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Frank hated you. You were sure of it. In his bed, completely naked, and your head cradled in his arm, the other hand holding a cigarette. An after sex ritual. Your cheek rested against his bare chest, listening to his breathing and heartbeat. The blankets were only covering your bottom half, not caring that your tits were out. It was only you two in the apartment anyway, and he definitely has seen all of you plenty of times already. Even though Frank hated you, and you didn’t exactly like him, you couldn’t stay away from each other.
For the past four years, the two of you have been at each other's throats. Screaming matches, pushing, shoving, slapping-– it would always turn into groping and moans. Sex that felt better than anything else. No one else could replicate how Frank made you feel in bed. Yet, you felt empty afterwards. Gross, used, and ashamed. It was probably the result of previous relationships, namely your ex-boyfriend. Frank knew about him and hated him. You didn’t have the heart to tell him sometimes he acted like him.
You stared at the blankets, almost blankly, Frank taking a puff of his cigarette.
“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he stated matter-of-factly.
God, you wished you actually hated him more– or hated him in general. But you could never really bring yourself to. Your family disowned you for being transgender years ago. Frank was supposed to be some hookup after a hardcore show of his. Things spiraled quickly after that.
You’d try to talk and amend things, you’d fight, you’d have sex, you’d go your separate ways. Sometimes Frank would just call you and ask if you wanted to have sex. Typically, you said yes, even if you weren’t particularly in the mood. But Frank was all you really had. The only time you felt loved was when Frank was balls deep inside of you and making the bedframe creak.
You stared blankly at the bedsheets, fiddling with the fabric. Frank sighed.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “Stop looking like a kicked puppy. It’s fucking pathetic.” He said his voice was a bit coarse, from the smoking and the screaming match you had gotten into earlier. You don’t respond. He sighs once more and sits up, pulling you up with him and putting his cigarette out on an ashtray on his bedside table. His hand then takes your jaw, almost harshly, his thumb digging into your skin, and he forces you to look at him.
“You gonna say something or just keep moping?” A pause, before rolling your eyes when you don’t answer fast enough. “You can leave if you’re gonna keep being fucking Eeyore over here,” he grumbled. You pulled your face away, sighing deeply.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go,” you say, getting up from the bed and collecting your clothes. You say it with little emotion. No anger, no sadness, just simply not caring anymore. Your heart ached at this predicament. You hated that you felt this way towards Frank. Loving him and hating him at the same time.
You pull a towel from Frank’s mess of a closet alongside a washcloth. You wrap the towel around your naked body, “I’m gonna take a shower,” you stated. It wasn’t your apartment, but you knew Frank wouldn’t care about it. Frank chewed on the inside of his cheek, scowling at your actions. He hates when you do this– act like it doesn’t matter, act like HE doesn’t fucking matter. Despite him saying you were the worst thing that ever happened to him. The hypocrisy burns in his chest.
“Oh, cool,” he snaps, “Real mature of you.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, quickly tugging on his boxers that he left on the floor before grabbing yet another cigarette. “You gonna stand in there for an hour and pretend I don’t exist. Classic.”
He lights up another cigarette and takes a long drag before blowing it right where you stood in the doorway of the bathroom. You set your clothes down on the sink, you sighed aggressively, looking over at him for a second before looking in the mirror, then back down at the sink.
“Well, you do the same when we don’t have sex. You only call or text when you’re horny.” You move to turn on the shower, a bit of a limp in your walk. Frank was a little rough tonight.
Frank’s face twists– something between guilt and irritation. He hated when you pointed shit out like that. He hates that you’re right. His fingers were impatiently against the cigarette before flicking the ash on the floor, like an asshole.
“Oh fuck off,” he grumbles, but it lacks his usual venom, “Don’t act like you don’t hit me up too.” A pause. His face changes when he sees how you’re moving. His eyes move down to your legs, noticing the bruising from his fingers starting to form. “You limping?” he asks.
You glance at him as you struggle with Frank’s shitty shower. “You were a little rough,” you say. There's a bit of a whimper in your voice as you sit on the edge of the tub. The towel is moving up and showing the bruises on your thighs. It hurt a little, yeah, but you never told Frank to stop being so rough. You typically just let Frank take it how he wanted to take it. You were just kind of used to… being used.
“I’ll see you whenever then,” you said as the shower finally turned on– cold but working.
Frank hated it when you did this. Sounding like a lost puppy. It's annoying, pathetic even. And yet it works on him. His shoulders tense upon seeing those bruises. Did he really do that? He lets out a heavy breath and prevents you from closing the door to the bathroom.
“Wait–” is all he’s able to say before moving inside the bathroom. You flinch, more out of being surprised than scared. Before he can get another word out, you interrupt him.
“We’re not going to have shower sex if that’s what you’re gonna ask about,” you grumbled. Frank’s guilt seeps deep into his heart at your reaction. Did you really think that’s all you wanted?
“That’s not–” he groans, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration, “I wasn’t going to–” he tries to explain. You sigh and turn towards the shower again.
“...Turn around,” he asks softly. You do as he asks. His eyes look down at your neck, noticing the love bites and hickies starting to stick out on your skin. “Let me see your thighs.”
You do as he says, shifting the towel up. Frank’s expression is hard to read– frustration? Concern? Something else entirely? His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out but doesn’t.
“I didn’t mean to… ugh.” he drags a hand down his face. You put the towel back down. “You should’ve told me I was being too rough, dipshit.” His voice is gruff but lacks any bite behind it. He looks away from you, suddenly feeling gross about himself. You reach out and touch the water from the shower. Still cold. You shake your hand off. “Do you want some ice or something?” he asks, as if he had any in his apartment.
“I’m fine,” you assure him plainly. “I just didn’t want you to get mad at me,” you added with a shrug. “I usually just kinda… let you do what you want.”
Frank’s face drops at your words, a mix of guilt and anger in his expression. He takes a sharp inhale of his cigarette, leaning himself against the doorframe before sighing your name.
“That’s fucked up.” His voice is low. “You don’t just– Jesus Christ.” He exhales sharply through his nose before putting his cigarette out on the wall and tossing it in the sink (a disgusting habit, according to you.) His hands grab your shoulders, very gently, almost hesitantly.
“Stop being such a goddamn doormat,” he mutters, “I ain’t gonna get mad if you say no to me. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
You don’t look at him as he finishes his sentence, looking at your feet. You feel like crying, but you don’t. No tears came. You just feel that tightness in your throat that you try to swallow away.
“You’re not?” you ask, almost genuinely surprised that this man who constantly yelled wasn’t mad. “But my last– my ex-boyfriend–” you mentioned, Frank quickly cut you off. His grip on your shoulders tightens ever so slightly, his jaw clenches.
“Your ex-boyfriend was a piece of shit,” he snaps, “And if I ever meet him, I’m gonna break his fucking nose.”
There’s a long pause, as Frank stares at the wall behind you before letting go of your shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck– the guilt eating at him.
“Next time, just tell me to ease up on you, or not touch you at all. Jesus,” he sighs, turning away. He mumbles something resembling ‘You deserve better,’ but you’re not fully sure. You don’t question him about it. He finally exits the bathroom, heading to his room again. You shut the door behind him. You held your hand under the water, and finally, it was warm. You place the towel on the sink before stepping in.
You wash away all the evidence of the night’s activities. Washing away the sweat, the spit, the mess you made. You look at the bruises on your thighs up close. They weren’t even that bad. Just small red marks that would heal in days. You did appreciate Frank’s concern. It was odd for him. To care this much. Typically, the other would get dressed, clean up, and head home, not much talking afterwards. That’s just how it was.
Once you stepped out of the shower, you noticed a clean pair of boxers and one of Frank’s beat-up band shirts on the sink. And they were actually folded too. You smiled a bit to yourself before stopping yourself. This wasn’t a romantic gesture. This was just him being decent.
You put the clothes on, dried your hair, and stepped out of the bathroom. You debated heading to his room. Frank wasn’t a cuddler; you two usually slept not facing each other if you did stay the night. You head to the living room and sit down on the couch before curling up.
Frank, meanwhile, sighed and stared at the ceiling when he heard the couch creak. He didn’t know why it pissed him off, but it did. He stomps out of his room with a handful of fuzzy blankets you didn’t even know he had and dumps them on top of you.
“You’re gonna freeze out here,” he grumbles before going back to his room. But he leaves the door cracked open– just in case.
“Asshole,” you mumble to yourself before getting comfortable. But god, you can’t sleep. Tossing and turning. And when you did fall asleep, your body would simply wake you back up again 30 minutes or an hour later. Your heart aches at the thought of living like this. Stuck in a loveless “relationship” with Frank.
Frank hears you tossing and turning too; it doesn’t help him sleep either. Makes him feel guilty; he should’ve just insisted you sleep in his bed. He tries to ignore it; he has band practice tomorrow after all, and everyone hates it when Frank is half asleep and late to practice.
After a few minutes, he drags himself out of bed to see what’s wrong. He’s expecting you to just be uncomfortable on the couch. What he doesn’t expect is for you to be crying. Curl up and muffling your soft sobs into the blanket. Your shoulders are trembling as you wish your life had ended up differently. You miss your family. You miss having friends. Now you just have Frank. And you’re sure Frank hates you.
You remember the time you complimented Frank and he thanked you dryly and not offering a compliment back. So you didn’t compliment Frank anymore. Or the many times Frank just nodded along as you talked about your interests. So you talked less. Or the time you tried eyeliner like Gerard did, and Frank told you that you looked like a girl. You didn’t wear makeup anymore.
You don’t hear Frank come up behind you, and you don’t hear his thoughts and guilt creeping into his chest. He’s not surprised by the crying; he’s seen you cry before. This time just felt different. This time just felt more… heartbreaking. Raw and real.
He suddenly remembers every fight, every time he’s yelled at you, every time he’s shoved you away, every time he’s used you for sex and nothing else. He remembers you used to wear more colorful clothes, you used to snap back more when he snapped at you, and you used to talk more in general. No makeup, no compliments. You were completely different from how you used to be– how did he never notice? He feels like a total dick. This all just feels like a punch to the gut, the guilt making him nauseous.
“Jesus,” he whispers to himself before gently touching your shoulder. You jump into a sitting position, genuinely surprised by him sneaking up on you.
“Jesus Christ, Frank, could you not scare me at four am?!” you snap at him. Your eyes are still filled with tears, along with red and puffy. You run a hand through your hair as Frank raises his eyebrows at your reaction. You hadn’t really reacted this way in a while. He almost wants to snap back. But he doesn’t.
“...sorry,” he mutters, the sight of your disheveled figure making him internally wince. “You gonna… be quiet now or keep moping all night?”
“Can a man not cry his eyes out at this time?” he scoffs, crossing his arms under the blankets.
Frank rolls his eyes, but there’s no real malice behind it this time. He sits on the arm of the couch, hesitating to actually sit next to you. He lets out a heavy sigh and rests his hands on his thighs. He looks over at you before looking back at the ground, running a hand through his messy hair.
“Yeah, yeah. Just try not to be so fucking loud about it,” he grumbles. “Some of us actually sleep,” he says as he has barely slept. There’s a beat of silence before he looks over at you again.
“...You wanna talk about it or something?”
“What’s there to talk about?” you snap. “We hooked up a year ago, and we keep hooking up. And even though we’re not even dating, you get all possessive over me, yet you don’t even act like you like me. You fucking hate me. I come over. My place is shittier than yours because I can barely afford it. My family fucking disowns me because I’m transgender. You don’t love me, you just see me as a way to get off. I know you don’t love me. No one does. Can I not cry over that?”
Frank blinks at your outburst– dumbfounded. Your words sting more than anything you’ve ever said to him before. He hates the way his jaw clenches, how the guilt burns in his stomach. It pisses him off.
“That’s not–” he stops himself, slightly gruffly instead. “Goddamnit–” he curses alongside your name, “First off, you don’t know what I feel.”
“Then how do you feel? If you don’t hate me, how do you feel? Because you surely don’t love me.” Your voice shaking near the end, fat tears rolling down your face again.
Frank tenses at your question. He doesn’t do this– the whole feelings talk. Emotional honesty makes him itch like a bad sweater. But here you are, sitting on his couch, crying at 4 am.
“I don’t know! Okay?” he snaps, but not angry, defensively. “I didn’t hook up with you because I hate you,” he quickly looks away, “And I don’t… treat people I hate like…” he trails off, because maybe he does treat people he hates exactly like this. Fuck.
A long pause as he glares at the floor before finally mumbling, “Maybe I just suck at not being an asshole.”
You motion for him to join you on the couch beside you, and not on the arm of the couch. He looks at you with surprise but complies. Folding his hands in his lap so he doesn’t do anything dumb like wrap his arm around you or something. There’s a prolonged silence between both of you.
“Frank, do you wanna know why I agreed to come home with you that first night?” you ask.
He glances at you from the corner of his eye, curious, “...Why?’
“Because I thought you were the coolest person ever. I thought you were hot shit. You were good at guitar, had all these cool tattoos, and cool friends. You were insanely attractive too,” there's a small dry laugh from you. “I had… nothing. I was crashing at a friend’s house at the time. I had no job. So when you were actually talking to me, I was thrilled.”
Frank feels so many emotions at once. Surprise, disbelief, then guilt. A lot of self-guilt and hatred. And when you laugh, something twists in his chest. God, you really like him.
“So you slept with me out of desperation?”
“No, I slept with you because I liked you.” You look back over at him, resting your hand over his clasped ones. He unravels them and holds your hand, giving a slight squeeze. “I thought you felt the same way. But you seemed so uninterested in me. You never really took me on any dates, did any boyfriend things– you never really asked me out. We fought all the time. And then tonight you said I was the worst thing that happened to you.” Your voice cracked near the end. “And I believed you.” You didn’t realize you were spacing out and looking at the ground before you looked back over at him. Meeting his eyes. Frank cringes at his own words, his heart dropping to his stomach. God, why’d he have to say such thoughtless bullshit?
He has a defense ready on his tongue, but swallows it for once. He threads his fingers with yours.
“I didn’t mean that,” he insists.
“Then why don’t you act like you actually like me? You’re rough during sex, we never cuddle, never hold hands, barely kiss, I think you’ve taken me out for dinner five times in total.” Frank’s jaw stiffens, but you continue. “Why have you never said you loved me? Even when I say it to you?” Your voice becomes a little softer.
Frank’s throat tightens up, and he looks away before sighing in defeat.
“It’s because I’m shit at this,” he admits slowly, “Never really… did the whole relationship thing right.” his thumb brushes against the top of your hand subconsciously, like some dumb attempt at an apology. “Didn’t think you cared if I said it or not.” A total lie on his end. “And then I kept fucking it up worse every time. So now we’re here.” He gestures vaguely to the whole miserable situation they have going on before it flops back into his lap.
“Frank, you know how shittily my last boyfriend treated me,” you reminded him. “Why didn’t you think I would love you asking me out to dinner, or buying me chocolates or flowers. Or hell, even cuddling me?’
Frank makes a face at the mention of chocolate and flowers– not out of disgust, even though it looks like it, but out of realization that he never genuinely considered it. He’s been stuck in his own little world he never considered what you may like. But now that it’s laid out in front of him, it seems painfully obvious.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath before exhaling sharply. “I dunno– guess I just figured you didn’t care about that crap.” he hesitates before adding quietly, “...or maybe I was just scared to do it and get laughed at or some shit.” A pause, before a grumble. “I can try being less of a dick if you want.”
How romantic.
“Try or will?” you ask, before cringing at your words, “Sorry, that sounded like Yoda right there.”
Frank snorts, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance as he nudges your side with his elbow. There’s a bit of a smile on his face, subtly there. He lets out a heavy breath.
“...I’ll try, alright? But don’t get all sappy with me, I still hate most couple-y crap.”
You look him up and down, your lips slightly upturned as you inch closer to him.
“Can I at least kiss you?” you ask quietly, “I always thought you were a good kisser.”
Frank hesitates for a split second before grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. He leans in. The kiss is chaste, just a brief press of lips, before he pulls away just a little bit, his eyes darting away to not look you in the eyes like the emotionally constipated man he is.
“Happy?” he mutters, but there’s no malice in it, and he doesn’t move away. His thumb is still rubbing your hand. You know he’s not really mad. Your hand cupping his cheek and rubbing his cheekbone tenderly.
“A little. I might need some more convincing.” You tease, and there's a bit of a smile, and an actual smile on your lips as you admire Frank. Frank huffs but doesn’t pull away, but leans in like some sort of touch-starved puppy. He hates how goddamn soft he’s being right now, but right now it’s oddly nice.
You don’t lean in for another kiss, though, like Frank expected. You kiss his jawline before trailing down to his neck and kissing it tenderly. Frank’s eyes flutter shut, a shiver going down his spine. His hand grips yours just a little tighter for a few seconds.
“You’re a tease,” he mumbles, his words undermined by how he tilts his head up to give you more access to his neck. You smile against his skin before giving a little nip to his flesh.
“That’s payback for tonight,” you say with a smirk.
Frank groans out both from the bite, which he definitely didn’t like, and your comment. You pull your head up and lean in again.
“Asshole,” Frank mutters before pulling you into another kiss. This one is more passionate, yet gentle. Slow, but not hesitant. His free hand moves to your waist, gripping it almost protectively. You almost forgot how good a kisser Frank was. It really did make you swoon, your heart rate increasing as his fingers snake up your shirt just barely.
Once you two pulled away, you two connected foreheads. Both of your breaths are unsteady.
“Okay, maybe I don’t fully hate you…” Frank says with a sigh.
“I think I guessed that by now,” you teased, a bit of a blush on your cheeks as you looked down at your lap.
“Shut up,” he grumbles before he’s cut off by another kiss. You two kiss passionately and sloppily. Frank stands you up, and you two stumble back to his bed. You pull him down with you as he pulls away to breathe. He then attacks your neck with kisses, pressing them on the love bites and hickies he left behind– almost apologizing for his actions tonight. He kisses down your neck before moving in between your thighs, kissing those bruises too. Once he’s kissed every single one, he moves to kiss you once more. You two eventually stop the kissing, not taking it any further, and fall asleep in each other's arms.
When Frank wakes up, he notices you cuddled up against him, which is weird. He typically would’ve pushed you off by now or turned his back on you. But he didn’t this time. And when he realizes that, his first instinct is to grumble and act like it’s some sort of inconvenience.
Then he notices how peaceful you look sleeping, how warm your body is against his, and all that annoyance quickly fades away. He carefully takes his wrapped arm from around you and pulls you just a little closer. Your cheek pressed against his chest, making a small noise as Frank shifts.
You two stay like that before you wake up. You blink harshly, almost confused by the position you’re in. He doesn’t move away, he doesn’t complain. You just shift a bit and yawn.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Frank replies plainly, trying to ignore how his heart skips a beat when you nuzzle into his chest. Although you can feel it. He brushes some hair out of your face, very gently, hoping you don’t acknowledge it.
“You snore, by the way,” Franks adds.
You gasp, “I do not!” acting more offended than you actually were. “Now, if you said I was talking in my sleep, I would’ve believed you, but snoring? No. I don’t snore.”
Frank rolls his eyes, but there's a tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You absolutely snore, dude. Sounded like a fucking chainsaw,” he lies. He shifts to get more comfortable, but still does not pull away. “You also said something about nachos in your sleep. Real weird shit.”
“Well, maybe I was dreaming about really good nachos, who knows?” you shrug, “You’re rather comfy by the way.”
Frank scoffs at the comfy comment, but his cheeks go slightly pink again. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he says, clearing his throat, looking away as he composes himself.
“What kind of fucked up nachos were you dreaming about anyway?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
“I dunno man! I can’t remember what I was dreaming about. I don’t typically remember my dreams unless they were particularly weird or scary.”
Frank is still trying so hard to be casual about this. Your arm slung over his stomach, his arm around you, your legs tangled with his, all the places your skin is touching. It drives him crazy, in a good way.
“Yeah? What was the last weird dream you had, smartass?”
You ponder for a moment before you speak again, “I was a wolf,” is all you say.
Frank tries to remain composed, face twisting before laughing softly.
“What? I’m not kidding! I was a wolf, and I was like running through the woods, swimming in rivers, frolicking through fields. It was great, actually.”
“The fuck kind of stoner dream is that?” he snorts, shaking his head. “Sounds like some Disney bullshit.” Another pause, “You were probably howling your sleep too, huh?”
You laugh too, “I mean, it was a good dream. I enjoyed being a wolf. Wolves have significantly fewer problems than humans.”
“Right, right–cause howling at the moon and eating raw meat is much better than taxes?”
“It is! Wolves don’t have to worry about electricity bills!” You elbow him a little. “Wolves actually mate for life, did you know that?”
Frank raises an eyebrow, his hand absent, kindly tracing circles on your skin with his thumb. “Yeah, they also sniff each other's butts and piss all over to mark their territory. You gonna start doing that too?”
“I mean, sucking your dick is pretty close to sniffing your ass.” You hold back a laugh.
Frank chokes on air before moving over to flick your forehead, but not rough enough to actually hurt. He grumbles at your name, “Jesus Christ.” He’s trying to look annoyed, but his ears are pink and burning hot as he remembers how good you look taking his dick. A bit of laughter slips out against his will. “You’re disgusting,” he says affectionately.
“I mean, we’ve also done it doggy style, too, so we’re practically wolves, don’t you think?”
Frank lets out a strangled noise before pushing your face away with his palm and dragging that same palm across his face, holding back laughter.
“Oh my god, shut up, we are not wolves just because–” he cuts himself off, “You’re so lucky I don’t kick you out right now.” He says, even though he wouldn’t.
“I just gotta start pissing on your stuff and we’re good.” You laugh, your cheeks pink as you lay your face on his shoulder. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”
Frank lets out a weary sigh, but he’s actually smiling. For once. This feels nice, actually sitting with him, cuddling and laughing.
“...You’re a goddamn menace, you know that, right?”
“I dunno, you’re kinda hard to beat in that territory, Iero.” You smile, moving your head to look up at him and meet his eyes. There’s a bit of silence as you admire him, god, he really is handsome.
“What?” he huffs, suddenly aware of how close you two are again. “Do I have something on my face or something?” he says, trying to hide the blush on his face.
“No, you’re just beautiful,” you respond, “I’m remembering why I got a crush on you in the first place.”
Frank is actually caught off guard for once. He didn’t expect such sincerity. He stares dumbly for a second, his face growing redder as his brain actually short-circuits. He opens then closes his mouth, trying to come up with a smart ass remark, but fails.
“...Shut up,” he mumbles.
You take his chin and force him to look back over at him. “No, you gotta accept the compliment or I won’t stop staying at it.”
Frank grumbles something under his breath, face burning as he tries to look anywhere but your face. But it’s harder when you’re holding his damn face.
“...Fine,” he mutters after a long pause. “Thanks. Happy now?” His fingers twitch at your waist, slowly moving down to your ass.
You just smirk and lean in for a kiss, now moving on top of him, Frank on his back as you kiss him. He squeezed your ass, one hand still on your waist. You smirked through the kiss.
“Getting handsy this morning?” you ask with a grin once you pull away.
Frank just grips your ass tighter with a scoff, “What? You’re the one crawling all over me like a damn koala,” although he’s not complaining one bit. “Can’t blame a guy for playing what’s right in front of him.” Real smooth, Frank. Real smooth.
“So you won’t mind if I do the same?” you ask, shifting slightly and placing your hand on his crotch, you move to rub his bulge through his boxers. His dick almost instantly twitches and throbs under your grasp, growing harder as you sink your hand into his boxers. Frank gasps as your hand wraps around his dick for a second. You pull back to lick your hand before returning to his dick. You jerk him off slowly, he gasps your name, his hands leaving your waist as you sit up to straddle him. He grips the sheets underneath him, trying to keep his composure, but ultimately fails.
You eventually duck under the covers, Frank confused for a moment before he feels your lips around his dick. He lets out a deep groan, moaning your name a little louder with a stutter. You suck on his cock tenderly as he arches his back, whimpering.
“Holy shit– slow down,” he groans.
You pull off with a lewd pop, “Want me to stop?” You lift the covers slightly and peek out.
Frank swallows as he feels like his brain is completely short-circuiting for the second time in five minutes. He has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to collect himself before he can finally find his voice again.
“N-No. Definitely… definitely don’t stop.” his voice was breathy and whiny.
You return to your actions, Frank’s hand flying to your hair and gently gripping at first. You bob your mouth up and down. Frank bites his lip, trying not to let any more whines slip out, but fails. He feels the heat building in his stomach as his head tilts back. You never really initiated stuff like this; it was new, but good. He curses under his breath as he hears you gag on him, dick hitting the back of your throat. He feels his dick throb inside your mouth, gritting his teeth as he arches his back.
You pull off, much to his dismay, but before he can complain, you emerge from the covers. You quickly pull the boxers off your body and aid Frank in doing the same. You shed your shirt– well, Frank’s shirt– and straddle his hips. Frank sits up for a moment to pull his shirt off too, his tattoos and sweat glistening in the morning sunlight.
You, without hesitation, align him with your entrance, glancing up at Frank as he places his hands on your hips. His own eyes trail down your body, admiring your breasts, then looking down to your stomach, and then your t-dick that peaks out of your bush. His dick twitching at the sight of you hard for him. He learned he really liked seeing your bud all swollen and hard for him, although he never admitted it.
You slowly sink onto his dick, your wetness making him easily slip inside, earning moans from both of you. Frank feels his mind go blank, despite you two doing this many times before. He’s never seen you this dominant during sex. You were usually on the bottom as Frank roughly pounded into you. Sex was never really this slow or loving with him.
“Jesus Chr-Christ,” he groans out, attempting to catch his breath already. “Y-You’re gonna be the death o-of me, you know that right?”
“Good,” you respond, starting to ride him, moving your hips up and down on his dick. He grips your hips, his fingers pushing into your skin harshly, enough to leave bruises.
“Frank, remember what we said about being gentle?” you teased, looking down at his hands, then back at Frank’s face. Frank grunts but complies, letting go of your hips and resting them on your thighs instead.
“I-I’m not tryin’ to hurt you, you jerk,” he growls, trying to look you in the eyes without turning completely red, deciding to stare at your bouncing tits instead, which doesn’t help.
“Then kiss me,” you command, leaning down to connect your lips. Frank starts to thrust up into you, matching your movements. The kiss is sloppy as you two moan into each other's mouths, keeping the pace slow and steady. Frank pulls away first to gasp as he feels himself deep inside him. He swears due to the angle he can see himself bulge in your abdomen, but he’s probably just imagining things.
“Mmmm, oh god…” he babbles, feeling his mind going hazy. His hand reaches up to grab one of your breasts and gently squeeze. His other hand remains on your thigh, desperate to touch any part of you. “Feels.. F-feels so good, baby…”
“You’re perfect, Frank,” you moan out, leaning your head back as you two move in sync, your hands moving to his chest to steady yourself. “You fit inside me so perfectly. You’re made for me.”
That last comment causes Frank to short-circuit. His dick throbs inside you as that heat in his stomach builds again. He groans deep, his mind only focused on you, the entire world narrowing down to just you two. Everything is so overwhelming. It’s just you and him. Your voice is ringing in his ears. Everything is so intimate. You feel so perfect around him. All of it is perfect. He’s never felt anything so perfect before. He feels…
He takes a shaky breath as he reaches down to rub your t-dick, moaning at the sight of you. Then, in a very soft, vulnerable voice, “I–”
You finish for him. “I love you,” you say, his actions of jerking you off, aiding in reaching your climax.
Frank’s eyes widen in response, his words getting caught in his throat as he swallows. He’s so overwhelmed by pleasure and emotion. His hands tremble on your waist as he picks up the speed of his thrusts into you. His heart is thumping against his ribcage so much he swears it’s gonna explode. He feels his own climax building, that, and combined with the fact that you just said I love you for the first time? It’s about to shatter him.
With a ragged breath, his eyes flutter shut, his body shuddering all over.
“I love you too,” he breathes out, his voice shaky.
His words bring you to the edge, gasping as you come around him before letting out a long moan as he continues moving through your climax. His fingers continued to rub your dick before leaving to grip the bedsheets underneath him. Your hand reaches for his, finger intertwining. Frank reaches his orgasm too, cumming deep inside of you, his moan louder than yours as he shoots ropes deep inside your cunt.
Once the bliss of sex wears off, your eyes meet, his seed seeping out of you as the realization of the situation wears off.
“We forgot a condom, didn’t we?” you ask nervously.
Frank blinks hazily, his brain still catching up after the afterglow before your words register fully. His gaze flickers down to your cunt still wrapped around his cock, the realization finally hitting him, too.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, half in horror, half in arousal at you dripping his cum. “Yeah, yeah, we definitely did.” A beat passes before he lets out a breathless laugh and shakes his head. “I guess I’m stuck with you for real now,” he jokes.
You laugh too. “I’m on birth control, so I should be good. And as long as you’re clean and don’t have any diseases, I think we’ll be good.” You grin, “You’re paying for an abortion though.” You point at him.
Frank raises his hands in surrender, chuckling. “Fair enough.”
You pull Frank up into a sitting position, feeling him soften inside of you. His hands rest at your hips, rubbing patterns into the bruises he left from the night before. You kiss him quickly, but lovingly.
“That was amazing though, thank you.” You add.
He lets out a small snort. “Don’t thank me for doing something I enjoyed.” his face pink again, “It was pretty great though, I mean it was pretty damn good actually.”
“Yeah? Usually I’m on my back, so I’m glad I did a good job.” You give a small grin.
“Yeah, yeah, you did great.” Frank rolls his eyes playfully.
“Thank you, genuinely. I really had fun,” you say softly.
Frank isn’t good at this. He searches for a good response. He pats your thigh in a way that’s supposed to be comforting.
“Uh, you’re welcome,” he says incredibly smoothly.
You laugh at his reaction, “You really are bad at this, huh?” You reach over to move some hair out of his face, “It’s cute though.”
Frank’s face flushes once again, looking away from your gaze. “I’m not cute…” he grumbles, completely flustered. He still does not attempt to move out from under you, enjoying the skin-to-skin contact. His fingers are still moving idly against you.
You eventually get off of him carefully, gesturing for a tissue on Frank’s nightstand, which he grabs for you. He wipes away the mess that drips from your thighs for you instead of handing the tissue off to you. Your heart flutters at the action before you rest beside him on the bed. Frank then pulls that dumb move where he pretends to stretch and wraps his arm around your shoulders. You smile to yourself but don’t call him out on his shitty flirting.
There's a beat of silence before you turn to him.
“Did you mean it?” you ask.
Frank freezes. He knows what you mean, even if you don’t have to say it out loud. He missed when they were laughing and messing around and not talking about feelings. He hates being vulnerable like this.
He lets out a shaky sigh. “Yeah. I did. I meant it,” he confirms.
Your eyes meet, looking up at him. “I meant it too.” You pause. “I love you, Frank,” you say genuinely.
Frank’s heart lurches in his chest. He almost looks wary, like he’s expecting you to laugh or for it to all be some elaborate joke. He searches your expression for any hint of deception. There’s nothing but sincerity, though.
He swallows. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I love you,” you repeat. You’d repeat it as many times as Frank would like.
“I love you too,” his voice almost whispered. He lets out a shaky breath like your words just punched him in the gut. He still looks like he doesn’t fully believe it, waiting for you to change your mind or say you were kidding. But for once, he doesn’t snap or deflect. He pulls your body into his, closing his eyes as his cheek rests on your hair. He inhales your scent.
“You’re such a fuckin’ sap…” he mutters into your hair.
You just smile, nuzzling into him before pulling away and looking into his eyes.
“Can we be boyfriends now?” you ask.
Frank lets out a huff but can’t help but smile and feel a little giddy. His grip around you tightens just a little bit.
“Yeah. You dork. Of course, we can be boyfriends.”
You burst into a grin, trying to find a good reaction to the news, and not say something dumb. Before you can, though, Frank puts out his fist– for a fucking fist bump. You laugh and accept it, not leaving him hanging.
“Did you just fist bump me after sex?” you laugh.
“It appears I did.” Frank sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.
You gently grab his wrists and pull them away, forcing him to look into your eyes before pulling him into a kiss.