All Tied Up
Summary: Frankie and you take care of Marcus for the night. (Part of the Like a River ‘verse. Timeline wise this is well into their relationship.)
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader x Frankie Morales
WC: 4.1K
Warnings: Explicit, Established polyam relationship, m/f/m dynamics, BDSM, rope play, anal play, kissing, handjobs, praise kink, m/m dynamics, vaginal intercourse.
This fic is very much dedicated to my beautiful, talented, lovely, always kind @honestly-shite on their birthday. Happiest birthday to you, my sweet Maia! I know this is early but I'm horrid with dates and honestly, what's wrong with spending the whole entire week celebrating one of the best people I know!
Maia- You are kind and supportive and funny as hell, and you never ever fail to make me smile! Happy Birthday! I love you so fricking much!
It had started as teasing- light and frothy- passed back and forth between the three of you where you were curled into a booth at the back of Sam’s bar. The Miller boys were long gone for the night, both begging off with the excuse of an early morning, but the three of you stayed, something about the sparsely filled bar, the cheap beer and the late hour weaving some sort of silly magic into words. You and Frankie were tipsy at best, teetering on the edge of drunk, still needling Marcus with the nickname Benny had gifted him earlier in the night.
They had dubbed him Boy Scout and Marcus had shouldered the jokes with his natural ease, laughing off as the table quizzed him on merit badges and campouts and rope tricks, all of which he had zero experience in. Buoyant smiles were traded back and forth but Frankie didn’t miss it; the way Marcus’s heart rate picked up when his thick fingers circle his wrist just as you teased from across the table about knot tying. It’s quick, a small, sharp pull of air into his lungs, the smile stuttering on his cheeks before stretching wide into a bark of a laugh, but it was enough of a reaction to send Frankie’s mind into overdrive.
The night ended in a tangle of limbs and laughter, one of many the three of them had grown so used to over the past year, but Marcus’s reaction remained at the forefront of Frankie’s mind, alongside the image of his hand wrapped around his wrist, the press of his thumb firm on his rapid-fire pulse. He wasn’t sure if you had seen it for yourself; the dark bark and flow of alcohol placed a haze around the jokes, but he had been wrong. Your eyes were sharp, your mind quick. You never missed a step.
In fact you’re the first one to bring it up, two nights later, as casual as ever, always patient with the two men, never one to shy away from helping them find their way. Both girls are away for the night, an unspoken promise of something always lingering around nights like this. There’s the smell of tomatoes cooking with garlic and a bottle of wine split three ways, and you take one small sip before looking at Marcus where he’s carefully chopping basil into perfect little ribbons.
“So, ropes?”
His hands still and his cheeks tinge pink, and Frankie can’t help but smile over the rim of his glass. It’s hard not to as he takes in the other man, plush lips and coffee brown eyes taking up space beside him. He always provides that little extra sweetness the two of you crave, tempering out the bitter notes of two ex-soldiers with more than their fair share of baggage. Marcus has his own darkness tucked aside, two wedding rings nestled in a velvet box on his side of the bed, but his hardships didn’t squash the light in him, and Frankie is so grateful they were able to coax that brightness back out.
When he glances across the kitchen at you, you’re matching his smile cheek for cheek, eyes pinned to Marcus.
He coughs, starts chopping again, and nods his head. Slowly, a smile paints across his lips, and between slices of the blade he speaks up. “Yeah…I…I would like that…I mean,” he sighs, putting the knife down with an air of finality, picking up a towel and absentmindedly wiping at his hands.
“I spend all day looking out for everyone else. ‘Save them.’ ‘Go here.’ ‘Say this.’ Sometimes it’d be nice if…if someone would…if they could take care of…” He shrugs again, losing his nerve as quick as he found it, dropping the towel and picking the knife back up and focusing his energy on the barely recognizable herbs. His brows are bunched beneath the thick rim of his glasses, his normally steady hands shaking.
Frankie parses through his words, picking them up and rearranging them until he finds the meaning. It’s not that he’s surprised Marcus Moreno wants to be dominated- all three of them have the capacity for give and take in all aspects of their relationship- but he assumed it was about control; the loss of it; the need to have it stripped away. But that was how Francisco Morales’s brain clicked; that was what he needed. For Marcus it was something in a different color, a lighter shade; familiar and easy to recognize, the taste sweet and gentle on the tip of his tongue.
He just wants to be taken care of.
Frankie crosses the kitchen and touches Marcus’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up slowly until they are eye to eye. “Can you use your words, baby?”
He swallows around nothing, still smiling, glancing at you then back at him, stalling for courage and Frankie grips a little bit tighter, signaling he is waiting for an answer.
“I want you to tie me up.”
You step in closer, close enough that he can smell the wine on your tongue, your fingers sliding slowly from his elbow to his wrist until your palm slides over his hand and up the sharp cut of Marcus’s jaw.
“How’s tonight sound?”
—
The rope is bright orange, thick and sturdy, pulled from the bottom of the bag of camping gear, a mess of other supplies spilling out as Frankie pulls it free. He leaves the mess, making a mental note to come back for it tomorrow, too anxious to think about anything but what waits for him in the bedroom. He takes the stairs two at a time, pausing just as he gets to the landing, taking in one slow deep breath. The hallway is dark, one thin sliver of light leaking out from beneath the bedroom door, the rest of the house quiet, as if the whole of it was waiting for what is coming with baited breath.
Frankie pushes into the room, and stops again, leaning into the door frame to take in the sight before him. You and Marcus are kneeling in the center of the bed, bodies bare and glowing in the soft light from one bedside lamp. You’re pressed chest to chest, trading soft kisses back and forth.
He lets himself enjoy it a little bit longer, the sounds of breathy sighs and little moans reaching him as the kiss deepens to something with much more promise, Marcus parting your lips with the swipe of his tongue. He thinks he could stand here and watch forever, counting his blessings, one after the other, content to watch the two of you move together like you were made for it. It’s hypnotizing, leaving him feeling light headed from a kiss that isn’t his, his lips parting around a moan as his gaze lingers on the curve of Marcus’s back, the tilt of your chin, your breasts cupped between his large hands, his cock slowly filling out in length with each kiss from your lips.
Frankie’s own pants are growing tight, and when one particularly loud whine breaks free from Marcus’s lips, his composure starts to crack, his hand reaching down to palm his erection. The added pressure only makes him more dizzy, and his own moan falls out of him. It’s enough to draw your eyes to the door, and you're smiling, a teasing little smirk pulling at your lips as you beckon him closer with the crook of your finger. He moves to the bed, dropping the rope down onto the mattress silently, but making no move yet to use it. Marcus reaches out and touches the coiled rope, tracing it slowly with his fingertips. Frankie and you give him that moment, allowing him the space to back out if that’s what he needs.
Again and again he touches the rope, letting his nails catch at the synthetic fibers, wrapping his hands around it, knuckles bleeding white where he grips hard. Feeling emboldened, he licks his lips and picks it up, testing the weight of it in his hands, before raising his hands up to them, offering the rope like a gift at the altar.
“You ready, sweet boy?”
Marcus nods, before shaking his head, remembering himself and turns his eyes back up to you and Frankie. “I am.”
“Good boy,” you whisper, touching his cheek gently. “Lay on your back. Hands above your head.”
Frankie is the one who picks the rope back up, looping around Marcus’s wrists and up through the wooden posts of the bed frame. He ties the knot, taking the time to admire how the bright orange contrasts with his golden skin, the nylon biting a bright white into his wrists. Something breaks open in him at the sight, Marcus Moreno pulled tight and tied back, his strength rendered useless, leaving him open and exposed for whatever you and Frankie are willing to give and take. He looks up at the pair of you, eyes glossy and lips parted, all his trust placed in your hands.
The sight is intoxicating and Frankie has to step away, the act of stripping out of his own clothes enough to help him center the raging beat of his heart. Behind him he can hear you cooing sweetly to Marcus, gentle praise trickled between reassurances of safety and reminders of safewords. When he turns back around, you’re straddling the smaller man’s legs, the tip of one finger tracing the length of his erection, thick and weeping, resting on the little swell of belly that has developed over the course of finding love.
“So pretty,” you whisper to yourself, and Frankie echoes the sentiment, joining you on the bed, pressing up behind you. He feels you shiver beneath his touch, his hands skimming up your ribs and around to cup your breasts, thumbs stroking at the hardened perk of your nipples.
Marcus tugs at the ropes, instinct to take your pleasure into his own hands kicking at the sight towering over him. It’s his first attempt, the veins in his forearms popping, his wrists bleeding from red to bone white as he tests the strength of the restraints. Frankie shushes him softly as your hand soothes gently on the inside of his thigh, the two of you working together to calm the other man down. He relaxes into the touch, arms going slack as he settles back into the mattress, but his eyes don’t leave you, glued to where Frankie continues to tease the tender skin just beneath the swell of your tits.
“Touch our boy, Bluebird,” he whispers, teeth nipping gently at your earlobe. You comply quickly, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing gently before sliding your fist up to the top, gathering the precum waiting for you and sliding it back down in one long drawn out drag. Marcus groans in time with your movement, his hips canting up and into the open air.
Frankie watches over the curve of your shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the heat of your skin, hungry eyes glued to the width of Marcus’s cock in your hand. You take your time, slowly moving up and down the length of him, stopping at the base each time and squeezing gently, drops of precum gathering again and again at the tip. Frankie loses track of time, only pulling back after he’s sure the mark on your skin will last well into tomorrow— something for both men to admire.
Marcus is practically shaking, arms straining and mewls of pleasure pouring out of him as you continue to push him carefully towards the edge. You know his body well enough by now to know when to speed up and when to slow down, refusing to let him spill over into your hand so soon. His length is almost purple, pulsing between your fingers, and Frankie licks his lips as he zeroes in on your movements, feeling his own hunger grow. He reaches down and strokes himself a few times, groaning in relief at his own light touch, enough for now while he focuses on the two of you.
“Frankie…” It’s Marcus that breaks the trance, his voice a strangled whisper pulling Frankie’s eyeline back up the length of his torso, chest heaving, neck pulled taut, jaw clenched. His brown eyes are frantic, pupils blown wide with arousal. A few beads of sweat stick to his temple and without prompting, Frankie leans forward to swipe his thumb through them and up into his hairline.
“Frankie, p-please…please…”
It isn’t the first time the man has been reduced to begging; it was really where all of this started, and it still sends the same thrill down Frankie’s spine, knowing that with just a little bit of whispered praise and a light touch, the ever composed and always at ease Heroic can be broken down into a quivering mess. There have been times where you or Frankie had teased just a little too hard, backing him into a corner just to see him snap, deliciously feral when he lets himself go, but this was a different sort of broken.
Marcus is trapped, body caught between loose limbed, honey smooth and iron tight, shaking muscles. Frankie can’t help himself, curious to see how far he can push this moment. There’s a bottle of lube lying innocently by his feet (you must have had the good sense to grab it while he was in the garage looking for the rope), and he wastes no time in scooping it up and pressing it into your free hand. As always, you take his cue, the perfect soldier through and through, popping the cap off the bottle, the sound sending another tremor of anticipation through Marcus’s thighs where they’re trapped beneath the two of you. You pour a generous amount (too generous, always so careful with both men) into your hand, coating your fingers before reaching down to circle Marcus’s puckered entrance.
“Shit! F-fuck….please p-pájarito. I need it.”
You smile sweetly, taking the same steady pace as you did earlier, refusing to push inside him, just yet. “Need what, sweet boy?”
“Inside me, please.” To prove his point, he thrusts his hips up, searching for relief in any way you’ll give it. You seem satisfied with his answer, at least enough to push the tip of your pointer finger inside him, a cry of pleasure jolting from him at your sudden entrance.
This time Frankie forces himself not to watch, turning his eyes back to Marcus’s cock, left painfully hard by your sweet touch. He licks his lips again, leaning over until he’s hovering just close enough for Marcus to feel the scratch of his beard. He’s thrusting as much as the rope tied around his arms will allow, trying to meet the steady pump of your finger in his ass. Frankie’s stubble tickles at the velvet skin of Marcus’s cock and he whines a pathetic sound, shifting the cant of his hips upward towards Frankie’s mouth.
“Shhhh, baby, shhh,” he soothes, pushing the smaller man’s hips down into the mattress, and holding them there with a firm grip. “I’ve got you.” And then he’s swallowing him down, fighting back his gag reflex as his mouth stretches around the thick cut of Marcus’s cock. A cry of pleasure rings out into the room, and Frankie can hear the wood of the bed frame creaking where Marcus is pulling as hard as he can, desperate to touch both of them as they shower him in endless, blinding pleasure.
He’s quick to pull off, a string of spit stretching from his lips to the tip of Marcus’s cock. The sight alone makes his own length pulse with want. He ignores it for now, instead pressing a soft kiss to Marcus’s hip bone, following it with a nip of his teeth.
“Don’t pull so hard, Fullmetal. You’ll hurt yourself. Do we need to stop?”
You still beside him, pausing your movements, a second finger already poised at Marcus’s asshole. He’s looking down at both of you, eyes bright and bottom lip caught between his teeth. After a few seconds he shakes his head, hips already trying to break free from Frankie’s grip. He tightens his hold, shaking his head while you reach up with your other hand to smooth his bottom lip free from the sharp bite of his teeth.
“Words, sweet boy,” you prompt. Frankie presses one more kiss to his hip bone, coaxing him one step closer to relaxed, tasting the salty tang of sweat that’s sticking to Marcus’s skin.
“I’m…shit, I’m okay. Do-don’t stop.”
His voice is high, breathy and gasping, and Frankie hums in appreciation at the sound of it. He wants to tattoo the sound inside his skull; something to remind him of this night, all the ones that came before, and the ones still waiting up ahead. You’re already moving again, pumping two of your fingers inside of Marcus, pulling the sweetest sighs from between his lips. He gives the other man one more kiss, this time to the soft swell of his belly before wrapping his lips around the tip of his cock.
Frankie moans at the taste, swirling his tongue along the head, collecting the precome that’s collected there, swallowing it down. Musk salt coats his tongue and he repeats the motion, desperate for another taste. Then, with little flourish, he begins to bob his head up and down, each time taking Marcus that much deeper. Spit trickles down his chin, dripping into the patch of dark hair at the base of his cock.
Beside him, Frankie can feel you moving, your own hips thrusting down, in time with each pump of your fingers. When he chances a glance in your direction, he swears he almost blacks out, the hand not fucking into Marcus buried between the wet folds of your pussy, your eyes closed in concentration as you swirl the pad of your thumb over your clit. Your lips part around a moan that stutters out in frustration as you try and fail to grab ahold of your own release. Frankie swallows down around Marcus one last time, letting the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat before pulling off and moving in behind you.
“Let me help you out, Bird,” he murmurs in your ear, pressing his chest fully to your back, taking the time to grind his erection into the curve of your ass.
You nod helplessly, pulling your hand away from your core, the tips of your fingers glistening in the low light of the bedroom.
“Fuck, so wet, cariño. All for us?
You nod again, your forehead falling forward to rest on Marcus’s stomach, your other hand still moving in and out of him, mewls of pleasure and pain breaking free from his lips, his body still dangling just at the edge of release. Frankie let’s his eyes rove across the both of you, your body curled over Marcus, shamelessly thrusting your hips backwards and forwards across his leg, and Marcus helplessly twisting and turning as he tries and fails to keep himself tied together, tears pricking at the corners of his umber sweet eyes. You’re both so beautiful and Frankie has to fight the urge to close his eyes, reminding himself this isn’t a dream.
That he won’t open his eyes and find himself alone.
He kisses just behind your ear, nudging his nose into the delicate shell to make sure he has your attention, fractured as it may be. “I need you to keep taking care of our boy, Bluebird. Can you add one more finger?”
“Yeah, yeah I can,” you answer, blinking open your fever bright eyes, heat rolling off you in waves.
He grabs your hips, lining himself up with your entrance, and just as you slide a third finger into Marcus, his body arching in a perfect curve off the bed, he slips inside of you, the three of you crying out together. You squeeze around him, tight wet heat that nearly stops the beat of his heart. He falls forward, curling around your back, molding himself to your body. Your hand hasn’t stopped moving, a clumsy in and out that has Marcus writhing beneath your combined weight.
“F-Frankie…” he gasps around the twist of your wrist, and there’s something intoxicating about the sound of his name on the other man’s lips while you’re the one inside him. It’s a moment that’s been mirrored in every possible combination between the three of you, and still it catches Frankie by surprise.
Fuck, how did he get so lucky?
Slowly, almost too slowly, he starts to move, dragging his cock in and out of you as he looks Marcus in the eye.
“What is it baby? Like what you see?” Frankie thrusts into you deeper, holding you to his hips as he grinds against you, your own moans of his name falling out of you. “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”
Marcus nods, words failing him, his glazed eyes tracing your features as Frankie fucks into you. He’s just as beautiful, staring at the two of you fucking over him, transfixed, hypnotized, the only two people in the whole world, towering over him. His body is still arched off the bed, contorted so tight Frankie’s afraid he could actually snap in half. Miles of golden skin stretched out before him- thick neck, broad shoulders, pert nipples and dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock. It bobs up and down with each thrust of your fingers, precome smeared across his belly.
“F-fuck…beautiful. Both of you….”
He loses track of himself, his hips moving faster, your pussy squeezing around him as he brushes up inside you. You're just as frenzied, trying to match Frankie’s pace with your hands, stuttering and stopping then starting up again. Below you, Marcus is sobbing, begging, and between the mix of sound from the three of you, he thinks he hears a warning that he’s about to come.
“No…no, hold on, baby...”
“I’m close too, Fish….please. Pleeeease.” You’re begging too, your pitiful cries mixing so perfectly with the slap of skin, and just that sound alone has Frankie suddenly on the edge too. It’s not a burn, but an explosion, angry sparks of electricity digging at his lower back. His balls tighten up just as your own orgasm squeezes around his cock, and suddenly everything is too bright, shades of orange blurring his vision as he pumps his release inside you.
Below you, Marcus is helpless, arms still tied back, lips parted around a silent cry, tears streaming down his face. He’s broken, pitifully desperate to reach out for both of you, only the touch of your fingers inside him keeping him grounded to this moment. Frankie’s hips are still moving, clumsy, shallow thrusts inside your slick cunt, but he needs to touch him, feel him as he comes apart. He slides one hand from your hip, finding purchase on Marc’s thigh, intent on wrapping his thick fingers around his cock. But even as he thinks the thought, he knows he’s too late, a gasping wail breaking free from Marcus’s throat, his body somehow drawing up tighter. Then he’s coming, completely untouched, thick ropes of white spurting out of him, painting the bare planes of his chest.
You and Frankie can only watch, drinking in the sight of the other man, sobbing helplessly as he continues to come, seemingly endless amounts of it covering his body. The ropes around his wrists dig into his skin as he twists and turns with the release of pleasure, his face turned into the meat of his bicep, teeth sinking into the muscle as he works through it. Frankie keeps a constant pressure on his thigh, soothing circles into the skin, whispering sweet little nothings into the stuffy air of the bedroom.
“It’s okay. Shhh, sweet boy, it’s okay. We’re here. Bird and I are right here.”
You’ve already pulled your fingers free, moving up Marcus’s body and wrapping your arms around him, pressing kiss after kiss into his jaw, petting softly at his cheeks, wiping his tears away with the pad of your thumb. After what feels like two lifetimes, he finally settles, his body falling back to the mattress, every inch of him liquid loose. Frankie licks his lips, eyeing the mess that now sticks to both of you. He knows exactly what it would taste like, has had the pleasure many times before, but still he can’t help but wonder. He’s about to lean over and indulge himself, when you call his name, drawing his attention back to the head of the bed.
“Can you grab something to help clean up?”
You’ve already loosened the knot, letting Marcus’s arms fall down beside him uselessly, the ropes pooling around his waist and sticking to his mess. You’re rubbing at his shoulders, urging blood flow back into them before trailing your fingers down to his wrists, checking for broken skin and bruising. Frankie thinks maybe Marcus is already asleep, eyes closed and breathing steady, but when he goes to move off the bed, the tips of his fingers somehow find the curve of his knee.
“Not yet” he murmurs, half-lidded eyes, drowsy but pleading, urging him to stay close. Frankie knows he should refuse- he needs water, maybe an aspirin to keep the ache away, at the very least a warm washcloth wiped gently across his skin. But he can’t say no to him, not now. (Probably ever).
Instead he smiles, mutters a quiet of course, and crawls up the bed, mirroring your position. In the morning there will be teasing, shy glances and loving jabs mixed between jokes about using a camping rope and coming untouched. He knows there will be a long, hot shower, and cups of coffee in bed, possibly another round, something softer, slower and just enough to push all three of you back to sleep. But for now there’s this; the three of you, curled around each other, curled around the mess, pressing lips into sore wrists and fingers into tired muscles, taking care of him until sleep comes for you all, one by one.
Big thanks to @jazzelsaur and @astroboots for beta reading and assuring me that this is sexy.