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Caught On - Part 4

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

Word Count: 7,705

Rating: Explicit. (language, sexual acts, sexual contact with two separate men)

Summary: This is it: the moment when things change between you and Pope ... what happens between the two of you - and how do you handle it? But just as importantly, how do Pope and Frankie handle it?

Author’s note:

I am so damn sorry that this has taken so long to get out. I didn’t forget about them, I just got really sidetracked with other things. But we’re back! Thank you all for being so patient with me.

Catch up here: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

He would have stopped if he’d wanted to. You knew that - you knew exactly how he would have reacted - freezing and then straightening all the way up, pulling himself away from you and out of your hold, hands leaving your body without hesitation as he turned away and spluttered out an excuse. But Pope didn’t do any of those things, and before you knew it, he was kissing you, the man’s lips soft and warm against yours.

The way it felt shocked you. You’d only kissed one man throughout the duration of the previous few years, and even though the kiss wasn’t deep, it was different than kissing Frankie - but just as meaningful. Holy shit. His fingers tightened further against your hip, the ones against the skin of your back flexing, but then Pope did pull away quickly, his eyes wide and searching your face for any sign of discomfort. “Santi?”

“You alright?” His voice was low - you’d never heard it that way, almost strained, and you nodded in reply, the tips of your fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ve wanted to do that for -”

“Do it again.” Swallowing hard, you moved your head quickly from side to side. “Don’t think about it, just -” The man surged forward, nothing timid about the movement that time, and when Pope’s lips met yours again, you leaned into it, tilting your head to the side enough so that your noses didn’t bump.

He took advantage of the positioning, both lips closing around your upper one and drawing it between them, the hand on your hip rising, fingertips landing at your temple and then sliding down, curling around the back of your jaw as his thumb swept over your cheekbone. Pulling back enough to take a quick breath, you met his mouth once more, the tip of his tongue flicking against the edge of your bottom lip and eliciting a quiet moan from you - but at the sound, he jerked backward, both hands leaving your body - just like you’d predicted. “No.”

The denial hurt, but after giving yourself a moment to catch up, you realized that he wasn’t angry, he was warning you. Warning both of us. “Ok.” You were tingling - your entire upper body warm, that feeling enhanced by the way he was staring at you, lips parted enough that you could see the straight line of his teeth behind them. He’s afraid. He’s afraid of… this. “I won’t apologize for that, and you don’t need to, either.”

“But -” He looked confused, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you, the man’s arms crossing protectively over his chest. “You… we -” “Don’t you dare ruin this.” You were whispering, chest rising and falling as you took deep breaths. “Don’t you dare ruin the fact that after how many years, we finally… fuck, that felt…” You didn’t know how to finish the sentence; didn’t know exactly what you wanted to tell the man, but you were certain that if he apologized or kept asking questions, your first kiss with Pope would be attached to an entirely different and unpleasant memory. Frankie said… he sent us here, he… “We both wanted that. There’s no reason to pretend anything else is true.”

“We did.” The man wet his lips, biting down on the lower one. “And I still do.” I do too. “But I think that’s enough for both of us to think about for tonight, don’t you?” Probably. He reached for you, his fingers closing around the ones on your left hand and lifting it into your line of sight, his eyes focused on the ring you wore. “I know what this means. I know what he means to you, and what he means to me. But goddamn, I…” He swallowed, squeezing your fingers. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you, and I’m really fucking sorry it took so long.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Closing your eyes, you smiled, Pope tightening his grip on your fingers before letting go, the man swearing quietly under his breath at the loss of contact. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

“Our friends are waiting.” He said your name, the two of you staring at each other once more. “There’s a couple ice packs in my freezer. You should use one of them on your side.” There he is. Right back to normal. “You can lay in my bed or on the couch, wherever’s more comfortable for you.” Couch, definitely. A kiss was one thing, but you didn’t want to even consider what the man - or Frankie - finding you in the bed might mean - or what it could imply. Or how it would feel. “Come on.”

You moved off of the counter and followed him back through the house, bare feet moving over the floor a few steps behind his booted ones. “You should get going, Pope. I’m sure everyone’s wondering what’s taking you so long, and if you don’t get there soon, they’re all going to be way ahead of -” “No, not all of them.” You were standing in front of the couch, the man rubbing at his forehead with one hand. “You know damn well ‘Fish is gonna wait til I get there to do more than drink a beer. He’s gonna want to know you’re alright.” That’s true.

“So what’s my diagnosis?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you cocked your head to one side. “You said -” “I already told you.” He stepped closer, an arm curving around you so that he could pull you into an easy hug, both of your hands pressing flat against his chest at the last possible second so that you could still look up at him. “You’re gonna live. Probably want to take it easy for a couple days. I’m gonna tell him that, too.” What? “He’s gonna take real good care of you.” Pope was smiling again, though you could see a hint of unease in his eyes. “Like he always does.”

“He does.” You winked at him, hands moving up his chest so that you could wind your arms around his neck. “And so you do. You always have.” He hugged you back even though the action was short-lived and he was careful not to squeeze you too tightly, Pope moving away from you and toward the door after only a few seconds. “Have a good time.”

He assured you that he would, and with only one short glance back at you from over his shoulder, the man was gone moments later, the door clicking shut behind him. Oh, shit. Taking a deep breath, you stared at the door for long moments, trying to convince yourself to turn back toward the kitchen. Did that happen? The question barely had a chance to form before you heard the sound of the front door opening again, eyes snapping back up and to the sight of Pope striding through it and toward you. “Pope? What -”

He didn’t let you finish, one of his hands rising to grasp the back of your neck and haul you forward into into his body, the man’s lips crashing against yours with a groan. I thought he… But you stopped thinking, letting yourself relax into him as Pope deepened the kiss. Your surprise provided the opening, the man’s tongue slowly pushing through the space between your lips, and the moment you felt it meet yours, you reacted, fingers curled in the loose material of his shirt to hold him close.

He held you close as he continued to kiss you, Pope’s tongue delving deep into your mouth before retreating to trace along the fullest part of your lip, and then almost as though he couldn’t stop himself, he grazed it with his teeth, upper lip curling when he let go and took a shallow breath before returning his mouth to yours. That time, it was you that breeched the seam of his lips first, sighing as he didn’t deny you entry. This feels right.

It did - the two of you standing in his living room and giving in to decades of want, and you were disappointed when he pulled away from you, lowering both hands. “I had to.” He was breathing hard, a glint in his eyes that you’d never seen before. “I couldn’t fucking stop myself, and I …” Pope stepped closer, ducking his head down to kiss your cheek. “Just had to know what that felt like, in case…” In case it doesn’t happen again. You understood without saying it out loud, and when the man stepped backwards again, you nodded once, lips pressed together. Go.

He turned away from you again and hurried toward the door, pulling it closed for the second time. You heard his car starting a few seconds later, and when the sound faded from your ears, you finally let yourself react, dropping down onto the arm of the couch and putting your hands over your face. Oh, fuck.

You didn’t regret the kisses - didn’t regret finally acting on the attraction that had been simmering between you for the entirety of your friendship, and didn’t think you ever would. You also didn’t regret not letting Pope speak when he’d pulled away from you, because the last thing you wanted was the memory of your first kiss to be tainted with regret and confusion. I wasn’t confused, and neither was he. We both knew exactly what we were doing. “Frankie was right.” Sighing, you rose to your feet, making your way into the kitchen and opening the freezer. Of course he was.

The ice packs were where he’d said they would be, and you knew from experience that the wraps were in the drawer just to the left of it. A few minutes later, you were laying on your side on the couch, ice pack in place and a drink on a coaster in front of you. Idly flipping through the TV channels, you found that you couldn’t concentrate on anything you saw, your mind racing as you replayed the previous events of the night.

It was almost impossible, but you were able to convince yourself not to get worked up - at least until you knew how Frankie would react. Because he’s going to know. He’s going to know something happened.

There was nothing you could do but wait.

—

“Time to wake up.” Taking in a sharp, quick breath through your nose, you forced your eyes open, blinking through the semi-darkness. “We gotta go home.” “Frankie?” It came out a croak, your eyes closing again as you swallowed, trying to wet your dry throat. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.” He had his hand on your shoulder, the man bent at the waist and peering down at you. “I left early because I wanted to get you home, so -” “Alright. Yeah. I wanna go home.” Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you only winced when you felt the ice pack slip off of your side, one hand moving to press as gently against your ribs as you could. “I-”

His hand covered yours, Frankie’s face close in the darkness. “We can talk when we’re home. Pope told me you’re gonna be alright, but I want to see for myself.” Of course you do.

“He didn’t come back with you?” You only spoke as the two of you walked through the front door a couple minutes later, ice pack in the sink along with your empty glass. “I figured he would.” “Figured he would, or you wanted him to?” Both. It was a little brighter outside, the light from the overhead streetlamps illuminating Frankie’s face as he spoke. He’s not wearing his hat. You realized it with some surprise, eyes darting to the window of the man’s truck and seeing the familiar shape sitting on the dashboard. “I put the seat back a little bit. Didn’t want you to be sitting straight up.”

“Thank you.” You saw the concern in the man’s expression - his lips set into a slight pout, eyes narrowed. Is he waiting for me to explain? Does he want me to tell him? You didn’t want to have the conversation in Pope’s driveway; didn’t want to risk the man coming home in the middle of it, and so you blew out a breath, reaching up for Frankie with one hand. He didn’t flinch away from your touch and you took that as a good sign, your fingers running through his hair and pushing it away from his face and behind his ear. “Take me home.”

—

He didn’t hover while you got ready for bed, but as soon as you climbed between the sheets, he was next to you, the bedside lamp on your side of the mattress still on and illuminating the room enough so that he’d be able to see what he wanted to see. Without him asking, you rolled onto your side and faced him, nodding once. You can look. Frankie got into position - sitting up and reaching out, his body twisted at the waist to face you. While he moved you stared at him, drinking in the sight of the man like you always did.

He was shirtless, a pair of flannel pants settled low on his waist, unruly hair curling and framing his face, and you thought that the man hadn’t ever looked more appealing to you despite the fact that he wasn’t doing anything. Because I love him, and that’s how it should be.

Using one hand, Frankie pushed the t-shirt you were wearing up enough to expose your entire side and most of your stomach, wincing at the sight of your skin as his fingers passed over it. The reaction hurt. Seeing the man respond negatively to the sight of you sent a sharp pang through your chest, the bulk of it lodged in the center. I don’t like the way that feels at all.

“You’ve never done that before.” You tried for a laugh but didn’t get one in return. Instead, he focused on what he could see, concern replaced with anger as he moved a little closer. It’s just a bruise. I got bumped. It could have happened anywhere.

“I should have punched that asshole.” He spoke quietly, fingers curling into a loose fist as he pulled his hand away from you. “Shouldn’t have even asked questions.”

“You didn’t need to.” Propping yourself up on one elbow, you reached for him with your other hand, sliding your fingers between his bent ones. The man unfurled his fingers so that the two of you could press your palms together, the contact helping to decrease the beating of your racing heart. “Would have ruined everything for Benny. And you made your point. All… all three of you did.”

“We did.” That earned you the barest hint of a smile, Frankie’s lips twitching. “I still should have fuckin’ -” “You didn’t even touch him, and here I am… home and in bed with you.” He couldn’t keep a straight face at that, the man leaning over you to press his lips against your mouth briefly, the tip of his nose rubbing against yours. “Wait, Frankie.” You spoke as he moved to pull away, heart hammering in your chest yet again. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He didn’t reply - but he stayed where he was, your gaze meeting his. “I kissed Pope.”

It came out smoothly. You didn’t stutter, didn’t hesitate, didn’t trip over the words. Instead, you said them like you weren’t admitting something with the potential to damage your relationship to the man you loved. There was a small - nearly imperceptible movement of his fingers, but Frankie stayed in place otherwise, eyes locked with yours. “Did you?” There wasn’t any accusation in his tone, and you didn’t hear anger in it, either. “And?”

“I did.” I don’t feel guilty. “And he kissed me back.” He blinked at you, staying quiet. Say something. Say anything. “But that’s all that -” “You don’t need to convince me.” Frankie took a long breath, briefly narrowing his eyes. “I know Pope well enough to know that he wasn’t here with you long enough to -” “Frankie!” Gasping at his words, your mouth dropped open. “Come on, this is serious. I’m trying to explain.” He cut you off with another kiss, that one a little firmer than the first, and when he pulled back, he was looking down at you, unblinking.

‘There’s nothing to explain. Neither of you are stupid, and I’m not either. I sent you home with him. I told him to check out your side, knowing that he’d need to touch you to do it. The two of you needed a push.” Not letting go of the hand he held, he used his other one to drag his fingers through his curls. “The longer you put it off the worse it was gonna be, and that’s what I told him.” Giving yourself a few moments of silence to watch him, you thought about what he’d said. When did he tell Pope?

“Pope told you already.” His lack of response was answer enough and you pushed into a sitting position, too, only flinching once as you got comfortable. “Jesus, Frankie, and you just came back, and -” “And I found you sleeping on his couch, wanted to get you home, and here we are.” He wet his lips, head moving back and forth. “This isn’t a trap. It’s not me trying to pull one over on you. And since both of you were so goddamn honest about a fucking kiss, you two aren’t trying to get anything by me, either.” It was true - you weren’t trying to keep anything from the man, and you had no intention of doing so in the future, either. If anything else happens. “Like I said, though, I just need to know if you think anything’s gonna change if we’re all together. You don’t have to tell me about every conversation or every time you kiss ‘im, or -” “I don’t know that it’s going to happen again.” He was still holding your hand, both of them resting against one of his knees. “It seemed like both of us were kind of -” “Don’t lie to me.” There was an edge to his tone; you felt it cutting through the empty space in the room. “That’s the one thing I’m gonna ask from you here. Do not lie to me about him, or about what you feel about him. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. That’s the only way this is going to work.” He was right - it wouldn’t work if you or Pope lied, but you hadn’t thought you were lying. I didn’t mean to.

“Frankie?” He raised his brows, head cocked to one side. “What are you going to get out of this? Do you want to see me with someone else? Does the thought tur-” “No.” He scratched the side of his face. “I don’t want to see you with someone else. I want you with me. It’s what I’ve always wanted since we started seein’ each other.” Then why? Why Pope? Why this? “But I want you to be happy, and if that means giving the two of you a chance to explore this, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“I am happy.” Reaching out, you curved your hand against his cheek, staring into his eyes. “With you.” It was enough - he was enough, and you wouldn’t have agreed to marry him otherwise. But he said not to lie to him. “It was strange to kiss someone else. Even stranger that it was him. After so long? It didn’t seem… real.” But it was. “I feel like I should feel guiltier. Like I shouldn’t -” “Did it change how you feel about me?” Your response was an immediate no, the man’s shoulders relaxing slightly. “Then stop beating yourself up over this.” You didn’t know if things would change; if the longer that Frankie had to think about the fact that you and Pope had kissed, the more upset he’d become. But he’s not mad now. “Do you need anything? Probably gonna be sore tomorrow because of your side, but if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“Yeah.” Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you pulled your hand from Frankie’s, using both of yours to grasp the bottom edge of your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side, using the fabric to hide your wince. “Need you.” His eyes flashed at your words, the man reaching cautiously for you as he eased you back down, both of you stretching out along the mattress. It had probably sounded like you were trying to make up for something - the speed that you’d answered his question with, the way you were seemingly trying to distract him with your bared skin - but the truth was that the feelings were genuine, just as they’d been for as long as you’d been with Frankie.

You needed him and you wanted him, those emotions no less present than they’d been before you and Pope kissed. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t like what happened, or that it was meaningless. You had a lot to figure out - and you knew it, knew that feeling so deeply for Pope while you felt what you did for Frankie was going to get confusing, especially if there was a physical element involved. And there is now.

But that was something for you to worry about at another time; your full attention drawn to the way Frankie’s large palm was flattened against the skin beneath your breasts, his thumb extended up and between them, sweeping back and forth slowly. “You need me?” Turning your head toward the sound of his voice, you met his gaze, the man’s eyes only inches from yours on the pillow. “Tell me.”

He wasn’t quite pleading with you, though you could tell that he meant the words. He might not be upset that the kiss happened, but he still wants to know that I … “Kiss me, Frankie.” You reached for him again, arm crossing your body so that you could tug on the ends of his hair, urging him closer. “Please.”

It was gentler than you were used to, the man holding himself back because of your injury and because of the conversation that you’d just had. But it was still Frankie, the man wasting no time in teasing your lips apart with the tip of his tongue, yours meeting it without pause. It was the kiss you’d denied him minutes before, both of you making the most of the fact that neither of you were willing to put a stop to it any longer. As the moments passed, he leaned closer, his hand slipping around the swell of your breast and squeezing.

Whining into his mouth at the touch, you felt the man smile, Frankie pulling back enough to look down at you, his head propped up on the palm of one hand. “It’s gonna be a couple days.” His eyes flicked over to your side and then slowly moved to follow the path of his hand as he palmed your chest. “At least before I can have you the way I want to.” He pulled his hand away, licking the tip of his thumb before replacing it, the damp digit circling over your rapidly pebbling nipple. “But that’s not the only thing you need, is it.”

“No.” He knew you - knew exactly what he did to you, what he made you feel, and before you could stop it, your hips rose off of the bed a few inches before they settled back down, Frankie still smiling. “No, fuck, Frankie, I need…” He dragged the edge of his nail over your skin then, interrupting your thought, and before you could stop yourself you’d reached out, fingers curling around his thigh and squeezing. “Need you, need your mouth, need your hands, I want…”

“Want you too.” He sighed, leaning down to trail kisses over your lips and chin, your hand slipped around to the back of his head, stroking through the soft hair there. “Always do.” It wasn’t how the two of you usually did things, and while there’d be a lot to think about later, in the moment, it didn’t matter. What happens now is going to be different than it was before. Because things are different. He wasn’t trying to prove himself to you - at least not intentionally - and you knew it.

You didn’t need or want him to - didn’t expect him to, because it wasn’t a competition. “Show me, then.” Breathing the words out, you lifted your hips again, clearing your throat. “And then I’ll -” “No, you won’t.” He’d reached your mouth with his lips, barely separating enough to speak. “Gonna take real good care of you.” The words bright back the memory of Pope telling you the same thing, and for a moment, you wondered again how much they shared - if Frankie wanted to hear more from the man than he wanted to hear from you - and then decided that it didn’t matter. Pope wouldn’t lie. And Frankie wouldn’t lead me on.

The important thing was that Frankie hadn’t shied away from you because of what you’d done with your friend; it had been at the sight of your injury. You knew the man - knew that if he’d actually been mad or distracted, there was no way he’d be licking his way down the skin of your neck, the knuckles of one hand tracing a path down the center of your chest at the same time. Let me help you out.

Pulling your hands away from him, you reached down, easing your pants over your hips and then using the bottoms of your feet to pull them down further, the material bunching around your thighs. From there, you continued to work them off, Frankie positioning his body so that he could move down, too.

As he got comfortable, you felt his cotton-covered bulge press against your bare thigh, the man’s mouth sealed over your other nipple, the tips of his fingers circling slowly around your belly button. He knew you well - knew where and how to touch you to pull sounds from your lips and ignite the fire in your belly, knew when it was time to move on, to focus his attention on a different part of your body in order to elicit the same response.

Your whines turned to whimpers as his lips glanced off of your abdomen, his beard and mustache dragging over your skin while his fingers traveled down the top of your thigh and toward your knee. “If I hurt you at all, you gotta tell me.” His breath hot against your skin, you looked down in time to see Frankie’s eyes raise, locking with yours. “Even if it’s just ‘cuz you’re moving.” “I will.” Breathing hard, you lifted one hand, fingers moving through his hair as you scratched your nails over his scalp. “I promise, Frankie.” It was enough for him, the man returning to what he’d been doing and continuing lower. Taking cues from him, you bent one leg at the knee, planting your foot flat on the mattress and then angling it out, the man’s fingers slipping back down and toward your hip, gripping it tightly. “Fuck, Frankie. I -”

You cut yourself off with a quiet hum, hips shifting just enough to make him chuckle and then his mouth was on you, your fiancé diving in with his usual enthusiasm. He licked his way across your skin, the pad of one thumb rubbing in slow circles just beneath his tongue, and by the time he eased the tip of it into you, your toes were curled against the blankets, fingers bent and one knuckle held tight between your teeth to muffle the noises that you were making.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make noise - instead, you knew that Frankie’s reactions to you trying to conceal the noises he was coaxing out of you gave him more pleasure than anything else you could say.

He liked hearing you stifle your moans, loved it when your body shuddered beneath his touch and the movement of his mouth - needed to know just how much what he was doing affected you. And you were happy to give that to him - especially since you knew that he wouldn’t let you touch him that night since he was afraid of causing you pain.

Frankie’s lips closed around you at the same moment he added a second finger to the first, pumping them almost painfully slowly into and out of you, the angle doing just enough to build up the tension coiled in your belly without hurrying you to the edge. Shifting your shoulders, you pressed your upper body into the mattress while you canted your hips just enough to force his fingers deeper, your muscles clenching around them repeatedly. He growled against you, the pressure of his lips increasing - and then it was gone, replaced by the quick flicks of his tongue that you loved so much.

He curled his fingers as he withdrew them, Frankie changing his rhythm again, and then his tongue flattened, dragging against you - first in only one place and then in lengthier paths up and down, over and over before he pushed the tip of that into you, too - curling it along with his fingers repeatedly before withdrawing it and returning to the earlier pattern.

He knew how to keep you off balance, knew what you liked and needed, and the difference between Frankie and the other men you’d been with in the past was that not only did he give you what you wanted, the man had flat out told you that he was content to spend as much time as necessary with his fingers and tongue buried in you. And while he usually took his time - the man bringing you to the edge and then backing off, savoring the taste of you for as long as he could, that night was different.

“Wanna taste you when you come.” He breathed the words out, never halting the movement of his fingers. “Taste so fucking…” His tongue returned to your skin, the man’s words cut off with a groan. “So fucking good.” You whined at that, eyes screwed shut as you turned your head to the side, mouth falling open as he sped up the movement of his hand. Fuck, Frankie.

You were lucky and you knew it, the only thought in your head about the way he was making you feel, the man’s breaths escaping through his nose as he picked up the pace of his tongue, too. He wasn’t quite sloppy, but he made no effort to be neat, and almost without warning, you cried out, abdominal muscles tightening as you felt yourself approaching the point of no return. “Frankie, please. You … it … feels…” You moaned, the sound obscenely loud to your ears, and with one final drag of his fingers inside of you, you came - the man’s mouth dropping to catch and contain your release, tongue lapping against your skin as his return groan vibrated through you.

The clenching of your muscles pulled his fingers deeper, and even though they filled you, it wasn’t the same as if he’d actually been inside you. Coupled with the motion of his tongue, it was just as good, Frankie’s grip on your hip loosening as he stroked over your skin and then shoved his hand beneath your ass and lifted you enough to give him a different angle, mouth and fingers still working together to guide you through your orgasm.

He knew how to prolong things, the man unwilling to remove his mouth from you until you yelped, thigh muscles flexing before you unbent your leg and shifted away from him, mumbling for him to stop. He did, withdrawing his fingers unbelievably slowly and making you shiver at the feeling, but you pried your eyes open enough to watch as he pushed himself up onto his knees with his free hand, bringing his soaked fingers up to his mouth and slipping them in, eyes closing as he sucked the taste of you from his skin.

“Fr… Frankie that’s…” You steadied yourself as best you could, knowing that your voice was going to falter no matter what you did. “Fucking… Jesus Christ, you…”

“Quiet.” He mumbled the word around his fingers, sighing before he removed them with a quiet pop. “You can still talk, that means I didn’t -” “Come here.” The words were little more than a whisper and he moved immediately, crawling up enough so that he could lean down, propped up on his elbows as he nudged along your jaw with his nose. “I -” He kissed you, the man’s mustache and chin damp and somehow you managed to lift both hands, one of them dragging over the center of his back and the fingers of the other tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck.

You felt him against your abdomen as he kissed you, the length of him hard through the material of the boxer briefs that he still wore. You desperately wanted to touch him - but knew that if you moved your hands, he’d pull away.

So you kept them where they were, instead lifting your hips off if the bed enough to drag your body against his, providing just enough friction to force the thrust of his hips against you. Want to make you come, ‘Fish. Want you to… You moaned into his mouth, the sound spurring the man on, and when he nipped at your lower lip with his teeth and then rose away from you and onto his knees, you knew he was almost there - his eyes blazing in the semi-darkness of the room. “Where?”

It was only one word but you knew what he meant, and it only took seconds for you to lower your hand to your abdomen, tapping it with your fingertips. “Here. Right here. All over m-”

You were breathing hard, too, trying to catch your breath as he shoved the material of his underwear down enough to pull himself free, Frankie reaching back between your legs and gathering some of the slick that remained there. He coated his fingers with it before wrapping them around his base, the man’s eyes closing briefly as he began to stroke himself, chest heaving as the seconds passed and his movements became more purposeful.

Frankie kept his eyes on yours as he fucked his hand, the man’s knuckles occasionally making contact with your skin as he moved. He surprised you by returning his other hand to you, settling it low on your abdomen and using his thumb to rub circles against your still sensitive skin, the pressure just enough, even though it was his non-dominant hand. Because he knows my fucking body. You cried out, hips jerking upward and increasing the pressure briefly, and Frankie’s grip on himself tightened, his wrist twisting as his lip curled. “Frankie.” You licked your lips, mouth falling open. “Please. That feels -” You couldn’t get the words out, the sight of him losing control as his fist slipped too far, his hand squeezing his tip as he cried out, your name leaving his mouth.

He came, splashing his release over the skin of your stomach - hot and thick, and without thinking you reached up, dragging the tips of your fingers through it and then down, joining his thumb where it was still moving in slow circles between your legs. Coated in him, you pushed his hand out of the way and began to touch yourself, the man’s eyes dropping from your face to where your hand was, trying desperately to make yourself come a second time.

He was still stroking himself with one hand, the other one settled high on your thigh, thumb pressed to the inside of it, and you could see how tense the muscles in his abdomen were, the way he was twitching against his own palm but reluctant to let go until you’d finished again. You were close - and so you dragged your fingers back up and then down, collecting more of him and spreading it over your skin, the feeling exactly what you needed. “Gonna watch me come, Frankie? Watch me -” But he cut you off, inching closer and letting his tip drop enough to drag against your skin along with your fingers - and that’s all it took, your touch combined with his presence sending you soaring over the edge again, your mouth opening in a wordless response. Fuck me.

You were panting, the man’s eyes focused on your fluttering muscles, and you saw that while he was smirking slightly, the look in his eyes was one of adoration, the man’s hold on himself - and your leg - only loosening when your fingers stopped moving and fell to the mattress beside you, the tips of them curled toward your palm. “Fuck.” He was breathing just as hard as you, but Frankie didn’t stay put, moving to get out of the bed after only a short time. “Let m-” “No. Not yet.” You reached for him, knowing that you sounded whiny, but you didn’t care, your hand making contact with his forearm. “Stay here with me, Frankie. Just for a second.” You knew that he wouldn’t deny you, and so you weren’t surprised when he lowered himself down onto the mattress next to you, stretching out on the side of your body that wasn’t bruised and draping one arm over your chest, careful not to drag it through the mess on your belly.

Turning your head toward him, you felt his lips against your forehead, the man’s fingertips brushing slowly over your side. “You alright?”

“I am.” Taking a deep breath, you wet your lips, tongue licking into the corner of your mouth. “You wear me out, ‘Fish.” Tilting your head back so that you could see his eyes, you continued. “Even when I do half the work.”

“Asshole.” But he was grinning, the expression softening his features even though half of his face was smashed against the pillow. “You gonna be alright to go to work tomorrow?” His hand moved up your body until he could rest his palm against your cheek, fingers curled around your ear. “It’s probably gonna hurt a lot worse then.”

“I sit at a desk all day. I should be fine.” You knew it wouldn’t feel great, and that getting dressed would likely be difficult, but you didn’t think you’d have a problem working.

“Got somea that prescription ibuprofen left from when I fucked up my shoulder.” He blinked slowly. “That’ll help.”

“Ok.” You yawned, humming at the end of it. “I know I slept earlier, but I -” He kissed you quickly and then rolled away, getting out of the bed before you could stop him.

“Be right back.” He disappeared from the room, and you took the opportunity to stretch out, raising your arms over your head and pointing your toes. Your side hurt - and you knew that he knew it, too, but you thought you’d done a good job of keeping the pain hidden. We’ll see what happens after I sleep.

He came back a few minutes later, a towel dampened with warm water in one hand and a bottle of water and another of pills in the other. Of course. “Take these.” He handed you the bottles after you’d pushed yourself into a sitting position, and as you opened the smaller of the two, he began to swipe the towel over your skin, cleaning you up. He’d put on a pair of pants while downstairs, and by the smell of them, you knew that he’d taken them straight from the dryer. “I know I move around a lot in my sleep.” He spoke while he worked, eyes trained on every inch of skin that he was touching. “So if you want me to sleep in the sp-” “Absolutely not.” You reached for him after swallowing four of the pills - regular Tylenol - along with a long swig of water. “This is your bed. This is where you sleep.” Again - he wasn’t making the suggestion because of Pope, you knew that it was because he was genuinely afraid of moving while he slept and catching you with an elbow to the side. It’ll be fine. “Gonna get dressed now, Frankie.” You reached out, encircling his wrist with your fingers. “Gimmie that.”

Taking the cloth from him, you leaned forward and kissed the man, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ against his cheek before pulling back and climbing out of the bed. With him, you were never embarrassed to be completely naked, even when you knew that he could see everything. So you didn’t hurry across the room, instead taking your time and walking slowly to the closet, where you dropped the towel into the hamper.

It took you no time to redress in the shirt and pants you’d changed into when you got home, and Frankie was waiting under the blanket for you when you got back into bed, the man giving you a chance to make sure that your alarm was set for the following morning before he reached across your body and turned the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

You both settled in, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to wind his arms around you the way he usually did, you rolled onto your good side and then toward him, pressing yourself into his body. “I love you.” You spoke quietly, tracing the muscle of his bicep with your fingertips. “So much, Frankie.”

“Not as much as I love you.” He cleared his throat. “Go to sleep.” Even though you couldn’t see him, you knew that he was smiling. I don’t know about that.

—

It did take a few days for you to feel better, the ache in your side subsiding as more time passed. Frankie was no less affectionate with you than usual, though he was more careful with the way he touched you - keeping his hands near your waist when he came up behind you and pressed his front to your back, giving you ample warning when he tugged you onto his lap on the couch, offering to carry more than his share of the groceries in from the car.

You didn’t see Pope again in the days following Benny’s event, but you texted back and forth with him, the man sending a message over the following morning to see how you were feeling. You were surprised learn that you didn’t react any differently to seeing his name pop up on your screen, and even though you knew that the two of you would need to talk about what happened, you didn’t know which of you would bring it up first.

Frankie left you on Saturday afternoon for a few hours to get a last minute flight in with one of his students, and you used the time alone to clean the house, testing your recovery. You were almost completely mobile, pleased to find that it only hurt when you lifted your arm straight over your head, and immediately texted Frankie to tell him, knowing that he’d see the message as soon as he landed.

But when the man called you an hour later, the conversation wasn’t at all what you’d expected. “Hey. You up for company tonight?” Company?

“I figured that since I told you I was feeling better, we’d -” He laughed, clearing his throat. “What?”

“You’re on speaker.” Ah, shit. “Say hi to Pope.”

“Hey you.” You heard the other man’s voice a moment later, not even trying to keep the smile off of your face at the sound. So they’re still hanging out, which is good. “Glad to know you’re doing better.”

“Yeah. Me too.” You took a seat on the couch, eyes on the main window in the living room. “Why are the two of you together? I thought you had a lesson, Frankie.”

“I did.” He swore, calling someone of a fucking asshole and telling them to use their turn signal and then said your name. “But I got a phone call from -” “My car took a shit on me. Engine light came on, and the temperature gauge was fucked.” Pope sighed. “So I called ‘Fish to see if he could drive me from the shop back to my place, and since he was at the airport, he was right there.” Makes sense.

“And since it’s already so late, they won’t be able to look at it til Monday. So I offered to bring him over to our place tonight so he’s not sittin’ at home by himself on a Saturday.” That made sense, too. The three of you had spent countless weekend nights together, drinking and hanging out, and you didn’t see why things would have changed. Well… that’s not entirely true. “Figured we can grill or something, play some cards.”

“That’s fine with me.” You stood, heading for the garage. “I’ll thaw something out, but you might want to stop on the way home and grab beers. I don’t think -”

“Perfect.” Pope spoke up and you heard Frankie in the background, agreeing. “We should be back in about twenty minutes. We’re up by my place, just in case you didn’t -” “You’re always welcome here, Santi. You know that.” He went quiet, and you knew that it was a good time to hang up, but instead of saying goodbye, you stayed on the line, thinking. “Hey.” You didn’t know if it was a good idea or not, but you were going to go with it, both men’s words - and assurances - echoing in your mind. “You can stay the night if you want. Second bedroom’s yours.” Neither man spoke for long seconds, and you felt your chest tighten, waiting. Did I fuck it up? But then Frankie’s voice cut through the silence, unwavering.

“You heard her, Pope. Looks like you’re spending the night with us.”

—

#caught on

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#caught on