@kingdonmicrofic | july 19: heels | 486/151 words | warnings: light sexual content | ao3
It has taken a lot of convincing from Yolanda for him to come tonight. After getting sober and burning more than a few bridges at PTMC in the process, going to a bar with his colleagues might be his personal hell, he’s told her. But unfortunately for him, Yolanda is not the person to take no for an answer and his resistance has been futile.
So, here he is now, feeling miserable as he stands in a corner with Cassie, both of them nursing a glass of water, when everyone suddenly erupts in hollers and jeers. Looking up, he nearly feels his eyes bulge out of his head as Trinity, Samira and Mel walk in.
They have taken the time to dress up, it appears. Trinity’s wearing tight jeans and a halter top, while Samira’s in a navy blue dress. Mel, however, is the only one that catches Frank’s attention. In her white top with bell sleeves, her tiny denim skirt, and her silver heels, she’s quite possibly the hottest woman he’s ever seen.
Frank feels something twitch with interest below his belt as he ogles her, mouth open wide. He’s never known her legs look like that, and now that he does know, he can’t focus on anything else. In the back of his mind, he imagines touching the creamy expanse of skin, a thigh wrapped around his waist as his hand travels up her skirt and oh fuck, he’s in so much trouble.
Despite the instant carnal need that overtakes him, he also notices something else, though. Mel is clumsy and insecure on her feet, clearly not comfortable in high heels, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s sidled up to her, just in time to catch her as she nearly trips, a sharp flash of pain shooting up his back as she falls against him.
He barely registers the ache, though, because her entire body is pressed against his, his fingers digging into her waist as he holds her up and prays that she won’t notice that he’s half hard. He can feel every eye in the room on them, suspicious and scrutinizing, and he knows there will be a lot of questions, but he finds that he doesn’t give a fuck.
“Sorry, I’m not used to wearing heels,” she breathes, and he squeezes her waist in response.
He hopes his smile is comforting and not sleazy as he looks her in the eyes intently and replies, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
He feels her body relax a little in his hold, her eyes softening into something sweet and molten. Her smile is almost coy when she whispers back, “I know. You always do.”
His back hurts for the rest of the night from catching her fall, but it doesn’t matter. If she looks at him like that, if her body against his feels like that, it’s all worth it.
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