Sitting here thinking of Frankie spilled out across crisp white sheets like a sunset, all tanned skin and loose-limbed and completely relaxed. I just want to gather him up in my arms and kiss him for as long as he’ll let me.
oh my dear @softanon i looked at this ask so many times and im so in love with it 🥺 let the boys be soft, let them be loved and doted on as well!! 💛💛💛
1.6k of fluff below the cut, i hope it was worth the wait :")
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You find Frankie sprawled out face-down across the bed, the clean and crisp bed sheets beneath him barely rumpled. It’s as if he simply lay down and fell straight asleep. He hasn’t even bothered to get dressed again properly after his shower, the black boxer shorts the only item of clothing on him, contrasting beautifully with his tanned skin and the white sheets. You find yourself feeling thankful there isn’t a clear view into your bedroom, because that would mean closing the curtains and you don’t want to - the late summer light is cast over Frankie in a hazed block, highlighting the broadness of his back. He faces away from it - face to the door - on his side of the bed, splayed limbs and his face squished against the pillow, your own pulled close enough he can no doubt smell it. (And that’s likely why).
As you lean against the doorframe watching you think that at least for now all you want to do is watch and bask in the peaceful ambience of the room. The dust motes in the evening light, the gentle hum of life somewhere outside. To let this moment be and take comfort in knowing that right now Frankie is here and he’s safe and he’s resting. You don’t want to disturb his rest - god knows he needs it - but seeing him like this, all loose-limbed and completed relaxed, you do want to be closer. You want to admire him, already mentally tracing lines down the softly defined muscles of his back, remembering the places where the few freckles from his afternoons in the sun are scattered across his shoulders. You want to gather him up in your arms, to kiss your way across the bared skin, shower him in affection and maybe - just maybe - that’d be a kind of rest too, to be wrapped up in your love.
In the end your own selfish desires win, drawing you over to the bed where you settle down next to him, at just the right distance that you think he might not have noticed the dip in the mattress. He does. Sensing you even when he’s mostly asleep Frankie makes a soft noise in the back of his throat before the hand nearest starts to search for you. Blindly patting and feeling his way across the bed, when Frankie finds your thigh his fingers slip up and over, gripping lightly into your soft skin so it dimples beneath his touch. He looks so peaceful you hardly dare to move in case it disturbs him again. But when he makes another noise and a gentle tug on your leg you go willingly. You settle yourself right alongside him then gently take his larger hand in your own, allowing him to sleepily shift and interlace his fingers alongside yours until he’s happy. Raising the paired hands to your lips you press soft kisses across his knuckles. He hums in content at the feeling, turning his face upward towards you though his eyes remain closed.
“Frankie?” He makes a quiet acknowledging noise. “You there?”
“Mmmmhm.” Comes the sound again, this time paired with a quick squeeze of your hand.
“You doing ok?”
He hums in response before, “tired.” Comes the reply.
“Yeah. You did a lot today didn’t you? You must have worked hard, I know it. Baby I’m proud of you.” At your words Frankie makes a small pained noise before pulling himself over, hiding his face fully against your leg, his arm over your lap and clinging to your other hip. “That kind of day?” He nods slowly against you, his nose dragging against your thigh with the movement. “Ok. I’m here.”
This you can do.
With one hand you cup the back of his skull, fingers threading through his still-damp curls and drawing mindless circles and patterns. It’s a gesture he’s done to you so many times that you know first hand the kind of comfort it brings, hoping it’ll do the same for him. Your other hand you allow to slide down onto his back, fingers spread to just feel him for a moment and feel his warmth. You study the contrasts of the two of you, how broad his back is under your hand, and how he appears even bigger when he sighs at the contact, pushing up into you ever so slightly before he finds himself too heavy and drops back down.
You lose yourself to it - the touch and how it soothes you both - and time drifts to feel molasses slow in the fading golden sunlight. Frankie’s breathing is a steady cadence, puffs of warm air against your leg, his back rising and falling under your hand as he breathes in and lets it out, becoming a comforting weight across you. You slowly admire him beneath you, allowing your fingers to trace up and down his muscles like you’d thought about, rubbing his back in a hope to soothe him before walking your fingers step by step from one freckle to the next. Frankie shivers at the tickle, grumbling slightly as he holds you tighter.
“Alright, alright,” You murmur. “didn’t mean you tickle you, softie.” He gives a huff of amusement at the endearment, and a small nuzzle against you in thanks for stopping as you run firm strokes over his back to ease the sensation.
Then your hands begin to wander on their own accord; finding what you know are his usual tight spots along his broad shoulders and at the base of his neck, digging your thumbs in and working to ease the tension. Frankie hums then lifts himself to shuffle even closer to you again. He gives a passing kiss to your stomach before resting his head on your other thigh and letting himself become heavy over you.
Once he’s settled you return to your work. You follow familiar tracks down his back, walking your thumbs down either side of his spine before repeating with long strokes and pressing down around and to his stomach. Over and over you go, firmly pressing into him until he stops shifting with the over-sensitivity of it. It’s hard to do some of it right with the angle, so you settle for the best you can and center in on what you know is usually tight. The worst is generally up his neck, the tension from holding his shoulders wrong causing permanent tightness there. You dig in, using your fingers to roll the muscles until they yield, mindful every time Frankie breathes hard against you. Until one time it catches and you stop, instead rubbing over the area to relieve the ache. You’re working up to finishing the short massage when Frankie notices and speaks up.
“Don’t stop.” It’s said so quietly you barely catch it, muffled as it is against your skin.
“What was that?” Maybe a lesser man would have changed his words, postured and put on a front. But Frankie - your kind and ever-open Frankie - only rolls his head to the side, cracks his eyes open to hold your gaze and repeats it.
“Please don’t stop querida.”
At his reassurance you shake your head gently in reply, then, “I won’t baby. ‘m right here, I got you.” His lips quirk up at the corners at your easy pet-name, enough to round his cheeks and soften his eyes as they drift back shut, the smile lingering a fraction longer before he pulls into you again.
When you return to it you work in earnest now but in broader pressures - pressing the heels of your hands into his back, pushing long strokes downwards and working the knots out. Frankie huffs at the ache and breathes out in measured breaths whenever you find something particularly tight that sends bright flashes of pain through his body. You’re mindful but know he needs it, evident in how the more you work the heavier he gets against you. Each passing of your hands makes the coil of his tension loosen more and more until he’s finally lying completely boneless against you.
“Alright,” You murmur, folding yourself down over him enough to press a kiss to his forehead. “Come on then love.” An eye cracks open at your words, a small groan of protest breaking the silence.
“Don’t stop…sleep.” Is all he mumbles in reply.
“I know Frankie. Sleep for both of us. That’s what I meant.”
It’s a bit of work to rearrange the pair of you, Frankie nothing but a mumbling weight, quietly protesting the whole shift. But as soon as you are both laying down facing each other he slots his leg between yours immediately, fitting his body alongside you like a paired puzzle piece. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck Frankie settles against you with a sigh. He’s all heavy limbs - an arm thrown over your waist and crooked up to reach for your shoulder, or maybe your head, but there’s no grip to his fingers, his leg trying to pull you even closer. It puts him back in reach for soft kisses, which you gently press against his forehead over and over, loving the reaction it gets from him - a soft huff as he pushes his face down each time, his beard rubbing at your skin but it’s worth it (like always). Your fingers thread again through his curls, dry enough now they’ve gone a bit wispy at the ends. You play with the individual strands, rolling them between your fingers until he shivers at the feeling against his scalp.
“Sleep.” And this time he truly sounds on the edge of it.
“Sleep.” You agree, snuggling in to enjoy his presence and the last of the day’s sun.
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