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astroboots · 2 years ago

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Morning Sunshine

Summary: Once again, you wake up to Santiago in bed with Frankie and you.

Content: pr0n, pr0n, pr0n. This gets smutty.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) x Frankie

Wordcount: 6,900 words of depraved smut.

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You have a recurring dream.

It always comes when you're anxious. Back in College it used to happen the night before an exam. Now that you've graduated and joined the workforce, it tends to rear its ugly head before a performance review. But the most safe bet that this dream will always make an appearance whenever Santiago is visiting and about to leave.

Leaving for deployment. Leaving for a private job. Leaving for the sake of leaving.

In this dream, unlike the stereotypical stress dream, you're not standing naked in front of a class. Your teeth don't fall out through a hole in your cheek. In fact nothing much of note happens in it.

You're just standing on an empty tarmac, waiting for a plane that never arrives no matter how long you stand there.

There's no sight of it even as your feet become sore and throbs and aches with blisters. Not even as the clear blue sky turns obsidian dark and stars begin to dust the black canvas above.

Most of the times when you dream you're alone throughout. Sometimes a person you've never met before, with a nondescript face will walk up to you and ask you what you are doing. You'll tell them that you're waiting and when they ask you for what and who, you'll shake your head and refuse to answer.

You never tell them. Because like a birthday wish, there's a chance that if you say anything, your wish won't come true.

You wake in your bedroom. The first of the morning sun spill through the blinds with a warm gentle glow that settles over the cream sheets on the bed, dyeing it in amber.

Peering up, you stare at Santiago from where your head is resting on his chest, chin tucked into his clavicle.

He's here.

He's actually here.

Your eyes roam over Santiago's face, over the golden skin that's baby-soft without a single blemish no matter how hard you try to find one.

Soft plump lips most girls would die to for. Ink-black lashes so thick and long sometimes you wonder if they're fake. They have to be.

His lashes flutter behind his shut eyes in his sleep. It's almost as if he could sense your thoughts from his sleep and decided to rub it in your face. You press your face back into the hollow of his neck, nose brushing up against the lazy pulse you feel there.

He's here, it reminds you as it beats faintly against your skin. Santiago is actually back.

You bite down on your lip, tampering down the jolt of giddiness that rushes to your head at the thought.

It's hard to stay still, excitement is vibrating inside your bones and it wants to burst out of your skin. If it wasn't for Frankie's grounding weight pressed warm against your back, caging you in, you're not sure you wouldn't be floating off the mattress.

Taking a long deep breath, you try to stay calm so you don't wake either of them.

For a moment you try to talk yourself into trying to fall back asleep and catch a little bit more sleep.

But no, that's not happening this morning. Your brain is too wired. You haven't even had coffee yet. But you feel like you've had a dozen of espresso shots injected straight into your bloodstream, ready to run a marathon.

Santiago is here. In your home. In your bed. With you. And with Frankie.

For two whole years, he had stayed gone and didn't come to visit you even once.

The only signs he wasn't buried six feet under in some desert half across the world were a handful of calls, infrequent texts and hastily written postcards that arrived in the mail months apart.

In all that time, you haven't caught so much as a glimpse of his infuriating, beautiful face.

And now he's here, has been here for the last two weeks.

You don't know how you managed this. Don't know how you lured Santiago Garcia into your bed that first morning of his visit. Don't know how you managed the even more impressive feat of not having him bolt barefeet to Tampa airport when the three of you'd woken up together half-naked tangled in bed.

Your fingers linger over the pulse of his throat, making sure that he's real.

And he is. Warm and soft under your fingertips. Your lips are stuck in dopey smile.

Santiago stirs from under you, voice groggy with sleep as he grunts quietly. It takes you a second to register that the garbled sound muffled against his pillow are words. You just can't make out what he's saying.

"What was that?" you ask.

His head lifts just slightly from the pillow. "Said go back to sleep." Then he drops himself back down with a soft thud. "Too early," he mumbles. Those soft riotous curls of his spill across the pillow.

Gorgeous, ridiculously pretty bastard.

Your fingers draw down until you meet the familiar golden chain resting there. The gold glistens against the sun, and you trace the length of it from the back of his neck to his chest, until you reach the end, where the pendant rests. It's the shape of half a heart cracked in half.

You snort with a laugh.

It's been a hot minute since you've last seen this hideous thing. He usually tucks it inside his shirt, hidden from plain sight.

It's one of those ugly and cheap BFF necklaces that were all the rage in the 90's. The kind one could buy from any strip mall in America. You'd know, because that's where you got it, down the road from your first apartment, some ten years ago.

Holding the half golden heart between your thumb and index finger, you smile. It is a heinously ugly thing adorned with a gaudy pink rhinestone to boot.

You'd really taken your time that day to pick the most obnoxiously offensive option, hadn't you?

For all the grouching Santiago did when you had given it to him, all the griping about how "eye-gougingly ugly” it was. How much he "hates it". How he was "going to throw it into the Pacific where it can't do more harm" -- somehow all these years later, it still hangs around his neck.

It just has a bit of wear and tear now, polished from use where it rubs against the collar of his shirt, to the point where the lettered inscription of 'BE FRIE' stacked on top of each other is barely legible anymore.

Older than a decade, this beaten up necklace, and he's still wearing it.

"You have terrible taste you know," his sleep-rasped voice comes from above. He's got one eye cracked half open as he peers down on you, as if the room is too bright at this early hour for him.

His gaze on you is warm, and your chest flutters pleasantly. But you can't resist poking back at his snarky comment, the way that you two always do.

"It was a very heartfelt gift from me to you, Santiago. Don't be an ungrateful brat."

He hums, the tone of it still marred with sleep as he speaks. "If it's such a heartfelt gift, why do I never see you wearing your half."

"Are you fucking kidding me," you snort, as you lift your head from his chest to lean up to his face, "I wouldn't be caught dead with that ugly thing."

Both his eyes shoot open with a pout and his put out expression, has you wheezing with laughter.

You clamp your hands over your mouth and nose, trying to suppress the noise so you won't wake Frankie. But god, it's impossible. Because the more you laugh the more offended he looks, and that's even funnier. It's a self-perpetual cycle of laughter that doesn't end.

You drop your head back down to his chest, burying your face there as you shake with laughter, trying to muffle the sound.

"Are you done?" Santiago asks with that trademark sarcasm, but the fondness creeping into his tone is unmistakable.

Pressing your lips together, you breathe in a long inhale through your nose to calm your laughter before you tip your head back up.

Santiago is smiling at you, eyes squinted and softly crinkling. At the sight of him, whatever remaining laughter you had dies in your throat.

Heart-stoppingly pretty, that's what he is.

His hand comes to cup the back of your neck and he pulls you down to his lips. A soft tender press that ends much too quickly, before he lets you go, smiling wider than ever up at you. It's a little bit embarrassing how dumbstruck that one barely-there kiss gets you. You have no witty retort for him, just stare back at him dumbfounded.

"I get to do this now, right?" he asks with that warm smile of his that you've missed more than oxygen.

It takes your brain more than a few seconds to re-calibrate, to take in and process his question and the full depth of the bizarre but welcomed new reality that is going to unfold.

The three of you have stepped into unknown territory that none of you can take back. It's something you've known since that first morning at the breakfast table.

If something goes wrong. If you screw this up. If Frankie pushes him too far next time. If Santiago cuts and runs, he's going to be gone for much longer than two years.

That should scare you. Even the remote risk of that happening should be plenty of reason to stop this. But you don't.

You drop down your head again to recapture his mouth with yours. His hand comes up to cup your cheeks and it has your face tingling with heat.

His thumb smooths over your cheek, pressing gently as he tilts your face to an angle where he can kiss you deeper, and you know without an ounce of doubt in you that it's a risk worth taking, because, sweet baby jesus, you are kissing Santiago Garcia.

It's messy and slow. Santiago is too sleepy at this early hour to master his usual coordination and you're overbrimming with adrenaline to follow his lead and pace, but you try.

Soft, sweet. Hard, then needy. You let him slide his tongue against yours, as you wrap your legs as best as you can around his waist. Practically grinding yourself against the warmth of his torso.

It's messy, and a bit uncoordinated in the best of ways. Santiago's hands are holding you close, one hand firm on the back of your neck, the other curled around your waist.

It's still early, and everything around you is wrapped in that morning haze of soft sunlight and morning quiet. The only sound you hear is the rustle of sheets and Santiago's subdued low moan against your lips.

His hands on your neck and waist doesn't move, the firm grip, holding you steady and close to him. But you can feel a wide palm, warm and calloused slide against the slope of your stomach. It drags slowly downwards, the rough skin rasping against yours until he cups the apex of your thighs over your panties and presses down. White heat sparks along the length of your legs and you arch into the pleasant touch for more.

It's all the encouragement he needed. You can feel those dexterous fingers slip inside the trim of the cotton fabric, coating the wetness already there, before pushing inside of you.

It's blinding. Sharp electric pleasure sears into your skin. Those curling fingers slides deeper, finding that perfect place with practiced ease and no hesitation. Sparking heat rides along your entire back.

It's so fucking good. You don't understand how Santiago can do that. Know your body this intimately when he's never been with you like this before.

You moan into his mouth at the sensation, pushing back with the bend of your back until you meet the insistent firm hardness pushing urgently against the small of your back.

There's a rasped groan, low and heated in your ear. Soft lips and the slight rasp of a patchy beard dragging against the back of your neck that is so familiarly pleasant.

You open your eyes to the sight of Santiago's hand bridging across your jaw and cheek; then eye his hand that is still on your waist. You follow the line of the third hand buried between your legs, before you finally connect the dots.

There's only ever been one man in your life who knows your body inside out and can make you feel this good, this fast.

It's not Santiago's hand.

It's Frankie's.

Your husband with his thick and practiced fingers curled deep inside, that has you moaning and writhing. It's embarrassing really that you're so far gone that it took you this long to realize it.

Santiago pulls away just far enough to let out a chuckle against your lips with a smirk.

"Morning, Frank, did we wake you up?"

There's a soft hum that reverberates against the skin on the side of your throat as Frankie's presses open mouthed kisses there, the scrape of his beard making everything tingle.

"Mmm," he murmurs, the soft brass reaches into the core of your chest and drips warm and molten. "You two weren't being very quiet."

His fingers curl and press, nudging that perfect blissful spot until you arch back against him. You don't know how long he's been awake. But Frankie's fully hard already. The outline of his heavy cock, push against your back like it's trying to make a permanent indentation on your spine. You can feel it twitching and jerking eagerly against you.

"Sorry 'bout that, Fish," Santiago says, but there's nothing in his expression that says he’s contrite about it at all, cocky and brash as always. His lack of remorse is pretty clear to Frankie as well, because your husband chuckles softly, the breathiness of it skittering up along the nape of your neck.

"You don't look very sorry, Pope," he presses another kiss to your skin, "don't worry about it. There are worse ways to wake up."

The heel of Frankie's broad hand presses down on your clit, and sharp electricity jolts through you as you spasm in his arms. Your fingers dig into the firm muscles of his forearms, but he doesn't stop.

"Shit baby, you're so fucking wet already," Frankie murmurs in your ear, and leaves an indulgent kiss to your temple.

"Wanna see?" Frankie asks.

At the question Santiago swallows and you can see his Adam's apple bob in that graceful throat.

The cocky expression that seems ever present in the man fades. His mouth drops slightly open as he just stares at you and Frankie.

He's more nervous than you thought he would be.

You've always imagined Santiago to be assured and confident in bed. From all accounts and reports you've had from friends and even exes he's stayed friends with that seems to confirm your expectations.

But that first time watching Frankie and you in bed, he'd been hesitant to touch you. Last night, he'd been hesitant. So-so careful not to overstep with you and Frankie.

And right now as he's staring up at you and Frankie with wide and eager eyes, that same hesitancy is etched in every line of his face.

You hate it.

You want to grab his face between your hands and kiss him hard until you can wipe it clean from his face. Until there's not a trace of hesitation left on him when it comes to the three of you.

Frankie must read your mind. Even though Santiago hasn't answered him, he's already slotting his knee between your legs to spread you apart, "Let me show Santiago, baby."

You think he means he's going to show Santiago how easily he makes you fall apart in his hands. But instead his fingers slip out of you, leaving an aching emptiness as your pussy flutters at the loss.

He draws two fingers in front of yours and Santiago's face, your glistening slick coating him to the knuckles.

"See that Santiago?" he says, with a goading tone. He pulls his index and middle fingers slowly apart and you see the silvery thread connecting the tip of his fingers. "See how wet you made her?"

Something in Santiago kicks into gear.

The hesitation in Santiago's face is replaced with a determination as he leans forward.

You think he's going to kiss you again. But he doesn't. Instead Santiago's hand leaves your waist and grabs Frankie's wrist, pulling it towards his mouth. He wraps his lips around those thick fingers, and sucks.

Your brain stalls out at the sight. Tongue heavy and dry in your mouth as you watch Santiago’s throat work and his tongue lap up every trace of you from your husband's fingers.

"Fuck," Frankie utters.

Santiago barely has the chance to pull his lips from Frankie's fingers.

Before you've fully registered what you're doing, you're already reaching forward. Your hand grabs at the back of Santiago neck. You pull him down until those gorgeous lips are back on yours and you lick your own taste from his bottom lip.

It's still messy, but it's not slow this time. You kiss Santiago deep and hungry, trying to make good on your intention to permanently wipe out any hesitation in him he might ever have.

You don't know if you've succeeded, but what you know is that his hand does come to your waist, grabbing on tight as he pulls you close, angling your mouth to lick deeper into your mouth. You can't taste any hesitation on his lips.

You grind up against him, rubbing yourself against his torso, until you can feel the hardness that meets you there, pressing against your lower stomach.

"Fuck," Santiago gasps out between your lips, as he pulls back to catch his breath.

"Shit," he swears again, eyes darting down between your bodies to where his cock is straining against the fabric of his underwear, pulling it taut like the seams are about to rip from its stitches.

The tip of his tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip as he looks up hungrily at you.

You both know what he wants, because fuck you want it too.

But he doesn't say anything. Doesn't make any move to touch you. Instead, there it is again, that painful hesitation bleeding back into his face.

It takes you a moment to realize why.

This would be your first time together.

Silly as it might seem, technically, that morning two weeks ago, doesn't count as sex. Frankie, your husband, fucked you. Santiago watched.

Not that a handy and mouth stuff isn't crossing a barrier for your friendship. But this would be something else entirely. This is crossing a canyon and Santiago is peering down from the edge of the cliff and hesitating.

"Santiago," Frankie's voice breaks through the stalemate.

From behind you, Frankie's arm reaches out, wedging it between your bodies, to push down Santiago's underwear with an impatience and aggression that's entirely uncharacteristic of your patient husband.

Frankie is tired of waiting.

He wants Santiago to cross the damn canyon already, before Santiago gets cold feet and run away again.

So Frankie is pushing, and goading and leading Santiago along the edge. Hell if Frankie had his way he'd be shoving Santiago off of it.

It speaks to the difference in the friendship you both have with the same man.

Frankie for all his calmness knows when to push Santiago so he doesn't run the other way.

You for all your stubborn impatience knows when to wait for Santiago. To pull him back and make sure he doesn't fall right off when he's ventured too far.

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, pulling his eyes to yours. "You ready Santiago?"

His eyes focus with a solemn pause that tells you he's really considering your question. As if he's hearing a thousand layers to your simple one, and needs to consider each implication.

Finally, he gives you a slow nod. "Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs as he rests his hand on top of one of yours and drags it to his mouth and kisses the palm of it. "Yeah I'm ready now."

His hand draws down between his legs as he pulls the boxers the rest of the way, kicking them off, to reveal his flushed and hardened cock pressing eagerly against his stomach.

Your tongue feels dry even as your mouth floods with saliva at the sight of it. For all the blood that is roaring in your ears with excitement, blocking your hearing, you think you can hear Frankie groan from behind you. Can feel the eager weight of his cock twitch and jerk against the small of your back, dripping and smearing precome along your skin.

Fuck, fuuuck that's-- you're aching between your thighs, feeling much too empty in this second as you watch Santiago's hand grips the base of his cock and positioning himself against your entrance. Everything in you tingles with adrenaline, then he meets your gaze steadily, before pushing in.

The first slide of Santiago inside of you is perfect. Thick and filling, and with every inch of advance, you think you're going to go blind from the pleasure that fills you.

You didn't know it'd be like this.

Slow and careful, wide adoring eyes the way he's always looked at you when it was just the two of you.

It's overwhelming, to have him this way. Your chest feels ripe and overfilled, the pleasure swirling warm and heavy in your belly, until you don't know if you can take anymore and not fall apart somehow.

Your hand grips onto Frankie's strong arms caged at your side. You're moaning and whining, and your husband hushes you comfortingly.

"Shh baby, doing so good. You look so good taking Santiago's cock like this."

There's another choked sob, and you think it's from you at first, until you feel the way Santiago shakes against you. "Fuck, Frank."

He sounds breathless and out of it, eyes dazed, as he continues to push forward, the very last bit, until he's buried deep inside you as deep as he can be.

It's heaven, and you both moan in unison at the deep pressure.

“Does that feel good baby? You like having Santiago’s pretty cock inside you?” Frankie asks, lips pressing softly against the side of your temple and you nod in response with a whimpering keen.

Santiago pulls his hips away from you with a slow and sinful drag of his cock inside you. Searing pleasure swims across every one of your nerves, wild and demanding.

Your hands flies up and clamps over your mouth, trying to keep in the scream that wants to erupt from your throat, because fuck it feels too good. Too much. Like it's not even real.

Frankie's hand comes up to your forehead, brushing an errant lock of hair out of your face. You're so grateful for his sturdy presence and touch.

If he wasn't keeping you grounded to the here and now, encouraging you and Santiago both, in his raspy sleep-thick voice about how pretty you both look, you think you might have lost consciousness and blacked out from how surreal this all feels.

"How you doing there, Pope?" Frankie asks with a hint of amusement as Santiago's eyes squeeze shut, brows knitted in concentration.

He can't answer Frankie with words, just lets out a strained breathless moan before he finally manages a nod. He seems lost and overwhelmed, taking another pause of a second as if he needs one because this is all so much. Then he finally, slowly pushes back inside again. A long measured stroke that fills you all the way before he withdraws again, leaving you empty, only to fill you up again, and again, and again, until you're both losing your mind from it.

Santiago's hand slams down against the mattress, holding himself steady as he stills, half-way inside. He's breathing heavily, with a pinched expression as he rests his forehead against yours.

You can see he's overwhelmed. Can see he's holding on by a thread. But you can't help the neediness that burns thick and addictive in your veins for him, squirming as you try to get more of him inside you. But Santiago isn't obliging you in this instance.

Instead, it's Frankie's deep voice that comes to your help. "Want him deeper? Want me to help querida? Have him fill you all the way up?"

You nod eagerly, and you don't have to wait long before Frankie reaches an arm across the both of you, settling his grip on top of Santiago's hip and pulls him deeper into you.

There's a shattered and wrecked groan from Santiago, a noise that's been ripped from his very lungs, like he wasn't prepared for it, as his cock pushes its way deep into you. It breaks into a ragged sob, as he tries to catch his breath, but he doesn't get any reprieve.

Frankie's hand is already pushing Santiago's hips away from yours, until only the tip of Santiago's cock rests inside of you, and then he does it again. Pulling the man's hips forward, using Santiago to fuck you at a pace of his liking.

And god, it's good, it's so fucking good it has tears sting sharp in the corner of your eyes. The blinding heat from before, simmering hot and insistent in your veins, molten and sweet, as you wrap your arms around Santiago's neck and hold on.

Maybe it's because Santiago had the cards stacked against him from the start, barely half awake before he found himself in this position. Maybe it's the relentless, unforgiving pace that Frankie has set for him, not allowing him to stop even as he's practically whimpering out choked breaths. But you can see that Santiago is unraveling. His curls are a wild mess against the crown of his head. Jaw tense, and eyes rolling back to the back of his head.

His hand shoots out. He clutches and digs into Frankie's arm, fingers curling into the strained bicep with enough force that Santiago goes white-knuckled. His eyes fly open, and there's a pained look in his face, brows pinched in distress with a pleading look for Frankie to ease up on him. Without a single spoken word, you both know that he's close.

Your hand reaches across his cheek to soothe him but it only seems to make things worse because the tense muscle in his jaw tics at your touch. "It's ok Santiago, come. I want you to come."

He doesn't answer you, just squeezes his eyes tightly shut as if he's trying to block out your very voice.

"Santiago," you try again, but there's nothing. He doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes. Just stays there, deep inside you, to your frustration, as he struggles to keep his breathing under control.

You try to squirm against him to no avail, and you decide to hedge your bets. If Santiago won't respond, your husband will. Frankie always indulges you and succumbs to your whims, always spoils you. You roll your hips, angling your back until you feel the heavy and hard weight of Frankie's cock press deeper into your flesh. Until you hear him groan with a low rasp in your ear.

But Frankie isn't moving either. Hips still, pressed firmly against your back.

Shit, shit shit shit, you want more. Need more. Want every inch of Santiago buried deep inside as he thrusts into you, hard and demanding until you can feel him spill every drop he has to give inside you. Want Frankie to hold you down as Santiago fucks his cock into you, until you're pressed so hard into the mattress they will have to dig you out with a shovel after.

You try to arch your back again, to goad Frankie, but this time his hands move down to your waist to keep you still. Frustration burns bright under your skin at being denied. You don't think this has ever happened to you before with Frankie. Have never had him deny you in any shape or form.

But fine, if Frankie's not going to help you. You'll help yourself. If neither of the men, will respond to your encouragement, the only thing you can do is take matters into your own hands. Reaching across, you drag your hand over Santiago's hips, resting your palms over the round perfect curve of his ass, the way Frankie had earlier. Then you pull him closer to you, flush to your hips as deep as he goes. That one single thrust is enough, his eyes burst open, dark and wide in startled shock. There's something vulnerable within those pupils, and you already feel the way him twitching and—

Santiago sobs, actually sobs.

"No, no no. not yet," his voice is strained and tortured, cracking at the edges, as he pleads with you, "Sweetheart please, just—I need—"

Those gorgeous eyes of his flicker away from yours in panic, looking past you. "Please," he pleads again.

He's not asking you anymore, he's asking Frankie.

There's a pause and a silence. You stare up at Santiago, but there's a conversation with no words exchanged between him and Frankie that you are not privy to.

An unbreakable bond between the two men that had been forged in foreign countries you've never stepped a foot in.

Before you can dwell on it, before you can try to interpret and translate what is being said in the silence, Frankie's hand moves from your waist, joining your hand that's resting on Santiago. Then he's lacing his fingers with yours and pulls your hand away. He pulls you back from Santiago.

You whine at the loss, at the torturous drag of Santiago's cock leaving you empty and aching.

"Fran--" you start to protest, but you never get to finish, you can already feel him, hot and heavy pressed against your slick folds as Frankie presses in from behind you and you blank out. His name on your tongue dies on the tip of your tongue. The oxygen in your lungs extinguished as he thrusts into you. Air rushes out of you with no space for anything else but his fat cock. Every single thought is lost at the perfect pressure of his cock inside you, how Frankie completely fills all of you and so much more.

Then Frankie slides out of you, in a sweet and achingly slow slide. His pace is almost lazy, as if he's trying to drag it out to buy Santiago some time.

Your eyes flutter open to see those gorgeous familiar brown eyes of Santiago's staring at you wide-eyed, pupils blown as he bites his lower lip.

You eye Santiago's cock, where it's pressed against your stomach. It's flushed and twitching, shining slick and glistening with your wetness and the precome that's steadily dripping down the head, leaking what must be a comparable mess to the one Frankie's made of your back.

There's a gentle but insistent pressure against the inside of your thighs, nudging them to widen. Then Frankie's gravelly voice brushes hot in your ear, "Baby, spread your legs, just like this okay, so Santiago can see better."

You comply, moving under Santiago's unwavering gaze. There's a heavy weight to it, to be pinned under Santiago's attention in this way. Comforting and intimidating and oh so addictive all at once. You felt it two weeks ago, as he was watching you swallow down your husband's cock. Felt it when Frankie's face was buried between your thighs. It should feel lewd and dirty, something out of a ridiculous dear penthouse letter, but it doesn't.

Because it's not about getting your rocks off to a stranger in a dirty bathroom stall. Santiago doesn't look at you like a dirty John at a peep show. There's too much history between the three of you for that. Too much love spoken and unspoken in every glance, and every touch he wants to reach out for but doesn't. Too many goodbyes and not enough welcome backs.

All you want is to bridge that gap that still exists between you.

From behind, Frankie's snapping his hips up and into you, and his cock hits something shattering. You swear it fills you so fucking deep from this new angle, there's no more space inside you, not even space for oxygen in your lungs. It's a sensation enough to make you lightheaded, as Frankie fucks into you, thorough and demanding, as he opens you up on his thick cock, and that familiar tingle on your spine sparks in alarm to warn you that you're going to come.

And Frankie knows it too. His voice is in your ear, low and gravelly, “You want to give the first one to Santiago, baby?”

It simmers insistently inside. Sweet heady pleasure that is about to crack and fracture across your veins. You're trying to say yes, but Frankie's not stopping, his cock dragging slick and hard inside you, robbing you of any words. “You want that, baby? Let him feel your perfect pussy come around his cock?”

You open your eyes to look at Santiago (and fuck you don't even remember closing them again). The man seems more out of it than you are. Eyes glazed, and lost, with a look in his eyes like he wants to reach out but isn't. Like he's standing on the precipice of a cliff, looking down at the abyss.

You want to reach out and hold him. Want to lace your fingers together and tell him it's okay.

You don't have to. Frankie's reaching over from behind you, one strong and sturdy hand cupping over the back of Santiago's neck. He's pulling him closer until the whole of Santiago's torso is pressed along every inch of yours from your knees to your chest. Until you're compressed between the two men with not an inch of a crevice of space between. Then Frankie leans over your shoulder, pressing his lips to Santiago's.

All you can hear is the slick sound of their mouths, the wet slide of their tongues meeting, and the gentle dreamy hum from Santiago as Frankie moans into his mouth. Then Frankie's quiet, gentle voice. “You ready to go again Santiago?”

You can't see it, but you can feel Santiago nod. It's all that's needed before Frankie slides you off. You don't even get the chance to properly mourn the loss of Frankie's cock inside of you, because before you've even taken a single breath Santiago is already there. Hand wrapped tight around the girth of himself as he's pressing up against your dripping and slick cunt in a slow, easy slide until you've taken every inch down to the root of him. Pressing forward, until all of him, as far as he can go, is inside of you and both of you sigh with relief at the pressure and weight of him inside you.

His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles at you and it's fucking everything. It doesn't matter that he's done this a million times. Doesn't matter that his smiles are nothing rare in all your years of friendship. It's different now, and he knows it too.

This is a gentle smile, not the rakishly charming one he reserves for the gorgeous women he meets at an nondescript bar, 60 seconds before he walks out with them on his arm. Not the smug "I told you so" grin he wears when he knows he has won one over you. Just a simple smile on his lips as he looks into your eyes. Right now, he sees you in a way that Santiago only does. A smile that was reserved for just you and no other women or men. This smile is yours.

It's a promise that he'd always come back to you, no matter how far he went or how long he was gone for.

A smile worth standing alone in an abandoned field for as long as it takes.

You feel dopey and content, head buzzing with endorphins as you stare up at him. You love him. You love him so much you feel stupid, and you don't know how to tell him.

And maybe you don't need to.

He moves, long, drawn out strokes as he pushes his cock inside and there it is again, your orgasm flickering awake as it licks up your spine with its adamant presence. You don't last long.

Your toes curl into the sheet, hand grappling for something to hold onto, until you feel the familiar warmth and weight of Frankie's arms wrapped around you. "Right here, baby. I'm right here."

Maybe it should feel strange. Maybe it should feel wrong. To have your husband hold you in his arms while you're about to come on your best friend's cock. The same man that your husband has been in love with for as long as you've known him.

But it doesn't. What has always felt wrong was the wait. What was wrong was not having Santiago in your bed. Not having this man right next to the both of you in your lives together of supposed married bliss. It's why no matter how many rooms you donned up and filled up with furniture and trinkets and photos and memories, it always felt empty.

A space that would never be filled until Santiago came home to you both.

"It's okay, go ahead and come," Frankie whispers.

And fuck, with your husband's loving voice in your ear, you do.

It's consuming, streaks out in pulse after pulse across your nerves as the pleasure fills along every nerve. From the tip of your nose, to the air in your lungs, down to the aching muscles of your calves. Your back arch, your mouth parted with a moan or a scream, you don't even know. All you know is that it's bliss rushing to your head and blots out everything else as you come on Santiago's cock.

You're surprised you can even hear sound, when Frankie's lips are pressed to your temple and that familiar voice rumbles across your skin, encouraging and sweet. “Doesn’t she feel good Santiago?”

It's a bit distorted, too blissed out in your post-orgasmic bliss to understand what's being said even as you can hear Santiago's breathless voice and make out the words he's saying. “So good Frank", he moans, a strained, quiet little sound, "so fucking good. I think I’m losing my mind over it.”

“Yeah I know the feeling.”

Santiago's still hard inside you, still thrusting slow and measured, to drag out your climax, even as you're coming down on him, but you don't even know where to fit the warm buzzing pleasure skittering across your skin as he bends down his head and presses adoring kisses to your lips and cheeks. “You feel so fucking good when you come on my cock, sweetheart.”

You're so fucking out of it. Can barely hum in approval as you feel Santiago slip out of you and Frankie takes his place inside you. Gentle fingers come to your forehead, smoothing out the sweat-drenched locks. You don't know if it's Frankie or Santiago, but that's okay, because you don't think it matters.

Because he's here now. They both are.

“Let’s try to come together this time, okay baby?” Frankie asks and for the two of them, you do.

You fall asleep after, tucked and nestled between the two men you love the most.

You dream of standing in a field. Sun set high across the azure blue sky, with not a plane in sight. Across the tarmac, there's a silhouette standing against the blaring sun. It doesn't matter that you can't see him against the blinding brightness. Your wait is over.

It's the last time you have this dream.

Dedication & Credits: To my prawn clown sister @thirstworldproblemss because she is the best and I looooooooove her the mooooose-test

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#oscar isaac #pedro pascal #santiago garcia #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #tiple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #homecoming #telltale heart asks

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