

‘Good girl, he says, ‘You’re gonna keep looking at Frankie, and I’m gonna make you come like this. And next time, you’re not gonna play any of your games in the middle of a restaurant.’

You grit your teeth against the whimper that fights to escape as quiet falls at the table, the conversation quickly forgotten as Frankie leans back in his chair, smirking, watching intensely. You don’t break eye contact as Santi’s hand drifts to the soft flesh of your thigh, drawing goosebumps as it nears Joel’s, as he traces the seam of your cunt, smearing the wetness around your skin. You don’t even look when Pope brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking the tips before releasing them with a lewd pop.

‘Good enough to eat.’

Your cunt throbs in response, breathing coming more laboured as Joel’s fingers work you tighter, tighter, slipping away to hook your thigh out wider, only to be replaced by Santi’s. Once he’s satisfied with your new position, he slips his hand beneath Pope’s, working the digits easily into your pussy, pumping in and out, curling to find that sweet spot within you. A small, desperate noise escapes you, and you set your glass down, your drink forgotten as you clutch at the napkin closest to you, body burning, buzzing, throbbing with pleasure. It’s too much, and it’s not enough.

You break eye contact with Frankie, holding your breath and biting your lip so hard you’re sure you’ll either pass out or draw blood.

‘No, baby,’ Joel rumbles into your hair, ‘Keep looking at Frankie. He’s gonna watch you come like this.’ You moan quietly again, meeting Frankie’s eyes, hot and close, so close.

Santi leans in so you can feel his hot breath against your cheek, goading, teasing -

‘Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.’

Your orgasm clatters through you, the tightly bound knot bursting as you lean forward onto the table, trying to stop your body from twitching. You feel yourself tighten and clench around Joel’s fingers, feel your thighs grow wetter, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Pope looses a quiet groan. The fire and heat of it make it almost impossible to keep quiet, a moan slipping past your lips as Joel retracts his fingers too quickly to pat you on the back in some kind of misleading gesture. Santi keeps his fingers pressed to your clit for as long as possible, letting you ride it out, before circling it again.

A gasped fuck passes your lips, and you slam your fist down onto the table, clattering the silverware and glasses. The action draws a chuckle from Santi and Joel, and sharp looks from the two tables closest to you.

You cough a little, trying to affect the pretence of choking, spluttering, anything that doesn’t look like you just came in the middle of a restaurant. 

When you haul your body back to sit upright, Joel moves his hand to your thigh, and Santi follows suit. Their fingers are wet against you, and you try not to look, try not to feel it, but it’s impossible. The slick feeling, the heat, the pressure. You could go again.

But, god, your throat is so dry.

As if on cue, the waitress appears at your shoulder to refill your water. You try to clear your throat to express your gratitude before noticing the deep red flush clawing up her neck, her gaze drawn to each hand still splayed on your thigh, dress rucked a little higher than it should be. You smile sheepishly at her, finally whisper a thank you.

When she leaves the table, you heave a deep breath, your head in your hands.

‘Almost.’ Joel whispers in your ear.

You resist the urge to flip him off, and instead decide the best way to get a hold of yourself is to head to the bathroom. Clean yourself up, splash a little cold water on your face. 

‘Excuse me,’ you murmur, voice hoarse and strained, and Frankie can’t help the smile that reaches his eyes. Looking to Joel and Santi, it appears they feel the same way. You grin despite yourself as you stand on unsteady legs, Joel’s hands shooting out to steady you as you giggle at the three of them, enjoying their favourite game.

‘Fuck you guys,’ you laugh as you turn on your heel, and they mirror your chuckles.

You’re almost to the door of the restroom when your waitress catches your eye. You try to smile at her and glide past without drawing any more attention to yourself, but fail.

‘Ma’am,’ she calls softly, stepping just in front of you. Your stomach twists. Fuck, she knows. She knows, and she’s gonna kick you all out, you’re gonna get arrested - ‘Are you alright?’

You blink at her, surprised. And then it clicks. One woman, surrounded by three men. The hands on your thighs, your dress. Three men who have been talking intently, possessively, obviously, even if they can’t be heard. You exhale.

‘Oh no, it’s - yes. Thank you for checking. That’s - really kind of you. I’m fine. We’re friends - I mean - it’s complicated - but it’s nothing to worry about.’

It’s complicated? Why the fuck did you say that? You twist your fingers as you try and work out how to extricate yourself from the hole you’ve dug, but your mind draws a blank. You pray she missed your phrasing, her eyes searching your face as you give her your warmest smile. It’s only a moment before she returns it, even brighter.

‘Oh, like a - what is it - a polyamorous thing? That’s neat. You get it, cowgirl,’ she grins, before clapping a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my god,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so sorry, that was so unprofessional -’

You laugh, somewhat relieved, placing a gentle hand on her arm - it soothes her.

‘No, please,’ you giggle, ‘It’s fine, really.’

She peels her fingers back from her lips nervously and massages her temples.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she whispers, before meeting your eye again. ‘I’m sorry. But as long as you’re good. You know, taken care of.’ You watch as she cringes at herself. You reach out again to press her bicep.

‘Really, it’s fine,’ you say, glancing back to your table. You feel… warm as you look over at the three of them - relaxed, laughing. Warm at how easily you can all move back and forth in this dynamic. Warm at the feel of the slick around the tops of your legs. ‘I’m very well taken care of. And it’s really good of you to check.’

She smiles at you again as you step away towards the bathroom.

‘Oh, not at all,’ she says, bashful. ‘I’m glad. You guys have fun.’

The rest of the night passes easily, wrapped in conversation and good food. Jokes are whipped across the table so fast that the four of you cackle with laughter, the air sizzling with good humour and lightness. Joel has his hands on you whenever he can, and when you finally leave the restaurant just before closing time, Pope holds you tenderly, kisses both cheeks, and murmurs that he hopes you learned your lesson. You smack his arm and tell him to be safe in Colombia. Frankie does the same, but departs with a remark about how beautiful you looked instead - ‘especially when you come, hermosa’ he adds.

Joel makes sure you remember what he taught you at the table, taking the time to rock you through orgasm after orgasm in his bed until you’re in tears, until he’s sure the neighbours can hear you calling yes daddy, thank you daddy, I’m sorry daddy over the lawn.

He pulls you close afterwards, pressing kisses to any slither of skin he can, telling you how well you did, how proud you make him, how good you can be when you try. He only leaves to head through to the bathroom to turn on the shower, making you promise to join him when you can rouse yourself from the snuggly duvet. You don’t take much convincing.

Once you can hear him humming under the flow of water, you pad downstairs to the bag you’d left in the hallway yesterday. You root around in it before finding what you need, clutching it to your chest with a thrill before retreating back to Joel’s bedroom. You bury it in his suitcase, underneath at least a day’s worth of clothes, before stripping and joining him in the shower.

———

When you wake the next morning, Joel’s suitcase is already zipped shut, and the smell of coffee is drifting up the stairs.

You find him sat at the breakfast table, staring out into the weak morning sunshine, a steaming mug already set down for you across from him. You drift past him, a hand trailing from one shoulder, over his broad back, to the next, tracing the lines of your favourite plaid shirt, before pressing a kiss to his temple. 

You sit quietly in each other’s company, the silence slowly turning to low conversation. What route he’ll be taking, where he’ll be staying, what the job will involve, what the people are like. What your work week looks like, what the book you’re reading is about, what you’ll do with him gone. You settle your chin on your palm.

‘Any other rules I should know about?’

Joel looks back at you with amusement written all over his face.

‘No. Jus’ don’t try anything at dinner again. Or do. I’m always happy to remind you.’

You giggle, and he grins back, all white teeth and crinkly eyes.

‘You know, even the waitress asked if I was okay afterwards.’

He grunts, enough of a question in it for you to continue.

‘I mean, I don’t think she saw anything go down. But she saw me with you guys and asked if I was okay.’

Joel raises his eyebrows.

‘What do you mean?’ 

You falter.

‘I guess… you know. Me, with you guys. Just making sure nothing - weird was going on.’

‘Weird?’

‘Bad.’ You say. Joel’s eyes soften, but his brow furrows.

‘I said no, of course. That we’re all friends. I don’t know. I rambled. She asked - she asked whether it was a polyamorous thing,’ you shrug.

‘’N what did you say?’

Something about the way Joel asks the question catches you off guard. A little brusque, a little too quick off his tongue. Your eyes narrow slightly.

‘Nothing,’ you admit, ‘I didn’t want to get into the semantics of what we do with a stranger. And - I don’t know what to call it. I don’t know if that is what it is.’

‘It something you’re interested in?’

You blink at him. He’s not looking at you, his jaw set, body tense. You feel your own jaw clench.

‘Is it something you’re interested in?’

Joel chews the side of his cheek, brow knitted as he looks out to the garden into the morning sunlight.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, ‘Not really thought about it before.’

You soften at the way his body deflates. Remember this is just as fresh for him as it is for you. You nod, reach out to take his massive hand in yours. His eyes swing back to you, and you squeeze his fingers. 

‘You don’t have to think about it,’ you reassure him, ‘All of this is new. All of it. And if you want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it. But -’ you say, reaching to hold his other hand, too, ‘I want you to know none of it changes how I feel about you. You are enough for me. You will always be enough for me.’

Joel searches your face, quiet and serious. You lift his hands to your lips and press a tender kiss to his knuckles.

‘I love you.’ You say, softly.

There’s no sound through the quiet dawn of the world but a quiet intake of breath from Joel across the table. Your eyes flick up to him at the sound, to the brows slightly further up his tan forehead, his wide, surprised, brown eyes. And you realise that it’s slipped from you, aloud, for the first time. All that time spent thinking it, knowing it, feeling it, but those words in that order have been yet to pass either of your lips. In the conversations between sharing spaces, meeting families, spending time with friends, you’d forgotten to put into words what you’d assumed Joel already knew.

I love you.

You still, his hands unmoving before your lips, releasing a quiet exhale of your own.

‘I love you,’ you say again, even softer. And then, through heat rising in your chest - ‘You don’t have to say it back. If you’re not ready yet - you don’t have to ever say it back if you don’t want to -’

He grips your hands tight.

‘I love you.’ he says, gravelly and warm. And you believe him. See it in all its molten gold truth in his eyes. I love you.

You can’t help the delighted little laugh that falls from your lips. The same sound slips from Joel, and you sit, giggling and grinning at each other, in love, unaware of the minutes that tick by. You bite your lip.

‘Does that mean you’re my boyfriend now?’

Joel baulks at you, laughter frozen on his lips. Your heart squeezes, joy almost overtaken by nerves.

‘You mean - did I never ask you that?’

You shake your head slowly.

Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth. Something passes over his features; embarrassment, shame -

‘I’m sorry,’ he says lowly, a flush colouring his cheeks, ‘I’m sorry - I just - I assumed -’ he ducks his head away from you, ‘What an ass -’

You giggle at him, and he fixes you with his best puppy dog eyes.

‘Joel,’ you smile, ‘It’s okay, honestly -’

But he shakes his head.

‘No,’ he winces, ‘Sarah would be - so disappointed in me if she knew. She -’ he fixes you with an apologetic stare again, ‘She knew I loved you before you did. My God. And Tommy - Tommy would be wringing my neck, and my Momma - she raised me better than this -’

‘Joel,’ you laugh, standing from your chair to circle the table. Instinctively, he spreads his thighs for you to sit, and you settle down onto him, your legs perpendicular to his. You thread your arms around his neck, holding him close, and a warm palm comes to pet the small of your back. ‘Relax. Please don’t worry about it,’ you press a kiss to the patch in his beard, and he leans his head into you, eyes closed. ‘Besides. I kinda assumed it, too.’

His eyes open, so full of warmth, love.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do ya wanna be my girlfriend?’ 

You huff a laugh into his neck, resting on his shoulder.

‘Baby,’ you tease, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

You spend a little while longer like that, curled up in his lap like a cat, sharing kisses and giggles, until Joel checks his watch and sighs. You clamber off him and follow him upstairs, leaning against the doorframe as he makes his final checks.

‘Joel,’ you call softly, hesitating. You cringe in the doorway. ‘Is it - seeing Frankie for dinner tonight, is that - is that still okay?’

He smiles and steps towards you, gathering you in his arms.

‘You know what the limits are,’ he says into your hair. ‘I trust you. ’F I didn’t want you to do something, you’d have known about it before dinner. ’Sides,’ he says, ‘You’ll look good together at that table. I’ll be thinkin’ bout it while I’m away.’

You snort and rest your forehead against his chest, breathing his scent in.

‘Just wanted to check.’ You mumble. Joel presses a kiss to your hair, rocking you side to side.

‘I love you.’ He says.

‘Love you too.’ You whisper.

Minutes later, you watch his truck peel away from the house, waving through the rays of sunlight now peeking out from the trees. He waves back, his arm out the driver’s side window, until the truck disappears from view. You swallow the lump in your throat, wash the coffee mugs, gather your clothes, and lock Joel’s front door behind you.

———

Joel calls you later in the afternoon to let you know he’s arrived safe. And Frankie texts to let you know he’s picking you up at seven.

When you get home from work, you busy yourself with a shower, with laundry you’ve held off, with tidying the house, and when you’re settled, ready, you call Joel again. Just to hear his voice, just to know he’s eaten. He chuckles a melody down the line at your fussing, but before he has to hang up, he lets slip that he misses you already, just as much. 

When seven rolls around, you feel warm, giddy, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you wait for the sound of tyres outside. 

Frankie greets you at your door, relaxed in a t-shirt that strains across his arms, his signature cap, and a beaming smile. You melt a little at the sight of him, so boyish, so bashful, so handsome, that you have to forcefully remind yourself of the rules. No touching, which must surely extend to no kissing. Still, as though he can’t help himself, he keeps a palm on the small of your back as he leads you into the small restaurant he’s chosen and plays with your fingers while you’re sat at your table.

You eat and talk, laughing and smiling like you always do. He asks about work, the projects you’re working on, and you fill him in on all the office gossip. How one of the line managers got fired last week, how Trisha from accounting is pregnant. He asks question after question until you laugh and remind him that you want to talk about him as well, and he flushes shyly. You ask about Lucia, about work, about flying again. He tells you about the places he’s been, the people he’s taken there, and one nightmare trip from last week where one woman refused to get in the helicopter, too scared to fly, until she had to be told that it was part of the proposal her boyfriend had planned. 

You order gelato for dessert and share it with two spoons, giggling as you feed it to each other. You both get a text from Santi, a selfie of him sipping a beer, looking warm and delicious. You get a text from Joel, too, a picture of him straight out of the shower which sets your cunt throbbing, hoping you’re having a good night.

Frankie insists on settling the check and walks you back to his truck with a warm palm still on your skin. He opens the door for you, waiting for you to settle in your seat before he shuts it and crosses to the driver’s side.

He drives you to a spot overlooking the city, and you stay in the cab, seatbelts unbuckled, turned towards each other, swapping stories like teenagers at a sleepover. You try not to think too hard as the night settles in around you. Try not to watch his hands, his thick fingers, the way his arms bunch and flex, how strong his thighs look, how good he smells. But it’s so hard, so hard when he’s right across from you, smiling, eyes trailing over your body, getting caught on your lips, watching the way your limbs are draped in his truck. The way he’s looking at you makes it hard to remember the rules, hard to resist leaning over the console and pressing your mouth to his, especially when he lowly confesses how badly he wants to kiss you.

You huff a breathless laugh, looking away from him out to the shimmering skyline outside the window screen. Try to distract yourself with how the distant lights of the city shimmer like moonlight on water, how the structures of the skyscrapers reach up to the night flights swooping over the horizon. Something as far away from your body as possible, so you don’t have to think about Frankie’s warm, broad chest, what he would sound like moaning against you. 

‘I wish you would,’ You whisper. When you turn back to look at Frankie, he is already watching you. Pressed against the driver’s side door, mouth slightly open, his eyes sparkling and dark. ‘You could kiss me.’

His mouth closes with a gentle snap of his teeth, and he shakes his head.

‘You know I can’t do that.’

You nod, eyes finding the skyline again.

‘I know. But I still wish you would.’

In the silence that follows, you can feel slick drooling and cooling from your cunt, soaking your panties. You shift in your seat, unsure whether you’re trying to ignore or resolve the discomfort. Frankie watches you still, and when you wriggle again, his own hips shift. You fix him with a stare, the air hot and thick between you. You curve your body towards him, one hand coming down gently to hold yourself over the console.

‘They wouldn’t know. If we kissed.’

Frankie continues to stare as you remain frozen, poised before him.

‘I know.’

‘Then let me kiss you.’

‘No, hermosa.’

You look back and forth between his eyes and his lips, watching his throat bob as he tries to keep his distance.

You slump backwards a little, trying not to feel any kind of acute rejection. You’re just hot, bothered, unbearably aroused in the cabin of his truck. His refusing to kiss you isn’t a mark on his desire, just his self control. Muscle memory of years of following instructions. Frankie turns his body, facing forward out the windscreen in his seat. He swipes his palms over the steering wheel, and your lips part, cunt burning when you imagine those hands on you again, huge palms sweeping down your curves, your thighs, up between your legs -

‘I’m not gonna kiss you, because then I’ll need to fuck you.’

Your gasp zips past your lips before you can stop it. Frankie keeps his eyes trained forwards as you stare at him. Your pussy clenches around nothing, needing something to sate it, a touch, a glance, anything -

‘Frankie -’

He shakes his head, grip tightening on the wheel.

‘Please, Frankie, I’ll be so good -’

‘Enough.’

You watch his nostrils flare, watch a muscle in his jaw tick. Watch a certain darkness sweep over his features, and you know, you know you’ve won.

He never stood a chance.

‘Tell me,’ you whisper, and he shakes his head, skull pressed into the headrest, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. ‘I want you to tell me. Tell me how you’d fuck me.’

Frankie closes his eyes slowly, his shoulders tensing, breath faltering. 

‘No,’ he whispers, ‘No, baby, I can’t do that -’

You whine, hands scrubbing down your bare thighs, trying to find something to grip, to hold, something that’s not him -

‘God - it aches, Frankie,’ you whine, wriggling in the seat, and his eyes flick back and forth over you; your pathetic attempts to grind into something, the heaving of your chest, the wild, desperate look in your eyes.

‘What, baby? What aches?’ He breathes, and he’s tilting forwards towards the centre console like he could pounce on you, like he could hold your hands in a tight, binding grip behind your back, like he could eat you here, devour you here -

You whimper by way of an answer, hands finally resting on the hem of your skirt, pushing it up, up to rest at your hips. Frankie watches, eyes molten and black as you cup yourself, as you grind against your hand. He moans loudly at the sight.

‘There, hermosa?’

You shudder out a sigh, a hissed yes as you apply more pressure. His throat bobs as he considers, as he weighs his options.

‘Please, Frankie -’ you beg, though you’re not sure what for. Rules, rules, but none of them seem to make sense anymore, none of them seem to matter as you lick your own lips at his growing bulge in his jeans. He breathes in harshly, swiping a palm across his mouth before he fixes you with a look that makes you feel dizzy. He swallows thickly.

‘Show me.’

It's easy, so easy. You lift your hips from the seat and slide your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down, down, watching him the whole time. He waits like he’s forgotten how to breathe, this starving, tortured look in his eyes like he’s dying of thirst and water is just out of reach. You spread your legs for him and dip your fingers to your slit, gathering the slickness there before trailing the digits further up, spreading yourself in a v shape so he can see everything, see how you throb, how your clit twitches, how you leak down into the cleft of your ass. 

‘Need you, Frankie,’ you whine, ‘Need you to -’

He lurches back like he’s been shocked.

‘Don’t,’ he grits, ‘Don’t, you know I can’t touch you -’

‘Then watch,’ you breathe, ‘He said don’t touch. But you can watch. I can watch.’

‘Watch?’ he repeats, breathless, body shifting, open, and you nod, rutting against your palm. 

‘Yeah,’ you murmur, ‘Frankie, baby, let me watch you. Need to see you.’

He stares at you, something working behind his eyes.

‘Watch,’ he says again, nodding, ‘Yeah, please baby, is that okay? Can I watch?’

You nod, relishing in the control that he shifts so easily to you. You trace the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading the glistening wetness so it catches every stream of moonlight bruising through the window. 

‘You, too. Wanna watch you, too.’

He nods quickly, mouth agape, unable to tear his eyes away from your core. He palms himself roughly over his jeans.

You trace your fingers back over your clit, swiping it in circles until your head falls back against the window, your brows pulling together as you loose a quiet cry. You bite your lip, looking down your nose at him.

‘Is it good?’ he gasps, ‘Please - tell me - how does it feel?’

‘Good,’ you moan, ‘So fucking good, Frankie.’

He groans, his hands finding his button and zipper, undoing them before shifting his hips to pull his jeans down. He reaches inside his boxers to pull himself free, swollen and leaking. 

He’s thick, and just as big as you knew he would be - but he’s so pretty as well. The same tan as his skin, pink flush at his tip, skin silken, blue veins just hidden beneath the surface.  You moan, wanton and crooning, sinking a finger into yourself as he grips his base, squeezing at the sight of your digit disappearing up to the knuckle. 

Your hips lift as he begins to fuck himself slowly with his fist, lips wet and eyes blown, his other hand coming away from scratching at the denim of his thigh to cup his balls. You go slow for him as he watches, working your bud in agonisingly steady circles, pumping your finger in and out gently until you remove it completely, Frankie’s eyes drawn to the strand of slick suspended from your finger. He moans, a sick, feral sound, his head falling back against the seat to expose the straining muscles in his neck, the sweat that glimmers in the hollows before his clavicles. He jerks himself faster, tighter - tip ruddy now, beading with precum that he swipes down the length of his shaft, slick enough for you to imagine that it’s your spit, your wetness. A surge of arousal floods your fingers again, and you whimper.

‘Look at you, Frankie. So pretty.’

Frankie answers with his own choked moan as he watches you sink your finger into your heat again, but this time he grits his teeth, inhaling sharply before endowing you with an instruction -

‘Give yourself more, hermosa. Another. Know you need it, baby.’

You comply, sinking in another finger easily, rocking your hips back and forth, the sound of it obscene, loud in the quiet around you, and Frankie squeezes himself, breathless.

‘Fuck, hermosa, you’re so wet - so wet. Does that feel good?’

You nod frantically, speeding up your movements until Frankie matches your rhythm, his body tense, his tip turning a beautiful shade of crimson. You whimper again. This soft, sweet man, reduced to this savage across from you, fisting himself, reeling himself back from the edge just to wait to come with you. 

You watch as his eyes drop to your cunt again, as a grunt wrenches itself from his chest, and he begs you - more, please, hermosa. You oblige, sliding another of your fingers into your dripping cunt just to catch a glimmer of what he’d feel like inside of you. Your orgasm flexes, tight and searing inside of you, and you whine.

‘Close, so close, Frankie -’ you pant, and his eyes widen, fist working so furiously you wonder whether it hurts, whether he likes it like that. He groans deep in his throat.

‘Make yourself come, baby, please make yourself come. I need to watch you come.’ And you obey, seizing, pussy gripping your fingers, body curling in on itself as you come, teeth clenched to bite back your scream. Frankie falls slack in his seat, eyes glazed as his cock jerks in his grip, and you meet his eyes, gasping out -

‘Frankie - want you to come, come for me, baby boy -’ and he erupts over his hands, over the tops of his thighs and his belly with a whine, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You watch his spend trickle over his knuckles, saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight, and your fingers twitch as you pull them from inside you. You are so close to reaching out and taking it on your own fingertips to swipe against your lips, and it’s like Frankie reads your mind -

‘I want to taste you. So fucking bad.’ he gasps, gaze fixed on your shining fingers. You bring them to your mouth, tongue sweeping between the digits, beneath your nails, moaning at your own salty sweet taste. Frankie groans again, tugging his spent cock weakly if only to stop himself from reaching out to snatch your wrist to him.

‘I promise,’ you murmur between licks, ‘I promise - soon, baby - God, so soon -’

You suck your middle finger into your mouth, keeping your eyes locked with his, before releasing it with a lewd pop. Frankie looks physically pained.

‘Stop,’ he pants, ‘Just - stop. I need you to stop.’

You understand, whole body still at fever pitch despite your release. Your hands fall to your thighs. Frankie tucks himself back into his boxers and lifts his hips to fix his jeans before popping open the driver’s side door.

‘Just - give me a moment.’ He murmurs as he jumps out, leaving the door open behind him. You watch as he walks circles in the dirt beside the car, his hands on the back of his head, breathing like he’s run a marathon. It takes a minute for your own brain to catch up with you. You tug your panties back up and your skirt down, some kind of horrible anxiety, disappointment and desperation clawing up your throat. You swallow and pop your own door open, rounding the truck to find Frankie.

The air has done him good. His eyes are clearer, body more relaxed, and he watches you approach with an expression that softens at every step. He barely gets out a you oka- before you rush to him with open arms, crashing into his chest with a quiet mmph. Frankie wraps his arms around you just as quickly, rocking the two of you back and forth, swooping a palm down your back.

‘I’m sorry.’ You whisper. Frankie stops his swaying, gives your shoulder a little squeeze.

‘Why are you apologising, princesa?’ he asks, so sweet you have to swallow again before answering.

‘I don’t know,’ you murmur, ‘That was supposed to feel good, but I don’t - I don’t know how I feel -’

He holds you tighter as tears threaten in your eyes, and you will yourself not to blink, lest they fall.

‘S’okay,’ he whispers back, ‘Might be ‘cause you want it so bad,’ you feel the rumble of a chuckle ripple through his chest. ‘That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I still feel like I could rip my skin off.’

A sharp laugh bubbles out of your mouth, taking you by surprise. You blink and the tears begin to fall, and you laugh harder. The man might be right.

‘This is so weird,’ you chuckle against his chest, ‘I’ve never been so horny I’ve cried before.’

He laughs, pressing a sweet kiss to your head.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, ‘And it’s not weird. Feels like my brain will never work the same again.’

You laugh harder, sniffing as you pull away from him. He grins down at you, pinches your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Home?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, Frankie,’ you smile, ‘Take me home.’

Frankie holds your hand over the centre console the whole way home. You’re too tired to think about the semantics of rules, too overwhelmed to wonder what Joel or Santi would say. You grant yourself a small mercy in the passenger seat, reminding yourself that this is okay. This is aftercare. It’s necessary, Joel grumbles in your ear, it doesn’t come with rules.

When Frankie pulls up outside your place, he hops out to make sure he can the truck door for you and help you down. He walks you to your front door like he’d done so many moons ago, ever the gentleman, and waits until the door is unlocked and you’ve flicked the hallway light on. 

You turn to face him, wrapping yourself around him again. He returns the hug.

‘Will you call me if you need anything?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Will you?’

‘’course,’ he swipes the back of his hand over your cheek, and dips to press a soft, firm kiss to your forehead. ‘See you tomorrow, baby.’ He says. You pinch his cheek as he pulls away, chuckling as he bounds back down the path.

You watch his truck peel away like a teenager, standing in the doorway smiling to yourself until his tail lights disappear around the corner.

———

When Joel calls not fifteen minutes later, you’re wearing one of his shirts, grinding your bare pussy into your pillow, fingers working steadily against your clit.

You fumble with your phone, taking longer than usual to swipe to answer the call, and if that hadn’t have given you away, your pants and whimpers do. Joel chuckles warmly down the line at you.

At his ‘how you doing, baby girl?’, your mouth curves in a shy smile, and a heat blossoms in your chest. Your ‘good, daddy’ is true, a kind of peace settling over your frazzled body and mind. You let out a cooing moan before you can ask how his day’s been, and his breath catches down the line.

‘And what are you doing, baby girl?’ he asks softly, so soft, and you smile even wider.

‘Thinkin’ bout you, daddy.’ You breathe, and he hums at your words.

‘Just me?’

‘Mostly.’ You confess, and he chuckles, a honeyed sound.

‘Mostly,’ he echoes, ‘And what are you using while you’re thinking about me, baby?’

You give a strong roll of your hips, grinding down as you answer him.

‘A pillow, daddy.’

‘Mhm. Just a pillow?’

You whine.

‘Fingers, too.’

‘Greedy fuckin’ girl,’ he chuckles. You moan loudly, and are rewarded with a low grunt in return. He listens to you breathe for a moment before you hear the crackle of him shifting, moving.

‘Stop now,’ he says, gently. ‘Need to ask you somethin’.’

You pull your fingers out of your cunt, whining as you do. You can picture his smirk so clearly that you tell him to knock it off.

‘Sorry baby.’ He apologises, so disingenuous. 

‘What’s the question?’

‘I found something. In my case,’ he says. ‘Don’t suppose you’d know who put it there?’

You bite your lip.

‘Hmmm. Depends. What is it?’

You hear Joel fumble with something before he speaks again.

‘Let’s see. One of ‘em… pocket pussy things.’

‘Huh. No idea. Must have been your other girlfriend.’

He laughs.

‘Motherfucker. You damn well I can’t handle another one of you.’

You grin at your reflection. If you had a cord phone, you’d be twirling the plastic around your finger right now. Girlfriend.

‘My bad. Must have been me, then.’

‘Causing trouble even from all the way over there, huh, angel?’

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s drawing it out.

‘Sure, daddy,’ you coo. There’s a beat. ‘Have you… tried it?’

He huffs, and you can see the frown in your mind. How you’d smooth your fingers over it.

‘Ain’t need it when I’ve got you.’

‘Even when you’re far away?’

There’s a pause as Joel considers his reply.

‘You feelin’ sorry for me or somethin’?’

You sigh, letting your fingers dip to your clit. He won’t know, so long as you’re quiet.

‘Couldn’t just - leave you out, daddy,’ you huff against the phone. 

A low chuckle rumbles through from the other end, and you bite your lip.

‘So this is - what? My consolation prize?’ 

‘No,’ you frown, ‘It’s better than that. Better than your hand.’

‘Better ‘n my hand?’

‘Yeah, daddy.’

‘Is it better than you, babygirl?’

You roll your hips at his question, biting back a whine.

‘No, daddy.’

He hums down the line.

‘Sounds like a consolation prize to me, honey.’

You sigh again, louder this time.

‘’S not a consolation prize,’ you groan. ‘Frankie isn’t even allowed to touch me.’

Joel chuckles at you properly this time.

‘You sound disappointed, baby.’

‘I am.’

He waits. He waits, because he knows. Of course he knows.

‘We watched each other, daddy,’ you breathe. Confessional, dirty. A heat flushes up your cheeks as you tug at your t-shirt, suddenly nervous.

‘Watched?’ he asks, a smile curling the word.

Mmhm.

‘Well done, baby,’ he says, ‘I’m impressed. Though a little disappointed it didn’t take you longer to figure out.’

You giggle, and he puffs out a breath before continuing.

‘Santi told me it wouldn't be so fast. Thought it’d take you guys a little while to -’

‘He thought it’d take Frankie longer to work out,’ you interject. Joel falls silent. ‘He knows Frankie, but not me so well. You should’ve known better.’ 

Joel laughs again.

‘You’re goddamn right, angel.’ 

You smile, smug. Hum in agreement.

Joel sighs.

‘Too eager for your own goddamn good,’ he murmurs, ‘Bet you can’t wait to know what his cock feels like inside you, huh? Can’t wait to be droolin’ and comin’ over him like you do me, hm?’

God, his mouth. You moan openly, rocking your hips again, ready. Ready to hear him moaning, too, ready to hear the slick sound of the toy on his dick, ready to hear him groaning your name as he comes.

‘Yes, daddy.’

Joel hums, pleased. His breathing comes a little ragged this time, making your core hotter, tighter, wetter.

‘Use it,’ you moan, ‘Please, daddy. Wanna hear you use it.’

‘I’ll use it,’ he grunts, ‘But you ain’t gonna touch yourself. Just gonna have to listen, sweetheart.’

‘Please -’ you whine, but he cuts you off with a harsh tut.

‘No. You’re gonna be good, you’re gonna listen to me first.’

You begin to groan out again but he says your name in such a tone that you feel your body shift into submission, acquiescing to his demand.

‘You’re gonna stay still,’ he tells you, ‘And you’re gonna leave that pretty pussy alone until I’m done, y’hear?’ Your eyes half close, head dipping forward.

‘Yes, daddy.’ 

‘Good girl.’

You listen closely to the pop of the cap on the bottle of lube you’d packed for him, his heavy breathing as you imagine him soaking the toy, his sharp inhale as he spreads the cool gel over himself. The pop sounds again, and you wait with baited breath.

You’re rewarded almost immediately with a groan that resonates right through your body, vibrating straight down to your cunt as though he had voiced it against your lips.

‘Gonna start with my hand, baby,’ he says, voice low and breathy, ‘Start nice and slow, just like you would if you were here, huh?’

You hum low in your throat and lick your lips.

‘Wouldn’t start like that, daddy.’ Your voice is husky, drenched in lust at the thought of Joel spread on the hotel bed stroking his cock.

‘Oh?’

‘Start with my mouth,’ you breathe, ‘I’d lick you. Get you nice and wet so I can suck on it.’

‘Yeah?’ he whispers, ‘That what you’d do, you’d suck on it?’

You ache and throb between your legs, your free hand scratching at the skin of your thigh to distract yourself. Your mouth waters at the thought.

‘Mhm, daddy. Nice and deep, how you like it. You could fuck my throat if you wanted to.’

A low, guttural sound answers you, the slick sounds of his moving fist getting faster.

‘I’d want you to hold me still while I take you, daddy. I’d want to dribble and gag and cry.’

Joel huffs.

‘Would you, baby? You’d be such a good girl for me?’

You nod, lip between your teeth, even though he can’t see you.

‘Yeah, daddy.’

‘And what if daddy wants to fuck your tight little pussy, baby girl? What would you do then?’

You moan, eyes fluttering shut, hips shifting of their own accord. You grip the hem of your t-shirt.

‘I’d let you.’ you answer, helplessly.

Joel chuckles darkly. 

‘Want me to tell you what I’d do?’ He asks, and you loose a pained little sound, brows pulling together. You’re sure you’re soaking the pillow at this point, dripping through to the other side. Joel laughs again. ‘I think I’d tie you up, baby,’ he says, so low, so deep, that the world starts to drift away from you. You’re barely aware of the fact that the noise of his hand has stopped until he moans wantonly into the phone, and your eyes fly open. ‘Fuck,’ he grits, and then he huffs a cruel little laugh. ‘Was gonna tell you how I’d tie you up and fuck you, baby,’ he growls, ‘But this toy feels good ‘nough that I might just make you watch me instead.’

You whine, chin tipped up to the ceiling, hushed little cries of no, daddy, please - falling from your lips.

‘Oh, sweetheart. You don’t like the sound ‘a that?’ he asks. You shake your head, mewling, ‘No, ‘course not,’ he murmurs ‘Just wanna be stuffed full ‘a daddy’s cock, huh? Wanna be creamin’ around it way you love to, all stretched out and used, yeah?’

God, yes you do. You moan breathlessly, cunt twitching and throbbing, and you wonder whether this is enough to just come hands free. If you concentrate hard enough, if you bear down enough -

‘Maybe I’d film it,’ he muses, ‘Film it so Santiago and Francisco could watch. See how you really like to be used, how cock dumb I can make you. Would you like that, angel?’

‘Fuck, daddy, yes -’

‘Mmm. So they can see how good you look when you beg, when you’re dripping with my cum, huh, baby girl? See how good you look when you cry, when you just take it for me?’

You can tell he’s getting closer, his breathing heavier and more ragged, longer pauses between his thoughts. You wriggle on the pillow, feeling yourself flutter around nothing at the pathetic stimulation. He moans again, broken and loud, and you puff against the speaker, seeing your opportunity -

‘Come for me, daddy,’ you pant, ‘Please - come for me. Need to hear you daddy, please -’

Joel’s breath catches raggedly, once, twice, before it cuts off with a deep growl. With every resounding moan you hear, you can imagine the spurts of cum bursting from his tip. You wriggle even more, cunt burning. 

‘Atta girl,’ Joel gasps, ‘Atta girl, helping your daddy out.’

‘Please,’ you moan, breathless, ‘Please, daddy, my turn, is it -’

‘Your turn,’ he says, so warm, so sweet, ‘Go ahead, baby. Long as it’s only yourself you’re touchin’.’ 

Your fingers flutter to your clit, swiping it gently, so sensitive, and you grit your teeth.

‘Only me.’ You repeat, and you can picture Joel’s answering smile. All teeth.

‘Just you, baby girl. No touchin’ no one else. Not even Frankie.’

You stay silent, moving your hips now to drag your soaked folds against the pillow. Your head falls to your shoulder, and you moan long and loud, wondering whether you can convince Frankie, whether you’ve got enough time together to film the two of you - watching each other, then Frankie stretching you out, filling you with his cum. Something you could send to Joel and Santi, a little treat, a little teaser. 

You’ve been quiet for too long. And Joel knows. He always knows.

‘You gonna break the rules, baby girl?’ He coos. 

You smile, as though he’s read your mind.

‘How much trouble will I be in if I do?’ You ask through a moan, biting your lip.

He chuckles down the line at you. 

‘I don’t know, sugar,’ he drawls, ‘But you could always find out.’

The line clicks and beeps as he hangs up, and you stare down at your phone in disbelief. The signal must have dropped. 

Just as you fumble to press the call button again, a text flies through.

Night, babygirl x

And then another - 

Try to be good. I know it’s hard for you

You huff a laugh as you drop the phone into your lap, hips curling again over the pillow beneath you. Sonofabitch. 

You’ll behave as badly as you damn well please.

———

You and Frankie make quick work of dinner the next evening. Your hands are clammy at the dinner table, pulse fast in your neck, a flush passing high over Frankie’s collar the whole time.

He makes even faster work of the drive back to yours, scraping through red lights as you pull your skirt higher, as you skate your fingers over your thighs, over your panties, watching him the whole time. There’s a wonderful thrill when you catch him looking, when his eyes meet yours and then drift to your hands, how dark they are in the passing streetlights, the white-knuckle grip of his hands on the wheel.

You can feel the heat of him behind you as you unlock the front door, the hunger of wanting his hands on you, pushing you through the doorway, the press of his chest against your back. But you can wait. You can be good.

You move through to your kitchen with him trailing behind you, and you’re grabbing two beers from your fridge before the question of do you want a drink? is even out. When you turn to face him again, Frankie is dangerously, dangerously close. You can smell the musk of his skin, see every changing fleck of colour in his eyes, and it’s too much. You’re pressing the bottle into his chest at the same time as you’re tipping your head for a kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. He takes both bottles from your hands and places then somewhere behind you before caging you in with his thick arms, his mouth in a tight, serious line. You arch your back subconsciously, but he seems to anticipate every movement of your body; somehow still always millimetres away, like the ghost of a man pressed up against you, a layer of film between you.

He leans in so close that you can taste the hot breath he’s pouring into your mouth, so close you can feel the air moving when he tells you, so softly -

‘Take your clothes off. And sit on the couch.’

You strip yourself as you watch him do the same, eyes blown wide by every stretch of bare skin that’s revealed to you. And it is not fair. So unfair that Frankie is finally naked in front of you - so gorgeous - long-limbed and tan, beautiful cock hard and heavy between his thick thighs - and you are unable to touch him.

You clench your jaw, sat back and stretched out like a cat at one end of the sofa, petting yourself as you watch him come towards you and lower himself onto the cushion next to you. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into the rhythm you found last night. It’s hypnotic. The movements, the sounds, the words. Watching Frankie is heady, intoxicating. It feels like you’re watching something happen outside of your own body, and you find yourself surprised as you move to kneel beside him, as you swing a leg over his legs so you’re straddling him. You’re so wet, so warm that you’re sure the night could pass for a summer’s day. Your skin is glimmering with sweat, same as Frankie’s. You search his eyes to find him staring back at you, just as fucked out, just as woozy. You moan, hot little pants dripping past your lips. He echoes you.

You sit back on his thighs, your fingers diving in and out of you as you watch his fist work furiously around his cock. Something warm and hot, greedy and possessive swells inside of you. He looks delicious like this, spread out in front of you, wanting and needy. His cock thick, swollen, dribbling. It twitches as you watch him, and you moan somewhere beyond your consciousness. Need, your body whispers. Need. You inch forwards, lifting your hips higher, higher, Frankie watching you like he’s somewhere outside his body. You take his hand from his cock, fingers slippery with his precum, and place it at your hip. You grind into your hand at the slick feeling, pulling your fingers out with a wet sound and hovering above him, gripping his cock so you can brush the swollen head of it against your clit. Frankie shudders, his body going slack, and you almost come from the sensation alone. You lower your hips just a little, bracing the mushroom of his tip at the tight ring of your entrance. 

You gonna break the rules, babygirl?

‘Hermosa -’ he breathes, suddenly unsure.

You huff against him, everything too tight, too heady. Need.

‘Shhh, it’s okay,’ you whisper. ‘It’s okay, just a little bit. Just wanna feel you a little bit.’

‘But -’ he’s cut off by his own loud whine, unable to protest as you fit his head just inside your pussy. You throb around him, at the stimulation it brings. You clutch at his shoulder, head falling forwards at the stretch. Fuck, you could absolutely come like this. You need him deeper, need him to to fill you, but -

Oh, he is so good. 

His hands are like steel at your hips, keeping you in place. Frankie doesn’t want to disobey, doesn’t want to get in trouble. His grip speaks to that, his wide eyes, the sweat at his temple. But you can see on his face as you drip down him, the clutch of Joel’s control doesn’t hold nearly enough power when faced with what he truly wants.

You move back and forth a little, still with his tip just inside, moaning brokenly at the feel of it, and his eyelids flutter closed as something like a prayer brushes past his lips.

Frankie is good, but you are so, so bad. 

You drop your hips down further, and his fingers flex against your skin as he gasps, a high, keening noise reverberating from his chest.

‘Jesus Christ -’ he groans.

‘Fucking - hell, Frankie -’

He’s a lot. You can feel yourself adjusting as you slide down his length, your promise quickly forgotten. Greedy fuckin’ girl. But you can’t help yourself, brain short circuiting, body molten as you take him in inch by inch. It’s too much, all consuming. There’s no space for another thought, any more consideration as he fills you, as you take what you need. 

He whimpers as you bottom out, grinding against the curls at his base, breathing heavily.

‘So good,’ you whisper, ‘So good, you know that?’

Your head hangs forward against his shoulder as you gulp down air, as you feel yourself clench and leak around him, as he twitches inside you. After moments in almost silence, you lean back to look down at him.

His eyes are glassy, fucked out as he looks back at you.

You lift your hips, and the moan he lets out is pained. Your skin is on fire, and you want his hands everywhere.

‘Frankie, touch me.’

‘I can’t -’

‘You can,’ you grit, ‘You can, because I told you to.’

He moans again, and suddenly he’s everywhere. He knows where you need to be touched like you’ve done this before, his fingertips scorching and cooling as he strokes your thighs, your neck, as he grips your ass. Encouraged, you continue to move, slowly rocking up and down on his cock, breathing raggedly. Every noise that escapes the two of you seems to come without being registered, something primal, starved. Already, the coil is tightening, your body racing towards where it needs to be, and you know it will be intense, all-consuming to come around him, so thick inside of you. You lean further forwards, and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth to your sternum, licking the skin before turning his head to take a nipple in his mouth - hot and wet and sucking, lathing it with his tongue.

‘Fuck,’ you hiss, moving faster, chasing, chasing what is so close. You grip the hair at the back of his head, tugging and keeping him close to your breast, keening against him.

‘Like that,’ you gasp, ‘Yeah, like that baby, god, so good, you’re so good for me, feel so good baby boy, you have no idea -’

You can feel yourself tighten and tighten, and Frankie holds you harder, force that feels so delicious you don’t even care about the hurt, not until it turns to iron, not until he rips his mouth away from you -

‘I’m gonna come -’ he whimpers, gripping your hips so tight you couldn’t move if you wanted to. ‘Please, baby, please - stop - I can’t - I’ll come -’

Hot desperation claws up your chest. You are so close, so close, but he looks so wildly at you that you stop trying to move, try to force back tears of frustration as you lean forwards to kiss him as sweetly as you can. Spit-slick and swollen, you pull back and rest your forehead to his. Try to think straight, tell him what he needs to hear.

‘No you won’t,’ you coo, taking his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. You put everything into your gaze, all your warmth, all your care for him, try to make him see how good this is. He stares up at you, eyes wide, dark. Panicked. Panicked at the thought of disappointing you. ‘You won’t, Frankie. It’s okay, you’re not gonna come.’ You try to shift a little so you can settle on your thighs to soothe him, but he clenches his eyes shut at your movement and whimpers louder, his mouth screwing up. 

‘Please don’t move,’ he whispers, ‘Just wait, - just -’

You lean forward and press a kiss to his hairline, feeling his tip move slowly to a shallower part of you. Fuck.

‘Relax, baby boy,’ you murmur, and he sucks in a breath. ‘Concentrate. I’m gonna sit down, and you are not going to come, okay?’

You wait, but Frankie still has his eyes screwed shut, nostrils flaring, fingers bruising against your skin. The tense feeling in your chest swells again. 

‘Frankie.’ You say sharply, and he jumps out of himself, eyes flashing open to yours. ‘I’m gonna sit back down. Take a deep breath.’

Frankie watches you as he breathes in through his nose, and you move at the sound of his airflow. His hands slacken at your hips, and he moans, low and long. 

‘That’s it,’ you say, sinking all the way down, writhing helplessly at his base. You’re already both so close. ‘Good boy. How are you doing?’

Frankie breathes shallowly as you adjust around his cock. His cheeks are red, hair sweaty. His lips are bitten, bleeding through one crack of skin, eyes almost entirely black. You scratch at the curls at the nape of his neck, massaging the tendons there.

‘Okay,’ he croaks. You try not to think of how he feels inside you. How full you feel, how stretched out. He’s thick and nestled in deep - not as far as Joel - but the ache you feel around his girth is delicious. Fuck, this was a bad idea. You should have just hopped off him, let him slide out so you could both catch your breath. And now, instead, you’re managing to edge the two of you even further. 

You know you can’t last long, and you know, from the desperate look on Frankie’s face, that he won’t either, no matter what you do. It feels crueller to stop now than it does to keep going, to watch him deny himself like this, to feel you deny yourself, too. You can feel your pussy tightening and leaking around him at the thought, the ache, the need that’s just there -

‘I have to move, baby -’

‘No -’ he chokes, ‘Please, hermosa, just a minute -’

‘I have to, Frankie, I - you feel too good, baby, I need to move. Wanna come, wanna see you come, too -’

Frankie’s iron grip returns to your hips as they lift of their own accord, and he hisses, head bowed, at the movement. You moan hoarsely.

‘It’s okay,’ you pant, gripping his chin in one hand, lifting his face to yours. ‘Listen to me, it’s okay. Focus now.’ You begin to move up and down him again, the slow drag of his cock tightening your grip on his face but loosening the hold you have on your body. You whimper, pussy fluttering around him. Frankie groans, breathlessly whispers your name, a pleasepleaseplease -

‘I know you can last as long as I need you to, baby,’ you whisper. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you?’ Frankie whines, his eyes rolling back, mouth falling slightly open. You can’t stop the moan that bubbles up your throat - him edging himself as he watched you the night before, eyes stuck on your fingers, your pulses, your wetness. You feel him throb inside you as he nods drunkenly. ‘That’s it, good boy. I know it feels good, but you can last a little longer. I know you can, Frankie. You’re doing so well.’

His fingers clutch at the swell of your hips, weak, sweaty, and you clench so hard around him that it’s a challenge to drag his cock through your walls. You breathe shallowly, slowing the pace again, and Frankie watches you through heavy lidded eyes. He licks his bottom lip.

‘Come,’ he breathes, a hand leaving your hip so he can thumb your clit. You hiss, hips stuttering so hard you sink all the way down onto him, grinding his tip into your womb. Frankie grits his teeth. ‘Come, hermosa,’ he tells you again, and you can feel the savage heat, pussy winding tighter and tighter, your body about to burst. Quietly, with a command he’s not had in his voice until now, Frankie says your name. Come. Now.

Your orgasm is blinding. You cease to exist in the corporeal world for an indeterminate time, coming to only when Frankie pulls you to his chest, his hips pressing up into you as you milk him. You’re achingly aware of the way his cock jumps inside of you as he pumps you full of cum, of the way his fingers grip and bruise your body, of the way you sink your teeth into his shoulder as you continue to throb around him.

‘Fuck.’ you bite out, resting your forehead against his as you pant into each other’s mouths. Minutes tick by, Frankie’s harsh grip turning to soft caresses, and you press chaste kisses to his nose, his forehead, his lips, before you rest your head against his collar bone. He takes a deep breath.

‘Baby,’ he starts. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, searching for what he’s about to say. You squeeze his middle gently. ‘Joel -’

‘Is my problem,’ you breathe, ‘I did this. It’s on me. He knew I’d break the rules.’

He swallows, nods.

‘Okay.’

You press a kiss to his neck, and he visibly relaxes.

‘It’s okay,’ you murmur. ‘No one’s gonna be mad at you. No one’s gonna be mad, full stop.’ He makes a noise of appreciation somewhere in his throat. 

You bite your lip and lean back, fixing him with a wicked grin.

‘Besides, this is all part of the foreplay.’

‘The foreplay?’ He whispers, brow furrowing.

You nod, humming at the feeling of his cum slipping from the warmth of your cunt.

‘You really thought he’d just come in your mouth?’

His eyes darken, a huff slipping from his kiss-bitten lips. He brings your hand from his neck to his mouth and bites down on the flesh of your palm. You giggle again.

‘Mm, you like that, baby boy? Like the idea of daddy playing with you, too?’

‘Stop.’ He groans, ‘You keep talking like that, and -’

‘There’ll be a round two?’ you tease. ‘Doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,’ you smile, feeling him twitch inside you. ‘In fact,’ you continue, ‘That sounds like something a very good boy would do.’

‘Stop talking,’ he growls, ‘And take me upstairs. I remember something about you promising to let me taste you.’

The smile that grows across your lips is impossible to hide.

———

Pope wasn’t fucking around when he told you Frankie was good with his mouth.

He wakes you the next morning with more of what he gave you last night, his tongue warm and wet against your cunt, lapping and kissing and sucking until you’re sweating and writhing above him, hands fisted in his hair.

He likes that.

Likes biting marks into your thighs, making you moan and cry and come again and again. Likes when you’re a little mean, when you tell him what to do, when you hold him afterwards, when you let him fill you and fuck you until you’re both whimpering and covered in cum and slick.

The three days that follow pass in a blur of not touching and definitely touching. Frankie quickly becomes accustomed to waking wrapped up in your bed, your arm thrown over his side, and you quickly become accustomed to the sweet praises that drip from his lips as he slots himself inside you - how tight and sweet you are, how he can’t believe he fits in so well. How he can’t wait to share you, properly this time.

He bends you over the kitchen table after you’ve finished eating dinner, licking into you before splitting you open, and you take him in your mouth on your knees in the shower, making sure to remind him of how pretty he is, how good he feels in your mouth. You work him open with your fingers, your tongue, curling them inside him just to watch him struggle not to come so fast. It’s gorgeous. And when you’re too sore and swollen to have each other again, you find yourself cradled between his thighs, your back to his chest as he circles your clit gently with two fingers, kissing your neck and grinding himself against you as you moan, as you remind him how you need to get to work.

‘I know, baby,’ he murmurs, ‘Just wanna watch you come again.’

It’s feverish, it’s risky. You try to be a good liar, but you’re sure Joel knows. Knows you well enough, anyway, to guess that it would happen at some point. Which just means he must have been planning what he’d do to you after finding out for some time, too. You try to be careful as the week goes on - planning to wash your sheets, to not have Frankie in the house when Pope or Joel return. To just try and make it look like you succeeded, that you listened. That you were good.

You’re on your elbows and knees, body weak, pussy swollen and dripping as Frankie spears you from behind when the text comes. It’s Santi.

I’ll be home 2morrow. Look forward to seeing u 2.

One more time, Frankie gasps. Once more like this, and then you can wait. 

The two of you can wait until tomorrow.

———

You wait all day for Santi.

And you try to be good, you really do. But Frankie’s mouth is just so convincing.

He’s not allowed to bite, not allowed to leave any marks. He has permission to make you come, and then he has to clean you up again like nothing ever happened. You’re not going to touch him, and he’s not going to touch himself. He’ll have to save it for when Pope gets here. Which, as it’s turned out, is much later than he said. But not late enough to miss the show.

‘Am I interrupting?’

Frankie lurches away from between your thighs like he’s been scorched, backing up towards the end of the bed. He looks so surprised, so worried, that you snort at him, still so caught up in the throes of pleasure to not be too worried about Pope’s reappearance.

He looks good. A healthy glow to his skin, tight black top, his curls perfectly framing his face. His mouth is twisted into its most alluring smirk, and you watch it deepen at the flush of Frankie’s cheeks and the way you snake a hand between your legs.

‘Not at all, baby,’ you coo, and his eyes darken, following the path of your hand. It’s ingrained into you now, how Pope touched you last. The memory rushes through you, and you moan softly, the noises your hand is making against your wet folds so obscene. Still watching, he peels his belt from its loops, curling it in his fist.

He jerks his chin at Frankie.

‘You at least make her beg for it?’

You huff a small laugh, thinking back on how not thirty minutes ago Frankie had been on his knees in front of you, begging for a taste, begging to lick your cunt. 

Santi’s eyes shoot to you and the amusement on your face, and he steps forward with a smile.

‘Should have known,’ he says gently, through a smile. His palm cups your cheek, and you nestle into his touch, forgetting that whatever punishment Joel might have thought up, Santi might share. He traces your skin down your jaw, your neck, across your clavicles and down the arm closest to him. He holds your wrist, and pulls it up to his mouth where he can kiss your knuckles in greeting. ‘Hello, querida.’

You look back at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. ‘Hey, Santiago.’ 

He takes you in greedily, eyes scouring over your bare body, scrutinising so intensely that you almost feel self-conscious. 

‘What do we have here?’ he purrs, his spare hand reaching over you, thumbing your nipple. You whine and arch against his touch, fingers moving faster, and he tuts, shaking his head. ‘This will never do, cielo.’ He squeezes your breast firmly before running his fingers down the length of your arm, gripping your other wrist to bring your wet fingers to his mouth. He parts his lips and presses them in gently, and you mewl, hips bucking, as he works his tongue over the digits. His eyes are dark, boring into you, only distracted by the heavy breath Frankie takes from the other end of the mattress. He releases your fingers quickly.

‘No.’ he barks at the other man, and you swing your head to look at Frankie, a hand frozen mid-pull on his cock, face flushing an even deeper shade of red. ‘Did I tell you you could touch yourself?’

Frankie shakes his head frantically, hands moving to his sides.

‘Did I?’

‘No.’ he whispers, breathless, apologetic. Pope jerks his head again, over his shoulder. 

‘Off the bed.’

Frankie unfurls his limbs to stand at the bedside, cock heavy and bobbing against his stomach as Santi easily joins your wrists with one hand. It takes you too long to work out what he’s doing - his belt already curled around your hands before you make a noise of protest, silenced by a hard look from him. He twists the leather around your hands twice before tying them to the bedframe above you, giving a sharp pull to test the give. Your chest heaves, something sparking inside you as he cups your cheek gently.

‘Good?’

‘Yes, Santi.’ You murmur, taking your cue from how he admonished Frankie.

He steps back, admiring his handiwork, looking pleased.

‘Maybe that’ll help you keep your hands to yourself.’ He says, half-turning to Frankie.

‘Down.’

Frankie drops to his knees at the command, and you moan, thighs clenching, arms straining above your head, tight to your eyes. Santi says something to you, muffled, and you try to relax again to hear him, a quiet hm? the only sound you can make.

He cocks his head at you, lips curled.

‘Lube, querida,’ he says, ‘Where do you keep it?’

You inhale sharply, mind buzzing. 

‘U-under the bed.’

Pope drops to his knees beside you, rifling around until he finds and pulls out a green box, ripping off the lid. His face splits in a dangerous, thrilled grin.

‘Now, what have we got in here?’

You watch with bated breath as Pope rummages through the box, your chest heaving, arms straining against the belt again. He throws the bottle of lube onto the bed before turning his attention back to your toys. He brings your wand into your line of sight, and you squeeze your eyes closed as he presses the button, the room filling with its buzzing sound. 

You flinch when he brings the vibrator into contact with your skin, tracing your nipples. Your eyes fly open to find him and Frankie watching you intently. 

‘Had a lot of time to think about this while I was away,’ Santi says, almost to himself, ‘But I’ve got much better ideas now.’

Pope licks his lips as he dips the wand lower, teasing it around the soft flesh of your thighs before resting it against your clit.

You yelp at the contact, body juddering.

‘Please, Santi,’ you cry, ‘Please -’ but he shushes you gently, stroking your hair as he lays the wand between your thighs, nestled in to where the feeling is most intense, most overwhelming. 

‘It’s okay, baby,’ he coos, ‘Just need you to hold that there, be a good girl.’ 

You whimper brokenly up at him, and he pouts at you, teasingly.

‘Listen to me,’ he says, and you hold your breath, ‘That’s gonna stay right there, against your pretty little pussy, and you’re not gonna come, are you, querida?’

Your brain buffers, jaw clenching against the heat rising through you, and Santi frowns at you.

‘Are you?’

The air bursts from your lungs as you moan out a no, rewarded with a smile.

‘Good girl.’ he says, dipping to pick something up from the floor. Your panties from where Frankie had stripped you of them earlier.

He taps your chin.

‘Open,’ your mouth falls open of its own accord, and Santi stuffs the lace in. ‘Something for you to bite down on.’

You huff, brow furrowing in concentration, desire, as Pope steps away again and moves towards Frankie.

Frankie, still on his knees, watching open mouthed, cock jumping as he takes you in - stretched out, bound and desperate. His eyes leave yours to watch Santi begin to strip himself of his clothes, and you join him, groaning at the slow show he gives you both. His smooth, tan skin, the muscles that ripple beneath. He unbuttons his jeans before stilling, eyes falling on Frankie.

‘Come here,’ Santi says, and Frankie shuffles forward instantly. ‘Good boy. Now take me out, and show our girl what else you can do with that mouth.’

Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your wrists tug at Santi’s belt. From behind the fabric in your mouth, Pope can hear your muffled fuck. He smirks down at Frankie.

‘Before she comes, hermano.’

‘Pope,’ Frankie breathes, shocked through his haze of arousal, confused, warning.

‘What?’ Santi says, cupping his cheek gently. ‘You don’t think I checked with Joel? Didn’t ask what you got up to before he left? Don’t worry, baby, I did. He just wants to know she’s being taken care of. The sooner you put me in your mouth, the sooner we can do just that.’

Frankie swallows visibly, flustered, eyes flicking to you before he reaches out to tug Santi’s jeans and boxers down, taking the other man’s hard cock in his hand, squeezing and pumping gently. He takes care to thumb over the precum that gathers at his tip, using it to ease the movement. Pope breathes out slowly before touching Frankie’s bottom lip with his thumb, parting his mouth. He joins Frankie’s hand at his base and taps the head of his cock where his thumb had just been, and Frankie opens wider, allowing space for Pope to slide in. He takes lazy thrusts as you watch with wide eyes, hips canting against the toy, cunt pulsing, body on fire - acutely aware that Frankie has a gag reflex to rival your own. The thought makes you giggle, a kind of pride blooming in your chest. So easy. Frankie stares up at his best friend with glassy eyes, cock leaking and untouched between his legs, palms resting, unflexed, atop his thighs. 

‘He’s a good toy, isn’t he, cielo?’ Pope hums, slowing the rhythm of his thrusts. ‘So good at just - taking it. Barely any fight in you, is there, baby boy?’

With his mouth full of Santi’s cock, Frankie can barely shake his head. The corners of Pope’s lips curl.

‘No. I’ll bet she hardly even had to ask you. Just a little while longer watching her and you’d have begged to feel her milk you yourself. Isn’t that right, Fish?’

Frankie moans beneath him, his cock dribbling and straining. You want so badly to have it on your tongue, in your hand, inside your pussy, that you whine again, louder. Santi’s eyes slide to you, mouth wide in a smirk. 

‘Quit whining, querida. We’ll be with you in a moment.’

You groan again as Pope twists his fingers in Frankie’s hair, cooing at him. 

‘Yeah, seems that you both thought to tell us how’d you’d watched, hm? It’s a pity you couldn’t wait to touch, though. Could have made this so much easier for yourselves.’ You wriggle your hips a little more, finding just the right angle, the right pressure. Oh, it’s so good. Too good. Your noises come louder, faster, and though Frankie’s eyes don’t leave Santi, his body twitches, finely attuned now, to how you sound before you come. As though he’s read Frankie’s mind, Pope’s eyes snap back to you.

‘Not yet.’ He bites. 

You breathe jagged, harsh breaths through your nose, eyes scrunching shut against the coil that’s tightening in your core. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping through your folds, straight onto the sheets, and you try to think of anything but the sound of Santi’s cock moving in Frankie’s throat. What groceries you need to buy, the post you need to hand to your neighbour, what you’ll wear to meet Sarah. Joel. Joel. Fuck, no. That makes it even worse.

You moan again, dangerously close to the edge, cracking open your eyes to see Frankie bobbing up and down Santi’s length, drool escaping the corners of his mouth. How his cheeks hollow, how he sinks down to the wiry hairs at the bottom, eyes fixed on Santi’s face, unwavering, swallowing; moving back up to kiss the tip, the spit that trails from his lips to Pope’s head, how Pope rocks his hips forward, chasing the sensation. How Santi groans for him, tomalo, mírame, tu boca, tan bonito -

Your hips stutter, now trying to move away from the vibrator as Pope’s hand finally grips Frankie’s curls, pulling him in closer, holding him still as he fucks his throat, and you try to get out a please, please, trying to back yourself down, trying so hard even though it would be so easy -

Santi’s gaze finds you, lost to the feeling of the other man’s mouth, and he smiles kindly.

‘Casi ahí, bebita.’

You shake your head, eyes pleading, desperate, teary, and he seems to take pity on you. He uses his grip on Frankie’s curls to ease him off slowly, marvelling at the way his cock emerges, glistening; at the way Frankies mouth still hangs open for him to fill. 

‘Should we help her out, baby?’ He asks softy.

Frankie looks to you, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. Please, you try to moan again.

‘Yes.’ He says, voice hoarse.

Pope holds a hand out to him to help him off the floor, and Frankie stands on shaky legs. You try to will them to move faster, teetering on the edge, breath leaving you in great puffs, your body straining away from the toy, arms aching with the effort of trying to pull yourself away.

‘You ready to come, princesa?’ Santi murmurs.

You gurgle an mhm, sniffling as his hand moves low, hovering over the vibrator. Frankie bends, his cock angry and red still, to press a kiss to your temple.

‘Did so well,’ he whispers, ‘It’s okay, hermosa.’

Pope takes that as his cue to take hold of the wand.

Your back arches as he presses it down, harder against you, roving it back and forth for extra friction. You start to beg through your panties, knowing you can’t hold back anymore as your pussy turns traitor, beginning to flutter. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes, and Santi smiles.

‘Now.’ he whispers.

Your body pulls impossibly tight, giving in to the rush of fire that has been simmering, your muscles clenching painfully as sound and sight evade you. You can feel your lungs working, feel the choked gasps leaving you, feel your arms pulling at Santi’s belt, but you are somewhere outside your body. A rush courses through your body, and you feel yourself gushing between your thighs.

When you come to, blinking, body slick with sweat and your cum seeping down your legs, Pope is untying your hands. You drop them above your head, and Frankie takes your wrists, massaging them soothingly with his thumbs. Santi presses a tender kiss to your stomach, moving the vibrator away as you shiver and jerk with overstimulation.

‘So good, bebita,’ he says, ‘Atta girl. Look how well you behaved there.’

He presses his fingers into your mouth to remove the lace, and your tongue works around your gums to alleviate the dryness the fabric left.

‘Can you move?’ He asks gently, and you nod weakly, cinching at the waist to haul yourself up. He brings his palms to your shoulder, rubbing your skin as Frankie sits behind you, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck. ‘Well done, princesa.’

He brings you further forward, cradling you to his chest as he tells Frankie to lay back behind you, then angles your shoulder to turn and face him. Frankie looks fucked. His bare skin untouched, his cock dribbling precum, pooling at his stomach as you watch. His jaw is clenched like he’s trying to stop himself from begging, and you reach out to touch his thigh, trying to offer comfort in any way you can. He whimpers at the warmth of your skin.

‘Should we help him, querida?’ Pope whispers in your ear, your back still to his chest.

‘Yes.’ You answer, throat dry. He kisses your cheek, and you feel his smile.

‘Use your mouth, bonita.’

You move from Pope to settle yourself between Frankie’s legs on all fours, breathing kisses into his inner thighs before touching him, trailing a finger down his soft shaft. He hisses at the sensation, and you pause, meeting his eye. He swallows, nods.

‘Keep going.’ He rasps.

You pull yourself further up, mouthing at his underside, pressing kisses to his leaking tip before laving your tongue up and down his length. When his hips buck at the sensation, you move a palm to cup his balls and take him fully into your mouth, sucking and hollowing your cheeks, humming with the salty taste of him. His hands quickly find the side of your head, and you move back up towards his tip, licking into his slit to drink down more, playing with his frenulum in a way you know drives him insane. He moans, deep and needy, puffing out a soft fuck as you take him down to the base again, nuzzling the hair there, breathing him in. His cock jumps in your throat, and he looses a needy whine, pulling on your hair, but you don’t budge.

‘Hermosa -’ he breathes, voice tight, and Santi speaks again from behind you.

‘Are you gonna last, hermano?’

Frankie looks up from watching you, unfocused, swaying his head. Pope makes an amused sound, and you feel his hands on you, positioning you, then the press of his tip against your slick hole.

‘Just a little longer, Fish. So much to do with you two.’

Santi glides inside of you easily, but it’s still enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You moan around Frankie’s sensitive dick, and he gasps, hands tightening in your hair.

‘Please -’ he warns, ‘Please -’ as Pope pulls out and thrusts back in again. You cry out, moving back up to Frankie’s tip, moving up and down the best you can as Pope dives in and out of your pussy, knocking you forward to take Frankie deeper with each thrust. ‘Santi -’ Frankie grits, and the other man chuckles behind you. 

‘Alright,’ he says, ‘Don’t want to spoil the fun.’ 

You whine and pout at the loss as he withdraws from you completely, turning your head to find that he’s stripped himself of his jeans and underwear. He winks at you before giving you a little push.

‘Ride it, querida.’

You push yourself up eagerly, coming to straddle Frankie’s hips before positioning him at your entrance. He looks up at you with blown, lust filled eyes, absolutely ruined. 

Despite the stretch, you sink down onto him without stopping. 

He feels so good. Just like the first time.

You writhe down at his base as his hands shoot out to grip your hips, his beautiful neck straining as his grits his teeth, his abs flexing as he attempts to hold you still. But it didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work now.

You take yourself slowly up, smiling at the wet sound of the movement before sinking down again, feeling him stretch you out, feeling him in your stomach. It’s a delicious ache. You wonder what Joel would say right now, watching you take him so easily, watching how he fills you. Bet you can’t wait to know what his cock feels like inside you, huh? Can’t wait to be droolin’ and comin’ over him like you do me, hm? You clench tight around Frankie at the thought, at the same time as a little ache settles in your chest. You miss him. You miss him, and you wonder what he’d be doing with his hands, his mouth, his cock -

‘Que cosita mas linda.'

Santi’s voice brings you back as you bounce on Frankie’s lap, and you lift your head to look at the younger man, his eyes heavy-lidded, lip nipped between his teeth.

‘She gonna make you come like this, Francisco?’

At the use of his full name, all of the sounds Frankie has been trying to hold back break free from him. All of his pretty little gasps and moans, his whimpers, the way he pants your name as he clings to you, eyes never leaving where you’re joined as he pleads -

‘Can I? Can I come?’ 

You clench around him again, the knot in your belly snapping at his words, your orgasm blinding as it comes at you sideways. Frankie moans loudly, repeating your name. You gasp, high little pants of uh- uh- as you jolt on him, pain mixing with pleasure as you call his name, Santi’s name, Joel’s name -

‘Up. Off.’

Santi presses a palm to your backside to move you off of Frankie’s length, even as you still clench around him. 

‘Fuck,’ Frankie heaves, ‘Fuck, please, no -’ 

‘Quiet.’ Santi bites at him, and Frankie whines, his cock jumping between your folds at his tone. You close your eyes. 

‘Let him,’ you plead, ‘Please, let him, Pope.’

You wanted him to come, he deserved to come. You move your lips up and down his length, and Frankie chokes a moan, his body moving higher up the bed as Santi moves behind you, but you can’t work out why behind the darkness of your eyelids. Your eyes are still closed, body still quaking as Santi leans forward to press a kiss to the centre of your spine. You arch your back against his mouth and he chases you, pressing another slightly higher, scraping his teeth against your skin.

‘Querida,’ he says. You can only moan in response. You know it’s not what he wants, but your brain is so fuzzy it can’t comprehend anything beyond it.

‘Turn around,’ he says, and you whimper, eyelids fluttering as you scratch gently at Frankie’s chest. The man beneath you writhes at the feeling, head rolling, eyes closing, fingers flexing bruisingly on your hips. ‘Turn. Around.’ Santi grits, this time taking Frankie’s hands so he can prise them off you, gripping your waist in an effort to turn your body. 

There’s no graceful way to do it, but Frankie handles your limbs with gentle hands as you swing your legs around him. 

When you face Pope, the sight that greets you is even better than you could have imagined. 

He eyes you hungrily, carnally, his brow dark and hair curled more than you've ever seen. But your eyes are taken to where his fingers are sunk knuckle-deep into Frankie, pumping them slowly. You moan as he digs them in deeper before curling them, repeating the beckoning motion until Frankie’s belly twitches. At the tells of his orgasm, Pope removes the digits slowly, deaf to Frankie’s desperate begging. You watch, mute, as Pope then takes the bottle of lube from beside him, pouring it onto his cock with a quiet moan, jacking himself before pressing his tip to Frankie’s hole. You feel the man below you tense slightly, and you stroke his thighs, fallen open on either side of Santi, with soothing fingers. When he relaxes, one of Pope’s hands meets yours on his flesh, the other helping to guide himself in. You watch as his length is swallowed, breathing shallow, listening to any noise the pair make. Frankie’s ragged groan, the way he chants Pope, Jesus, fuck, his bruising grip back on your hips, Pope’s answering growl as his eyes roll to the ceiling before fluttering shut. When he bottoms out, you watch as his stomach flexes, eyes then drifting lower, where you can only see the coarse hair at the base of his cock, the rest of it buried inside Frankie. You feel your face crease as your stomach turns molten.

Your hips drop to the swell of Frankie’s stomach, searching for any kind of friction. It should be impossible to be this constantly turned on. You move your hips as Pope drags his cock in and out of Frankie once, twice, murmuring how tight he is, how pretty, how good, before his eyes find yours.

‘You want her to sit on your face, pretty boy?’ Santiago purrs at the man over your shoulder.

‘Oh, fuck, please.’ Frankie moans.

Pope jerks his chin at you, sending you shuffling clumsily backwards, blinded by how badly you need to feel something, eyes fixed again to where he thrusts in and out of the younger man, angling your hips above Frankie’s face. You only see his mouth open, tongue already out to lick a fat stripe through your folds, before he pulls you roughly down, moaning against you.

‘Jesus - fuck -’ you hiss, trying to jerk away. It’s too much, too soon, but Frankie is too strong, too desperate to taste you. Your hand flies out Santi’s chest, scratching his skin before trying to find purchase higher up. You take his neck between your thumb and fingers as Frankie eats at you, his mouth harsh and hungry as it sucks and licks. Santi stutters out a groan as you tilt his head at you and squeeze.

‘Make him come,’ you murmur, ‘Make him come, baby, and then you can show me what else you wanna do with us.’

Santi grins and pants against you, his hips faltering for a moment as he leans his neck further into the cradle of your hand. He nods quickly, eyes glazing and soft. You smile back at him, squeezing again, pleased.

‘Frankie always said you were a good soldier, Santiago,’ you coo. ‘Should have known what you really needed was to be told what to do.’

‘Fuck you.’ He grins against your lips.

You answer it with a pathetic, needy little whine.

‘Mm, yes please, baby.’

Frankie takes the moment to suck particularly hard at your clit, and you feel your face crumple - one hand scrabbling at the younger man’s belly, the one at Santi’s neck now gripping the shoulder of the man fucking him. Frankie works diligently at your cunt, anchoring your hips to him as he devours you ravenously, letting the tip of his nose rest just inside your entrance as he flicks your bud with his tongue, swirling it in circles as you grind against him. 

This orgasm comes slow, like wading through treacle. It drips down your spine as you curve over Frankie, gasping and shuddering, so breathless that even Pope slows down. Frankie must feel you jolt and twitch above him, lapping up the last of your cum before he releases you from his grip. You lift your hips quickly, needing reprieve, aftershocks still knocking through you as you pant against Santi’s chest.

‘So good,’ you breathe, loud enough for Frankie to hear, ‘So good to me, baby boy, aren’t you?’

Pope presses a kiss to your hair as you work a fist around Frankie’s cock, squeezing his base. He jumps beneath you, a heady, keening noise wailing from his now unoccupied mouth, and you squeeze him tighter, pumping him once, twice, his shaft slick with your juices and his precum.

‘You’ll make him come.’ Pope warns, and you hum against him, forehead just above his sternum. You’re too lost in the way his cock looks as it disappears into Frankie.

The door opens so quietly you don’t hear it, but Santi does. How he keeps his wits about him despite what’s happening is beyond you. He stills his movements inside Frankie, and you feel his damp breath against your forehead, head dipping as he nudges your cheek with his jaw, turning your face towards it. 

‘Look who’s home.’ He murmurs into your ear. 

Your stomach swoops.

Joel stands in the doorway. His nose and brow rosy from working in the sun, your favourite flannel draped over his broad shoulders, a grin twisting his lips as he takes the scene in. His eyes dip from yours to your tits, to the way your body curls over Frankie’s. He takes in the man laying beneath you - his face shining with your cum, blissed and fucked out. The rise and fall of his tummy, the way his thighs are splayed to make room for Pope. The way Santi can’t help but flex inside him, earning a ragged groan from both of them, up the other man’s torso, his neck, to the dark eyes watching him back. It’s breathtaking. 

Joel cocks his head.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he drawls, ‘Y’all make such a pretty picture.’

You swallow loudly, letting your head fall back to Santi’s warm shoulder, panting before looking back at him. Something swirls in your gut, and you speak before even realising.

‘Come here,’ you whisper, voice cracking. ‘Come here and make it even prettier, daddy.’

The three of you watch as Joel steps towards you, letting the door fall shut behind him.

help with spanish translations from @/urmomsgnocchi's invaluable post here. if there are inaccuracies, please drop me a message <3

[dev1lm4n]

moth to flame

ko-fi | series masterlist

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: you're pining over wicked fantasies or who you recently discovered to be mr. miller, even when it's indubitably wrong.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: explicit (18+), pre-apocalypse, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, age gap (joel's in his mid 30's and reader is in her early 20's), reader is an exchange student but nationality is not mentioned

notes: set in 2013. do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it!

Turbulent wind pushed on the pickup truck to no avail. That, paired with the soothing rhythmic grunt of the ignition created a perfect moody atmosphere. It was the peak of summer; yet somehow, for whatever reason, Austin was looking awfully somber. Gray and bland like the taste of soaked cereals. Sarah was bound to return to school despite the hefty weekends she’s spent with the newest addition to the Millers, and she didn’t like it at all. She’s making it real obvious too for everyone. Cheeks puffed up like she is five and always a loud thump following her every move.

She landed her dad’s coffee on the table with a loud thump. She stormed back into her room with a louder thump. She swung the pickup truck’s door with the loudest thump you’ve ever heard, before making her way over to the school’s gate. Her small pout remained on her face despite your cheerful wave and words of encouragement from behind the rolled window.

She’s a cute kid, you decided. 

You’re sure things would link perfectly between you and your host family if it weren’t for the fact that you practically avoided Mr. Miller like he’s the goddamn plague. Everytime you slipped out of your room, you had to make sure he wasn’t in a five meter proximity. You’d rather be dehydrated and starved than to meet him after his day-time job (which you’ve recently learned was a contracting gig), lingering around the kitchen with a stale sandwich up his mouth. Similarly, you treated Sarah as a trusty messenger for every message you had for her dad. Whether it’s a leaky sink or a hefty request to drop you off at your college.

It’s a genuine miracle Sarah never questioned you on your abnormal behavior, nor did Mr. Miller. Was this your streak of luck?

You tucked your phone back in your pocket after a quick run through your texts, eyes focused back towards what laid ahead of you. Mr. Miller’s broad shoulders stretched across the length of the car’s cushioned seat, moving with a steady pulse at every breath of air he claimed. Your careful eyes watched over the seams of his shirt; the correct side up after Sarah’s clever remark earlier that morning. Slowly, you traced along the nape of his neck with your bare eyes. Further and further, right until you could finally spot the dark brown strands tangled in with hints of gray. It looked soft.. much like how it appeared to be on his videos. You wondered how it’d feel like to run your hands over it, feel it through the ridges of your knuckles, and pull on‒

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?”

The man’s baritone voice penetrated the thick silence and you were left aghast. Soul sucked out of your body as your eyes flickered towards the rearview mirror, eventually catching the small smile playing on his dangerously charming face. He’d be the end of you that’s for sure. This was a bad idea, asking him to drive you to college just because taxi rates are crazy high this time of the year, leaving the two of you alone. Alone and hidden under the privacy of his truck, you were fucked through and through. You just hoped he wasn’t clever enough to somehow figure out your utterly shameful thoughts.

“Sorry.. um.. I was thinking of something. What were you saying, Mr. Miller?”

Yeah, that’s right. You were thinking of how nice his hair would feel when you’re gripping on it for dear life, but he didn’t have to know that.

“No worries, kiddo. Just.. I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

At the last syllable he uttered, you were already rigid. Parched, feeling like your tongue magically turned into sandpaper; you’d always consider yourself to be an excellent debater at all parts of life, but his lone question left you high and dry. Your eyes darted back onto the rearview mirror and instead of his candid expression, you were met with his scintillating gaze. Curious and prodding into the deepest part of your head. It enthralled you, encouraged you to say the truth.

“You’re always scurrying off when I’m around,” he gave a thought to what he’s about to say. “I get that Sarah is friendlier and a lot more relatable to talk to. Talkin’ to an old man isn’t exactly preferable, is it?”

He let out a polite set of laughter, which was met by a deafening silence. You crumpled under the tension. Awkward and wanting nothing more than to escape the car like some fugitive in handcuffs. Killing Me Softly With His Song by Fugees continued to play faintly in the background, once again becoming a fitting ringtone for your impending response.

“No,” you denied slowly. Effectively lying, but it was as obvious as a kid trying to pocket candies from the cash register. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

His expression eventually twisted into one of mirth; brows quirked with interest, a tight smile edged to unfold. He’s probably finding the telenovela-inspired reply hilarious, but the man’s polite enough to store all his witty comments in the back of his head.

“What I mean is,” you paused to inhale deeply. What were you even supposed to say? You used to watch all his explicit videos and therefore you couldn't look him in the eye without getting reminded of every single scene? Lying has never been your forte, but the other option was far too humiliating. Even for you. “I’m naturally awkward, Mr. Miller. I.. I feel embarrassed when approaching you. Feels like I’m bothering you or something.”

That was half a lie. A white lie, you’d conclude.

“Oh sweetheart, you never bother me.”

The way he said that nickname had you sweating buckets. Seconds away from throwing up your entire breakfast menu out of sheer nervousness. You knew he meant it in a platonic familial-bond type of way, but God did it remind you of what he calls all his pretty co-stars.

“You and Sarah are my number one priority now. You know that, right?”

“Right. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“I’m home.”

Exhaustion trailed after your every step as you made your way through the empty hallway. A result of caffeine-induced studying paired with the buzzing busyness of commuting in peak-hour. This was all easily avoidable. You should’ve accepted Mr. Miller’s offer in picking you up after his gig up West, but the fear of making a slip up is overriding your desire for convenience. You wouldn't want to make things even more weird than it already is. Your most prized possession, the laptop you’ve owned since the beginning of time, weighed your shoulder down exceptionally as you trudged through. A loud grunt passed your lips as you stumbled across; appearing exactly like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Oh! You’re here!”

You took a step back to meet the feminine voice, bubbly and hearty from the girl sitting in a criss-cross manner in front of the TV. Sarah was smiling. A big toothy smile that was too hard to resist, despite the fatigue weighing your shoulders down. You’re just soft when it comes to the little girl.

“Dad’s giving me a massage. Do you want one too?”

You must’ve been dog-tired, because you foolishly didn’t notice the large figure looming over her from the sunken couch. It was admittedly dim in the living room, but he was as obvious as an elephant, big and rigged with muscles out of a need for his profession. Both his contracting gig and his other.. scandalous endeavors. Breathing was all that you needed to focus on for now, and perhaps schooling your expression. You’re almost entirely sure you wouldn’t be able to speak no matter how hard you try.

A small unsure quirk of your head was what you settled with and Sarah, being the nicest girl you’ve ever known, quickly ushered you to sit by her side. On the wooden floor. For a damned massage from Mr. Miller.

You complied, of course. Even when you look mildly petrified by the idea.

“What’re you up to all evening?” 

His voice grazed your eardrums, alike to a powerful gust of wind, as you seated yourself on the foot of the couch. Sarah by your side, looking fondly in your direction, giving you all the more pressure to appear put together when you could simply falter at the bare sound of his voice. You needed to get your shit together. Mr. Miller’s an actual man, for fucks sake, it’s horribly immoral to think of him as the Wicked Fantasies in these kinds of setting.

“Studying.”

“Is that why you’re so pent-up?”

No. You’re pent-up because you’ve spent the entire week trying to be on your best behavior, trying to act like you’re not openly thirsting over this sweet girl’s father, trying to act like you’re not tipping into insanity from merely being placed in the same room as he is, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Think so,” you hummed softly.

“Poor thing.”

Anticipation almost killed you right there and then. You knew he was going to place his calloused fingers over your shoulders, knew that it was the basic requirement to give someone a shoulder massage, but you couldn’t help but develop butterflies in your belly at the thought. It wasn’t beautiful nor poetic, instead, it was an absolute nuisance to conceal your thoughts. When he began to place his hands on your upper back, you flinched.

A hitch in your breathing, then a throaty groan.

You were sensitive, touch-starved, and his touch practically confirmed that.

Mr. Miller’s touch was expertly firm yet gentle, the way you imagined it for a long time. His calloused fingers glided along your trapeze muscles with finesse. Fluid and seamless, as if he’s a master to the human body. Your eyes fluttered shut as he focused on the tension points. The nook between your bones which was constantly weighed down by your bag didn’t go unnoticed. His skilled fingers kneaded away every knot and tightness, making you surrender to his ministrations.

You didn’t want him to stop.

You wanted him to touch you more.

To have each one of his rough fingers stroke every soft bend of your body, like how he treated May and Sadie as if they were his own personal ragdoll.

To feel him under the constraints of your thin t-shirt, without a veil separating the two of you.

You craved him so bad, even when it’s wrong.

“You feel better?”

When he spoke, his raspy voice was magnetic to the core of who you were, as if he's able to resonate with all of you when others can barely achieve a fraction of it. It sounded sincere, like he truly cared about your well-being and not to simply feed into your secret desires. He meant well and you’re here acting like a starved pervert. The thought made you cringe ever so slightly.

“Yeah. Much better.”

“Good then, kiddo.”

The nickname turned you sour. You're more than willing to debate him on it, unlike last time.

“I’m not a kid.”

“No?”

He was so smug about it too. Even when you're looking all pissy.

“No. I’m a fully grown adult, Mr. Miller. Do note that I’m in my twenties,” you schooled him persistently.

“Twenties? Wow, you’re truly ancient.”

“Yeah and you’re a dinosaur, Mr. Miller.”

The silly quarrel you’ve gotten into with the older man made Sarah burst into laughter, breaking your tenacity and effectively making you laugh along with her.

It was the first time in forever that the Millers laughed that hard together.

As the evening sun painted the kitchen in sepia hues, you stood before the cutting board; a bunch of onions staring right back at you, waiting to be transformed. You have always been passionate about cooking as you viewed it a stress-relieving activity, similar to those medley of coloring books marketed for adults. With a polished kitchen knife in hand and earphones stuffed in, you began your culinary adventure. Your hands moved swiftly, guided by blind confidence. The rhythmic sound of knife to wood began to echo all around the room.

“What are you cookin’ up?”

You could hear him as clear as day, timbre vibrating through your ear canals. Only then did you notice that he had indeed pulled one of your neatly stuffed earphones away, leaving you exposed to the world. To him who you’ve been avoiding despite your little chat in the truck. You looked dumbstruck. Lost in your own thoughts, your eyes wandered up the pools of honey in his eyes. The subtle movements, his thoughtful expression, all seemed to weave a tapestry of intrigue in your mind.

“I’m just chopping up onions here. Nothing exciting, really.”

It took all of you to tear yourself away from his gaze. Even so, the sensation lasted, leaving an anchor of trepidation in your chest.

“You’re back early,” you remarked matter-of-factly.

“Construction guys finished cementing early. Why? You miss me?”

You chuckled fondly. Only to shake your head as you mouthed a brief ‘no’. It’s hard not to entertain the cheeky older man despite your best effort. He was better than you could ever imagine from the confines of your laptop. He had a personality, one that easily made anyone hooked, and a kind heart, therefore it’s terribly hard to keep your burning feelings at bay. It’s wrong. Terribly wrong to view him as such when you’re almost entirely sure he viewed you as his kin, as someone to protect and show guidance to. You were drawn to him like a moth to flame, but he didn’t need to know that.

A sudden lapse in concentration caused your knife to slip, nicking your finger in the process.

A sharp sting shot through your hand.

Then a bead of crimson appeared, mingled with the pungent scent of onions.

“Shit..”

Momentarily stunned, you sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes widened with surprise. It didn’t hurt that bad yet, but it’s still a sight that made you frantic and out of your element. You instinctively brought your injured finger close to your tightly pressed lips, intending to investigate the severity of the wound. Droplets of blood seeped its way through the slim cut as you pressed on the soft pads of your pointer finger. You need to get the wound clean and so tap water was your first option.

However, fate had other plans in store.

“Oh no.. does it hurt, sweetheart?”

You grimaced at the nickname. This wasn’t a good time to get all desperate, but his voice did nothing but burn you with need. Without hesitation, Mr. Miller took hold of your nicked finger, his touch tender and reassuring. He guided your finger closer to his lips and in the many years you've lived, this was the most sensual scene you’ve ever witnessed. Your eyebrows quivered, a mixture of confusion and anticipation swirled within you. 

He was your drug.

One touch and the intoxication was fatal. Whatever he wants to do is what you’ll do and there isn't a thing you can do to stop him - not that you’d want to.

With gentle care, he leaned in. He had to crouch ever so slightly to get to your level and never once did his velvety brown eyes leave yours. You’re starting to think that he was doing it on purpose. That this entire scene you’re trying to make sense of was just a part of his orchestrated show, that he indeed felt the same way you do and was just as afraid of confronting it. Though you’re never really sure; the sheer attention he gave you made your brain turn into mush.

His warm breath ghosted over the wound, and before you knew it, he pressed a soft, delicate kiss on where crimson was pooling. Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to choke. The sting that had plagued you a moment ago now seemed to dissipate into thin air, replaced by a warmth that spread from your hand to every inch of your aching body. His mouth was a furnace. Plush at all sides as his slick tongue stuck flat against the nick.

The concentration in his face, the emphasized crows feet, the stray strands of brown dappled on his sweaty forehead. 

“It’s a little old-fashioned, I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours, “but sometimes a little love can make the pain go away.”

“Love?” you mumbled foolishly, still in a trance.

“You’re a part of the Millers, remember?”

What he said stung you more than the nick. It pushed you off the ledge of delusions. Your gaze slowly grew somber despite your best efforts to stay nonchalant.

“Of course, Mr. Miller.”

The steady patter of rain upon his window stirred Joel awake, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of the settling moon. A strange occurrence for late summer. Though, the gentle sound brought a certain calmness to his mind; a soothing melody, one that stripped him of fear and incompetence. He looked around, blurry vision still intact while he scrambled to find the time. His alarm clock flashed back the time in big bold numbers. Barely past midnight, he noted internally. Joel wasn’t so sure on why his throat felt incredibly parched, dry to the bone, in need of refreshment even when it’s only been a few hours since he tucked himself in. Was it the one beer he had at dinner?

With an irritated sigh, he groggily stumbled out of bed. His knees creaked at its rusty hinge everytime he took a step down the dimly lit staircase of his home. He felt like a nutcracker. An old worn-out one at that. He wondered if he’s gotten too old for this, too old for construction and his side job - has he developed arthritis? His worries came to a halt when a soft glow caught his attention, emanating from a partially open door. 

If he remembered correctly, it was the small room by the garage he’s gifted to you. 

Curiosity piqued, he hesitated for a moment.

Would he be an absolute prick if he took a short peak? Probably. But you interest him. You’ve always been interesting to him, in ways that confuses him more often than he’d like.

He neared the door. One step at a time, praying to whatever God up there that’d be kind enough not to let the wooden boards ahead of him creak at his heavy steps. In that solitary moment, he felt a mixture of emotions welling up within him. It was as if he knew that he was about to stumble upon a secret, a private moment that’d be permanently embedded in his mind. He contemplated once again when he’s just a step away from getting a clear view. Respect for you tugged at his conscience, yet an overwhelming ugly curiosity pushed him to stay, to try to understand the significance of your nocturnal act.

His brown eyes peered through the small gap left.

He could see you now, but you couldn’t see him.

In the dappled moonlight, he carefully mapped out each and every one of your soft curves. How you were bathed in gentle light, sat comfortably on top of your stacked comforter as you typed away at your laptop with lightning-like speed. How you slowly leaned forward to get a closer look at the blaring screen, hair left relaxed and rear-end clearly emphasized by your inept sleeping shorts. How you eagerly repositioned yourself, straddling two rolled pillows as if you were to ride a horse. Joel didn’t mean to look. He didn’t mean to stare in such a perverted, disgusting manner. You were just too captivating and he was one weak-willed man.

With bated breath, he continued to observe.

Joel found himself captivated, his thirst momentarily forgotten, as he marveled at the scene unfolding in front of him.

This was wrong, he reminded himself. This was you he was looking at, not anyone else. You who he always viewed as a wide-eyed young girl still trying her best to navigate around her life. You who’s naive enough to believe his lies that the pink condom packets in his pick-up truck were single-packet wet tissues. You who’s sweet enough to cook his entire family a good dinner for once; turkey, mash, and green beans. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t crave you, because you’re you and he’s him.

His dilemma fell short when you clumsily tugged both your thin shorts and cotton panties off your legs, shin planted deeply into the pristine comforter. Your cunt gleamed under the thick moonlight, arousal formed in globs of clear stickiness right around where your tiny hole appeared. The visage caused him to stiffen in his sweatpants, twitching uncontrollably as he watched you rub yourself along the soft material.

Joel had a first-class view on how you cautiously ground down against it and he was.. shamefully thrilled. A moan bubbled up, before you did it again, and again, and again, each time the pillow appeared more and more damp.

“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself and it drove Joel insane. He pushed his pants down embarrassingly as if he’s some teenage boy catching a coincidental sight of a strip tease, before he cupped himself through his briefs. You’re putting on such a good show, even when it’s not for him, or for anyone on that matter. He watched with anticipation as you leaned back on both hands, edging yourself, before you rutted against it desperately.

Your hole throbbed, contracting and loosening everytime the soft material made contact with your sensitive nub. It’s all that you focus on now. Which was working wonders, considering your quiet gasps and labored breaths were starting to turn into much vulgar noises. Loud moans and whimpers that made Joel’s cock grew with interest, dribbling with pre-cum and desire.

“Please, please, please,” you begged breathlessly.

Both of your hands disappeared for a split second. He wondered silently where it went, but the honest shadows on your wall told him more to the story. You were cupping both your breasts, massaging it kindly before going over to pinch and roll your nipples to harden. You seemed to be sensitive there. Would you enjoy his thick fingers around them?

“More.. oh please,” you begged helplessly.

He wished to come and help you, to stick a finger into that tight hole of yours, to circle your clit with his thumb, flicking indulgently until you gave up. But it’s all a part of his far-fetched fantasy. Watching is more than enough for now. Joel couldn’t even see your face, but this entire thing got him off better than all the pornos he’s personally made.

“I’m gonna- oh, oh, God.”

Your cries echoed around the room, He could see how you quivered, thighs clamping shut around the drenched pillow as you reached your final ecstasy. Everytime you rolled back, he salivated over the sight of your sopping cunt. Untouched and sensitive even from just humping. Your thrusts never falter, not even when you’re making a mess on top of the once pristine, white pillow. What a dirty girl.

Joel watched you until the very end. Right until you collapsed forward, flat on your stomach after exerting such work on your body.

Cock sore and in need of relieving.

Though, something else caught his interest. A revelation that he found to be more important to comprehend than the state of his throbbing cock. 

The video you're watching to get yourself off.

They were his.

[centrally-unplanned]

The trick on the whole "Israel banning UNRWA" thing is that most militaries - like say the US in Afghanistan for example - directly provision aid. American soldiers would often be handing out food packages themselves, and even if they weren't the aid organizations would be directly contracting with the US government and the Department of Defense. You have a group in the military and the government that is like, okay, how do we feed people, let's hit those targets.

So if Congress decided to ban the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan in 2006 from operating in the country or whatever, that bill would say like "we hand over its mission to USAID, which has been allocated $2.1 billion dollars in FY-2005 to do X Y Z". It would probably be a dumb move that would create unnecessary friction and cost lives for political bullshit, but that is also life, people dying for political bullshit is a universal constant. It would probably be pretty small bore in the scale of things, like switching over contractors.

That isn't how Israel does things. I might be wrong about this, Israel is deliberately opaque about these things and I just gave this the ol' half hour of googling, I am open to being contradicted here. But my current understanding of net spending by the government of Israel itself on aid to Gaza is...$0. They do not provide aid. They permit aid from other organizations, funded by other countries, to be provided! But they don't take responsibility for the provision; meeting targets, outcomes, etc, none of that is their job. (I am sure it isn't literally zero btw, but I think you get my point)

It is really telling that when you look up pro-Israel statements by say AIPAC on aid, their headlines are:

Israel Facilitates Humanitarian Aid to Gaza as Hamas Continues to Attack

And they criticize the UN because the UN trucks aren't being delivered:

The United Nations and other international agencies are largely responsible for the existing delays in aid deliveries into Gaza. The U.N. has not been able to distribute aid at the rate that Israel is processing it, causing back-ups at the border crossings after Israeli inspections are completed. On March 3, the U.N. received 234 trucks in Gaza but only distributed 131 trucks of aid to civilians in the enclave.

If this was the US military, and the UN was getting aid trucks and failing to send them, we would send more of our own trucks? That we have? Because aid is part of the military operation. But Israel doesn't do that - because it doesn't have any trucks. Because aid isn't part of the military operation.

Which is why the bill banning UNRWA that is being passed does not mention aid provision to Gaza:

The international community has raised alarm over the legislation, which was passed without a plan in place for a humanitarian agency to replace UNRWA.

Again going off news sources here, link for the actual bill is currently down, if I am wrong will correct here, but I think it all tracks. So in the article above, you get statements from the government when people ask about aid, they reply, oh yeah these other aid organizations will fill the gap.

Then you ask the aid organizations themselves and they go, no, we won't fill the gap! We don't have the resources to do that! Which is logical when you realize Israel isn't funding those orgs. They don't know or care about their funding status. Hopefully someone else will figure that out - aid is someone else's problem. Those government remarks are just off the cuff, they aren't a plan.

Which I want to loop back around to the casus belli for the ban - UNRWA having ties to Hamas. That, to me, is one of those "uh duh, and?" things - Hamas is the government of Gaza. UNRWA runs schools there? And medical clinics? You think they do that...without contact with the government? This is just silly, the UN Mission in Afghanistan obviously had connections to the US Government! Government officials, working in both, par for the course.

But, and this is far more important, it is irrelevant. I completely agree that UNRWA has many people who are sympathetic to Hamas in it, because obviously they do. You want to ban it, dumb but okay. You propose a bill outlining the $2 billion dollars and the 5 partnered aid organizations and the 400 IDF trucks that will deliver aid to replace their work, sure. Whatever man, do your small bore politics bullshit.

That is not what they are doing.

Now, Israel has in fact allowed a bunch of aid in Gaza, I don't doubt that like USAID and the non-profit community and the governments of the UK and Japan and so on are gonna pivot funding to a bunch of organizations that will do herculean work stepping up operations and interfacing with the IDF checkpoint system and get aid in. Maybe they will do such a bang-up job that the cost in suffering won't be that high. Israel did give 3 months after all, they aren't the literal worst they could be.

But I do think at a certain point, the line between indifference and malice just ceases to matter. The UNRWA bill isn't some breaking point or big policy shift - it is just a highly revealing moment in the Israeli approach, why the war there has gone the way that it has. And it is, as the kids say, not a good look.

(h/t @loving-n0t-heyting as this was initially a reblog of their post, but they mentioned getting drama in the notes so I split it off; sorry to deny you the precious +1 internet point)

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 28

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Pregnancy stuff - bodily fluids, etc.

A/N: Still worried about Daryl's character in this, but I guess I will probably continue to do that since this is a situation we haven't seen him in during these seasons. Anyway, game on.

Two days. Three centimeters. Nothing really new other than a few small, quick contractions that were nothing more than a tightening of your belly. Daryl stayed close, mainly venturing outside only to smoke or relieve himself, and, of course, he accompanied you when you needed to go. At that very moment, you were lying propped up on a mountain of pillows that everyone had given you. Daryl was sitting cross-legged by your feet, sharpening his knife.

“Do you think something’s wrong?” You asked, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth. The archer looked up and studied you, looking back down at the whetstone before shaking his head. The sound of the blade sliding against it made your skin crawl. “Can you—stop that please?” He sighed but sheathed the knife and tossed the whetstone onto the top of the things in his bag. He hadn’t been speaking much which concerned you. You watched him scrub a hand over his face before keeping it there and propping his elbow on his thigh. “Daryl, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” His voice was gravelly, tired even, but not unkind. You knew he had slept, or had at least been lying down with you while you did. “Ya hurtin’ or anythin’?” He still had his face covered.

“Mm-mm. Thumper’s awake though. It’s Cirque du Soleil in there.” His hand finally moved to smooth back over his hair, leaving the shorter pieces askew. “Hey.” His eyes met yours again, worry evident and overflowing. “Come over here?” His left hand clenched into a fist but then flexed open again. Daryl got to his feet, taking a single step toward you before bending down to press a kiss into your hair. 

“Gonna have a smoke. Right outside if ya need anythin’.”

You watched him go and sighed, turning your attention to your stomach. “I think you’re scaring your daddy, Thumps. Me too, a little bit, if I’m being honest.” The baby hadn’t been as active over the last 24 hours, but Hershel had reassured that it was normal for movement to decrease in the last part of pregnancy. “I don’t know how good of a mom I’m gonna be. I didn’t exactly have a shining example. And your daddy—he’s gonna really need our patience, kiddo. Shit, we’re both gonna need patience.” There was the smallest ripple beneath your palm. “We’re flying blind here.”

Sounds of a scuffle on the porch had you sitting up straight in a flash, eyes wide and darting. 

“Daryl?”

He staggered in the door—walker blood on his arm and his knife—before gaining his footing and bending to grab your boots. “Gotta go!” He was calling for the others while helping you get ready and grabbing up what blankets he could to stuff into the second bag. You could hear the moans and scratches and thumps just outside the wall. “C’mon, just leave the rest. We gotta move.”

You nodded, leaving the remaining blankets, pillows, and your sweatpants. It would be freezing in just your leggings but as long as you were alive, then you couldn’t really complain. 

Daryl threw one of the bags on his back—along with his crossbow—while you shouldered the other bag. Knife in one hand, he took yours in the other and was pulling, the first of the herd of corpses tumbling into the house, slimy fingers grasping so closely that you felt the tug on your hood before they seemed to have lost their grip. 

Everyone was sprinting out the back, Rick waiting until you and Daryl had passed to follow and pull the door closed behind him. The truck was blessedly close. Daryl was pulling the bag from your shoulder and opening the door simultaneously, letting you climb inside while he tossed both packs into the back and rounded to the drivers side. You had the key ready and in the ignition, your heart rate slowing the moment his foot hit the gas. 

“Y’okay?” 

Catching your breath—winded by fear and exertion and well, the extra weight of the human growing inside your belly—you looked over just in time to see him take his right hand off the wheel, flex his fingers as they moved just the slightest distance toward you, and then place it right back where it started. 

“Yeah.” You answered breathlessly, swallowing and nodding. “Yeah, we’re okay.” He relaxed a little. His next question would have been about Thumper, so why not ease his mind quickly? “Are you okay? The one outside, before you—”

“M’alright. Ain’t bit or nothin’.” He mumbled, dragging his left thumb over his bottom lip before he began chewing on the skin there, thickened from all the scarred wounds he had given himself, small as they were. He was anxious. He had every right to be. You could go into labor at any moment and another temporary home had been overrun. It had been months of this shit. Run, run, run, and—for a change of pace—run again. 

Hand steadying your belly, you twisted in the seat to look behind the truck for the headlights of the van. When you didn’t see them, you swiveled back to check the side mirror, finding it easier to watch in that position. There was nothing but the soft red glow of the truck’s tail lights. “I don’t see them.”

“They’ll show an’ we’ll pull off. Come up with somethin’.” His eyes slid over to you and back. “Can’t keep ya out on the road.”

You couldn’t disagree. You could feel your ankles swelling inside your boots. Your pelvis and hips ached, your lower back felt strained. Your stomach was tightening in a small contraction. You were just highly uncomfortable and more than a little tired. Your head fell back against the headrest, eyes closed. You must have dozed because when you opened your eyes, the truck was still and Daryl was gone. 

“Daryl?” You quavered, grabbing the dashboard as you slid to the edge of the seat to be able to survey the surroundings. It was too dark. You could barely see inside the cab itself. “Daryl!” Just as you grabbed for the door handle, the driver’s side door opened at full tilt and the archer peered inside.

“M’right here. Y’okay?”

You exhaled sharply, not even realizing you’d been holding your breath. “What’s going on? Why’re you out there? Are the others here?” 

Daryl looked over his shoulder, tapping his fingers against the top of the door before turning back toward you, looking at the seat instead of meeting your eyes. “Nah, they ain’t here. Ain’t seen no sign’a ‘em.” You could see the same worry you were feeling reflected in his posture. 

“What will we do if they—” You couldn’t say it. You just couldn’t. Why did the world just insist on taking everything? 

“Do whatever we gotta do.” Daryl sniffed, looking over his shoulder again. He was thinking the same thing you were. Neither of you knew the first thing about childbirth. You turned to get out of the truck, an ache in your lower back while your stomach tightened in a contraction making you wince, your fingers wrapped around the door handle. “Stay in the truck.” Your hand fell away but the pain remained. It wasn’t unbearable and after a moment, your muscles loosened. The pain in your back remained but lessened.  “Y’alright?”

“Mhm.” You answered quickly. Laying back against the seat, you blew upward to move an unruly hair from your face. You were so tired but you couldn’t sleep, not while your partner was standing outside the truck alone and keeping watch. It wouldn’t even do much good to try when there was no comfortable position you could find with your back twinging. Still, you found your eyelids drooping. When the truck rocked the slightest bit, you didn’t startle. A warm hand wrapped around your shoulders and pulled, and you let yourself be guided to lie on Daryl’s thigh.

“Get some sleep.”

With a hum, you turned to face his stomach so your own could rest upon the seat. His hand settled on your ribs. 

“I love you.” You mumbled, already halfway gone into slumber. The last thing you felt was his fingertips graze along your jaw.

It was daylight when you next opened your eyes, the taut skin of your stomach pulling uncomfortably tight while your back spasmed. The contractions themselves were merely annoying while the pain in your back was constant, made worse when your muscles tensed. Grimacing, you glowered at your belly. “Good morning to you, too.” You were no longer pillowed on Daryl’s thigh, actually alone in the cab. You made it up to an elbow when you heard voices. Familiar voice.

“You sure you’re alright? Y/N alright?"

“She’s sleepin’.”

You had to grab the steering wheel to haul yourself upright, opting for the passenger door. Carol was the first to see you and sprinted in your direction. You stood still and let her come to you, your ankles just too swollen and sore to move more than necessary. Once reaching you, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders with a little less enthusiasm so as not to jar you. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay. When we didn’t see the truck—”

“I know. I was freaking out when I couldn’t see the van.” 

She brushed your hair away from your face once she let you go. “We had to go around the herd and then figure out which direction you two went.” You smiled, but it was a weak attempt. Your back was still aching. “Are you okay?” Behind her, Daryl was watching you. You wondered if he was hearing anything Rick was saying.

You waved her off. “Yeah, I’m fine. So, what’s the plan?”

“Heading South, I guess? I’m not sure. I mean, the main thing is to find somewhere safe enough for you to have that baby. Lori won’t be far behind. A few weeks, at most.” Her eyes dropped to where your hand rested on your stomach and then back again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Go see what’s going on. I don’t really feel like walking over there. I”m just gonna wait in the truck.” After a moment, Carol acquiesced, calling over her shoulder for you to yell if you needed anything. You waved your hand over your head and let it fall to your back, pressing in on where the ache continued. Maybe it was time to tell Daryl something else was happening. Opening the door, you lifted your foot from the ground when you felt something gush from your opening, wetting your underwear and leggings. “Oh, great. And now I pissed myself. Way to go, Y/N!” 

You left the door open and stepped back so you could reach into the truck bed for your bag. You’d have to change but you really really did not want to tell Daryl that had just happened. He was your partner and you were pregnant, so he’d understand but you were sure to get a ya did what now and that would just make you feel more embarrassed. Maybe you could call Carol over and she could help you out of the soiled clothes and hide them until they could be washed. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you grabbed the soft handle of your bag when it happened again. Less of a gush, but a noticeable flow. That’s when reality roundhouse kicked you in the teeth.

Oh shit.

“Hey, Daryl.” You kept your tone even, unalarmed even if you were being absolutely ravaged by panic inside. You left the bag and lowered back down to be flat on your feet. Daryl’s boots were loud on the pavement but at a slow stride. Good. You hadn’t terrified him. 

Yet.

“Yeah?” He noticed where you were standing and glanced into the truck bed. “Need your bag?”

“Well, yes and no.” Your abdomen tightened again, still painless, but aggravating the cramping in your back to a new level. With a hiss through your teeth, you knew you had his full attention without even looking at him.

“S’wrong?” 

You were staring at your feet, expression pinched with pain and concentration while you persevered through the episode. Why the fuck did your back hurt? All too soon, Daryl’s boots were right in front of yours. “I—I think my water broke.” When you could finally think past the throb that was slowly ebbing away into the continuous ache, you raised your head to find him staring at the ground. And then your pants. “What?”

“Ain’t there supposed to be—I dunno—a lot?”

“How the hell should I know? You think I give birth on a regular basis?” You snapped, immediately murmuring an apology. 

“Ya sure ya didn’t just—”

“No, I didn’t piss myself.” More fluid trickled from within you, a miniscule amount but enough to be noticed. “At least I think I didn’t? I mean, I was expecting more of a whoosh. Like Noah’s Ark level of liquid, you know?” And then you were silent. And so was he. You stared at one another, each waiting for the other to say something.

Daryl cleared his throat. “M’gonna—gonna get Hershel.” He turned but barely managed a step before he stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “Or I can stay here? Do ya need me here?”

“Just get Hershel. I’ll be fine for now. Can you get Carol too, please?” You watched him nod, noticed the tick in his clenched jaw, the way he was tapping each fingertip of his right hand against his thumb rhythmically. He was freaking out. And as you felt more liquid soaking into the fabric of your underwear and leggings, so were you. You were wet all the way down past your knees. 

“Daryl said you needed me.” Carol’s voice brought your head up, your expression triggering the worry that took over her own. “What’s wrong?”

“I think—I either really had to pee or my water broke.” You shifted from foot to foot, carefully keeping your thighs apart. You had never felt so humiliated in your entire life. If your father could see you now—well, honestly he’d probably be laughing and saying take it easy, peanut, it’s just some wet pants. 

“It’s okay.” Carol soothed, encircling her arms around your shoulders. “Anything else going on? Contractions?” You nodded. “How often?”

“I don’t know. Like maybe every half hour but my back is killing me. It just—it hasn’t stopped hurting since it started last night.” She was listening so intently that it made you nervous. “The contractions don’t hurt, but man, they make the back pain fucking horrible.”

Carol smoothed your hair and took your face in her hands, giving you that sweet Carol smile. “Sweetheart, I think that your water did break and that you’re in labor.” You felt your eyes widen and your breaths coming quicker. “It’s okay, just breathe. Daryl’s on his way over with Hershel.”

Daryl came straight to you, the nervousness surrounding him so strongly that it made your chest tighten further. He didn’t say anything as he usually did when you floundered over your responses. When Hershel asked permission to examine you then and there, you began to fidget. 

“I guess there’s not much of a choice, is there?” You lamented, looking to your partner. His head was down and he was trembling. You’d have to talk to him later when there was no one else around. 

“I’m afraid not.” Hershel could see you were anxious. His soft spoken words were proof enough of that. 

Daryl climbed into the cab first and helped you in, letting you rest your head on his thigh while Carol pulled off your sodden leggings and underwear. The examination was quick, much to your relief. 

“As far as I can tell, it was indeed your water breaking. We have no litmus paper for confirmation, but the source of the fluid appears to be from the vaginal opening and not the urethra.” You knew this would happen eventually but that made it no less terrifying. “You can likely expect the contractions to become more intense, closer together as you dilate. They may or may not be painful as we talked about. Daryl, you’ll need to time them.”

“Okay.” Was all he said, quiet and contemplative. Hands at your shoulder blades, he helped you to sit up.

“Rick,” the vet called out, “we need to find somewhere safe and fast.” The deputy jogged over, looking quizzically between all the faces. Carol quickly occupied the old man’s place with fresh clothing from your bag, covering your lower half from view. “Y/N will be giving birth soon and needs a quiet, safe enough place to deliver.”

“These are likely to get wet too, but you can’t ride around in soaked clothing. Beth and Maggie had some pads, so I thought maybe they could help, too.” You nodded robotically. This should be the happiest experience of your life and all you could feel was an overwhelming sense of foreboding. What if you screamed during the birth and brought down a herd? What if the baby cried too loud? What if something went wrong? What if? What if? What if?

Carol helped you get dressed and situated in the truck while Daryl looked over a map with the others. You watched him from the side mirror, smiling when you saw that he could barely focus, continuously glancing toward the truck. You could feel the beginnings of another contraction, the twitching inside before your stomach would tighten and you’d need to breathe through the pain in your back. It still wasn’t unbearable but it was enough to coax a whimper from your lips. Right in the middle of the episode, there was a gentle tap on the window. Lori was looking through the glass sympathetically, waiting patiently until you could use the window crank.

“How’re you holding up?” She asked, reaching in to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

You saw no reason to lie. “I’m terrified.” Wringing your hands over your belly, you sniffled in an attempt to hold back the tears. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. “I don’t know what to expect. The pain, you know. What if I cause someone to get hurt because I can’t take it? What if something’s wrong with Thumper? What if—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Her hand landed gently on your shoulder and you lost the battle with the tears that were demanding to fall. “Everything you’re feeling is normal. Well, as normal as it can be in a world full of the walking dead. It’s all going to be fine. All things considered, you’ve handled this pregnancy like a warrior. I have no doubt that you’ll get through bringing that baby into the world just fine.”

You wiped at your face almost angrily. “Really?”

“Really.” She smiled, looking as if she were going to say something else but her eyes moved to somewhere behind you. She squeezed your shoulder. “It’ll all be okay. We’re going to be leaving soon. We’ll find a safe place.” Another glance behind you and, holding her smile, she walked away. 

You were rolling up the window when the driver’s door opened and Daryl climbed in, shutting the door behind him. “Ya doin’ okay?” His voice was just as shaky as he was.

“I’m okay.” You kept your expression soft and reached for his hand. He let you take it. “Are you okay?” 

“Mhm.” He squeezed your fingers and pulled his hand back to start the engine and take hold of the shifter but he didn’t move it.

“Daryl?”

“M’scared shitless.” You blinked for a moment before quickly dismissing the shock from your expression. “Dunno what m’doin’. Dunno how—what m’s’posed to do to help you.” He was staring straight ahead, carefully avoiding your gaze. It was obvious that wasn’t easy for him to admit. 

“Hey.” He ducked his head but he didn’t look at you. “We’re both lost here, but we’ve made it this far.” With a noise of effort and discomfort, you scooted across the seat. The movement had him looking your way with a quick turn of his head.

“What—quit it ‘fore ya—”

“Shut up.” You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him forward for a kiss. It was difficult to hold the position you found yourself in, your back singing with pain, but you both needed the comfort, the closeness. When you separated, you kept the hold on his neck and pressed your forehead to his. “We’re in this together. ‘We’ll handle it’, remember?” Clearing his throat, he waited a moment before he nodded, his forehead bumping yours. 

The van pulled up alongside the truck. With a last kiss to his forehead, you slid back across the seat and slouched to take some of the pressure off your back. Daryl nodded to Rick and then pulled off the roadside and followed behind the others.

“That one actually hurt.” You breathed, rubbing a hand over your belly as the pain faded. You’d been on the road for about three hours, stopping at two homes, both with too many dead wandering too close by. Daryl glanced up at you and then back to the watch he had balanced on top of the steering wheel.

“Last one was ‘bout 21 minutes ago, this’un was ‘bout 52 seconds.” He sat the watch on the seat by his leg and switched hands on the wheel, resting his left elbow on the window panel so he could rub his thumb back and forth across his lip while he obviously chewed the inside of his cheek.

“So they’re lasting about the same amount of time but they’re definitely getting closer together.” Shifting in the seat a little, you hissed at the twinge of pain in your back. “God, my back is the worst part right now, but if it doesn’t get any worse than this, I’ll be golden.” You were very doubtful you’d be that lucky but one could dream, right?

“M’sorry.” Daryl mumbled from behind his thumb.

Your brow furrowed, your head shaking back and forth in confusion. “Why are you sorry?”

“M’the reason you’re goin’ through this.” He cleared his throat sharply, biting into the side of his thumb with more vigor than you’d ever seen before.

“Last time I checked, I was a willing participant in the creation of this tiny human.” You chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. There was a dense fog of tension building inside the cab, one you intended to disperse as quickly as possible before it could soak into either one of you. “This is our baby, Daryl. We decided to do this together.” You started to reach for him but thought better of it for the moment. “We’re going to do this together.”

He looked over at you, glancing back at the road every few seconds. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

You shook your head and smiled fondly. “If the baby is as quiet as you are when they’re upset, then we won’t need to worry about them attracting walkers.” You had meant it as a joke but the archer immediately blanched. “No, Daryl, I just—shit, that was the worst. I’m sorry.”

“Babies cry. How—what—”

“We’ll deal with it when we have to deal with it. Right now, let’s just focus on actually having a baby, okay?” That was enough to at least have him lapse into silence with a nod. You watched the sky darken, knowing two things: there would be no shelter before dark and the vehicles would soon need fuel. Daryl must have been thinking the same, his eyes darting down toward the dashboard. His thumb was hovering in front of his mouth, a smear of blood on each.

“Gonna have to camp tonight.” He swallowed so hard that you saw his throat working. “They’re gonna hafta go lookin’ for fuel.”

“You’re not—”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” The conviction in his tone filled your chest with warmth, even if he didn’t look at you. You couldn’t express your appreciation before another contraction began to build.

“Fuck.” You breathed, holding the side of your belly with one hand while the other reached for the dash. Daryl didn’t need clarification, just reached to pick up the watch. Your back screamed while your stomach tightened and cramped, pulling a whimper from within you that you couldn’t seem to stifle. Breathe, idiot, you told yourself. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It wasn’t the worst pain you’d ever felt, but it still fucking hurt. Seconds felt like hours but soon enough, you could feel the pain ebbing away, your body relaxing. “Christ.” You fell back against the seat, completely wrung out. 

Daryl was still holding the watch, glancing between it, you, and the road. “Minute an' four seconds, last'un was 19 minutes ago.” Before you could comment, the truck sputtered and jerked. The archer was barely able to get it onto the side of the road before it died. He flashed the lights to signal the van, the brake lights illuminating the road ahead as Rick turned around. Daryl’s hands dropped to his lap, his head bowed to stare at them. “Gettin’ closer together.” He almost whispered.

“Yeah.” It was all you could think of to say. “I am not having this baby on the side of the road.” Even as the words left your mouth, you didn’t believe a single syllable.

[reasonsforhope]

Seven thousand more UAW members just walked off the job, expanding the strike to two more plants. Twenty-five thousand autoworkers are now on strike, and the walkout could continue to escalate if the Big Three don’t budge in negotiations.

[UAW president Shawn] Fain announced that Stellantis would be spared this time. The union had been expected to strike all three companies, but, said Region 1 director LaShawn English, three minutes before Fain was scheduled to go on Facebook Live, the UAW received frantic emails from company representatives.

[Note: Love that for the UAW. Also laughing so hard. Three minutes before the next round of strikes were annouced!!]

According to Fain, Stellantis made “significant progress” on cost-of-living allowances, the right not to cross a picket line, and the right to strike over product commitments and plant closures. “We are excited about this momentum at Stellantis and hope it continues,” Fain said...

“See You Next Week — Maybe?”

“These guys wanted to go out a long time ago,” said Cody Zaremba, a Local 602 member at the Lansing GM plant after the news broke that his plant would be joining the strike. “We’re ready. Everybody, truly, I believe, in the entire membership. They’re one with what’s going on.”

Five thousand workers at thirty-eight parts distribution centers across twenty-one states have been on strike since last Friday [September 22, 2023], along with thirteen thousand at three assembly plants in Michigan, Ohio, and Missouri who walked out on September 15. (See a map of all struck facilities here.) ...

The UAW is now calling on community supporters to organize small teams to canvass dealerships that sell and repair Big Three cars and trucks. On Tuesday, the union issued a canvassing tool kit with instructions, flyers, press releases, and talking points.

In negotiations with Ford and GM, autoworkers have clinched some important gains. Among them is an agreement by both companies to end at least one of the many tiers in current contracts, putting workers at certain parts plants back on the same wage scale as assembly workers. The top rate for Big Three assembly workers is currently around $32...

Ford was spared in last week’s escalation, because bargainers there had made further progress on gains for workers.

But today, the UAW once again called out workers at Ford and GM, putting some muscle behind its bold demands — a big wage boost, a shorter workweek, elimination of tiers, cost-of-living adjustments tied to inflation, protection from plant closures, conversion of temps to permanent employees, and the restoration of retiree health care and benefit-defined pensions to all workers.

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023. Article continues below.

Keep Them Guessing

This year, for the first time in recent history, the union has played the three auto companies against each other with its strike strategy, departing from the union’s tradition of choosing one target company and patterning an agreement at the other two.

The stand-up strike strategy draws inspiration from an approach known as CHAOS (Create Havoc Around Our System), first deployed in 1993 by Alaska Airlines flight attendants, who announced they would be striking random flights. Although they struck only seven flights in a two-month period, Alaska had to send scabs on every plane, just in case. The unpredictability drew enormous media attention and drove management up the wall. Meanwhile the union was able to conserve its strength and minimize risk.

The companies miscalculated where the UAW was going to strike first, stockpiling engines and shipping them cross-country to the wrong facilities. Autoworkers relished the self-inflicted supply chain chaos on UAW Facebook groups and other social media platforms.

Nonstrikers’ morale on the factory floor has gotten a boost from rank and filers organizing to refuse voluntary overtime. With support both from Fain and the reform caucus Unite All Workers for Democracy (UAWD), workers have been encouraging each other to “Eight and Skate,” meaning to turn down extra work and decline to do management any favors.

Majority Public Support

A majority of Americans support the UAW strikers, and the Big Three have taken a PR hit since the strike began, according to a new survey conducted by the business intelligence firm Caliber.

“Eighty-seven percent of respondents told us they were aware of the strike,” Caliber CEO Shahar Silbershatz told the Intercept. “It’s clear the strike is not just causing commercial repercussions, but reputational repercussions as well.”

These reputational repercussions will only worsen...

"We Can Unmake It"

Fain didn't pull any punches in his speech... “That’s what’s different about working-class people. Whether we’re building cars or trucks or running parts distribution centers; whether we’re writing movies or performing TV shows... we do the heavy lifting. We do the real work. Not the CEOs, not the executives.

"And though we don’t know it, that’s what power is. We have the power. The world is of our making. The economy is of our making. This industry is of our making.

“And as we’ve shown, when we withhold our labor, we can unmake it.”

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023

[valleydean]

The Beginning

Story by: valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) Art by: sidewinder @hawkland

Rating: Explicit

Word count: ~118k

Tags/archive warnings: endverse, zombie apocalypse, graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore, drug use, animal death, Dean POV, Cas POV, Castiel's loss of angelic grace, newly human Castiel, jealous Dean, fear of abandonment, angst, rough sex, body horror, internalized homophobia, denial, minor Cas/OC, drugs as a coping mechanism, sex as a coping mechanism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn, slow build, codependency

Summary: One year ago, soon after Lucifer was freed from the Cage, Dean and Sam parted ways. Since then, Dean has been hunting on his own and, along with Cas despite his declining grace, searching for a way to prevent the apocalypse. When the outbreak of the Croatoan virus begins, Dean and Cas head to Bobby’s to plan their next move. On the way, as the contagion rapidly spreads through America, they must contend with the rabid infected, martial law, and humans who will do anything to ensure their own survival.

Preview:

Cas stepped to the other side of the door and turned around to face Dean. Dean stopped walking, looking forward at Cas and waiting for him to say anything at all.

When he did, it was, “In there.”

Dean pulled his brows together, his eyes flashing to the dark window panel in the door. The directional light of his flashlight bounced off of it, obscuring whatever was inside. The glass was a deeply black mirror.

His gut clenched, feeling like someone had shoved their hand into his intestines and was trying to rip them out. He slowly brought his face closer to the window. His transparent reflection stared back pensively. He looked beyond it, squinting and refocusing his eyes.

There were bodies in there—maybe three of four. He couldn’t really tell. Some of them were in pieces. Pools of blood soaked them, glinting like a knife in the moonlight that fought its way through the dirty windows.

Dean opened his mouth, about to ask what the hell happened.

Something slammed against the other side of the glass. A bloody hand. Dean jumped back, his shout echoing down the hall. It shattered the bubble of silence—so, too, did the banging on the glass as the man inside tried to beat his way out of the room. His dripping red fists pounded incessantly, leaving smears on the window. He was giving off animalistic grunts and hisses.

“What the…” Dean said, his heart still in his throat. He looked at Cas, demanding an answer. Part of him wanted to blame Cas, to ask him why the hell he slaughtered people and left them in a room. But maybe they weren’t people. Then, what? Demons? Monsters?

Something didn’t add up.

The man kept doing everything he could to bust through the glass. Dean noticed the paring knife clutched in his fist.

Cas didn’t kill those people.

“I led them here and locked them inside,” Cas said, as if he’d read Dean’s mind. “They killed each other.”

The lines of Dean’s forehead bunched up when he lifted his brows in surprise. There was something he was missing. It felt like a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue. A distorted memory from a faded dream.

“You’ve seen this before,” Cas supplied. “The Croatoan virus.”

The words hit Dean like a truck. Blanching, he said, “Croatoan? You mean, the thing that turns everybody into Jack Torrance?”

“No, the demon virus that triggers murderous actions in anyone who contracts it,” Cas corrected, and Dean was still too busy freaking out to tell Cas they pretty much said the same thing. Pressing his lips together, Cas turned his gaze on the door, and there was a subdued kind of despondency in them, like he was trying to control how much emotion he showed on his face. “It’s one of the signs of the apocalypse. This is Lucifer’s doing. He unleashed the Horseman Pestilence.”

“Pestilence,” Dean echoed, the word taking a long time to process. He remembered, thirteen months ago, when he and Sam cut the ring off War’s fingers. That had been the day he and Sam parted ways. Dean hadn’t seen his brother since. He’d only talked to him once on the phone, when Sam called him a few weeks later to tell Dean that Lucifer wanted him as his meatsuit.

Dean rattled his head, trying to shake loose any thoughts of Sam. He focused on Cas saying, “The entire town’s been infected.”

Dean remembered how quickly the virus spread—and how it spread. An infected person had to bleed into someone’s open wound. Once the blood mixed, that was it. Soon after, the victim would turn into a one-track-mind, bloodthirsty monster.

He glanced back at the doorway. The man was still standing behind the glass, looking at Dean like he was lunch, but at least he’d stopped pounding on the window.

“It isn’t the only one,” Cas continued. “There are pockets of the virus across America—possibly the world.”

How hadn’t Dean heard about this? His chest felt too small, like his ribcage was shrinking around his heart and lungs. “Where’d it start?”

“I don’t know.”

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest

[sjsmith56]

A Better Man, Part 3 - Structure

Summary: Andrea moves into Bucky’s apartment with the help of two of his guys, Clint and Scott. Steve and Sam prepare for their double date with Natasha and a friend.

Length: 4.2 K

Characters: Bucky, Andrea, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, Sam, Steve.

Warnings: Some assumptions made about why Bucky’s helping Andrea. Some slight jealousy on his part, and a brief moment of panic when he sees something.

Author notes: Some more back story about Bucky.

<<Part 2

Part 3

The following day, Andrea and Lily moved to Bucky’s apartment. He assigned Clint and Scott to the truck, telling them to take whatever furniture Miss Hart wanted to take with her, while he helped her with her personal possessions. There was a moment when he looked at both men with a degree of exasperation when he told them to get a third man to help them when they returned the following day for the rest of her furniture.

“Which fence are we using?” asked Clint, assuming the furniture was stolen.

“No fence,” replied Bucky. “It’s going into my personal storage locker at SHIELD Storage.”

The two men looked at each other. “Boss, we’re not fencing this stuff?”

“No, this is a legit job, boys,” he said. “We’re going to move all her furniture, rewire her house, do some demolition to uncover some leaks and repair them, replace her roof and two windows. We’ll see what else needs doing as we go along. Then, when we’re finished, we’re moving her furniture back.”

“I don’t think I’ve done a legit job for you in the two years since I got out of prison,” said Scott. “What gives?”

Andrea appeared then, with a box from her bathroom, startling Bucky. “Where do you want me to put the things that are going to the apartment?” she asked.

“Right here is fine,” smiled Clint, who was quicker to catch on than Scott when he noticed how his boss reacted. “Why don’t you show me your daughter’s room, so I know which furniture pieces to take.”

“Sure, follow me,” she smiled.

Bucky waited until they were out of earshot. “She doesn’t know about the other things my company does. She’s had a tough break and I’m helping her out with fixing her place up because the bank wouldn’t give her the money to do it.”

“Ah, I get it,” said Scott, nodding his head. “Higher interest rate for the “loan” and if she doesn’t come through with the payments, then you put her to work. She’s cute; could bring in some coin with the right customers. Unless you want her for yourself.”

“No, it’s not like that, Scott,” sighed Bucky. “I don’t do things like that. You know what? Just move her things like I told you. Keep your mouth shut and don’t talk about being in prison. Tell Luis as well. I’m assuming you’re going to ask him to help move the rest of her things to the storage locker.” Scott shrugged then nodded. “Fine, but just don’t let on to her what my company really does. She’s a nice lady.”

“You got it.”

Scott picked up the box Andrea just brought out and took it out to the truck. When he got back Clint called him into the baby’s room where he had already partially taken apart the crib. Being a father himself he knew how to do it and had a zip lock bag for all the screws that would be needed to reassemble it. The two men spoke quietly about their boss doing a favour for this admittedly nice lady, mostly wondering what was in it for him. It was most unusual.

In Andrea’s room, Bucky was helping her pack clothing, then taking the suitcases and boxes out to the truck. They didn’t talk much but they were very much aware of each other. Helping her pack was a benign activity, but he found himself actually enjoying it. With her, he wasn’t Boss, the owner of a general contracting company that did a lot of side jobs for the mob, and other criminals. He was just Bucky, a regular guy. Lily, who was on the bed, sat happily watching them both. When she became hungry and began fussing, he excused himself, closing the door so Andrea could nurse her. Even that felt natural, giving her space to be a mother.

Clint and Scott were carrying the small dresser / change table from the baby’s room down the hallway. He went in, saw the crib mattress was still there and carried that out to the truck. Just a few more boxes would finish that room. Looking at how full the truck was Bucky wondered where it would all fit at his place. How could a baby have this much stuff? Clint saw where he was looking and grinned as Scott returned to the house.

“Babies need a lot,” he commented. “When Laura and I had our first we lived in a small one-bedroom flat. It was tight but we made it work. Of course, when she got pregnant again, we needed to move somewhere bigger.” Bucky smiled slightly but Clint could tell the man was worried. “Buck, who is she?”

“Rumlow’s ex-girlfriend. The baby is his daughter. She wants nothing to do with him.”

“Can’t say I blame her. He’s a real piece of work. Is she your girlfriend now? Is that why she’s moving in with you?”

“No. She had nowhere to live while I fix her house, so I offered my place to her.”

He gave his boss an appraising look, then patted him warmly on the arm and returned to the house. Bucky liked that about his guys. Without an exception they were decent guys at a basic level. Although many of his employees had served time for one thing or another, he never hired anyone who had committed a violent offence. No murderers, no rapists, or anyone that had assaulted a person during a crime. Hurting women, children, or senior citizens was seen by all of them as being the mark of an animal. About half of his employees, like Clint, were married family men. Unable to get a decent job that allowed them to support their families, with Barnes Contracting they had work that was usually manual labour but occasionally involved other illegal activities, mostly transporting stolen goods as needed by various criminal groups. Bucky drew the line at any violent crime, not taking any jobs that involved murder, assault, or kidnapping. Hydra Contracting didn’t have such morals and the owner’s nephew, Brock Rumlow, could be a very violent man.

An hour later they were packed up and on their way to the apartment. Bucky, who came with Clint and Scott in the truck, rode back with Andrea in her car. He had already arranged for the two men to use the service dock and elevator for the truck contents, but he directed Andrea to the regular parking garage door. Pulling a card out of his wallet, he handed it to her, gesturing for her to hold it over the sensor so the door opened.

“This is yours,” he said. “I have two spots but only use one. Don’t leave it in the car if you go out. If someone steals it, they can access the building.”

“Do I get my own keys?” she asked, as she entered the large space.

“Of course,” he answered. “They’re at security.”

He directed her to the parking spot and got out of the car. She came around to the passenger side back door and opened it, undoing the restraints on the baby carrier that Lily was in. Bucky took a couple of suitcases from the car and waited for her to join him at the elevator lobby.

“There are four resident elevators,” he explained. “Four suites per floor, except for the penthouse which has its own private access. You need the key card to slide into the reader and it takes you directly to the suite. Visitors have to be admitted by security and only after the resident has confirmed that they can come up. You can lock down the elevator door into the suite if you want to prevent anyone from entering that manages to get to the floor.”

“Is everyone who lives here paranoid, or something?” she asked, amused.

“Something like that,” he answered, his face serious. “Let’s just say we paid a lot of money for this type of security, and we all have a reason for it. We have to make a stop at the security desk so they can take your picture and Lily’s. Only they can issue an elevator key card.”

Her face dropped a little at that bit of news, but she followed him onto the elevator. After the brief ascent, the doors opened, and he escorted her into a richly appointed lobby area. Nodding his head at the guard on duty, Bucky presented his resident’s card.

“I need to register Miss Hart and her daughter as living with me for the next three months,” he said. “I have given her one of the two garage cards in my possession for the parking garage. She needs an elevator card. The truck with her possessions should be arriving at the service dock within minutes. The two men bringing her things are already registered with you.”

He gave the man Clint and Scott’s name, then signed several forms as Andrea watched, somewhat concerned at all the formalities. She was told to stand in front of a small digital camera and stand still for a moment without smiling. Lily had to come out of her carrier and held up for the same thing but at least they didn’t try to stop her from having a happy face. Several minutes later Andrea received the elevator card, and both her and Lily’s resident card. From there, they could finally ascend to the 21st floor where the elevator opened directly into Bucky’s apartment, a bright and modern space.

“This is it,” he said. “Three bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, plus there is a powder room for visitors. I’ve made the third bedroom into a home gym since I usually don’t have the inclination to go to the one on site. Feel free to use either.” He gestured towards the large wall of windows that were very visible from where they stood. “It’s open plan, combined living / dining, and kitchen. Come on, I’ll show you where you and Lily can sleep.”

He led her down a short hallway, stopping to show her the home gym. Next to it was a large bedroom with a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, a walk-in closet with built in drawers, a small seating area, and a wall-mounted TV. Like the open plan area, the exterior wall was all glass, giving an impressive view of the city. Placing the suitcases on the bed he stood there, watching Andrea’s reaction to everything.

“It’s really nice,” she said, looking back at him from where she stood in front of the window. “Are the rooms soundproofed? I won’t hear you using your gym or if you have an overnight guest, will I?”

“I don’t date,” he answered, feeling his cheeks become warm. “My room is on the other side of the apartment. The rooms are very well soundproofed but if you hear anything from the gym, please let me know. I don’t have to be in there in the middle of the night.”

He wanted to walk over to where Andrea was standing and take in the view with her, but he heard the indicator of the elevator arriving and left her there. It was Clint and Scott, bringing up the change table and crib pieces on a flatbed dolly. They had been at his place before, and he told them to take everything except the food to the guest bedroom. The food would go into the kitchen to be added to his own supply. Returning down to the parking garage, Bucky retrieved everything that was packed in her vehicle, including the stroller. As he went up the elevator with it, he couldn’t help but picture himself going for walks with Andrea and Lily. It brought a smile to his face that he still had when the elevator doors opened.

“Good, you’re back,” said Scott, who was waiting for the elevator. “Clint is assembling the crib, so I need help for the rest of the stuff.”

It made sense that Clint would take on that task, but Bucky felt a small sense of jealousy of not being the one to assemble it. He already felt a sense of responsibility for Andrea and Lily; the thought of another man doing something that he wanted to do bothered him. Being bothered by it bothered him. For the next while he helped Scott unload the truck. On several of the returns he found Clint and Andrea just standing there, talking, and laughing. What is he doing? Is he flirting with her? He’s a married man. His temper became shorter with each trip, until he dropped the final box of clothing with a thud on the floor of the guest bedroom, startling both of them. Even Lily, sitting on a blanket in front of the window, jumped.

“Are you done here?” he asked Clint. “Scott needs help bringing the food from the pantry and fridge.”

“Yeah, Boss,” smiled the older man. “We were just sharing baby stories. It’s been a while since I was around a six-month old. The things that she’s gonna do in the next year are going to blow Andrea’s mind.”

They’re on a first-name basis? Jesus fucking ….

Recognizing the look that was forming on Bucky’s face, Clint said his goodbyes to Andrea and left. She seemed oblivious to Bucky’s mood, ignoring how tense he seemed.

“He’s so nice,” she said, as she unpacked a box of clothing onto the bed, sorting it. “Thinks the world of you, Steve, and Sam. Said you helped him through a tough time. I guess you really are one of the good ones.”

Shit, why did he have to say that to her? Just when he was building up a good mad at Clint.

“I’m not really but I try to treat people fairly.” That was lame. “Do you need help unpacking?”

“Sure, just grab a suitcase and open it. I can tell you where I want the contents to go. It sure is nice having built-in cabinetry in the closet. Without dressers in here the room is plenty big enough for the crib and change table.”

He opened a suitcase then closed it again, quickly. It was the one with her lingerie in it. He couldn’t handle those items, not without …. Shit, shit, fuck, fuck. Why did I think of that? Andrea looked over at him, frowning, then reached over and opened it. A small smile on her face was the only sign she understood his reaction.

“Why don’t I handle the clothing, and you go start unpacking the food boxes?” she suggested.

Only too happy to take Andrea’s suggestion, Bucky went to the kitchen, where a couple of boxes waited to be opened. He took everything out, assembling it on the large kitchen island, then began transferring them to his mostly bare pantry. By then Scott and Clint came up with a fully loaded dolly and brought it into the kitchen, stacking the boxes on the counter.

“That’s it, boss,” said Clint. “You need us to help unpack this lot?”

He glanced at the pair and shook his head. “No, you’ve done enough.” Realizing that sounded petty he stopped what he was doing. “Thanks for coming out. You’ll be at Andrea’s place tomorrow with Luis for the rest?”

“Could we have another person?” asked Clint. “Some of her furniture is older stuff that she inherited from her grandmother. That stuff was built to last and is a lot heavier than the newer things.”

“Sure, see who’s in the warehouse tomorrow morning and take your pick,” answered Bucky. “Do you want to be on the general construction crew for her renovation? Clint, you’ve done renovations before, right?”

“Yeah, I've done roofing, finishing, drywall, and painting, too. Maybe we should get more of the guys used to doing real work. Give them a taste of how the rest of the world makes a living.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Bucky. “Get an idea of who’s interested. I have to do some exploratory work first on the areas she wants done and submit plans to the borough for the permits.” The other two men looked at each other. Bucky was getting permits for this renovation? Bucky looked up again. “Are we good here? See you tomorrow when I stop by the house.”

With a nod and a quick stop to say goodbye to Andrea the two men left and went down the elevator. It didn’t need a card to descend but they still stopped at the security desk to say they had finished and were leaving the loading dock. Not much was said between them on the drive back, then just before Clint pulled into the street where the warehouse was Scott cleared his throat.

“Do you think Bucky is thinking of going legit?”

“What makes you say that?” asked Clint, although he had been thinking it the entire trip over.

“No fence for the furniture, he’s doing a legal renovation, no cutting corners, and he gives this woman and her baby a place to stay while he’s working on her place. At first, I thought it was a play to get into her pants or turn her into a working girl, but he shot that down pretty fast.”

“You ever been in love, real love?” Clint looked at Scott as they waited for someone to remote open the gate into the warehouse yard. Scott shook his head. “Take it from me. He’s got it bad for her. He got hurt bad a few years ago by his girlfriend at the time. I didn’t think he would ever trust another woman again, but this one has got under his skin and to be honest, I think it’s a good thing. I think being around her makes him want to be a better man.” He pulled into the yard and backed up into a parking spot before turning off the ignition and sitting there. “If he goes legit, I’m staying with him. You won’t find many better bosses than Bucky Barnes, legit or not.”

“You’re right there,” agreed Scott. He looked towards the security door into the warehouse which had just opened to show Sam waiting for them. “Looks like someone wants to talk to us.”

“Everything go, okay?” asked Sam, as they approached the door into the warehouse.

“Yeah,” replied Clint. “We’re taking Luis and someone else with us tomorrow to move her furniture into storage. Boss said he’ll drop by Andrea’s house then.”

“Good, good,” said Sam, as they walked past several rows of shelving with assorted merchandise on them. “We’ve got a couple of shipments to make tomorrow, but we should have enough trucks and guys to handle it. He’s not coming back tonight, is he?”

“No, he was helping her unpack at his place,” said Clint.

“Good,” said Sam, again, then he stopped at a desk and picked up a box, handing it to Clint. “Your oldest needs one of these for school, right?”

The older man looked at the tablet computer box and smiled. “You remembered. Thanks.”

“No problem. Mrs. Parker has already deleted the serial number from the theft report so it should register properly when your son sets it up. If you two want to call it for the day you can. There’s nothing pressing here.”

Both men picked up their car keys and left. As Sam headed to the hallway that connected the warehouse to the office, he looked at his watch. Steve had called that Natasha woman to set something up for the pair of them tonight and he had an hour to get ready, if he could get out of here now. Without Bucky brooding behind his desk in his office, that was more likely to happen. He came out to the quiet space, noting Mrs. Parker was also gone. The lights were mostly off, leaving only his and Steve’s offices illuminated. Leaning against the door frame of Steve’s office, he watched for a moment as the man finished something on his computer.

“Everything go okay with the move?” he asked, glancing at the standing man.

“Yup, and he’s staying home to help her unpack,” said Sam. “You almost done?”

“Yeah, just gotta dot a couple of more i’s and cross a few t’s.” With a flourish, he saved the work he was doing and logged out, then turned his computer off, swivelling his chair towards Sam. “You ready to go?”

“Yup, just need to know where we’re going so that I can dress appropriately.”

“Barcelona Tapas Bar,” said Steve. “We’re meeting them there at 7:30. Dancing starts at 9, and then you’re on your own.”

“Nice, how did you manage to score reservations there?”

“Promised the manager a crate of Cartizze Prosecco,” said Steve. Sam made a face as it was a premium brand with a big price tag. “I called in some favours. It was delivered this afternoon, and he confirmed our reservations a few minutes later.”

“Rogers, you never cease to amaze me,” smiled Sam. “Shall I pick you up or are we meeting each other there?”

“Meet there.”

With a wave, Sam grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, leaving Steve to finish locking up. He took a good look at the premises, making sure no one was lurking anywhere, and all the doors were locked properly. Then he turned off his office lights, set the alarm system and stepped out, locking the front door. Tonight was going to be a great night.

🍕 🍕

At Bucky’s apartment, he had finally finished putting all the food away that was brought from Andrea’s house. He was about to check on her when she came out of the hallway of her bedroom.

“Well, I fed her and got her down,” she said, approaching the kitchen island. “Can’t believe she hardly slept for most of the day. Maybe I’ll be lucky, and she’ll sleep through the night. If she does, I’ll have to get up and express some milk. You’re okay if I put expressed milk in the freezer, right? It’s handy to have on hand.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he replied. “You okay if I order in some food? I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel much like cooking.”

“Sure, is pizza alright? Ham and mushroom are my favourite toppings.”

“I like loaded but we can get a half and half,” said Bucky, pulling his phone out. Using the app, he placed the order. “It’ll be here in half an hour.”

They were quiet then both began to talk. Bucky gestured to her to go ahead.

“I don’t know much about you, but something you said stuck with me,” she began. “Why don’t you date?”

Bucky let out an audible breath, then walked over to the couch, gesturing to her to sit.

“I had a girlfriend, Dot, who I really loved. Wanted to marry her. Thought she was the one. You know, all that stuff that you’re supposed to feel when you decide you want to share your life with someone. You see my place here. It’s a nice place and the company made enough money for me to buy it, outright. She really liked this modern style of finishing. I brought her here, intending to propose right in front of these windows. She said no; said I wasn’t enough for her and this place wasn’t enough for her to live in. I guess she was expecting a different lifestyle; something grander, more expensive, flashier. You already know me enough to know that’s not me. I was never into the bar or nightclub scene. To me, the perfect life is a family and a quiet corner of the world to be with them. She took the elevator down and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve heard she’s hooked up with some mobster who gives her whatever she wants. So, I figured it was better not to date and be disappointed again.”

“That’s awfully lonely,” commented Andrea.

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. Then you walked into my life. “Maybe someday I’ll get up the courage to try again.”

When the pizza arrived, Bucky put a movie on, and they each curled up on a corner of the couch. It was a pleasant and quiet way to spend the evening. Andrea received a text message from Natasha, telling her about the double date she was on, and how much fun she was having. She didn’t name names, but she hinted that both men were known to Andrea. She was glad Natasha was having a good time, wondering who else went with her. None of her returned texts were answered so she decided to leave it until the next day before she phoned her best friend. The movie ended about 9:30 and both called it a night, having worked hard the entire day.

Part 4>>

Series Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[steddieas-shegoes]

wasting company time

for @corrodedcoffinfest warm up round prompt 'get a job'

rated t | 736 words | no cw | tags: they're idiots and i love them, especially gareth, he is my most special boy

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

If Gareth had to help one more person today, he was going to quit his job.

Which he couldn't. He was the only one in the band who currently had an income.

Eddie had been fired for missing too many shifts because of shows, Jeff was too busy with classes to also have a job, and Frankie was waiting for the right thing to come up. Gareth sucked it up and worked nearly full time at the diner.

He couldn't cook for shit so he was a waiter, and being a waiter was not his ideal position. The waitresses he worked with wore short skirts and flirted their way to decent tips. That didn't exactly work for Gareth, who worked the shift when mostly truck drivers came through with exhaustion seeping from their pores and gruff voices barely even placing an order before ignoring him.

The bell rang above the door and Gareth groaned.

"Have a seat anywhere!" He said from behind the counter, taking an extra minute to gather himself before having to help.

"Nah, you're gonna come with us."

Gareth looked up to see Jeff, Eddie, and Frankie standing at the counter, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm clearly working. I don't get off for another hour."

"You don't need to work anymore."

Gareth was not gonna get his hopes up. They may be smiling and encouraging him to leave his job, but they all were irresponsible sometimes, even Jeff.

"Did you all get jobs?"

"We all have a gig. A decent one. One that pays," Frankie leaned against the counter. "One that requires us going on a little tour."

"You're telling me we have nothing for two years and suddenly we have a tour? With who? Where?" Gareth folded his arms across his chest, frowning. They were fucking with him.

"We didn't have nothing for two years, we had shitty gigs. Everyone starts with shitty gigs," Eddie argues. "And one of those shitty gigs had someone who works with a metal band who's going on tour in a month. They opened for Sabbath on their last tour. We're so fucking in, baby."

Gareth still couldn't believe it.

How did they land that? How did anyone see their Hideout show and think 'yeah, those are the guys we need'?

"I don't understand."

"Take off the apron, even though it's doing wonders for your hips," Eddie wiggled his brows playfully. "And come to the trailer. I've got everything there for us to look at with a lawyer."

"A lawyer? We can't afford a lawyer."

"Correct. But Steve said Nancy could take a look at it and make sure the language isn't trying to fuck us over," Eddie poked Gareth's cheek. "Jeff's mom said her brother could look at it, too, but he technically is an insurance lawyer so it may go over his head."

"Nancy Wheeler is gonna read a contract to make sure we don't sign our lives away?"

"Precisely," Frankie nodded.

"Anyone better for the job?" Jeff asked.

He had a ridiculous crush on Nancy, so of course he would think she could do it easily.

"A real lawyer maybe? Someone who is used to reading contracts?" Gareth was not quitting his job for this.

"Okay, well, do you have real lawyer money hiding somewhere in that apron?" Eddie threw his hands up.

"What's your obsession with this apron?" Gareth teased. "I just don't wanna end up jobless and then not even have this gig to fall back on."

"It's your damn hips! I said!" Eddie rolled his eyes. "If I promise to find a lawyer, will you please quit this stupid job?"

"If you can find a lawyer willing to work for free to look at that contract, I will quit this job and give you my last paycheck."

"Deal!" Eddie ran from the diner immediately, leaving Jeff and Frankie shaking their heads.

"He's never gonna find one," Jeff said.

"I know. I'll see you guys in the morning for practice."

Frankie waved and walked back out the door, but Jeff stayed for a moment.

"Hey, I know you're being cautious. But also, I think this would be good for us. We should probably give it a go."

Gareth looked behind him at the line cook shoving a french fry into his mouth, then at the one guy asleep at a table in the corner.

"Yeah, alright. Let's give it a try."

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

Read on AO3 | Join the tag list

Summary:

Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Content warnings: age difference (15 years), explicit sexual content

Additional tags: oral sex (m receiving), masturbation, dirty talk, pet names, angst, internalized guilt, Joel Miller is emotionally constipated but Trying His Best. Let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Joel stops eating lunch with you after that day in the kitchen. You try not to let it affect you, but you miss him. You miss the easy conversation and the way he makes you laugh without even trying. It’s hard to focus on studying with him constantly on your mind, especially when he’s so close but just out of reach.

A few days pass without any interaction with him at all. He comes inside and immediately heads upstairs and the only reason you even know he’s there is the heavy footsteps above your head.

So you’re surprised when one day he comes downstairs and heads straight towards you, stopping a respectable distance away. He clears his throat and runs a hand nervously through his hair.

“Sarah’s daycare just called. I forgot it was a half day for them, I gotta go pick her up,” he says. “I’ve got grout mixed upstairs. I’ll come back as soon as I can, but I’ll have to see if Tommy can come watch her.”

“Oh. Why don’t…you can just…bring her here? I can watch her, if you need,” you reply. He stops his nervous fidgeting, hands dropping to his side.

“Really?” He asks. “You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to interrupt your studyin’.”

“Not getting much done today, anyways,” you say pointedly. He presses his lips together.

“Right. Well, uh, if you’re sure. I’ll go get her now.”

“Why don’t you give me your cell number. You can call me if you change your mind and are going to take longer getting back here,” you suggest.

He nods, digging his phone from his pocket and handing it to you. You pass him yours from the table. After entering your number, you exchange devices again. You check your contacts, biting back a smile seeing the entry titled “Joel (contractor)”.

As if you wouldn’t know who he was.

“Okay, well. I’ll be back,” he says, heading out the door with a lingering look.

��———

Sarah is sitting in her car seat, asking Joel a thousand questions about where they’re going.

“Daddy’s gotta work, sweetheart. But I’ve got a very nice friend who’s goin’ to watch you while he’s busy,” he explains. “We’re going to her house.”

“Oh. Does she have toys?” She asks.

“I’m not sure. She might.”

“I hope so. Does she have snacks?”

“Probably.”

Her questions continue in the same manner until he pulls into your driveway. She frees herself from her car seat and hops from the truck, running to the front door faster than Joel can catch up. She’s bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet as he pushes the door open, but she clings to his arm as he enters the hallway.

Joel checks the kitchen but finds it empty. He calls out your name.

“In the living room!” You shout back.

He’s surprised to find you surrounded by a couple large storage totes, digging through one and pulling out another box stuffed with what looks like fabric. You look up when they enter and smile brightly.

“Hi! You must be Sarah,” you say to his little girl, giving her your name as well. “Do you like Barbie dolls?”

Sarah nods, her grip loosening from her dad’s arm as you start to pull some Barbie dolls from one bin. Joel watches you tell his daughter about how they’d been yours when you were her age, and that they’re very excited to have someone play with them again. You open the box of clothes and accessories, Sarah’s face lighting up at all the options.

Watching you with his daughter feels like a fist to the gut. You’re so attentive and kind, patiently explaining the different dolls to her and their backstories that he just can’t look away.

It’s not until you look up at him and your smile falters the slightest bit that he clears his throat and says, “Alright, sweetie, you all good here?”

“Yes, daddy,” she says dutifully, focused on changing the outfit on one of the dolls you’d given her.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” he says, more to you than to Sarah. You only nod in response.

He trudges up the stairs with a lump in his throat and a vise grip around his heart.

_______

Sarah might just be the best kid you’ve ever met. She’s smart and funny, making up the silliest stories for the Barbie’s to act out. You can see why Joel is such a softie for her.

“Do you have anything else we can play with?” She asks after about an hour of playing with the dolls.

“Why don’t we head outside?” You ask, picking the toys up off the floor.

“Okay! Can I show you my cartwheel?” She asks, jumping up from the floor and trailing after you towards the back door.

“Uh, absolutely!”

She runs full speed out the sliding glass door, bypassing the pool and heading straight for the grassy yard beyond. “Watch! Watch!” She calls out to you as she plants her hands to the ground and shows off her cartwheel.

“Wow, that’s awesome, Sarah!” You call out. You dig in the pool storage and pull out a forgotten soccer ball that you’re pretty sure has been in there since high school. It’s a little flat, but it’ll do.

Sarah continues to do cartwheels through the yard while you kick the ball around. She catches sight of what you’re doing and runs over to join, watching as you demonstrate some of the footwork from high school sitting in the recesses of your mind.

Sarah eventually starts to complain about being hungry, so you head back inside to set up a snack for her. “Give me one second, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

You jog up the stairs and head to your parent’s room. Joel’s wiping the excess grout from the shower tile he’s just laid when you tap on the doorframe to get his attention. He looks up at you in surprise, dropping the wet sponge in the bucket and standing.

“Hey. I was just about to make a snack for Sarah and I wanted to make sure she doesn’t have any allergies or anything?” You ask. He stares at you for a moment before taking a step closer, hand wrapping around the back of your neck and tugging your lips to his.

You’re surprised but your traitorous body responds before your brain can, your lips moving hungrily against his as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He presses you back against the door frame, his calloused and slightly damp hands coming up to grip your face and angling it to his liking. His tongue slips past your lips and tangles with yours, making you whimper.

He pulls away all too soon, smoothing a hand against your hair as he stares into your eyes, his breathing quick and labored.

“No…no allergies,” he finally says. You huff out a laugh.

“Right…you could have just said that,” you joke. He cracks a smile.

“Get back downstairs. I’ll be done soon.”

________

Joel tried to do the respectable thing. He really did. He was going to let that one slip up be left in the past, move on with a perfectly normal working relationship. No more lunches, no more lingering in the doorway to talk to you when he comes in the morning and you’re still sleepy, sipping your coffee that’s more sugar than anything. No more after dark thoughts of you as he lays in bed palming his cock. Just him and the bathroom remodel.

But then you’d offered to look after Sarah, and you could have easily stuck her in front of the TV while you went about your day, but you gave her your undivided attention. He’d watched from the window as you showed her some fancy soccer footwork that he didn’t even know you knew how to do. You cheered for her when she landed six cartwheels in a row and then laughed when she crashed to the ground, dizzy and giggling. He’d watched you run around the yard with her on your back, a pool noodle held in her hand as she commanded you to charge forward.

And just like it always does when it comes to you, the weak walls of his resolve crumble around him.

To top it all off, you came upstairs to ask him the most innocent but thoughtful question and goddamnit, he can’t do this. He had to kiss you.

Now that you’re no longer standing in front of him, the logical part of his brain kicks back on and the guilt returns. What the hell is expecting out of this? He’s here temporarily, for a job, and so are you. You’ll return to school at the end of the summer and he’ll be here…what? Pining after a girl fifteen years his junior who could have any number of men her age falling at her feet?

Joel scrubs a hand over his face. Much as he hates to admit it, he’s going to have to man up and have a real conversation about all this. He pulls his phone from his pocket and shoots a text to Tommy to see if he can come over and keep an eye on Sarah tonight after she goes to bed.

________

Joel comes down about thirty minutes later and Sarah runs towards him, throwing her arms around his legs and hugging me tightly.

“We had so much fun, daddy! She watched me do all my cartwheels and we played calgary!”

You snort. “Cavalry, sweetie,” you correct.

“That!” She exclaims. Her head tilts back to look up at her dad with big brown eyes so full of love it makes your stomach flip.

“It sounds like you had a great day, baby,” Joel says, running a hand over her curly brown hair. “It’s time we head out.”

She pouts and Joel hits her with a look that’s so quintessentially dad that you have to bite back a laugh. The young girl sighs dramatically before stomping out of the room towards the front door.

Joel reaches a hand out towards you and you step forward, slipping your hand into his. “Can I come over later? To talk?” He asks quietly, fingers tangling with yours.

“S-sure,” you reply. He gives you one last nod before he lets go of your hand, heading out the door after Sarah.

_______

Tommy comes over around 8:00 that evening, after Sarah’s in bed following another chapter of James and the Giant Peach. He lets himself in, joining Joel in the kitchen where he’s cleaning up after dinner.

“Where ya off to this late, old man?” Tommy asks, opening the freezer and peering inside. “No ice cream?”

“Get outta my fridge,” Joel snaps, whacking him with the dish towel in his hands. “And none of your business, nosy lil shit.”

Tommy holds his hands up in surrender. “Geez, touchy.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go riflin’ through the pantry, either, I already hid the cookies.”

Tommy’s annoyed groan follows him out the door. In the truck, he finds your name in his contacts and opens a new text thread.

On my way.

_______

Your phone chimes on the coffee table, screen lighting with a message notification from Joel letting you know he’s on his way. It’s the first time he’s ever contacted you by phone, and you smile down at the brand new text thread despite the dry, no nonsense message.

You fight the urge to reply, fidgeting in your seat with nerves. You have nothing else to focus your attention on as you wait for Joel to show up. You’ve already cleaned up after dinner and your second glass of wine sits on the coffee table. You’ve changed into your pajamas, a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized UT t-shirt you’d stolen from an ex-boyfriend.

The man himself puts you out of your misery with a soft knock at your front door. You open it to find Joel standing there in another pair of jeans, dark wash instead of the light wash work pair he usually wears, and a soft looking flannel, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes roam your body, every place they linger tingling under his gaze. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’m surprised you didn’t just use the key.”

“Key is for the job. This ain’t part of the job.”

“Right,” you mumble, trailing behind him as he heads for the kitchen. “You want anything to drink? I’ve got beer.”

“Sure.”

You grab a can from the fridge and carry it with you to the living room, setting it beside your glass of wine on the coffee table. You take a seat, folding your legs under you. Joel stands near the doorway, like he’s not sure whether to sit or make an escape.

Finally, he joins you on the couch, a healthy cushion length of distance between your bodies. He smooths his palms over his thighs before grabbing the can of beer and popping the top.

“So…you want to talk?” You ask, breaking the tense silence. He sighs.

“I wanted to apologize. For what happened the other day,” he says, staring at the can of beer like it’ll say the words for him. “I shouldn’t have left you like that. After.”

You remain quiet. It had been shitty, getting left behind, all the adrenaline leaving your body and making you feel untethered. You’d cleaned yourself up and hidden in your room the rest of the afternoon, curled up in your bed.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’ here,” he confesses.

“Sure felt like you knew what you were doing,” you comment. Your smile is smug as you watch his cheeks heat.

“What I mean is,” he continues, throwing you a sharp look that reminds you of the one he’d used on Sarah that afternoon, “I don’t know what you’d want with a guy like me, baby. You’re goin’ back to school in a month, you’ve got dreams and goals I couldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, and you’re just a kid—“

“Don’t call me kid, Joel. I’m a grown fuckin’ woman, and I don’t need you making choices for me out of your own guilt.”

Joel clenches his jaw, his grip on the can of beer going tight enough to dent the aluminum.

“I don’t feel guilty about wanting you, Joel. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it. We don’t have to define anything, we just…go at this with no rules. See what happens.” You shuffle closer to him, walking across the cushions on your knees until you’re kneeling beside him.

“No rules?” He asks. You can practically taste your victory.

You lean closer, bringing your palm up to turn his face towards you, his lips parting slightly as his eyes search yours.

“No rules,” you whisper.

________

This didn’t go at all as Joel had planned. He’d been intent on coming over here, apologizing for his behavior, and explaining that he wouldn’t be sending you any further mixed signals. That all of this had to stop.

But instead, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and hauling you into his lap, his lips pressed to yours to swallow your gasp. His hands shift the long hem of your shirt out of his way so that he can grip your ass and drag you closer.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling to get them undone. Your mouth leaves his to plant kisses to his jaw and down his neck, your teeth nipping as you go. Joel groans your name, his hips flexing as you push apart his shirt to expose his chest to your greedy hands.

Your nails scrape down his pecs, catching on his nipples and making him hiss, his head dropping back against the back of the couch.

Your weight leaves his lap and he looks up, ready to complain and haul your ass back where it belongs. But you’re dropping to your knees between his spread legs and looking up at him through your lashes as your hands smooth up his thighs.

“I want you in my mouth, Joel,” you tell him, voice pitched low. “I think about it a lot. What it would be like to suck your cock.”

“God, baby, I think about it, too,” Joel confesses, hips thrusting as you undo his belt and fly. He helps you shove his pants down far enough that his cock springs free, slapping lewdly against his stomach. “Put your mouth on me, sweetheart.”

Joel should have known you wouldn’t make this easy. You don’t listen to his plea. Instead, you wrap your delicate little hand around his throbbing length and give it a few leisurely pumps that have him gritting his teeth.

Then, holding his dick steady, you lean forward to grace him with just one little kitten lick to his head, tongue swiping through the bead of precum that’s already pooled at the slit. Your eyelids flutter and you hum appreciatively and Joel has to fucking will himself not to come all over your pretty face.

“You’re such a lil fuckin’ tease, aren’t ya,” he bites out. You give him your most saccharine smile, the mischievous glint in your eye unmistakable.

He places a hand on your head, fingers flexing against your scalp but not pressing or directing. No, this is your show and he knows that.

You lick up the underside of his cock before finally, finally taking him into your mouth. He groans at the sensation, the tight wet heat the best thing he’s ever felt.

At least for now.

You show him no mercy, taking him as far back into your throat as you can before coming up for air and circling the head with your tongue before diving back down. You gag a couple times, each time making your throat tighten around the head of his cock and making him moan out your name.

Joel catches movement below and lifts his head further to see your hand wiggle its way into those little sleep shorts you’re wearing. “Are you wet, baby? Did you soak yourself just sucking my cock?”

You nod, mouth too full to respond with words. You look so goddamn pretty with your mouth stretched around his thick length, your lashes wet with tears.

“You wanna come with me, sweet girl?” You nod. “Listen to me, then. Slide just one finger into that pretty cunt for me, okay?”

You nod again, doing as you’re told. He can’t see anything past this giant t-shirt you’re wearing and he growls in frustration.

“Bet that feels good, huh, darlin’? Ridin’ your fingers with my cock stuffed down your throat. Add another finger for me, that’s it.” You moan around his length, the vibrations nearly sending him over the edge.

“Can you take a third finger for me? We gotta get you nice and stretched if you’re gonna take my cock someday soon.” You give a little whimper as your motions pause while you work a third finger into your pussy. “That’s it, Christ, you look like fuckin’ sin, sweetheart.”

Eyes shut, you work your hand in the same rhythm as your mouth. When you start to get sloppy, Joel begins to thrust into your mouth.

“Focus on yourself, that’s it. You just worry about makin’ yourself come all over your fingers and I’ll worry about fillin’ this gorgeous fuckin’ mouth.”

With your other hand free, you use it to rub fast circles on your clit. It only takes Joel a few shallow thrusts before he’s spilling down your throat and you’re swallowing around him as you reach your own peak and crash through the ecstasy.

Joel waits until your limbs start to go limp before hauling you back into his lap, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

“Wow,” you mumble against his shoulder, making him grin. You pull back to look at him and Joel hates the bit of fear hiding in the back of your gaze. “You don’t…have to leave right now, right?”

“No, baby, I can stay with you a bit longer.”

Joel’s fingers scratch lightly down your back, making you wiggle appreciatively. He fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Where’s this shirt from?” He asks innocently.

“Oh, it’s an ex’s shirt,” you murmur sleepily. Joel hums.

“Maybe I have one rule,” Joel says just as you’re nodding off.

“Hmm?”

“We’re getting rid of this fuckin’ shirt.”

[elf-kid2]

Modern Witchers

So this contractor drives into this tiny town, way out in the sticks, in the kind of beat-up white van used by many tradesman, and allegedly favored by murderous kidnappers.

He's got white hair that you're not sure is bleached or not, strange eyes short manners. Maybe (probably) he kinda gives you the creeps. White van, stranger-danger, big guy with muscles, and all. Bad vibes.

But you've got a problem, no denying: there's SOMETHING in those woods that doesn't belong there, and recently, when the local boys went to DO something about it... that SOMETHING went from killing livestock, to killing people to. And you know, once those types of creatures get a taste for human blood... best to deal with it sooner, rather than later. Hence, the out-of-town contractor.

Witchers specialize in hunting monsters, after all.

Better to put together a fundraiser to pay the (frankly, outrageous) fees now, then to have to pay all that later, plus the surcharge for beasts that've killed multiple people, plus pulling together the funds for more funerals.

A stitch in time save nine, as the saying goes.

He's got a musician hitchhiking with him, which you weren't expecting. Some hapless hitchhiker with a dufflebag over his shoulder, and a guitar on his back, who got lost on the way to Vegas, or Nashville, or wherever it is starry-eyed musicians go to Make It Big, these days.

Auntie said that any hitchhiker with sense'd be better off walking down a lonely road, instead of getting into a van like that, driven by a man like that. But I guess it takes all kinds of kinds, and that musician hadn't been murdered yet, so make of that what you will.

Anyhow, the musician started busking in the farmer's market-- some decent covers, a few original songs, and some kind of surprisingly catchy jingle for the contractor who'd given him a lift into town. It was pretty good; live music is always a treat when you can get it, and it'd been a while since the last Bluegrass Festival.

He knew how to charm people, work the crowd, how to ask for "donations to the fine arts" without being irritating about it. People dropped cash, and pennies, and quarters, into his open guitar case, at any rate.

I reckon he scraped together at least enough for lunch, form himself'n his friend. Witchers are surly and stingy as anything, y'know, so I wondered why he wasn't covering the meal, with how much he'd charged for slaying the monster...

...But I overheard mention of how he'd had to get that van fixed up at Joe's Auto-Mechanics, over by the old factory in the valley-- and everyone knows that Joe's Auto'll charge three times what the repairs are worth, with parts that cost ten times as much as they oughtta. Lord knows, those scammers'd be out of business, if there were any better options within 50 miles of their shop!

And that is why if you think your truck's getting ready to break down, you should try an' make sure it breaks down closer to home. And also why I figure it makes sense that even a Witcher'd be short on cash, after dealing with 'em.

Anyway, the Witcher spoke with the Sheriff, and he went out monster-hunting that night.

Meanwhile, that hitchhiking musician was playing at the local bar, and let me tell you-- he was pretty damn good! Played a few drinking-songs, and the kind of songs you can't play in front of the kiddos at Farmer's Market, played some catchy tunes that had people dancing and clapping along...!

I particularly enjoyed the murder-ballad about the woman who turned into a vengeful fire-monster when she found out her man was messing around with other women. Very clever wordplay, "flames of desire lighting up your funeral pyre!" Good stuff.

Then the Witcher came in-- fresh from the contract, and half-covered in mud and blood! Barkeep wouldn't even let him sit down until he'd hosed off the worst of it, out back!

Musician-- Jaskier, he called himself-- raised a toast to a successful hunt, and another to monster-hunters who let loving families sleep safely, and rowdy drunks stumble home un-eaten, and soon enough somebody was buying that Witcher a drink, and the barkeep gave him a plate of food on the house, and it was good times all around!

Beats toasting newly-dead friends, and drinking to forget the monsters at the door, any day.

The thing is, this is a small town. Not a lot of people come visit, and if they do, they're generally staying with family. Which is to say, there aren't any motels around here.

Now, that contractor, that Witcher, he'd asked around, beforehand, about what was available, in terms of overnight accomodations-- which, let's be honest, isn't much around here. Come morning, I saw that beat-up van parked outside the Rosebud Bed & Breakfast.

Now Rosebud's is a nice place, a respectable establishment, but we all know they've had some trouble since that big storm last month, when a tree smashed through the roof! Las I checked, that Bed & Breakfast only had the one bed fit for guests to sleep in!

Might've been a rather one-sided bidding war, or a tight fit, with two out-of-towners vying for a roof overhead, that night. But that's none of my business.

Jaskier the musician left town with the Witcher-- Geralt Rivera, I think the name was-- same as he came in. Well, makes sense that he wouldn't want to stay long enough to put down roots, a young musician on a mission to see the world and/or become rich and famous.

The Witcher, Geralt, did good work with the monster, too. I guess that's why they're the experts... Some folks are talking about having what's left of the beasty taxidermy'd, did you know? Might make a decent tourist attraction, or a decoration for Town Hall, or something. I don't know.

Anyway, all that's to say... don't let anybody tell you there's not still a need for Witchers, in the modern day.

[thesimulationswarm]

Double Shot, Part 4

Joel Miller x f!reader x Tommy Miller

Pairing: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!AFAB!reader x Tommy Miller Rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI Summary: A gorgeous man walks into your coffee shop and introduces himself as Tommy Miller. Then his equally gorgeous brother shows up. You can't decide which you like better... but maybe you don't have to. A/N: We're finally at the smutty part! Word count: 3k warnings/tags: fingering (f), oral sex (m), PIV, facial, size kink, threesome, soft dom! Joel, soft! Tommy, a lil bit of aftercare, pwp

This is the final part of of Double Shot; here are Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

You tried to keep your hand from shaking as you slid your key into the front door of your apartment. Joel stood to one side of you, Tommy to the other. None of you spoke.

It had been like that the whole ride here. Your legs pressed against theirs in the front of Tommy’s truck, the dark streets unspooling through the windshield. You could feel every beat of your pulse. You could hear each other breathing in the silent truck.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

You wanted to do this so badly.

You felt the key catch in the lock and you swung the door open, reaching inside to flick on the light switch. The incandescent light filled your living room as you walked in. It was small, but it was yours— the first place you’d ever had entirely to yourself. And you were grateful tonight for the complete absence of roommates.

You moved toward your couch, a threadbare thing you’d found on the curb when the students were moving out in May. You could hear the men following you, then the door swinging shut with a definitive thunk.

“Can I get y’all a drink?” You asked, your voice catching in your throat.

Tommy huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, sugar. Do you, Joel?”

“No, I don’t think we’ll be needin’ that.” Joel’s voice was so close behind you it almost made you jump, and you turned your head to look at him. You’d forgotten for a moment how broad he was, the bulk of his shoulders looming above you. His eyes, boring down into you, were dark and glinting.

He laid one hand on your shoulder and fingered the spaghetti strap of your tiny dress. Goosebumps bloomed down your bare arms. You felt your breath coming quicker, your heart speeding up. This was happening.

“Lookit this dress, Tommy.” Joel’s hand tugged harder on the strap and the satiny fabric shifted up along your body.

“’S not much of a dress, Joel.” Tommy had moved in front of you and was standing a few feet away, stance wide and hands on his hips. Light glinted on the pearl snaps of his shirt and his wide silver buckle. He drug his eyes up and down you appraisingly.

“No, and she’s been paradin’ around in it all night, like a bitch in heat.”

“But you seemed to appreciate it so much,” you responded coyly. “Both of you.”

Joel grabbed the flimsy fabric with both hands then, pulling hard until the strap broke with an rough ripping sound. The front of the dress fell down on one side, baring the black lace of your bra. 

You felt a moan escape your mouth as the cool air hit the flush of your exposed skin.

Tommy tutted softly, eyes drawn down to the curve of your breast. “Better do the rest of it.”

Joel wasted no time grabbing the other strap and snapping it in two. The whole top of the dress fell around your waist, but with the side zipper still in place it could go no further, caught by the contours of your hips.

Instead of undoing the rest of your dress, Joel reached down and yanked the hem upward until the whole flimsy garment hung around your midsection. 

You gasped, looking down at the V of your thighs and the thin, dark lace of your panties. You may have been covered by your underthings, but you’d somehow never felt so exposed as you did standing there, in your ruined dress, between two fully clothed men. Your cunt contracted so sharply it almost hurt.

“That better, sweetheart?” Joel’s voice behind your ear was soft now, tickling the hairs along your neck. 

You felt yourself nodding in agreement. “And I think I’m going to be feeling even better pretty soon.”

Joel moved over to sit on the couch, legs spread invitingly. You could see the impressive outline of his erection against the faded drape of his jeans. 

“C’mere.” You took a few steps closer. Once you were within reach, he tugged you roughly toward him, spinning you around so you once again faced away. He held you by your hips and pulled you down to sit on his lap, until you could feel his firm length pressing against your ass.  And it felt so fucking good there that you couldn’t help grinding back against him. You were rewarded with a husky moan.

“Shit, look at ‘er, Joel. She just can’t help herself, can she?” Tommy ran his tongue around his lips, smirking down at you. He was all angles, the sharp jaw and the sharper eyes, giving you that knowing look he had. “Bet she’s drippin’ wet right now.”

He was right, of course. You were fucking drenched.

Your thighs were pressed together, but Joel reached down and roughly wrenched them apart. You looked down at yourself as he did— the stretch of underwear that ran between your legs was sodden, glistening.

“Jesus,” Joel grunted, and you could feel his cock twitch underneath you. 

“I need you to touch me,” you found yourself whining, rocking against his lap. 

Tommy moved in closer, beginning to palm himself through his pants. “I think you better give the girl a little stroke before she loses ‘er mind.”

Joel’s chest, pressed behind your back, lifted up and down with each breath. You rested yourself against his solid frame as he slid a hand up your thigh, until he reached the edge of your panties and tugged them to one side. Your cunt was swollen, lips parting and drenched beneath the tangle of pubic hair. You all three stared, and then— as Joel drug a finger tip through your slick folds— you all three moaned.

You arched forward toward his hand, and he rewarded you by rubbing the pad of his finger softly against your puffy, aching clit. You whimpered, feeling the sweet ache spread all through your core. 

Had you ever felt this turned on before in your life? Had you ever been so desperate?

“Settle down, baby,” Joel murmured, cupping you entirely in one big hand. “I’m gonna take care of it. And you’re gonna take care of us.” You rutted your hips forward against his grasp, felt the delicious friction of his calloused palm on your flesh. “Now the first thing you’re gonna do, darlin’, is give Tommy a lil’ attention. You’ve got him in a way.”

Tommy grunted in agreement, rubbing his hand up and down the thick shape of his cock. He moved up between your spread legs— between Joel’s spread legs— and began to unbuckle his belt. “Tell ‘er what she needs to do, Joel.”

“You’re gonna put your mouth on it, baby. You know how to do that, right?” You nodded yes, and Joel rewarded you by tracing a slow, lazy circle against your clit. You found yourself licking your lips as Tommy pulled himself out through his fly.

His cock was beautiful, impressively long with a spiderweb of dusky veins down the underside. An obscene dollop of precum pearled at the tip. You leaned forward, planting a kiss right against the velvety head and feeling the salty liquid smear on your lips.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Joel encouraged. “Now get that head nice and wet.” You licked a stripe down the slit, then swirled your tongue around the whole of the swollen tip. Tommy groaned, reaching a wide hand down to thread through your hair. And Joel rewarded you by pressing a thick finger all the way inside you. Even his goddamn hand was big, and the stretch was heavenly. 

“Fuck, baby,” Joel breathed. “You feel tight on my finger.”

You wrapped one hand around Tommy’s shaft, guiding it now between your lips, and slid your mouth halfway down his length.

“You can do better’n that,” Joel admonished, and Tommy pressed himself forward into you. You sucked him down until he bumped against the back of your throat, and you felt your eyes starting to water and your saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth. Even then he wasn’t all the way in, your palm still circling the base. But Tommy didn’t seem to mind. He looked down on you with pupils blown to black, brow creased in concentration. A rough, low moan escaped his lips.

“That’s a good girl,” Joel murmured approvingly. He slid another finger inside of you, his thumb working in earnest now against your clit.

You began to bob your lips up and down on Tommy’s cock, moving in time to the push of Joel’s fingers into your slick center. You knew you were being sloppy but you couldn’t help it, your mouth smearing down the silken skin, moans humming in your throat. You couldn’t believe how close you were already, and your hips rocked involuntarily against Joel’s hand.

Joel laughed, low and guttural behind your ear. “Tommy, I do believe she’s about to come already. Do you think we should let ‘er?”

“Fuck,” Tommy moaned, as you slid down his length again. “Let’s see if she can take all of me, Joel.” You pulled up again, letting the gathered spit drip out of your mouth and slick down the sides of him, then drove your mouth down even lower. You swallowed against his length, trying to pull him still deeper, as tears started to trickle from the corners of your eyes. Finally your lips reached all the way to his base and your nose nuzzled into his dark curls. You could only hold there for a moment before gagging, and Tommy eased your head back until your lips pulled free of him with an audible pop.

Joel sped up for you, fucking his fingers in and out you and pressing harder against your clit. The pleasure was blooming outward, a golden wave that spread up and out to fill the entire bowl of your pelvis. Then it reached its white-hot crescendo, and you were shaking and crying out.

You slumped back for a moment against Joel, catching your breath. In front of you Tommy was fisting himself as he looked hungrily down at you, his hand sliding through the coating of spit you’d left on him.

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Joel shifted under you and pulled his hand free. You felt the emptiness where his fingers had been acutely, as he unbuttoned his jeans and zipped down his fly. 

“Yes, please, yes,” you mewled. He pulled his cock loose and it slapped up against the small of your back.

Joel laid a hand between your shoulder blades and pushed you gently downward. “On your knees, baby.” You started to slide from his lap and Tommy grabbed you by the shoulders, easily taking your weight and easing you down to all fours on the carpet.

You twisted your head to look over your shoulder as Joel knelt behind you. Your eyes widened as you took him in— Jesus, every part of this man was broad, the shape of his sex lengthy and thick even with his big hand wrapped firmly around the base.

And then there was the look on his face, which made your whole body contract with heat.

His cheeks flushed, his jaw clenched, his pupils wide and black and pinned fiercely on you.

With one hand on your hip he shifted you forward, and you felt him sliding his head against your entrance and gathering your slick. He tugged you backward as he pushed, starting to sink inside you. The stretch of him was overwhelming and you cried out, your arms shaking underneath you.

Tommy came down to his knees in front of you and reached out to gently grasp your head, one hand cupped around your jaw. He tilted you upward to look into his face. His eyes on you were thirsty but kind, and with one finger he stroked along your cheek.

“You got this, sugar. You can take him just fine,” he murmured, as Joel thrust himself deeper and you felt the breathtaking fullness of him. With a low groan he pushed himself home, until you could feel the stab of his tip against your cervix and the press of his thighs against yours.

“There y’go, baby.” Tommy smiled down at you as Joel began to roll his hips. You could hear yourself whimpering, the sensations whipsawing from bliss to pain and back again. He moved slowly at first and the drag of him through your body left you reeling.

“Jesus, baby,” Joel grunted out, as he drove his hips forward into you. “Knew that pussy would feel so good.” He gathered speed, using your hips for leverage to push himself somehow even deeper.

Tommy, still holding your face with one hand, took his dick in the other. He rubbed a finger along your lips and you parted for him, then he angled himself down until his tip was brushing against your mouth. He was gentle, so gentle, as he slid himself into you.

Then the snap of Joel’s hips behind you pushed you into Tommy, your mouth filling with his thickness. Joel pulled back and your mouth pulled almost clear of Tommy’s cock; Joel slammed into you and your lips glided back down the shaft.

You were like a rubber band pulled taught between the two men, being tugged back and forth. Tommy’s hand around your jaw, soft and strong, held you in place at one end. Joel’s hand on your hip, pulling you relentlessly down onto him, anchored you at the other. In between you were all sensation and heat, fullness and fire.

You almost didn’t even feel the orgasm coming, it overpowered you so quickly and definitively. Joel’s unremitting thrusts were hitting somewhere inside you where pleasure and pain were bound up together. The feeling was almost unbearable until it wasn’t— until the wave reached its peak and came crashing down through you, an ecstatic cascade of feeling. You could feel the sharp-edged contractions all through your core, and everything else blurring around you.

Joel didn’t slow his pace for you— in fact, he sped up into the pulse of your release.

Your limbs were trembling, and you felt yourself falling forward. Tommy’s arm was there to catch you, grabbing you by one shoulder before you collapsed to the ground. You leaned your weight into him and your lips sunk down around his length hungrily until you could feel him in your throat.

“That’s it, sugar,” Tommy groaned. “Takin’ me so well, you’re gonna make me come.” You felt his hips buck forward against you, then he pulled himself loose. He gripped his shaft with one hand while still holding you up with the other, and stroked his cock once, twice, three times— before erupting across your face. His cum streaked down your cheeks and your parted lips as he let out a rough moan.

You could feel Joel approaching his own finish. His thrusts into you grew disorganized and curses spilled from his lips. Only a few seconds after Tommy finished, Joel pulled abruptly out and then his hot seed was striping across your ass and the backs of your thighs. The sound he made as he spilled onto you was guttural, animal.

Both men released their grips on you and you found yourself sinking down to your belly on the carpet. You lay there and listened to the hammering of your heart in your chest. You felt like you might never move again. And that was just fine with you.

Tommy was the first to get up, after catching his breath for a couple minutes. You heard him walking into your kitchen, his boots clapping against the tile.

Jesus— were you all still wearing shoes? Hard to believe when you’d just been so thoroughly fucked.

Joel stood up with a groan and followed Tommy. You listened to the two of them— the sound of water running in the sink, the squeak of your paper towel holder. Muffled voices and then laughter. A satisfied smile stretched across your face at sound of the two brothers cleaning themselves up after dicking you down together.

You had just pulled up to your knees when they walked back out to the living room. Their pants were re-fastened, shirts tucked in, and it looked like Joel had splashed his face with water and combed his hair back. Both of them were carrying damp paper towels.

Tommy knelt beside you first. “Here, sugar,” he breathed, holding your chin as he carefully cleaned his spend from your face. “Looks beautiful on you, but I’d better be a gentleman and clean you up.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with a warm smile.

Joel dragged his towel up the backside of your legs. The chill of it was delicious on your overheated skin. A little too delicious maybe, as you felt a throb between your thighs at his touch. You wondered for an idle second if you could go another round, but you knew it was a bad idea. Another round of that would probably kill all three of you.

The two of them helped you to your feet, and you were once again painfully aware of your near-nakedness. Joel's eyes slid down the bare lines of your skin.

“Sorry ‘bout your dress,” he said.

You looked at him, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“No you’re not,” you replied.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed wryly.

You walked them over to the door, standing just to the side to avoid giving any neighbors in the hallway an eyeful. Just before he stepped over the threshold, Tommy ducked his head and planted a delicate kiss on your temple. His lips were wonderfully soft.

You looked up to see Joel watching, jaw clenched.

[klausinamarink]

Love Over Box Labels

rating: G | cw: none | tags: modern au, no Upside Down, the romanticism of workings at warehouses | wc: 987

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Dec 4: Meet Cute at Work

—

When his dad had threatened Steve into working at a warehouse instead of being the good CEO’s son, Steve had laughed at his face and said, “Go ahead! Maybe I’ll like it better than your stupid neopet position!”

It’s been two years since that conversation. And Steve’s still working at the warehouse. Though it’s not the same one his dad plunked him in. He’s since transferred to another place for a full time position. And Steve loves it.

Maybe ‘love’ is too strong a word to use. Steve definitely doesn’t love waking up at five-thirty in the morning every weekday, requiring espresso to prevent falling asleep on his feet within the first few hours, and the muscle strain from all the heavy lifting.

But warehouse work is surprisingly mundane and much better than Steve expects. He chats with his coworkers, the music choices aren’t bad, and the days can pass within a blink through the repetition of box folding and forklifting shipments.

There’s one guy that keeps catching Steve’s attention though.

As one of the new contract workers who came in last week, the new guy - Eddie, according to his ID badge - has long curly black hair tied up in a bun, black fitted clothes with different band tees, and a few tattoos on his bare arms. His brown eyes were dearly expressive, a bit helpful since he was also one of the few employees still wearing a mask. (an automatic sign of a decent person in Steve’s mental checklist)

As a team leader trains Eddie on the basic operations of their taping machines at the other line, Steve keeps sneaking glances at him as he steers a pump truck of packages into the shipping area. Eddie’s eyes are narrowed with concentration, nodding along at Deb’s words, probably unaware of his surroundings at the moment.

Steve gives out a quiet sigh. Then he mentally slaps himself. Jeez, this is a new low bar of pathetic-ness for him. Crushing on a new coworker who either doesn’t know he exists or has noticed Steve and thinks he’s a creep.

He should probably just be normal and try talking to Eddie during lunch. Problem is that Eddie is working on another line which has a different break time than Steve’s line. So unless the leaders rotate the employee’s positions to other lines next Monday, then Eddie’s going to be far from Steve’s reach.

Steve shakes his head, focusing back to his work. Whatever. It’s just a stupid crush. He’s gonna get over it because he and Eddie are never going to talk anyways.

—

“Steve, can you let Eddie help you with those labels?”

Steve blinks at Karen, caught off-guard by her sudden appearance with Eddie right next to her. He only manages to answer coherently, “Oh, sure!”

“That’s lovely!” Karen smiles at him, patting Eddie on the arm as she leaves. And then it’s the two of them at this table with stacks of boxes and rolls of labeled stickers.

“So…” Steve starts. “You're new here, right?” He kicks himself in the shin because what the hell, Steve?

Eddie just gives a jerky nod. “Yeah, first season.” He says, clipped. His eyes flick down to the labels questioningly. “How do I..?”

“Oh, this is like, super easy stuff, dude.” Steve says, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager on showing off the beauty of box labeling. “You just take this white label, place it here right above the numbers, take this..” He continues his demonstration to Eddie, who’s once again narrow-eyed with concentration. Steve nearly flutters when he notices how close enough he is that he can see the pinched furrow of Eddie’s eyebrows and a faint speckle of freckles below his eyes.

Be still, my bisexual heart. Steve demands as he looks away just before Eddie’s eyes - they’re so round, oh god - catches his. “You got it?”

Eddie nods, “Easy enough.”

“Cool.”

Unfortunately, that’s just all they say to each other as they work in tangent on the labels. Steve wants to talk to Eddie again. Bring something up like-

“Nice tattoos, by the way.”

Lord, please smite me from this earth and send me to Amazon.

“Thanks, man.” When Steve looks at him, Eddie’s eyes are crinkled up. “They’re super old, though. Got them when I was a rebellious junior student. Been thinking about getting new ones over it.”

“I mean, if you wanna change them or whatever, that’s totally up to you! Just saying that the bats look wicked.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “You like the bats?”

“Yeah! They’re, uh, your favorite animals?”

“In a way.”

Pretty soon, they both fall into an easy conversation, discussing bits of their respective upbringings and what they’d done before coming here. They only pause to collect new boxes and bring the finished ones to the packers. When lunch break is called, Steve’s relieved that Eddie now has the same schedule, allowing them to talk more.

It creates a delightful feeling in Steve’s chest.

—

“I really learned a lot,” Eddie says as they walk out the building together at the end of the shift, “I don’t think I could survive today without you.”

“Really?”

Eddie takes off his mask. Steve’s heart flips sideways at the sight of the other man’s eye-crinkling smile. “Yeah. Now I know how to label boxes like my life depends on it.”

Steve bursts out a good-hearted laugh, “Well, if you want more advice, I can give you my number.”

Eddie stares at him for a beat before smiling wider, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 8

Benadryl

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~ 13.2K words (I made y'all wait, but you get all of this and two spicy scenes)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / fingering, car sex, dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f receiving), comeshot, come eating / language / mentions of past drug use / hostage extraction / canon-consistent violence / Minors DNI

A/N: I know nothing about fixing cars. I know nothing about helicopters. I know that these two love each other. Special guest appearance this chapter by Ben Miller. Benny fans, your boy is a menace and he's wonderful.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your lovely comments, for recommending this story, and for screaming with me about these two.

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

MONDAY

AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN HONDURAS.

“MOOSE,” Santiago barks at where Audrey’s bent double over the hood of a Land Rover as he slams their truck door. 

She doesn’t bother to drop what she’s doing, perimeter alarms two miles down the hill had already alerted her to their arrival.

One of them thwaks her on the ass and she knows it's Santi.

Frankie doesn’t do it like that.

“Whatcha got, what’s going on here?” He peers down at wires and tubes. 

“Auxiliary belt’s fucked, where’s my…”

“Catfish get over here, she’s talkin’ your shit, I’ve got no idea.” Pope calls over his shoulder, not realizing that “Frankie” and not the name of some obscure tool is actually the intended end of her sentence. “This thing armored?” He kicks a tire.

“Yep.”

A massive palm spreads over her back, the shadow of his body a cooling balm.

She looks up now.

“Hi,” Frankie smiles.

“Hi,” she grins over her shoulder, craning her neck back for a kiss, and Frankie briefly slips her his tongue because he’s never been able to resist a girl who’s good with her hands. 

“Serpentine belt?” He asks when she breaks away.

‘Yeah, it’s cracked to shit. Gonna swap the tensioner too. Let me get the breaker bar?”

“Like a different fucking language,” Pope quips as he opens the driver’s side door and slips inside.

And Frankie’s torn between letting her continue and wanting desperately to take over the job, lest a speck of grease mar her lovely skin. She’s clearly capable of doing this herself, but chivalry wins out and he grabs the long metal rod from the toolbox on the ground.

“Top or bottom?” Meaning which tensioner.

“Bottom, it’s got too much play in it,” she answers, pressing on the bearing to show him.

“Oh shit yeah, that’s loose.”

“God, get a room,” Santi quips from where he’s reclining in the driver’s seat, brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes against the sun.

“Why don’t you do something useful like unload the truck?” Frankie calls as he slots the breaker bar into place. “Hold on let me get a picture of how it’s sitting,” and he reaches in his back pocket as she slides her left arm in front of his face. She’s drawn the belt’s path on the inside of her forearm in pen to help with re-threading the new strip of rubber.

Frankie’s cock twitches.

She knows what she’s doing. 

She always does.

She would have done this without him.

And she lets him in anyway.

He applies pressure to the bar, forcing the tensioner away from the belt and Audrey reaches over him to slip the old rubber strap from the pulleys, her chest grazing his arm as she does.

God if Santiago wasn’t fucking here right now flits across his mind. 

If this isn’t all of his teenage fantasies come to life…

She has the belt off in seconds and disappears as he hits the inside of the breaker bar with his palm to unlatch it. Audrey returns with a wrench, new belt slung diagonally across her torso.

“Crack that nut off for me, baby?” She doesn’t need to tell him, but she enjoys needling Pope, who scoffs from his leather cradle.

Fish’s broad shoulders briefly strain under the cotton of his t-shirt as he gets it loose, winding it off the bolt with deft fingers. He slots the nut into his back pocket out of habit and the mechanism comes away in his hands. 

“Don’t need that, it came with one,” and Audrey dives in with the new tensioner, lining the lugs of the new part up before screwing the new nut part-way on. She slips the new belt off of where she’s wearing it and Frankie helps her line it up, pausing occasionally to check her arm for the positioning, landing a kiss on her shoulder here, dragging his nose up her tricep there. 

Once they have the belt back in place, Frankie tightens the nut on the new tensioner and they both step back.

“Oi,” Frankie pounds on the headlight to get Santiago’s attention. 

“Start her up?” Audrey rests one hand on her hip and shields her eyes with the other.

Santi gropes around for the keys before starting the truck and Audrey and Frankie let it run for a second before stepping forward to inspect their work. 

“Yeah, looks good.” 

“Sounds better than it did,” Audrey adds. 

Fish raises his voice to be heard over the engine, “shut her off, Pope.”

Frankie fiddles around, checking the tightness on all of the bolts within his reach before they work together to replace the fanbelt shroud and reconnect the air filter pipes.

“Where in the hell did you learn to do that?” Fish rubs the heels of his palms together when it’s through, squinting against the sun.

Audrey slams the hood closed. “Friend with a Messerschmitt has a thing for old cars too.” 

Frankie’s gotta meet this guy.

But right now he has a more–pressing–problem and he excuses himself with a “gotta hit the head.” He figures cool water on the back of his neck will unwind him enough that he can face them again.

_____

Hours later the three of them are hunched over the dining table, staring daggers at a site plan that’s dotted with an array of plastic army figurines.

There’s a poker chip in the center. A four-year-old hostage that needs extracting. The daughter of a diplomat being held for political leverage.

None of them are happy about it.

But they’re also among the handful of people in the world who can get her out alive. 

Each of them feels that obligation acutely.

“We need another man,” Audrey crosses her arms over her chest.

“The compound is just too big. Too many fucking people,” Santi scratches at his beard. “If we need Fish in the bird ready to run, that’s already too sparse. And if we need you up here,” he points to tight concentric circles on the plan that signify high ground, “keeping the path to the bird clear, I can get in quietly, no problem, but I can’t get out with a hostage in tow.”

“What if I go with you?” Frankie pipes up, “it takes less than 90 seconds to get this in the air,” he points at a toy helicopter with an index finger.

“90 seconds could be too long. And god forbid something happens to you in there and you can’t fly that bird,” she taps inside the building. “Then we have two sets of dead weight and a hornet’s nest on high alert. I wouldn’t be able to get there in time to fly everyone  out.”

Pope twirls a pen between his fingers and Frankie places and replaces the helicopter at different points around the map before returning it to its original position at the private airstrip.

“That’s the only spot that works. Anywhere else draws attention and/or goes against the intel on their route,” he concludes, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and middle fingers. 

“How do we know that’s not drawing attention anyway?” Santi bites the inside of his cheek as he gestures at the helicopter.

“There’s been a nature documentary crew in and out of that airstrip for weeks. The bird Davis’ guys lined up is  the same make and model with all the same markings,” Frankie answers. “It’s just bulletproof.”

Santi turns to Audrey, “can he get someone else out here?” Meaning their boss.

“Getting someone out here isn’t the problem, getting someone out here that I trust is. Everyone I knew in there is long gone.”

“You still got any friends?” Santi’s brow knits.

“Not ones who do this kind of shit anymore.”

“Pope,” Frankie pipes up after a beat. “Ben?”

“Yeah,” Santiago lights up, “yeah, you think he’d be up for it?”

Frankie shrugs, “worth a shot. Benny’s down for anything.”

“Ben is…Miller?” Her brain reaches back and spits out what she can remember of the Lorea briefing and bits of the stories they’ve told about a “Benny.”

“Yeah.” They both look at her expectantly. 

They need the final party’s buy-in.

“Tell me more.”

“He’s solid. Ready to do whatever it takes to get a job done,” Santi starts.

“A bit brash at times, maybe,” Frankie tempers Pope’s enthusiasm. “A little wild when he drinks, a little hot under the collar,” he scratches at this beard. “But not in the way that disobeys orders.”

“He runs clean during a mission, Aud. Doesn’t like an operation that doesn’t go to plan. Doesn’t leave messes. Puts his own life on the line when it matters.” Santi says firmly. “Might be a bit of an adjustment period though.” 

“Might be.” Francisco apparently agrees.

“In what way.” She stares them both down.

“He, uh…might have a little bit of a hard time taking your orders at first.” Santi runs a hand through his hair.

“He’ll push you a bit,” Frankie again scratches at his chin. “Not because he wants to run it.”

“Just because he doesn’t know you,” Santi finishes, arms crossed, hip resting against the edge of the table. “But he’ll fall in line.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“He uh,” Santi takes his eyes over her form, “might come on a bit strong,” Santi says.

“He’s gonna want to fuck you, Aud.” Frankie translates.

“That I can handle. All of this I can handle. Do you trust him?” Her green gaze slides between the two men.

“I do.” Pope answers with conviction. 

Frankie responds, “with my life.”

She stares hard at Frankie before drumming her fingers on the table. “Okay. I’d like not to lose time and waste the intel on this. Davis can have a screen run on him tonight if he’s game. Can he get on a plane tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask,” Frankie sits up and reaches for his phone. 

It dings in response thirty seconds later. 

“He’s in.”

And she immediately slips her cell phone out of her back pocket, stepping into the other room to make arrangements with Davis. 

_____

“Nothing more to do tonight. We’re gonna take this thing out on a test run,” Frankie tips the brim of his cap up far enough to swipe curls off of his forehead as he makes his way through the kitchen.

“It’s 9pm, it’s dark,” and no sooner is it out of Santiago’s mouth than he catches Frankie’s drift.

“Mind your business, Pope.”

“Roger,” Santi turns back to his beer and the baseball game he’s watching on his phone. “If you aren’t back by midnight I’m calling in a BOLO for two idiots fucking in the back seat of a Land Rover.”

“I was actually in the mood to do it on the hood,” Audrey quips as she appears at the foot of the stairs.

“Fine, just don’t leave come stains that I have to look at when I’m driving it tomorrow.”

“No promises,” Audrey winks and Pope scoffs.

Frankie slaps him on the shoulder on his way out the door.

“Lucky fuckin’ bastard,” Pope murmurs under his breath and takes a swig of beer.

_____

Half an hour later, Frankie has her naked in the sea, legs wrapped around his waist, lips at her throat before the brim of his cap knocks her in the chin.

“Francisco, what is the deal with this thing, you shower with it on?” She reaches to spin it around backwards.

“Just my favorite hat,” he returns to sucking on her collarbone, tongue accepting the bitter burn of salt water so long as it’s laced with the taste of her skin.

“What is Standard Heating Oil?”

“No clue. Found it in the dollar bin at Goodwill one day.”

“Fascinating.” He has no tie to this hat save for the fact that it’s his and it goes everywhere with him.

“Used to get made fun of as a kid. For having curly hair,” he tucks his chin into the juncture of her shoulder.

The brush of his beard tickles her skin as he continues.

“Just always preferred to cover it up, I guess.”

Audrey takes the hat off and slips it backwards onto her own head. 

Her fingers wind in his curls.

And she holds him without prying.

“Used to get made fun of a lot as a kid. My hair. My nose. Wasn’t really into sports either.”

“You’ve just named some of the things I like most about you,” Audrey kisses at his jaw. “What were you into, Frankie?” She whispers.

“Liked to read, I suppose,” he muses.

And she hums, nuzzling her face into Frankie’s shoulder. “I like that about you too.”

He’s warm and open like this as they listen to the soft lap of waves against the shore. She holds him as if it could seep into her bones.

After a moment Frankie whispers, “I, um. I used to—not—be good at handling all of this. My past and my present.”

And she pulls back a fraction to gaze softly into dark eyes.

“I used to use.”

And her hand in his hair strokes gently over the nape of his neck as un-shed tears set brown eyes swimming.

“Coke. I just kind of fell off the wagon,” he nods like he needs her to agree that this doesn’t change him. 

Audrey holds his face in her palms, thumbs gently skimming over the apples of his cheeks.

“Got hit with a license suspension a few years ago. Then Pope came through with the Lorea job and that—that didn’t—” he trails off.

“Ended up getting the license back but—”

Frankie stares over her right shoulder out into the horizon.

“Everything else fell ap—”

And Audrey presses her lips to his because she doesn’t know what more to do than allow her body to speak where the prospect of words seems trite in comparison. She presses her lips to his cheek and wraps her arms tight to his neck until he returns her hold, tighter than before.

“I haven’t, though,” he murmurs against her skin, nodding his head again.

“In two years. I haven’t used.”

And she knows what lives in the spaces between those words.

I haven’t used since you.

And it terrifies her.

I can’t save you.

I can’t fix you.

I can’t be that for you, Frankie.

And yet.

She is. 

He’s quiet for a long while in her arms. Body slowly giving up its tension to the water before he murmurs, “you float, baby.”

And her brow furrows in the moonlight.

“I sink. In the ocean,” he muses as he pulls back to look at her. “You’re like a life vest.”

And Audrey chances a joke, looking down at her full chest and muttering, “well…”

Frankie’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip. “Nuh uh this too,” his hands slip down to grip hard at her ass.

And whatever that was before has passed.

Audrey welcomes it with a laugh and a kiss at his jaw. 

“I missed you,” he whispers and again fits his chin into the curve of her shoulder.

“Oh, Francisco,” she sighs and presses her nose to his wet hair, inhaling the salted smell of him.

“I know it’s only been three weeks,” he starts to apologize. 

For his attachment.

“I missed you too,” she preempts and arches into him, gripping his neck tighter.

“Can I tell you something?” Frankie pulls back, whispering against her chin.

“Of course,” is her answer, but she stiffens ever so slightly.

Because he’s said it far too intimately.

And mercifully more than three words tumble out of his mouth.

“I saw you fixing that truck today,” he noses at her jaw to whisper against her lips. “I could have fucked you right there on the hood.”

“Oh yeah?” Audrey whispers with the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips.

“I was so fucking hard.” 

“Is that why you ran away?” She laughs. “You know Pope was half asleep.”

“Yeah, but you’re loud, baby,” he lets out a sly murmur. “Would have been a hell of a wakeup call.”

“Ah, and you’re quiet as a church mouse.”

Frankiee grins with guilty teeth in his bottom lip. 

“Could have taken me with you,” she presses her lips to his, opening just a fraction to allow his tongue into her mouth, “to wherever you absconded to.”

“The lady deserves better.”

“Mm, like the hood of a car?”

“Done.”

She lets him go and starts racing towards the shore.

Frankie follows after her, catching her around the waist and hoisting her onto the hood of the Rover, massive hand hooked around the nape of her neck with a grin splitting his face.

Audrey reaches for him, hand wrapping around the girth of his half-hard cock, working him as his forehead briefly thumps against hers. 

“Oh, fuckk—,” Frankie hisses. “Baby. Baby, baby, baby—” he rumbles through the lowest registers of his voice as the fingers of one hand trail up the back of her calf. Frankie’s palm settles on one knee before he roughly pushes her thighs open wider. 

“Look at me,” he whispers.

Audrey slants her gaze down at him as he stares back from under hazy half-closed lids.

Frankie slips his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking the salt from them as her jaw drops open, brows knitted with want. His fingers slip between her folds in time with his tongue between her teeth to deliver the taste of salt to her the moment his fingers slip inside.

“Wet already? Ohh baby,” Frankie purrs into her mouth. “My pretty, dirty baby,” he pants, hips thrusting his cock into her fist now.

She moans into his mouth and arches, pressing her breasts against his chest before she freezes.

“Frankie, get in the car.”

“I want you right here,” he skates his nose up her neck.

“Frankie, there’s a truck coming, get the fuck inside.”

And no sooner does she say it than his ears catch the distant whine of a diesel engine winding up the coastal highway.

“Oh, fuck,” he chuckles, corseting her waist in his generous hands and picking her up off the hood, making sure she has her feet before grabbing the pile of their clothes from off the hood. 

They dive into the backseat of the truck, Audrey first and Frankie close behind such that they end up a tangle of limbs, leather squeaking under wet skin. 

Frankie drapes himself over her, a wet curl falling into his eyes as he peeks up out of the window, tracking the truck’s path.

“Fifty meters,” he reports before mumbling “fuck, I’m sorry baby,” as Audrey shifts under him where knees and elbows fell at painful angles.

“‘S okay, how are we doing?” She glances up at the thick column of his neck above her.

“Ten meters,” Frankie counts it down, “five,” he ducks down out of view momentarily before tracking the truck the other way. 

“I think we’re clear, baby.” 

And the moonlight streaming through the sunroof catches in her eyes, turning them a shade of seafoam. 

Illuminating something that he can’t quite unpack right now through the haze of lust.

Frankie fits his mouth to hers again, suddenly possessed with the need to feel. His palm slides down to cup one breast, pinching her nipple before spreading wide over her ribcage. 

He runs greedy fingertips over her skin as he moves, kissing at her stomach and biting at her inner thigh.

She props herself up on her elbows and takes his cap from her head, tossing it onto the driver’s seat before raking a hand through her curls and reaching for his cheek.

He turns his face to kiss her palm.

And Frankie almost lets something slip on a sigh.

“I—”

“Need you,” he swallows hard. “I need you, Aud,” Frankie’s voice is a cracked whisper when he pauses to look up at her. 

“Have me, Frankie.”

And he again kisses her palm before sucking her thumb into his mouth, crawling back up her body. His right hand snakes down to pump his cock, the other fitting into the crease of her thigh. 

“Are you—?” He murmurs against her lips.

“Frankie—” she chokes on a desperate breath and he thrusts inside of her such that they both cry out, Audrey’s nails sinking into his tricep, Frankie’s mouth open, teeth catching at her jawline. 

“Oh God,” he rests his forehead against hers as she tangles her fingers in his wet curls, tipping her face to suck on his bottom lip.

“Frankie, move,” she urges and he does, slowly at first. Long, deep strokes before he sits up, hands settling on her hips as his speed builds. 

He’s not slow about chasing his own release. 

One knee on the floorboards, the other foot hiked up on the seat with her leg over his hip, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, yanking her against him to meet his every thrust. Audrey braces one hand against the door, and the other on the back of the seat.

Frankie’s a man in a trance. 

Breath hissing through clenched teeth, gaze fixed on where he sinks inside of her. A curl falls loose across a forehead growing damp with sweat. 

Audrey arches in his hold, “you feel so good Frankie.”

“You’re so tight, baby.” 

When he reaches up to grip one shoulder he pulls her ass clear off the seat.

But even in this one-track haze Frankie is quick to protect her, arm looping around the small of her back, and the other coming to the crown of her head, guarding it against the roof as he twists to sit on the seat with her on top of him. 

He pauses a moment with wide, panicked eyes, as though he’s surprised even himself. 

“Smooth, Morales,” she grabs his face between her hands and slips her tongue into his mouth. “Very. Fucking. Smooth.”

And she’s in control now. 

Audrey leans back to brace her hands on his thighs, rolling her hips, allowing them both to feel every inch of each other. Frankie’s head falls back into the space between the headrests, hands roaming her skin, squeezing at her breasts, fingers fitting into the spaces between her ribs, thumbs running down over her abs before settling below her navel, feeling how his cock fills her from the outside. 

“Oh shit,” Frankie’s head snaps back, lip curled as he watches in lurid fascination. Audrey indulges him for a moment before she shifts forward, one hand on the seat, the other on his chin. 

“Look at me.”

And he angles big brown eyes up at her before she kisses him with an open mouth. 

Frankie licks warm and wet down her neck, sucking at the salt of her skin mixed with seawater. He buries his nose between her breasts as he meets her hips halfway, palms skating over her back, one hand tangling in the curls at the base of her neck.

It’s too much when she meets his gaze again.

The way that lust has blown her green eyes dark. The way that plush lips hang open and wet from his tongue. The humid heat of bodies and the smack of flesh.

The way she looks at him with something he can’t name.

And Frankie can’t hold back anymore. He’s rough with her now. Building with frantic speed that has her bracing one palm against sunroof glass with her head thrown back, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing around the truck.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” she keens.

“Yeah?”

He knows.

One hand moves to cup the base of her skull and roughly pulls her face back to his. 

“You like that?” Frankie presses his forehead to hers, grabbing her hard by the hips, and thrusts up hard into her cunt.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

“Yeahh you do,” he smirks, tipping his face to kiss her. “I know what my girl likes.”

He holds her hips, fully inside of her, the head of his cock pressed deep, guiding her back and forth to grind against him. Putting pressure on her clit. 

“Frankie, Frankie, Fr—ohh,” she breathes.

She can feel him smile against her mouth. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

She moans and tries to roll her hips but Frankie’s fingers dig in. 

“My pace, baby.”

And she groans in frustration.

“No, none of that,” he chuckles darkly, one hand sliding along the crease of her hip to rub circles against her clit.

Audrey digs the nails of one hand into the seat and wraps the other hand around the back of Frankie’s neck.

His tongue slips back into her mouth and he rolls his hips without pulling out, just barely teasing at that spot deep inside of her that makes her fall apart. 

“Jesus, Frankie,” she throws her head back. He watches her chest heave. The way the curves of her breasts catch the moonlight shining through the sunroof. He latches his mouth to one, tongue laving over sensitive skin.

The hand on the back of his neck grips hard at his hair and Frankie slips the flat of his teeth over her nipple before she tugs, bringing his mouth back to hers.

Frankie’s arm wraps around the small of her back as his thumb and his hips speed up, growling now. She reaches down, skating her hand over where his rests. Her fingers replace his thumb on her clit and Frankie squeezes the globes of her ass.

“Frankie, I don’t think…”

“Turn around,” he commands.

And she arches an eyebrow, slowly climbing off of him, both moaning at the loss of contact. Frankie urges her around, a palm skating between her shoulder blades, pressing her forward to lean against the back of the passenger’s seat. She languidly drapes her arms over either side of the headrest. 

Frankie shifts on the seat and slowly sinks inside of her again.

“Ohh fuck,” she sighs, forehead thumping against leather. 

Frankie spreads his thighs wider.

“Sit, baby,” but he doesn’t allow her time to react before yanking her down onto his lap, fully sheathed inside of her. He moves slowly at first testing this new angle before leaning forward, dropping kisses down her spine.

“That better?”

And she hums a laugh, glancing back over her shoulder. Frankie’s eyes flick up to her and he grins, nipping at her skin. 

He hooks a hand over her shoulder as he fucks her with the other on her waist, building in pace until his hips lift off the seat with every thrust as she bucks her hips back against him. Audrey reaches between her legs to rub her clit and Frankie growls.

“Yeah, baby.”

And the angle is perfect now and Audrey starts to cry out from the depths of her chest. “Frankie, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, that’s—OH.” She braces her free hand on the back of the seat and Frankie feels his balls tighten when she pushes back against him as pleasure sears through her.  

Frankie slows his thrusts, moaning as her walls milk his cock.

Audrey finally exhales on a ragged cry and Frankie wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against his skin as hips pick up speed, chasing his own release. 

She arches in his hold, head falling back against his shoulder. Frankie hips snap hard with a shout as his cock pulses, his body shuddering with it. 

Nose smashing against her cheekbone. 

Teeth softly nipping at her jaw.

Audrey reaches up to cup his cheek, lips pressing softly to the corner of his mouth. Frankie kisses her properly, slow and wet as palms rub across her stomach, up her ribs and over her breasts as his tongue slips into her mouth.

The windows of the Rover have gone foggy with heat.

He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her to him, softening cock still inside of her, chest heaving as she moans softly through ragged breaths, still tingling.

Frankie kisses at her cheek and up to her temple before whispering, “was that…?”

“So good.” She shifts and Frankie holds her tighter, head thumping against hers.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me yet,” he pants.

“Frankie,” she scratches lovingly at his scalp. “Baby. I really have to pee.”

And he laughs a self-satisfied laugh against her hairline.

“Okay,” he shifts her, pulling out of her heat with a moan. “Wait,” he holds her with an iron arm around her waist, swiping a hand through the fog on the window, checking that it’s clear before he cracks the door. 

He shifts her onto the seat as he steps out first.

“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can…”

He holds both hands out to her, corseting her waist, intending to half lift her down onto the beach. “You’re gonna fall, Bambi Legs.”

And she can’t help the hearty laugh that it pulls from her.

True to form, her legs falter the moment her feet hit the sand, but Frankie holds her to his chest, staring down at her through warm brown eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear with a wink. 

Frankie kisses her on the forehead and spins her around towards a small outcropping of rocks. “Go on, Bambi,” he swats her on the ass.

“Can I have my underwear at least?”

“No,” Frankie screws up his face and scoffs, reaching into the tangle of clothes in the backseat to fish out her thong. He has it crushed to his nose when he turns around.

“Perv,” she quips with a grin, swatting him on the arm with them after he hands them over.

She returns to find Frankie leaning against a tire, back door open, barefoot and clad in his jeans and cap, one of her cigarettes dangling between his lips. 

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t smoke there,” she quips as she molds her body against his, slipping her hands into his back pockets. Frankie lights the cigarette and blows the first puff out of the corner of his mouth before holding it to her lips. She inhales before Frankie follows suit.

Audrey pulls away from him, reaching for her sports bra and linen pants. Frankie presses his chest to her back after she pulls them both on, reaching for his t-shirt.

“Leave it,” she spins around and Frankie pops the cigarette between her lips as she runs her hand over his bare stomach.

“Yes, ma’am.” Frankie smiles before his eyes fall on the backseat. 

“We gotta clean this.”

Audrey slips around him, cigarette dangling from her lips, and pops the trunk open, rummaging around for a moment before tossing a packet of Clorox wipes in his direction.

Frankie cleans the seats as she starts the truck and rolls the windows down.

They drive back to the safehouse along the coastal road in companionable silence, wind whipping around the cabin, carrying wisps of cigarette smoke on salted breeze. 

Audrey drives with one hand, fingers of the other laced with Frankie’s.

_____

TUESDAY

When Santiago slips into the driver’s seat the next day for their early morning recon run, the first thing he does is briefly peer over the top of his sunglasses.

“Goddard, I can see your ass-print on the hood.”

“How do you know that’s not Morales,” she quips from the backseat.

“Morales has no ass.”

“Well, you said no come stains.” She pops her gum in the backseat as she loads another magazine into her rifle. “Nothing about ass prints.”  

Frankie pulls the brim of his cap down against Pope’s searing stare and bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk.

“Unbelievable,” Santi starts the ignition. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably good at fixing that belt.” Frankie quips, banging one palm on the dashboard as they pull out of the drive.

“Fuck you, Fish.”

“She did that already.”

Audrey cackles from the backseat.

_____

Six hours later, Benny shows up on the doorstep of their safehouse.

Audrey greets him in leggings and a worn green t-shirt. 

“Well hell-o,” Benny peers down at her over the frames of his aviators.

“Miller?”

“Yup, yeah. Ben Miller,” he holds out his hand. 

“Audrey Goddard,” she offers a sturdy shake. “Come in, come in. The boys are just through in the back here,” she gestures through to the backyard.

Fish and Pope are locked in a sparring match, Frankie’s arm around Pope’s throat, wooden knife pulled out, ready to jab between Santi’s ribs before Pope taps him twice on the arm.

“Boys?’ Audrey calls.

Both of their heads turn in her direction and immediately they erupt in camaraderie. 

Hugs and claps on the back, big smiles all around. 

Audrey slips back inside, allowing them a moment to catch up.

After they’ve said their hellos Benny nods towards the house, “so uh, who’s that? She come with the place?”

“Moose? Nah. She’s running this thing.” Santi grins. 

“Like the coordinator?”

“No, like the Mission Commander, Benny.” Frankie scoffs. 

“No shit,” Benny perches his hands on his hips.

“Well. She technically outranks you,” Santi whacks Benny’s chest with the back of his hand. “Don’t overstep.”

And overstep is the first thing that Benny does.

“So you’re the Mission Commander?” Benny barks when she returns.

“Yes,” Audrey sets a fresh pitcher of water on the patio table.

“What’s your background?”

“I’ll have Davis email you my full roster,” she slips dark shades over her eyes against the sharp afternoon sun.

“Can’t tell me yourself?”

“We don’t have that much time.”

“What branch?”

“Never served under a branch.”

“So you never served.”

“I’ve been serving for almost 25 years, Miller.”

“Benny, did you not get—” Santi starts.

“I did. Didn’t read it.” Benny’s eyes are still locked on hers from behind mirrored aviators. “Alright,” he nods toward the lawn. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Frankie lets out a low whistle. “You’re about to be humbled, Benjamin.”

“Maybe,” he calls, not believing it for a second. “You’re tiny, though,” he says to Audrey, who slips off her shades and tosses them to Frankie.

Audrey’s no waif, but Benny is nine inches taller and has fifty pounds on her. 

And Benny fights guys bigger than he is down at the gym all the time. And wins. 

There’s no way in his mind that she can best him. 

“Take those off, pretty boy,” she points at his shades.

“‘S fine.”

“Alrigh,” she toes at the dirt, “not on me if they break.”

“Alright, keep it clean you two. No punches, no kicks, nothing permanent,” Santi calls. “Aud, you got knives on you?”

She reaches into her boots and pulls two out to hand over.

“Benny?”

“Nah, I just got off a plane, man.”

“Alright, set it up.”

 Benny jumps a few times before holding his fists up to his cheeks in a guard.

Audrey drops her right foot back and crouches.

And Santi gives the cue.

Immediately Benny closes the distance between the two of them, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. She’s quick to react, twisting to hook the inside of her elbow around the back of her knee, pulling tight such that the crease of her hip and the top of her thigh apply pressure on Benny’s neck, choking off his carotid artery.

He has no choice but to tap out, aviators hanging awkwardly off of the end of his nose.

“Okay,” he finally hands them off to Santi, raking his hair out of his eyes, “two out of three.”

Santi gives the signal again and Benny goes for her knees this time, immediately dropping her to the ground. They tussle for a moment before Audrey locks Benny in a triangle choke that he can’t find his way out of.

He taps out against her collarbone.

“Okay, three tries,” Benny grunts, blue shirt starting to darken with sweat.

“Benny, that’s—” Fish tries to intervene.

“It’s fine, Frankie,” Audrey’s chest is heaving as she holds up a hand in his direction. “Let him have it.”

They get back into position and when Santi gives the signal Benny is immediately behind her, trapping her neck in a chokehold between his arms, huge palm applying pressure to the back of her skull.

Frankie twitches but Santi holds out a hand.

Audrey jumps with her legs in the air, using their weight to swing Benny forward, turning as she lands and slipping her head from between his arms. Benny braces himself on his palms and immediately constricts, balling himself in an effort to cut off her ability to hook any of his limbs. In a flash she leans on his back, wrapping an arm over one shoulder and the other under the opposite armpit, prying one elbow away from his torso with a jab of her knee. Her leg hooks it and kicks back, taking Benny’s arm with it to its full span. She locks the top of her foot over her calf with his outstretched limb between her legs and spreads her knees, the pressure from her hips bending Benny’s arm the wrong way until he frantically slaps at a patch of dirt.

She instantly unfolds from him and rolls away into the grass.

“Alright,” he pants, holding out a fist, still face-down on his stomach. “You win.”

Audrey taps it with her own knuckles, fighting for breath. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Benny swallows hard through his panting, “Yeah I’m good.”

He sits up and stretches his arm for good measure.

“Can we be done here?” Frankie asks, unsure that his heart can handle seeing her in danger, and positive that his dick is going to act up seeing her get herself out of it. “It’s fuckin’ hot.”

They take turns with showers between the safehouse’s two bathrooms, until Frankie slips in with Audrey.

“Thoughts?” He asks quietly, wetting his hair under the spray.

“He made good choices out there,” she hands him the bottle of shampoo. “Smart in a fight.”

“Yeah, Benny fights down at the local gym. Kind of a small-town celebrity.” He sneaks a kiss at the nape of her neck as he scrubs at his scalp before rinsing. “I didn’t know you could do that, though.” 

“Getting too old for much hand-to-hand these days,” she winks over her shoulder at him as he grabs the conditioner bottle from her, raking cream through her curls before slicking the excess through his own hair.

“He got you good back here,” Frankie delicately runs thick fingers over the bruises blossoming on the wings of her hip bones from when Benny took her knees out from under her. 

Frankie wraps his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest a moment.

“Don’t like seeing you like that.”

“This is what we do, Frankie,” she soothes a palm over his forearm.

“Yeah.”

And he gently turns her head to slip his tongue into her mouth, enjoying this moment to themselves.

Frankie warmed by the water. 

Audrey warmed by Frankie.

_____

They rejoin the boys in the kitchen where Santi has started on steaks and Benny has thrown in to whip up roasted vegetables. 

Frankie cracks open beers and passes them around.

Afternoon flows into evening. Beer flows into liquor. 

Camaraderie abounds.

Somewhere around 10pm, when Audrey excuses herself to the restroom, the whiskey in Benny’s veins springs a question loose.

“Alright, boys,” his voice is low. “Which one of you is hittin’ that because if you’re not, I’m gonna.”

“That’s pretty bold of you to assume she’d have you, Benny,” Pope reaches for his glass.

“It’s that white boy confidence,” Frankie quips from where he’s leaned back in his chair and Santi snorts, nearly spitting out his drink.

“I mean—” and Benny makes a show of running his hand through his hair. “But seriously, is she single?”

“She’s not gonna fuck you, Benny.” Santi grins.

“Alright, okay. I see you, Pope,” Benny smacks the back of his hand against Santi’s arm.

“I think I have to turn in, boys,” Audrey sighs when she returns, reaching for her glass without sitting and tossing back the last of her gin. “We’ll run it through top to bottom tomorrow and get you geared up,” she nods at Benny. “I have Davis’ guys refreshing the intel. Provided everything still checks out, we’ll execute on Thursday as originally planned.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny nods. Bourbon eyes starting to fall heavy on the sway of her hips. 

She places her glass in the sink before moving to gently grab Frankie’s chin one hand, thumb and middle fingers fitting in the bare patches in his beard, and bends to give him a quick, chaste kiss.

He hooks an arm around her waist when she moves away, hauling her against him again, “I’ll be there in a sec,” he assures her before craning his head up for her lips again.

“No rush,” she soothes a hand over the span of his chest, “I might be back down for water, but you boys enjoy. G’night.”

When she’s upstairs and out of earshot, Benny erupts in hushed tones.

“CATFISH, YOU DOG.”

Frankie grins and blushes in that order.

“Damn,” Benny muses to himself as he takes another sip of whiskey. “I would not have guessed.”

“Ah c’mon you should know better, Benny.” Santi jabs a thumb in Frankie’s direction. “Big Dick Morales, remember?”

“BIG. DICK. MORALES.” And Benny holds his hand up for a high-five that Frankie rolls his eyes at, crossing his arms against his chest instead. “Damn.”

“Bastard finally found his glass slipper,” Santi quips.

“Jesus Christ, Pope,” an agitated Frankie rubs at his eyes. “Okay can we—” Frankie winds his hand forward through the air, wanting desperately to move away from this line of conversation. 

Benny leans in across the table, finger pointed at the ceiling in reference to the woman upstairs, “the whole thing? Fuuuck.”

“Dude, you can hear the two of them like three rooms over,” Santi snarks.

“Oh well you gotta enlighten us, Catfish,” Benny spreads his arms and leans back in his chair.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Benjamin.” Frankie quips, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey.

“Ah, c’mon, Fish. You know me and this one are painfully single.” Benny smacks Pope on the arm again. Like literally, my balls ache.”

“That’s not a real thing,” Frankie shakes his head.

“It is!”

“Then get acquainted with your hand, Benny, I dunno what to tell you.”

“She is smokin’ hot, Catfish. Can I at least get some material here…”

Frankie shakes his head and starts, “I’d suggest you try www dot p-o-r…”

And there’s a snort from the stairwell

Audrey in black sleep shorts and a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, metal waterbottle in hand.

And she watches the tips of Benny’s ears start to burn.

Even Santiago sits up a bit straighter.

Frankie covers the smirk on his face with the heel of his palm.

Because he knows Audrey’s about to put Benny back in line for the second time today.

“Don’t let me stop you, boys,” she pads over to the sink on bare feet to fill her bottle.

Fraught silence hangs in the air until Benny pipes up.

“We uh, we were just asking Big Dick Morales over here to tell us his secret.” Bourbon has made Benny’s tongue loose. “Seems like you could have anyone and yet you chose this guy. Must know something we don’t.”

Audrey has a measured tolerance for many things. 

Slandering her lover is not one of them. 

“Benny,” she places her water bottle on the table. “Benjamin?” And she drapes her arm across Benny’s shoulders in a move that sends him rigid in his chair from the slouch he was in.

“You really want to know his secret?”

Benny swallows hard. 

“He’s sweet. He’s smart. He’s funny. There’s no peacocking with him. It’s that easy, Benny.”

Benny snorts like he doesn't believe her. 

Sober Ben Miller would never steal a friend’s girl. Drunk Ben Miller is a 6’3” blue-eyed, dirty dishwater blonde who’s never been told ‘no.’

And Audrey needs to disavow him of whatever little fantasy he has that distracts him from the task at hand and makes him think she’ll end up in his bed after the celebratory round of drinks when this is all through.

She cranes low to whisper near Benny’s ear, eyes glinting where they’re locked on Frankie’s mischievous, half-lidded ones. “Okay, here’s a secret, Benny. You ever found that spot that’s so deep it makes your lady see stars? Not the one up front, any idiot can find that. It’s way back in there, tucked away because it’s the most precious place you’ll ever go. That one spot that sets her whole body reeling for minutes afterward. You ever found that?”

And she waits until Benny answers, “no.”

“No? Santi, you ever done that?” She doesn’t move, and doesn’t break Frankie’s stare as she asks it.

“Once or twice,” it’s the truth, but Santiago smirks because he knows what she’s doing and agrees that it needs done. “It’s been years though.”

“Wild. Frankie hits that every. time.”

She claps him on the back, “you should try it, Benny. Good communication is key, but you’ll get there.”

And she hooks a finger into the cap of her water bottle and heads for the stairs.

Frankie throws them a salute with two fingers and follows right behind her.

“Was that too harsh?” She whispers when Frankie turns the lock on the bedroom door, brown eyes wide.

“Baby,” he grabs her around the waist, peppering her face with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his scruff. “That was so. fucking. sexy.” He trails his nose down her neck, licking and sucking at her skin.

“I only told the truth, Francisco,” she throws her arms around his neck.

And Frankie presses her to him, palm accidentally catching on her bruises and she winces.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes with lips on her neck.

“‘S okay,” a kiss, “get in bed, Frankie.”

Frankie hums, tongue licking behind her teeth. 

And she crawls under the duvet, settling on her side as Frankie quietly strips down to his boxer briefs, placing his cap on the nightstand.

Frankie hums as his lips find her ear and his hand cups her breast, making her arch back against him with a moan.

“Shhh baby,” Frankie soothes. “Not sure how thin these walls are.”

“Pope doesn’t give a shit.”

“Benny might. Wouldn’t want to scare the kid.”

“That’s a grown man, Francisco,” she whispers as she twists in his hold, hand cupping his jaw. “And I don’t really care what Benny hears,” her fingers slip down his stomach, nails catching on the trail of hair leading under his waistband.

She smirks against his lips, “how did that conversation even start?”

“Mhmm,” Frankie squeezes her thigh and pulls her closer to him, nose skimming her cheek. “Benny wanted to know if you’re single.”

“Am I not?”

“No. You’re mine.”

And he moves before Audrey can process Frankie having laid their situation that bare in front of her. He rolls and pulls her with him to lie on his chest, hand cradling her skull as his lips find hers.

But he senses her hesitation.

“Do—do you want to fuck Benny?” His eyes are suddenly soft. Unsure of himself.

“No, Frankie, I don’t want to fuck Benny.” She adjusts to straddle his hips and sits up, raking her hair out of her eyes.

“Then wh—”

“Shhh, Frankie, please,” she soothes both hands over the slight swell of his belly. “Tonight, I’m yours,” she cranes down to kiss him, “and for the rest of this trip, I’m yours.”

But it all sounds so temporary.

And he wants so desperately to push back. To ask what happens in the after. 

What happens when she goes home? Does she lay in bed alone, sleeping like a baby, or is her bed warmed by someone else? 

Does she wish for his company when she goes to the movies, does she need someone to hold her shopping bags at the mall, who packs her groceries in her fridge, or does she do it all alone?

Does she make herself come and wish it was him?

Is he some secret she keeps stashed away?

Is there another?

Does she think of him at all?

“But—”

“Francisco. Leave it.” Her gaze is granite. “Please. Please let us just have this. Right here. Right now.”

And the thing in her eyes is back again. The thing he can’t quite name.

But there’s want there too.

And it’s only the whiskey with a side of beer that allows him to acquiesce.

“Okay,” he whispers, kissing her deeply before sitting up, palms skating up the panes of her back before flipping her over, parting her legs with his shoulders.

And he means okay out of desperation. The visceral need to prove his worth to a woman that could slip through his fingers and into another man’s bed on a whim.

There would be a taker downstairs.

And okay he’s going to do his best.

Okay, he’ll pour want—need—through his fingertips.

Okay.

He’ll crack granite.

And Frankie has all the right moves. The skillful flick of his tongue, the hollowing of his cheeks, and the pump of his fingers.

But Audrey’s brain won’t let her come.

“Baby,” he looks up from between her thighs, rubbing a palm down her stomach, “where are you?”

She takes a deep breath as he rakes his hair off of his forehead and runs his tongue over a bottom lip wet with her slick.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” She props herself up on her elbows and Frankie gently lets her legs fall open to climb up her body, the tip of his nose brushing hers.

“What’s wrong, gatita?” He whispers.

And that word feels a world away from where they are now.

“Think I’m just distracted, Frankie.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, that’s okay, baby,” he tucks a stray curl behind her ear before shifting around to lay next to her. He settles on his side, pulling the duvet up enough to take the tent in his boxer briefs out of the equation.

She stares into the middle distance while Frankie sits with her in the silence. 

Palm still rubbing her stomach under her t-shirt.

Trying to soothe himself with her skin.

He’s losing her.

She settles down next to him, his hand settling on her ribcage, thumb rubbing soft circles into her skin.

Big green eyes settling on brown ones that are doing their best to hide panic.

When she reaches for his cheek his lids flutter closed, her cold hand a balm to his burn.

Audrey maps the contours of his face with reverent fingers. Palm curving over the roundness of his cheeks. Nails catching on his beard. Thumb tracing echoes of the joy that accumulates in the corners of tired eyes. 

She runs her index finger lightly over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

She presses a kiss to his lips.

And he offers a soft smile when he opens his eyes again.

“Frankie,” she whispers, running her thumb feather-light over his bottom lip, “do you remember what I told you. That second night?”

“You told me a lot of things that second night,” he runs his fingertips down her spine.

“But what I always come back to is—”

“You’re beautiful.”

They both whisper it at the same time.

The corner of Frankie’s lips quirk in a gentle smile that dimples one cheek.

“You’re beautiful Frankie,” she kisses his chin. “I need you to know. You’re beautiful.”

And it soothes him in the moment. Enough that his eyes start to slip closed, pulled at first by the weight in his chest. The need to shut out this reality. 

She turns in his arms to press her back to his chest and he pulls her in to him, tucking his nose against her neck.

Settling into each other like they do every night they share a borrowed bed.

And Frankie slips off, warm breath skating over her skin.

But Audrey’s heart still pounds in her ears.

_____

They shift around each other in the night.

Frankie’s legs tangling with hers.

Her fist clenching in the cotton of his shirt.

His palm cupping her warm breast. Staying there.

Audrey’s tongue slipping into his mouth.

Frankie pulling at her waist urging her on top of him.

“Baby, I need you—” he swallows hard. Unable, through the haze of sleep, to stave off the seep of apprehension into his viscera. 

Desperation.

It bleeds into the haze of his dreams and back out into reality when her weight blankets him.

He skates his nose up the side of her neck, hot puffs of breath dampening her skin before he nips at her ear, “now. Right now baby.”

Take this feeling from me.

Let me prove that you’re mine.

She sits up from where she straddles his hips, pulling her t-shirt off as Frankie rights himself to lave his tongue over one tight nipple.

Audrey wraps her arms around his neck and his hands settle over her shoulder blades before he lays her backwards, kissing a path down her form as her fingers tangle in his hair.

He feasts until her body goes taught with pleasure, every throb of her walls around his fingers a beat of reassurance to his buzzing mind.

She keens his name when she breathes again.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he hurriedly tugs his boxer briefs down, pumping his thick, weeping cock.

He rubs the head of his cock through her folds before sinking in slowly, mouth dropping open a fraction with each inch that he gives her. 

Audrey’s back arches off the bed, hand flying to cover her mouth.

Frankie weights her form with his, kissing at her knuckles, begging for the moans trapped behind them.

She allows it.

Allows Frankie’s tongue into the wet of her mouth, still tasting of her.

Allows him to sit up and bring both of her legs together, holding her ankles with one massive hand as she reaches back to grip the edge of the bed. He guides one to each shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of her thighs. 

Knocking against something sacred.

And she’s trying. 

Trying not to scream for him.

Not to let slip how she needs him.

Here. Like this.

All ways. Always.

But Frankie settles one palm low on her stomach and applies pressure with the heel of it. Feeling the bulge of his cock as he fucks into her. 

A bit more pressure and the crown of his cock catches her g-spot. Over and over.

Sending sparks across her vision.

And Audrey loses it.

Composure.

Sanity.

The scream choked in the back of her throat.

The tenuous hold she had on the tide of pleasure that breaks over her now, causing frantic hands to reach for his wrist and nails to sink into his thigh.

Walls throbbing around his cock.

She’s probably woken the whole house.

Good.

Frankie’s jaw clenches through the pulsing of her cunt, thumb slipping through the slick he pulls from her core to wind against her clit.

He can’t keep the moans in now.

And so he gives them to her.

Leaning forward with one leg still over his shoulder to bite at her bottom lip.

“You’ve got one more in you,” he inhales through his teeth, “don’t you, baby? One more, come on baby.”

“Frankie,” she sobs, swallowing hard, “you know better,” she grips at the sweaty roots of his hair. “You know better than that, baby.”

And he growls from somewhere deep in his chest, sitting up enough to let her leg down.

But he lets it down across his body, slipping his cock from her heat and flipping her over onto her stomach with the momentum of it.

Audrey immediately braces herself on her forearms as Frankie thrusts back inside of her, the weight of his body falling against her not a moment after.

“I do know better,” he mashes his nose to her temple. “I know my baby likes it like this, doesn’t she?”

And it’s so sordid. The speed with which Frankie’s hips move now, skin slapping against hers. The way his tongue licks a stripe over her ear. The wet squelch of his cock through her slick.

The grunts he can’t help when he’s this close. 

Audrey grins with teeth in her bottom lip from under a cascade of black curls.

“I can feel it, you know,” Frankie purrs, beard scraping against her cheek before his nose follows suit. “Feel when I’m in that spot.” He sucks on her neck before sliding the flat of his teeth against her skin.

She lets out a sultry hum.

“Like it was made for me. So fucking tight around my cock.”

And all she can do is moan in response because he’s slowed his pace. There’s the slightest circle to his hips with every thrust.

Grinding deep—hard—as if to prove his point.

He’s doing it spectacularly.

“Jesus, Frankie,” she moans, head dropping into the space between her forearms. 

She’s warm gold in his hands, pliable and glistening. Bending with his attention. Made malleable with his want.

Something precious.

He props himself up with one arm and runs a reverent palm down her spine before fitting fingers to the curve of her waist and slipping under her hips.

She keens the moment he starts toying with her clit.

“Harder, Frankie,” she gasps with the breath that he hasn’t stolen from her ribcage.

He moans, a deep, cracked thing as he buries his face between her shoulder blades.

The snap of his hips jostles her against the mattress, slowly at first before Frankie’s rational brain shuts off.

He slips his fingers from her, reaching for her thigh and pulling it up towards her waist, fitting his knee behind it.

Hips grinding her clit against the bed.

His pace builds until his moans drown out her fractured sobs of pleasure, teeth scraping at her shoulder, her body blanketed by the breadth of his form. 

She slips one hand down to work her clit. “Frankie, yes, yes, ye—”

“C’mon, baby. Yeahhh—”

“Oh fuck. Frankie. Frankie, Frankie, Fr—” Her body bows, back colliding with his chest the moment he moves to kiss her with a open, uncoordinated mouth as her walls clench hard around him.

“‘M gonna fucking come,” he hisses in her ear. “Gonna come. Gonna—fucking—cover you with it.”

And she keens between the aftershocks and Frankie’s promise, burying her face in the tangle of sheets.

“You—yeahh—you want that? Want my come? Fuck, baby—” he chokes out.

And it takes everything he has to pull out of the grip of her cunt at the last minute, wrapping his fist around his heavy length, pumping his cock twice before thick ropes of come streak across her spine.

Frankie roars, rushing to slam his cock back inside of her, still throbbing with his release, body twitching and trembling with pleasure before he stills.

Audrey’s soft moans call him back to her. 

Fragile, wrecked things, tangled with heaving breath.

Frankie pulls out with a groan from them both as Audrey protests the loss of his heat at her back.

Until the hot wet of Frankie’s tongue slides over her skin.

He cleans her of his come with a greedy mouth, lips sucking up her spine as he does.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

Finally he returns his full weight to her, one hand splaying against her jaw and bringing her face back towards his.

He tastes of himself. 

Bitter salt and insatiable lips.

Audrey’s face drops back into the sheets when he lets her go, arching up against him with the need to feel his solid weight.

His warmth.

Frankie gently gathers her hair in one hand, peppering her neck and back with kisses before he rests his chin into the curve of one shoulder.

She’s molten now.

“W’s that okay?” He whispers.

And she’s incapable of doing anything more than letting out a throaty, satisfied hum and pressing a kiss to the scruff of his cheek.

Frankie musters enough strength to pull her with him back up to the head of the bed, tucking her against his chest, palm soothing over her back as she nuzzles her nose against his neck.

Audrey’s hazy, murmured, “you’re beautiful,” is the last thing either of them hear before sleep takes them again.

_____

THURSDAY

“Boys, we have a slight wrinkle. They’ve got three more jeeps out here than they did yesterday,” Audrey reports as she stares through a pair of binoculars from where she’s parked a mile away from the compound.

“Benny and I could slash those tires before heading in,” Santiago’s voice crackles over comms.

“Too risky and you wouldn’t have time. They’re on the opposite side of the compound from your entry point.”

“Problem is, more trucks means more men,” Benny chimes in.

“It also means unfamiliar faces. Might actually make it easier to slip in,” Frankie muses.

“I have a distraction in my back pocket, but report back when you’re in position,” Audrey radios.

“I bet you do.”

Frankie growls, “she means an RPG, Benny.”

They suffer through fifteen minutes of silence before Santi reports back. “You were right, Fish.”

“Let us walk right in,” Benny murmurs.

“Consensus seems to be they’re prepping to move the hostage in about an hour. We’ll ingratiate ourselves until then.”

“This’ll be easier than we thought, boys.”

Frankie hisses, Audrey shushes, and Santi shoots him a pointed stare.

“Don’t fuckin’ say that Benjamin.” Fish growls.

“It’s not done yet,” Audrey murmurs.

Ten minutes later, Benny asks, “Moose, did those Jeeps look armored?”

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

“Okay, we have a slight hiccup,” Benny’s voice is low. “Their planned extraction route has changed. They’re heading in the opposite direction from the airstrip.”

“Great,” Frankie mutters.

“So, my way,” Audrey chimes in.

“The planned route runs right past you, Moose,” Santiago adds.

“We could still take the risk. Break at the last minute?” Benny suggests.

“Too dangerous if those Jeeps aren’t armored. Aud can start knocking them off but they’ve got more men than we accounted for and we dunno how many vehicles they’re going to mobilize,” Fish scratches at his chin and reaches for a map.

“Moose, that Rover have a turbo on it?”

“It’s got two, Benny. But we still can’t make that run to the safehouse. The jungle’s too dense and they’ll be too hot on our tail the minute they get wise. We have to get the hostage into the chopper and Frankie’s gotta make the final run.”

And it’s like she and Frankie have the same idea at the same time.

“So, this is risky—” Fish starts.

“The beach.” Audrey says.

“Think that would give you enough space?”

“If you can be there the minute we break through.”

“I can.”

Audrey’s quiet for a moment, running through contingencies. “Okay boys, we’re gonna do a live handoff.”

“You’re not gonna stop, Aud?” Santi asks, voice jumping half an octave.

“I don’t think we’ll have time. Think you and Benny can handle that switch?”

“You hop in the bird and I can hand her up,” Benny mumbles to Santi.

“Yeah,” Pope nods with bright eyes. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“We’re good if you both are,” Benny reports.

“Frankie, you good?” Audrey asks.

“I’m good. Give me a five minute warning before hostage extraction, I’ll get this up and hold the area.”

“Okay. Santi and Benny, you come straight to me. No sense in taking men out if they’re headed this direction anyway, it’ll just tip them off. But that means you boys are gonna have to floor it. Give me as much lead time as you can.”

“Done.” Benny answers.

“I’ll drive. You get in the back with the girl,” Pope nods.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone have any questions?” Audrey asks.

She gets three ‘no’s.’

“Everyone clear on their role?”

She gets three ‘yes’s.’

“If anyone has any doubts, speak up now. If not, everyone confirm, individually, that this plan is a go.”

Without hesitation, everyone answers ‘confirmed.’

“Alright boys. Benny and Pope, are you both in position to start the clock?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m officially marking five minutes until extraction. Frankie, get her up.”

“Roger.”

Ninety seconds later Frankie confirms he’s in the air and has cleared the airstrip.

“Benny and Pope, you’re cleared to move in accordance with the timeframe.”

They’re out and in the back of the Jeep in another seven minutes. An unknown man slips into the passenger seat thinking he’ll hitch a ride with the boys, and Benny covers the girl’s eyes and ears with two massive hands as Pope fires a silenced shot at the man’s temple before he floors the truck.

They catch up to Audrey in another two minutes.

“They’re sixty seconds behind us,” Benny blurts out as he opens the door, immediately grabbing the girl out of the backseat. “Sorry about this, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he picks her up and hurriedly transfers her into the Rover, sliding in behind her and slamming the door.

She’s quiet and pliant, but there’s panic in her eyes. 

“Santi, there’s two minutes on that,” Audrey simultaneously tosses a live charge to Santi who slaps it onto the Jeep, right over the gas tank, before he slips into the passenger seat, slamming his door as Audrey hits the accelerator.

“Frankie, we’re on the move. ETA to the beach is seven minutes.” Santiago reports.

Audrey catches the little girl’s wide brown eyes in the mirror.

“Hey Diana,” she says with far more calm in her voice than she has any right to have. “I’m Moose. This is Pope,” she gestures to Santi who turns around and offers the girl a winning smile, “and that’s Ben next to you.”

“I know all of this is a lot. But we’re here to get you home.” Santi assures her.

“You ever been on a helicopter, Diana?” Audrey asks again and the boys pick up on where she’s going with it.

“One time,” the girl answers in a soft voice.

“That’s awesome!” Benny chimes in. “Did you like it?”

She nods.

“Well, there’s a helicopter coming around just for you that’s going to fly you to your parents.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna help get you inside, but we’re gonna need you to be really brave, okay?” Santi says. “The guy flying the helicopter is called Catfish, he’s my best friend. And I’m going to be with you the whole time.”

She nods, eyes still wide with fear.

“We’re gonna have to move pretty fast once we get down to the beach okay?” Benny says as they hear the charge Santi set go off in the background.

“We’re gonna crawl out through there,” Pope points at the sunroof.

And she starts shaking her head ‘no.’

“Hey, Diana?”

This from Audrey.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?”

“I really do!”

She brightens a bit at that.

“I know you can do this. And these boys are going to keep you safe, that’s what they do best. Keep people safe. And then in less than an hour, you’ll be with your parents.” She meets the girl’s eyes in the mirror again. “I promise.”

“You pinky swear?”

Audrey laughs and reaches one gloved hand behind her.

“I pinky swear.”

And she feels a small tug at her hand.

Benny holds his pinky out and Diana wraps her small finger around it before doing the same with Santi.

“Frankie, beach in one,” Audrey reports.

“Roger,” he returns over coms and thirty seconds later they hear the thump of rotor blades. “They’re about two minutes behind you.”

“That’s your ride, Diana,” Santi flips the switch to open the sunroof as he crouches on the passenger seat.

“Diana?” Audrey asks.

“Yeah?”

“Keep your eyes shut real tight for me until Pope tells you to open them again, okay?”

And the little girl shuts her eyes and covers her ears as Audrey wrenches the wheel to the right and hits sand.

“Frankie, I’m going to aim for 60 mph, or I’ll run out of beach too quickly,” she reports.

“Roger.”

And Audrey lines the Rover up on firm sand as the thump of rotor blades grows louder. Wind and sand whip around the cabin as Santiago climbs out of the sunroof.

When Frankie gets the bird close enough, the downdraft from the rotor blades keeps sand in the cabin to a minimum, but creates a wake around the Rover.

Audrey’s only able to see about a hundred feet in front of her at any given time.

“Frankie, my vis is shit, callout if we’re gonna hit anything.”

“You’re clear for at least two miles if you hold it straight. Rock outcrop that would take some maneuvering just short of mile three.”

Two minutes. They have two minutes.

Santiago grips the roof rack in a crouch until Fish brings the helicopter skids within two feet of the truck. 

He easily launches himself onto the skids, Frankie expertly accounting for the impact. 

The bird doesn’t even rock.

Audrey chances a glance up at the chopper.

This is gonna work.

She gestures for Benny to get into position. 

He urges Diana onto the front seat, and mercifully she doesn’t put up a fight.

Benny climbs onto the center console, but the moment he sticks his head out of the sunroof, bullets start flying.

Santiago instantly reacts, laying down suppressive fire as Benny hoists himself up, hooking one foot under a bar of the roof rack, knee on sunroof glass to straddle the open space before he reaches down into the cabin, hoisting Diana up off of her seat with a hand under each arm, his back to the gunfire, shielding her.

Immediately she clings to his neck.

It’s a small blessing when bullets pause.

They don’t want to hit the girl, and Audrey mutters “thank fuck,” under her breath.

Benny assesses their angle and makes eye contact with Santiago who lays his rifle down. 

“Close the sunroof!” Benny yells over rotor blades and wind, and immediately Audrey reaches up to comply, giving Benny more space for solid footing.

It takes less than three seconds for the motor to slide glass closed, but Audrey swears it takes at least a year off of her life.

Benny’s dialed in and readjusts in an instant, standing to his full height.

Frankie and Audrey hold the vehicles dead even with each other, hurtling across the beach at highway speed.

Benny doesn’t hesitate, putting one foot on the skid of the chopper before gently loosening Diana’s hold on him. Santi puts a foot on the skid next to Benny’s and gets well within arms reach. 

Benny still holds Diana close to his body, Pope instead reaching for her.

“On three!” Benny yells, blonde hair whipping around his face.

“ONE.”

Santiago places his hands under Benny’s, making sure he has a firm grip on the girl.

“TWO.”

Benny holds her out just a little farther.

They lock eyes and both nod.

“THREE.”

Benny’s hands drop away and Santiago pulls her in tight to his chest, falling backward into the helicopter as Benny takes his foot off the skid.

“FISH, WE’RE CLEAR GET OUTTA HERE,” Benny crouches down on the roof, screaming into comms as Audrey flips the switch to open the sunroof again.

Benny drops back into the Rover as Frankie pulls hard to the right, peeling out over the ocean and out of range of the bullets that have once again started flying.

Benny reaches through the cabin to grab his rifle off of the back seat and immediately starts firing out of the sunroof as Audrey slows down enough to turn around without rolling the Rover, bringing the truck to a stop.

There’s half a mile between them and the rocks.

Thirty seconds.

She scrambles into the back seat and reaches into the trunk before slowly poking her head up in front of Benny.

Audrey shuffles to the right for clearance, stands on the back seat, and slings a metal tube up over her shoulder.

Half a second later she launches off an RPG.

Anything that remains when the smoke clears is easy work.

Benny takes out three men and Audrey picks off the tires of the one Jeep that made it through.

Everything finally falls silent, save for the muted sounds of the ocean and the crackling of fire—dulled by their ringing ears. 

Audrey reaches for the transmit button on her comms.

“Beach is clear.”

She glances back at where Benny is standing on the passenger seat behind her.

Audrey reaches out a hand.

And Benny shakes it with a laugh.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Benjamin.”

“Roger that, Moose. Roger. That.”

_____

Benny tries to hail Pope and Fish over comms periodically on their way back to their safehouse, but between the distance and the terrain, he doesn’t get anything back.

He tries calling and texting, but nothing gets through.

“They’ll have ditched the bird, and it’s probably four hours by car,” Audrey muses as she pulls into the safehouse drive.

“So maybe 6:30? 7?”

“Probably about that.”

“‘Kay.”

But the pauses between their words are thick with worry despite everything still going according to plan. 

They both shower and change into comfortable clothes, Audrey calling in a status report and cleanup while Benny makes hotdogs for their late lunch. 

They fall into conversation that’s far more comfortable now.

He pours Audrey a gin and soda around 5 pm when he can tell she’s still on edge. 

He fixes one for himself too and suggests they sit on the front porch.

6:30 pm comes and goes and Audrey parks herself on the hood of the Rover to light up a smoke.

Benny sits down next to her, propping sandaled feet up on the bullbar.

“Want one?” She angles her packet of Parliaments in his direction.

“Nah,” he politely shakes his head. “Don’t smoke. But you’re good, I don’t mind.”

And she huffs a laugh because Benny’s the one who followed her over here.

He tells her fight night stories to pass the time as she chain smokes, hoping to distract her enough to soothe her buzzing nerves. 

And his.

Audrey pulls a sweatshirt on to guard against the chill.

When 7:30 rolls around, Benny slips a cigarette out of the box and asks if she can give him a light.

Audrey smirks and acquiesces. 

At 8:15pm, Audrey’s phone lights up, notifying her that something has tripped the perimeter alarm.

She quickly unlocks it and holds it up between her and Benny as she presses play on the video.

It’s a car they don’t expect, and in the fading light, it’s too dark to make out who’s inside. 

Benny calmly slides off the hood and opens the Rover, tossing Audrey a rifle and grabbing a pistol for himself before quietly shutting the door. They move in silence to meet behind the truck, staring through the cabin out through the front windscreen, waiting for the car to appear.

It slips calmly into the drive as they both hold guns at the ready. 

Santiago steps out first with a smile on his face. The moment Frankie appears from behind the driver’s seat, Audrey drops her rifle and takes off running.

“Audrey,” Frankie sighs as she collides with his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He wraps one arm around her back and cups the base of her skull, pressing her tight to him.

“The FUCK took you so long?” Benny booms as he lays his pistol on the hood.

“Stopped for coffee,” Santiago quips, giving Benny a hug and a pat on the back. “Nah, their security detail had car trouble, so we swapped them out so they could move. Frankie fixed this piece of shit up, but it took some time.”

“Gave Benny and I some time to bond,” Audrey moves to give Santi a quick hug now as Benny wraps Frankie in his arms and thumps him on the back.

“That was some real Fast and Furious shit, boys!” Benny whoops.

“Yeah it was,” Frankie returns to Audrey’s side, arm draped around her shoulders.

A smile of pride playing on his mouth.

“Y’all hungry? We’ve got hot dogs,” Benny throws a thumb over his shoulder at the house.

“Fucking starving.” Frankie laughs.

_____

Mirth and liquor flow freely for the rest of the night.

“Okay, so wait, wait. Y’all gave me shit, but Benny doesn’t have a callsign—” Audrey points at the man in question..

“Benny’s callsign is ‘Benny’,” Santi swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“Sorry, what?”

“Well,” Frankie braces both hands on his thighs with a grin. “This one—this one ti—” but he can’t get it out without dissolving into a fit of laughter. “Benny is ‘Benny’—like Benadryl.”

“Yeah, walk me through that,” she rakes a hand through her curls.

“He got stung by a bee one day, took two Benadryl and slept through an entire training exercise.” Santi is grinning so hard that his face hurts.

“Benadryl can do that, yeah.”

“No. Babe,” Frankie laughs, resting a hand on her shoulder, “he slept through the training exercise WHILE he was out in the field.”

Benny is blushing now.

“He would come to enough to get into a helo, but then he’d fall asleep. Strapped into the seat,” Santiago gestures at his chest through howls of laughter.

“He got out of the bird, got into position on the ground with his rifle like he was about to line up a shot and fell the fuck asleep again,” Frankie wheezes, bracing his hand on Santi’s shoulder as he folds forward in his chair.

And she can’t help but laugh at the sight of Frankie having lost all composure.

“Fucking blanks flying everywhere,” Pope makes a cutting motion with his hand, ���my man is OUT COLD.”

“There are pictures,” Frankie wipes at his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Benny grumbles, but there’s a smile hiding just behind his lips. “I assume you know about these two idiots.” This to Audrey.

“I do, yeah,” she smiles as she takes a sip of gin.

“You gotta tell me how you got Moose now.”

“Oh,” Santiago reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone, finding the picture before sliding it over to Benny. “She saved our asses by nailing that shot.”

“Oh, cool.”

Benny isn’t quite impressed.

“Through night vision from a mile away, Benny.” Frankie adds.

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline now and he holds Santiago’s phone closer to his face.

“Damn, Moose. That’s sick,” he slides the phone back to Santi, “thought it was because of your tattoo.”

“YOU’VE SEEN IT?” Santiago screams.

Benny holds his hands up in front of his chest, “she had a tank top on earlier, I didn’t know it was some kind of secret.”

“It’s not, Benny. Santi just thinks it is,” she winks as one hand idly winds in Frankie’s curls.

“Unbelievable,” Santiago shakes his head.

“I like you, Moose.” Benny holds his glass up in her direction.

She taps the side of hers to his, “I like you too, Benny.”

“You do excellent work,” he swallows a sip, “clean, precise, efficient. Think on your feet. Hell of a shot. You wind this one up,” he points to Santi, “and this one is in love with you,” he gestures towards Frankie. 

And Audrey hides it in the moment, pulling her hand away from Frankie’s hair under the guise of reaching for her glass.

The truth is.

Benny’s just said the last thing she wants to hear.

next

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas

If I've missed you, please let me know, and if you'd like to be added, I'm happy to add you!

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here at Ohforficsake.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[ceaseless-exhauster]

Had another creative writing burst! Second statement (hopefully of fourteen)

I'm not entirely sure where to start with this. Where would you start with something like this? My dad would say "the beginning," but I don't know how far back the beginning goes in this case. Feels like maybe it goes back to when I was born, or maybe when he was born, or...I don't know. Anyway. I guess I'll start with that morning. It was one of those really oppressive weather days, you know? When the cloud cover is low and brownish and tight like a drum, and the air isn't moving at all. No hint of rain or cold or sun, just that held breath feeling all day. I had an early shift - I worked at my dad's construction company, always had. I was happy with it, really. I know a lot of people wind up in family businesses feeling trapped and unfulfilled, but I grew up just about as obsessed with making things as he was.

His favorite thing to do was to lay a foundation. He always said there was nothing like watching a thick concrete slab slough out of a truck, suffocating the ground, knowing that it was being done right and would stick that way for decades. That was how he was in the family too, I'd say. Maybe a bit suffocating at times, but definitely the rock that held us all up, even after Mum died in a hiking accident. He was weirdly at peace with her death, especially for having seen it himself, I think. Always claimed he knew she hadn't felt any pain, that surely she had gone straight from the comfort of the cave into nothing. My sister spent almost a year trying to convince him to stop mountaineering after the accident, to some avail eventually. After a few months of going on multiple overnight trips, Dad finally started pouring himself into work to cover up the grief we all knew had to be buried under the surface, which felt a bit more normal to us. Anyway, that day. We were well into the finishing framework on a multi-story office building; I don't think I ever knew who the commissioner of it was, or at any rate I don't know now. It was a pretty odd contract, since we were building on top of an underground structure. The existing building was a dusty old bank or something, by the looks of it. It had a great big vault that was set into the bedrock itself. I really wondered from the start why we were building anything atop it at all - it would have made a great museum.

I was secured in a hoist on one of the central iron bars of the third floor when the earthquake happened. Initially, I thought the rumbling was coming from someone drilling elsewhere on the same level. I shouted out to my partner to tell him to quit it while I was still hoisted. By the time my shout would've echoed, everything was collapsing around me. I landed hard, still stuck in the hoist and the hoist still stuck to the iron bar. It was all that kept me from hitting the ground though, so my only real injuries were some wicked bruises on my waist and torso where the straps had dug in on impact. It was unbelievably dark as I unhooked myself and dropped to the ground. "Derek? Simon?" I called out for the other two workers on the shift. I couldn't believe how little I could see in front of me - we were still in the framing stage! It should've been more like being under a pile of sticks than being in what felt like a mine collapse. I was stumbling slightly over broken boards and sharp points of t-bars; it felt like the further I went, the closer together they got, forming into a jagged grid that nipped at my limbs. Finally, my outstretched hand banged into something metal. I fumbled my way forward, keeping my hand on the surface. When I got up close to it, I could tell it was the vault door. "What the hell?" I mumbled to myself. How was I in the underground structure? Was this some kind of sinkhole situation? My chattering thoughts were silenced by unclear but loud, sharp words coming from inside the vault. I banged on the door. "Hello?! Who's in there? Are you alright?" I called. The speaking stopped abruptly. I tugged on the handle, not expecting anything to happen. The giant steel door nudged open just a bit, and the crushing smell of damp, old earth rushed out of the tiny crack to crawl up my nose and down my throat until it was all my brain could engage with. Coughing, I pulled the door further open, and tried to peer inside the vault. I could almost see - I suppose my eyes may have been getting used to the dark by then? In dark, shifting shades of gray, I could make out the shape of my father. "Dad?" I gasped, still choking on the smell. He smiled beatifically at me.

"I'm so glad you could make it, Ry." I had tripped to one knee at this point, gasping in great, heaving breaths, desperate for just one lungful of fresh air. I couldn't even remember what breathing easy felt like anymore. "Isn't it beautiful?" My only answer was more wracking coughs. "I think this is just how Mum felt. I hope it is. I told her we'd find each other here soon enough." I was seeing stars, true blackness starting to crowd my vision. I managed to mutter a faint "what?" before my eyes crashed shut and I slumped to the ground, sinking a bit into the moist clay beneath me. When I woke, I could hear several men grunting and shouting to each other. It was a lot brighter than it had been when I went out - I could see sunlight spearing through rebar in a dozen places. "Riley!" It was Derek. "He's over here! Mate, you okay?" I nodded dazedly. "I don't know how it took so damn long to find you, we was just a bit apart from each other when everything came down." "Where's my dad?" I croaked out. "What d'you mean?" Derek said. "He's not onsite today." "I saw him, down in the vault."

Suffice to say, the recovery crew never found him down there - they made sure to tell me that both the vault and the hatch to the underground were sealed when they went to check. Paramedics said I probably had a concussion-fueled hallucination. We still haven't found him, to this day. The last place his cell had pinged was near where Mum had died; four days of search and rescue didn't turn up a trace. My sisters choose to believe that he tried to join Mum up there in one of those caves. They're worried about me, mostly about the fact that I can't be in closed spaces anymore. I had a panic attack in an elevator a few days ago, I think that's what finally pushed me to come here and tell this story. Every time I'm constricted in the slightest, I can't blink without seeing Dad's serene smile and smelling that awful, heavy dirt. Maybe that's my grief and how I deal with it, I don't know. I think I'm gonna leave now, if that's all you need - this room is a bit small. [statement ends]