Series Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert government agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. Two frayed things toe the line between the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And maybe, just maybe, they make it out alive. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions. * - Denotes smut.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard. POC OFC. No age gap.
Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI
Chapter 1 : There was Bogotá That One Time *
Chapter 2 : Not So Much 'Squeezing' as 'Crushing'
Chapter 3 : The Laughter of Damned Things *
Chapter 4: His Other Nickname *
Chapter 5: 'That Your Husband?' *
Chapter 6: If You're Both Lying to Me, I Swear *
Chapter 7: Apologize to Housekeeping *
Chapter 8: Benadryl *
Chapter 9: Memorize it. Destroy it.
Chapter 10: Read the Last Page
Chapter 11: What Happens in the After * *NEW 7/7*
Extras
Art Commissions from the lovely @kenobiwanx : An Embrace and Frankie and Aud in Jamaica
Chapter 8 Moodboard
Chapter 9 Moodboard
Chapter 11 Moodboard
Writing Playlist
Margay Universe One-Shots
Down, Boy * - Frankie Morales x OFC Audrey Goddard
The boys end up at a dive bar on Frankie’s birthday. Snipers are good at pool. Frankie’s not gonna be able to wait until they make it home. Can be read as a standalone.
Margay-Adjacent One Shots - Written about Frankie x Audrey but flipped to reader perspective. Can be read as stand-alones.
Dominica * He’s like this sometimes. When his demons curl their talon-tipped fingers into the back of his skull. That’s when he replaces them with yours.
Barbados * You've been carrying on with whatever this is for months, pushing and pulling, until one night Frankie wants control.
Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.
Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.
This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!
Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)
Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI
A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.
Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.
I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.
Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!
Dividers by @cafekitsune!
Part I: The Darkness of the Night
He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue.
No way of knowing he forever will be.
A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye.
A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.
And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.
But you are a rich distraction indeed.
A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch.
The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams.
Molding gossamer to your form.
A promise of something just for him.
Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.
You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.
It sends sparks racing across your skin.
He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.
His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.
The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares.
Again revealed to him now.
He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.
“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.
“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.
And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.
“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”
“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.
"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.
"They have our desires."
"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin.
"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."
The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.
"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."
He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.
"For you see, they don’t care."
And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.
You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.
Unsure if begging forgiveness.
Or reveling in their jealousy.
But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form.
The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.
Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.
Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.
Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.
Lead to Orpheus’ torment.
They say there are ways to speak with the dead.
But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.
A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.
The way you welcome the thick weight of him.
All of him.
Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.
And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.
“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”
“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”
And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.
“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”
A prayer for relief.
“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”
Through vulpine teeth.
“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”
And it moves the hound to cease its lashing.
Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone.
Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.
And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears.
And Orpheus begins to move.
Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.
As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.
The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.
And his cock throbs with the thought of you.
His wife.
His muse.
But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.
Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.
And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.
And he turns.
And you reach for him.
Before disappearing for the final time.
With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.
Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer
He’s called Doran in this lifetime.
A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips.
“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.
Round brown eyes where you expected green.
“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”
“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”
His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize.
“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.
And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.
“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”
And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.
“May I help you with something, dove?”
You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”
And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.
Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.
“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.
Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.
“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”
He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch.
He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.
“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”
“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”
“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.
And takes his eyes over you instead.
“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?”
“I am.”
“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”
“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.”
His smirk dimples one cheek now.
“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”
“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”
“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”
And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall.
But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.
A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.
You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”
“Meet me here. In the morrow?”
And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.
But you arrive on foot the next morning.
_____
You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons.
On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore.
On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.
On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.
Your head spins from something other than the height.
On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own.
Warm and worn.
“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.
“Is that wise?”
“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”
And you scoff but press into his touch all the same.
“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”
“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”
“But,” he purrs, “do you?”
And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.
Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected.
“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.
“I must.”
“But what of my payment,” he hums.
“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”
“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”
You steal the words from his lips with your own.
And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.
You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.
He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.
“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”
“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him.
“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”
“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”
And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.
“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”
And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.
“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight.
And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.
For you are a gentle lady with a good name.
“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.
To the hard line of his length underneath them.
Your breath skips.
You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much.
“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”
“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.
The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.
He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first.
You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.
Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.
“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”
A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand.
“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”
His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed.
“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.
“Never before is a long time indeed.”
He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.
“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.”
You hear only half of his babbling.
The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out.
“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”
He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.
There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.
“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”
“Now, Doran, I need—”
He doesn’t make you wait.
And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.
Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him.
He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.
He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.
You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.
Kisses softer now.
Grateful.
“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck.
He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes.
Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.
Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there.
“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.
You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning.
Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.
Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.
“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.
“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.
His smile dimples his cheek.
“Are you—”
For once he hesitates to speak.
“Are you promised to anyone?”
You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.
“None but myself. And my duty.”
He hums in acknowledgment.
You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl.
“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”
“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”
He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves.
“Dove?”
And you frown at the nickname.
“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”
“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach.
And something about it makes your heart preen.
“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?”
It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.
“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.
“No,” you gasp.
“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”
And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last.
The only.
_____
Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.
Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.
Your father.
Was your mother’s concern.
And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.
Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.
“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”
“An unpleasant one?”
“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”
You can tell there is more to the sentiment.
“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.
“Rakish.”
“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes.
“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.”
This draws a smile across your lips.
“He treats you well?”
“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.”
And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.
_____
The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land.
Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.
And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate.
The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall.
A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.
“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”
“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”
“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.
“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.
“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”
“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.
“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.
He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you.
A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.
“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”
“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”
You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep.
Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts.
“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”
“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”
“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.
Holding you against his heart.
And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.
“What of my safety?” He asks.
A plea to keep you here.
“What shall I do?”
“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed.
“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”
_____
A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.
And you offer the customary wave and nod.
But your heart hammers against chainmail.
Eyes darting through the crowd.
Willing a shock of white to appear.
And as you near the gates he greets you.
Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other.
You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.
Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.
You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.
Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates.
And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.
But they matter not.
For you do not return home under your own power.
You return home under a shroud.
Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.
“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”
And the blacksmith.
Wrought with grief.
Is never seen again.
Part III: The Helper. The Protector.
He’s called Ezra in this lifetime.
Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon.
And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.
He was an associate once too.
But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks.
Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.
He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.
“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.
“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.
“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.
Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar.
“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse.
Fuck.
“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”
“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.
But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.
And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name.
“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home.
“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”
And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.
Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time.
“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.
“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.
He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.
“Apologies, may I?”
And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt.
Just over your heart.
“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.
You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast.
He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate.
He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.
“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”
“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine.
Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.
“How…did you know that?”
“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”
“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip.
Everything he does is briefly fascinating.
“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”
“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”
“Alexander McQueen, I know.”
You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now.
And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.
“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile.
“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”
“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling.
“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”
And he echoes your grin.
“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”
“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?”
“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”
“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”
“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”
He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”
And you nod, amusement playing across your features.
“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”
“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.
“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.
He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”
“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”
And this is the moment.
That Ezra falls in love.
And you’re not far behind.
Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.
The world spins around the pair of you.
Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab.
And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour.
“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”
He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”
“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him.
“Keep it.” He smiles.
And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.
But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks.
You turn around.
And look back.
Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.
He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.
And you both move.
Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.
Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.
Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes.
Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.
Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other.
And this lifetime. Having found each other again.
Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!
Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.
Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.
This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.
Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.
"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.
Series Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no real plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn. * - Denotes smut. WIP - Undetermined amount of chapters.
Pairing: Joel Miller/Herbalist!OFC Lennie. POC OFC. Age-appropriate age gap.
Summary: The boys end up at a dive bar on Frankie's birthday. Snipers are good at pool. Frankie's not gonna be able to wait until they make it home. Can be read as a standalone.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard
Word Count: ~ 1.6K words
Rating: Explicit 18+ / dirty talk, momentary dry humping, jerking off in a dive bar bathroom, mention of oral sex (f receiving), bit of a come fetish (it's these two, they're just like this) / language / drunk!Frankie is the sweetest, filthiest menace with a massive competency kink / Minors DNI
A/N: A little drabble that came up a few months ago but didn't quite fit with the main Margay storyline. Just something fun to tie you over after putting you all through it with Chapter 9.
Divider by @cafekitsune!
Frankie is—
—a bit drunk tonight.
But it’s his birthday.
And he’s always been a happy drunk.
There’s no falling on the floor. No getting up in other patrons’ faces. Just cheeks ruddy and round from freely-given mirth.
He’s harmless as a puppy and just as excitable.
Whooping with cheers whenever anyone sinks a pool ball into a pocket, whether they’re on his team or not.
_____
He had made the trip out to northern California for the occasion, wanting only to spend his day with his daughter.
But the boys catch wind of his plan and throw in for an Airbnb on the coast for the occasion.
And in the process of planning, Santi and Benny cook up a four-beer deep idea over an empty pizza box to arrange an extra gift.
Aud, what are your thoughts on Fort Bragg? Santi fires off on a text thread between the three of them.
I’m glad that they’re changing that name, guy was a cunt.
Sorry no, California. Benny clarifies. But also, agreed.
Is that not named after the same guy?
Santi sends the house’s address at the same time Benny sends, it is yeah.
Catfish wants to spend his birthday out there with his kid and we couldn’t let him celebrate alone. Pope attempts to steer.
Wondering if you might want to tag along? Last week of June.
Send me a venmo request for my part of the booking.
_____
Something warm blooms in Audrey’s chest at the sight of Frankie with his friends, quietly strategizing over forest green pool table felt.
He throws his arm around Benny’s neck and thumps Santiago on the back when they win this round, uncaring that he and Will have lost the last three.
“Can you please play this one, this score is embarrassing,” Will leans over on his bar stool with arms crossed against his chest, voice raised just enough so Audrey can hear him over Garth Brooks being played at a decibel below ungodly volume.
“Already told you, if I play, it’s over in one turn,” she takes a swig of beer, “that’s no fun for anyone.”
“Losing isn’t fun either though.”
She studies Will in the haze of neon-red tinged smoke. Audrey’s only known him for three hours, but she likes him already. Enough to grant him this favor.
“Fine.”
She slips off her bar stool and shimmies her jeans higher up on her hips before shrugging the leather jacket off of her shoulders.
“You playin’, Moose?” Santiago calls with a grin.
“One round,” she holds up a finger, “save these boys some shame,” she finishes as Will hands her a cue. The minute she lifts it off the ground she murmurs “not that one,” and Will swaps her out.
“There’s no way she’s that good,” Benny quips to Pope as he racks up the balls.
“I—do not have as much confidence as you on that,” Santiago carefully lifts the triangle and slots it back under the table. “You should probably know better, Benjamin.”
“You boys are fucked,” Frankie loops his arms around both of their shoulders as Audrey chalks her cue.
She places the cue ball towards one rail behind the second set of diamonds and glances behind her, gauging the space before leaning down to eye level, bouncing and spinning the cue in her hand to get a feel for its balance before she takes her first shot.
Audrey sinks two balls on the break.
She quickly assesses the table when they come to a stop. “Stripes, do I need to call the pocket?”
“No need to be a show-off,” Pope quips.
“Fair enough,” she slips around the far side of the table and sinks the 9-ball in a corner. It lines the cue ball up perfectly and she drops 14 in a center pocket.
One lap around the table and a glance at the boys to be sure she has clearance before Audrey knocks the cue ball just off its center point, gliding it across felt where it transfers its spin to 15, sending it swirling down the rail into a corner pocket. She slips around to the opposite side of the table, banking the cue ball off the opposite rail and into 13, which slips neatly into the center pocket nearest her.
“What went in on the break?” Benny calls.
“11 and 2,” Will answers where he’s calmly perched on a barstool against the wall.
She could miss now and he’d still be impressed.
She won’t.
The cue ball is dead center on the table and 10 is sitting a foot short of a corner. Audrey circles the table, chalking her cue as she analyzes angles. The best shot is from the end nearest the three boys but she’ll have to reach for it.
She stands in front of them and murmurs “sorry, boys,” before she hikes one knee up on the side rail and leans down, chest nearly grazing the table.
Frankie covers Benny and Santi’s eyes from where his arms are still braced on their shoulders.
His eyes, however, are locked on her ass.
They hear 10 drop in before brushing Frankie’s hands away.
Audrey bounces the cue ball off the edge of 12, popping it into the nearest pocket.
“Oh, that’s done, she’s got it,” Benny murmurs when the white ball comes to a stop directly in line with the corner pocket nearest Will, the 8 ball sitting perfectly in the middle of the shot.
Audrey sinks it and Frankie whoops, clapping both men on the back before rushing around the table to grab Audrey in a bear hug that lifts her up off her feet.
“FUCK yeah, baby!!!” He screams, taking her face in his hands and mashing his mouth against hers.
“Okay, down boy,” she quips with a smile.
“Well played, Moose,” Will holds out his hand for a shake.
“Alright, the rest is on y’all,” she hands the cue off to Will. “I gotta hit the restroom and then I’ll pick up another round.” She makes her way around the table, Benny and Santi congratulate her with claps on the back before she’s off down the hall.
“Hell of a woman you got there, Catfish,” Will chalks his cue.
Frankie answers with the quirk of a brow and a smirk that drips with filth.
One of the patrons recognizes Benny from fight night and it causes a stir. Turns out Will knows him from high school and everyone’s fascinated with what a small world it really is, attention distracted enough to allow Frankie to slip away.
_____
Audrey wrenches the door to the bathroom open and collides with Frankie’s chest.
“Jesus, Francisco.”
He backs her up with his body, kicking the bathroom door closed and latching it as his mouth crashes against hers, twisting his cap around backwards.
“You’re fuckin’ amazing, baby.” He smashes her against the wall with his broad form, craning low to kiss at what skin he can get to under her turtleneck before giving up and sucking on her earlobe.
“Yeah, well, I guess” she pants as Frankie drops to his knees and grabs at her hips, grinding the bulge in his jeans against her shin as he mouths at her stomach through the fabric of her shirt, “don’t play pool with a sniper.”
Frankie is fully hard as he ruts against her, pulling clumsily at the button and zipper of her jeans. He inhales against her mound and moans before quickly getting to his feet.
Harmless as a puppy and just as excitable.
He’ll sniff crotches and hump legs too, apparently.
Audrey grabs his face between her hands in an effort to center him, dipping her tongue into his mouth before Frankie pulls back.
“Fuuuck baby,” he reaches down to squeeze his cock through his jeans, “I’m not gonna make it, baby, I can’t–”
“Frankie–”
“Shhh, gatita, please,” he clamps a hand over her mouth as his forehead thumps hard against hers, “fuck,” he huffs, “I’m gonna. Pull those pretty panties down for me, beautiful. Just a little bit.”
Audrey is positively dying to see where this goes.
She slips her jeans and thong down her thighs, eyes locked on Frankie’s locked on black lace.
“Right there. That’s my pretty girl. Yeahh,” he shifts around to free himself from his jeans and she moans into his palm where he slides the hot, hard length of him against her center.
Frankie indulges for a moment, slipping his cock against the smooth wet of her lips.
“Shit,” he hisses before gripping himself in his fist, brown eyes searching green for permission.
And having it, he starts to pump his cock.
It takes him less than a minute before thick ropes of semen spurt into the gusset of her panties as he groans against the back of his hand where it’s still clamped over her mouth.
“Gatita?” He lets go on a ragged gasp once his hips have stilled and he’s worked himself through.
She puffs an acknowledging breath against his palm.
“I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear,” he lets his hand drop but keeps his forehead pressed against hers.
Frankie’s fingers move down to hook in the waistband of her lace thong before he slips it, warm and sticky and reeking of his spend back up into place.
“Keep that for me?” He slips his tongue in her mouth, fastening the button on her jeans and dragging the zipper closed. “I’m gonna come back for it.”
He presses a final, wet kiss to her lips, warm palm resting briefly on her cheek before he slips out of the door.
He leaves her frayed with want. Panting through burning lips as her head thumps back against the wall.
Sometimes she wonders if Frankie Morales is the filthiest motherfucker alive.
Two hours later when he cleans her cunt with his tongue—cap twisted round backwards on his head, wet panties stuffed into the pocket of his jeans—she realizes he probably is.
He probably is.
And he's hers.
Tagging a few lovely folks who are/might be interested: @tinytinymenace @theshensei @jeewrites @oliveksmoked @for-a-longlongtime
Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC
Word Count: ~ 13.2K words (I made y'all wait, but you get all of this and two spicy scenes)
Rating: Explicit 18+ / fingering, car sex, dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f receiving), comeshot, come eating / language / mentions of past drug use / hostage extraction / canon-consistent violence / Minors DNI
A/N: I know nothing about fixing cars. I know nothing about helicopters. I know that these two love each other. Special guest appearance this chapter by Ben Miller. Benny fans, your boy is a menace and he's wonderful.
Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your lovely comments, for recommending this story, and for screaming with me about these two.
chapter moodboard if you're interested
Divider by @cafekitsune!
MONDAY
AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN HONDURAS.
“MOOSE,” Santiago barks at where Audrey’s bent double over the hood of a Land Rover as he slams their truck door.
She doesn’t bother to drop what she’s doing, perimeter alarms two miles down the hill had already alerted her to their arrival.
One of them thwaks her on the ass and she knows it's Santi.
Frankie doesn’t do it like that.
“Whatcha got, what’s going on here?” He peers down at wires and tubes.
“Auxiliary belt’s fucked, where’s my…”
“Catfish get over here, she’s talkin’ your shit, I’ve got no idea.” Pope calls over his shoulder, not realizing that “Frankie” and not the name of some obscure tool is actually the intended end of her sentence. “This thing armored?” He kicks a tire.
“Yep.”
A massive palm spreads over her back, the shadow of his body a cooling balm.
She looks up now.
“Hi,” Frankie smiles.
“Hi,” she grins over her shoulder, craning her neck back for a kiss, and Frankie briefly slips her his tongue because he’s never been able to resist a girl who’s good with her hands.
“Serpentine belt?” He asks when she breaks away.
‘Yeah, it’s cracked to shit. Gonna swap the tensioner too. Let me get the breaker bar?”
“Like a different fucking language,” Pope quips as he opens the driver’s side door and slips inside.
And Frankie’s torn between letting her continue and wanting desperately to take over the job, lest a speck of grease mar her lovely skin. She’s clearly capable of doing this herself, but chivalry wins out and he grabs the long metal rod from the toolbox on the ground.
“Top or bottom?” Meaning which tensioner.
“Bottom, it’s got too much play in it,” she answers, pressing on the bearing to show him.
“Oh shit yeah, that’s loose.”
“God, get a room,” Santi quips from where he’s reclining in the driver’s seat, brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes against the sun.
“Why don’t you do something useful like unload the truck?” Frankie calls as he slots the breaker bar into place. “Hold on let me get a picture of how it’s sitting,” and he reaches in his back pocket as she slides her left arm in front of his face. She’s drawn the belt’s path on the inside of her forearm in pen to help with re-threading the new strip of rubber.
Frankie’s cock twitches.
She knows what she’s doing.
She always does.
She would have done this without him.
And she lets him in anyway.
He applies pressure to the bar, forcing the tensioner away from the belt and Audrey reaches over him to slip the old rubber strap from the pulleys, her chest grazing his arm as she does.
God if Santiago wasn’t fucking here right now flits across his mind.
If this isn’t all of his teenage fantasies come to life…
She has the belt off in seconds and disappears as he hits the inside of the breaker bar with his palm to unlatch it. Audrey returns with a wrench, new belt slung diagonally across her torso.
“Crack that nut off for me, baby?” She doesn’t need to tell him, but she enjoys needling Pope, who scoffs from his leather cradle.
Fish’s broad shoulders briefly strain under the cotton of his t-shirt as he gets it loose, winding it off the bolt with deft fingers. He slots the nut into his back pocket out of habit and the mechanism comes away in his hands.
“Don’t need that, it came with one,” and Audrey dives in with the new tensioner, lining the lugs of the new part up before screwing the new nut part-way on. She slips the new belt off of where she’s wearing it and Frankie helps her line it up, pausing occasionally to check her arm for the positioning, landing a kiss on her shoulder here, dragging his nose up her tricep there.
Once they have the belt back in place, Frankie tightens the nut on the new tensioner and they both step back.
“Oi,” Frankie pounds on the headlight to get Santiago’s attention.
“Start her up?” Audrey rests one hand on her hip and shields her eyes with the other.
Santi gropes around for the keys before starting the truck and Audrey and Frankie let it run for a second before stepping forward to inspect their work.
“Yeah, looks good.”
“Sounds better than it did,” Audrey adds.
Fish raises his voice to be heard over the engine, “shut her off, Pope.”
Frankie fiddles around, checking the tightness on all of the bolts within his reach before they work together to replace the fanbelt shroud and reconnect the air filter pipes.
“Where in the hell did you learn to do that?” Fish rubs the heels of his palms together when it’s through, squinting against the sun.
Audrey slams the hood closed. “Friend with a Messerschmitt has a thing for old cars too.”
Frankie’s gotta meet this guy.
But right now he has a more–pressing–problem and he excuses himself with a “gotta hit the head.” He figures cool water on the back of his neck will unwind him enough that he can face them again.
_____
Hours later the three of them are hunched over the dining table, staring daggers at a site plan that’s dotted with an array of plastic army figurines.
There’s a poker chip in the center. A four-year-old hostage that needs extracting. The daughter of a diplomat being held for political leverage.
None of them are happy about it.
But they’re also among the handful of people in the world who can get her out alive.
Each of them feels that obligation acutely.
“We need another man,” Audrey crosses her arms over her chest.
“The compound is just too big. Too many fucking people,” Santi scratches at his beard. “If we need Fish in the bird ready to run, that’s already too sparse. And if we need you up here,” he points to tight concentric circles on the plan that signify high ground, “keeping the path to the bird clear, I can get in quietly, no problem, but I can’t get out with a hostage in tow.”
“What if I go with you?” Frankie pipes up, “it takes less than 90 seconds to get this in the air,” he points at a toy helicopter with an index finger.
“90 seconds could be too long. And god forbid something happens to you in there and you can’t fly that bird,” she taps inside the building. “Then we have two sets of dead weight and a hornet’s nest on high alert. I wouldn’t be able to get there in time to fly everyone out.”
Pope twirls a pen between his fingers and Frankie places and replaces the helicopter at different points around the map before returning it to its original position at the private airstrip.
“That’s the only spot that works. Anywhere else draws attention and/or goes against the intel on their route,” he concludes, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and middle fingers.
“How do we know that’s not drawing attention anyway?” Santi bites the inside of his cheek as he gestures at the helicopter.
“There’s been a nature documentary crew in and out of that airstrip for weeks. The bird Davis’ guys lined up is the same make and model with all the same markings,” Frankie answers. “It’s just bulletproof.”
Santi turns to Audrey, “can he get someone else out here?” Meaning their boss.
“Getting someone out here isn’t the problem, getting someone out here that I trust is. Everyone I knew in there is long gone.”
“You still got any friends?” Santi’s brow knits.
“Not ones who do this kind of shit anymore.”
“Pope,” Frankie pipes up after a beat. “Ben?”
“Yeah,” Santiago lights up, “yeah, you think he’d be up for it?”
Frankie shrugs, “worth a shot. Benny’s down for anything.”
“Ben is…Miller?” Her brain reaches back and spits out what she can remember of the Lorea briefing and bits of the stories they’ve told about a “Benny.”
“Yeah.” They both look at her expectantly.
They need the final party’s buy-in.
“Tell me more.”
“He’s solid. Ready to do whatever it takes to get a job done,” Santi starts.
“A bit brash at times, maybe,” Frankie tempers Pope’s enthusiasm. “A little wild when he drinks, a little hot under the collar,” he scratches at this beard. “But not in the way that disobeys orders.”
“He runs clean during a mission, Aud. Doesn’t like an operation that doesn’t go to plan. Doesn’t leave messes. Puts his own life on the line when it matters.” Santi says firmly. “Might be a bit of an adjustment period though.”
“Might be.” Francisco apparently agrees.
“In what way.” She stares them both down.
“He, uh…might have a little bit of a hard time taking your orders at first.” Santi runs a hand through his hair.
“He’ll push you a bit,” Frankie again scratches at his chin. “Not because he wants to run it.”
“Just because he doesn’t know you,” Santi finishes, arms crossed, hip resting against the edge of the table. “But he’ll fall in line.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“He uh,” Santi takes his eyes over her form, “might come on a bit strong,” Santi says.
“He’s gonna want to fuck you, Aud.” Frankie translates.
“That I can handle. All of this I can handle. Do you trust him?” Her green gaze slides between the two men.
“I do.” Pope answers with conviction.
Frankie responds, “with my life.”
She stares hard at Frankie before drumming her fingers on the table. “Okay. I’d like not to lose time and waste the intel on this. Davis can have a screen run on him tonight if he’s game. Can he get on a plane tomorrow?”
“I’ll ask,” Frankie sits up and reaches for his phone.
It dings in response thirty seconds later.
“He’s in.”
And she immediately slips her cell phone out of her back pocket, stepping into the other room to make arrangements with Davis.
_____
“Nothing more to do tonight. We’re gonna take this thing out on a test run,” Frankie tips the brim of his cap up far enough to swipe curls off of his forehead as he makes his way through the kitchen.
“It’s 9pm, it’s dark,” and no sooner is it out of Santiago’s mouth than he catches Frankie’s drift.
“Mind your business, Pope.”
“Roger,” Santi turns back to his beer and the baseball game he’s watching on his phone. “If you aren’t back by midnight I’m calling in a BOLO for two idiots fucking in the back seat of a Land Rover.”
“I was actually in the mood to do it on the hood,” Audrey quips as she appears at the foot of the stairs.
“Fine, just don’t leave come stains that I have to look at when I’m driving it tomorrow.”
“No promises,” Audrey winks and Pope scoffs.
Frankie slaps him on the shoulder on his way out the door.
“Lucky fuckin’ bastard,” Pope murmurs under his breath and takes a swig of beer.
_____
Half an hour later, Frankie has her naked in the sea, legs wrapped around his waist, lips at her throat before the brim of his cap knocks her in the chin.
“Francisco, what is the deal with this thing, you shower with it on?” She reaches to spin it around backwards.
“Just my favorite hat,” he returns to sucking on her collarbone, tongue accepting the bitter burn of salt water so long as it’s laced with the taste of her skin.
“What is Standard Heating Oil?”
“No clue. Found it in the dollar bin at Goodwill one day.”
“Fascinating.” He has no tie to this hat save for the fact that it’s his and it goes everywhere with him.
“Used to get made fun of as a kid. For having curly hair,” he tucks his chin into the juncture of her shoulder.
The brush of his beard tickles her skin as he continues.
“Just always preferred to cover it up, I guess.”
Audrey takes the hat off and slips it backwards onto her own head.
Her fingers wind in his curls.
And she holds him without prying.
“Used to get made fun of a lot as a kid. My hair. My nose. Wasn’t really into sports either.”
“You’ve just named some of the things I like most about you,” Audrey kisses at his jaw. “What were you into, Frankie?” She whispers.
“Liked to read, I suppose,” he muses.
And she hums, nuzzling her face into Frankie’s shoulder. “I like that about you too.”
He’s warm and open like this as they listen to the soft lap of waves against the shore. She holds him as if it could seep into her bones.
After a moment Frankie whispers, “I, um. I used to—not—be good at handling all of this. My past and my present.”
And she pulls back a fraction to gaze softly into dark eyes.
“I used to use.”
And her hand in his hair strokes gently over the nape of his neck as un-shed tears set brown eyes swimming.
“Coke. I just kind of fell off the wagon,” he nods like he needs her to agree that this doesn’t change him.
Audrey holds his face in her palms, thumbs gently skimming over the apples of his cheeks.
“Got hit with a license suspension a few years ago. Then Pope came through with the Lorea job and that—that didn’t—” he trails off.
“Ended up getting the license back but—”
Frankie stares over her right shoulder out into the horizon.
“Everything else fell ap—”
And Audrey presses her lips to his because she doesn’t know what more to do than allow her body to speak where the prospect of words seems trite in comparison. She presses her lips to his cheek and wraps her arms tight to his neck until he returns her hold, tighter than before.
“I haven’t, though,” he murmurs against her skin, nodding his head again.
“In two years. I haven’t used.”
And she knows what lives in the spaces between those words.
I haven’t used since you.
And it terrifies her.
I can’t save you.
I can’t fix you.
I can’t be that for you, Frankie.
And yet.
She is.
He’s quiet for a long while in her arms. Body slowly giving up its tension to the water before he murmurs, “you float, baby.”
And her brow furrows in the moonlight.
“I sink. In the ocean,” he muses as he pulls back to look at her. “You’re like a life vest.”
And Audrey chances a joke, looking down at her full chest and muttering, “well…”
Frankie’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip. “Nuh uh this too,” his hands slip down to grip hard at her ass.
And whatever that was before has passed.
Audrey welcomes it with a laugh and a kiss at his jaw.
“I missed you,” he whispers and again fits his chin into the curve of her shoulder.
“Oh, Francisco,” she sighs and presses her nose to his wet hair, inhaling the salted smell of him.
“I know it’s only been three weeks,” he starts to apologize.
For his attachment.
“I missed you too,” she preempts and arches into him, gripping his neck tighter.
“Can I tell you something?” Frankie pulls back, whispering against her chin.
“Of course,” is her answer, but she stiffens ever so slightly.
Because he’s said it far too intimately.
And mercifully more than three words tumble out of his mouth.
“I saw you fixing that truck today,” he noses at her jaw to whisper against her lips. “I could have fucked you right there on the hood.”
“Oh yeah?” Audrey whispers with the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips.
“I was so fucking hard.”
“Is that why you ran away?” She laughs. “You know Pope was half asleep.”
“Yeah, but you’re loud, baby,” he lets out a sly murmur. “Would have been a hell of a wakeup call.”
“Ah, and you’re quiet as a church mouse.”
Frankiee grins with guilty teeth in his bottom lip.
“Could have taken me with you,” she presses her lips to his, opening just a fraction to allow his tongue into her mouth, “to wherever you absconded to.”
“The lady deserves better.”
“Mm, like the hood of a car?”
“Done.”
She lets him go and starts racing towards the shore.
Frankie follows after her, catching her around the waist and hoisting her onto the hood of the Rover, massive hand hooked around the nape of her neck with a grin splitting his face.
Audrey reaches for him, hand wrapping around the girth of his half-hard cock, working him as his forehead briefly thumps against hers.
“Oh, fuckk—,” Frankie hisses. “Baby. Baby, baby, baby—” he rumbles through the lowest registers of his voice as the fingers of one hand trail up the back of her calf. Frankie’s palm settles on one knee before he roughly pushes her thighs open wider.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
Audrey slants her gaze down at him as he stares back from under hazy half-closed lids.
Frankie slips his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking the salt from them as her jaw drops open, brows knitted with want. His fingers slip between her folds in time with his tongue between her teeth to deliver the taste of salt to her the moment his fingers slip inside.
“Wet already? Ohh baby,” Frankie purrs into her mouth. “My pretty, dirty baby,” he pants, hips thrusting his cock into her fist now.
She moans into his mouth and arches, pressing her breasts against his chest before she freezes.
“Frankie, get in the car.”
“I want you right here,” he skates his nose up her neck.
“Frankie, there’s a truck coming, get the fuck inside.”
And no sooner does she say it than his ears catch the distant whine of a diesel engine winding up the coastal highway.
“Oh, fuck,” he chuckles, corseting her waist in his generous hands and picking her up off the hood, making sure she has her feet before grabbing the pile of their clothes from off the hood.
They dive into the backseat of the truck, Audrey first and Frankie close behind such that they end up a tangle of limbs, leather squeaking under wet skin.
Frankie drapes himself over her, a wet curl falling into his eyes as he peeks up out of the window, tracking the truck’s path.
“Fifty meters,” he reports before mumbling “fuck, I’m sorry baby,” as Audrey shifts under him where knees and elbows fell at painful angles.
“‘S okay, how are we doing?” She glances up at the thick column of his neck above her.
“Ten meters,” Frankie counts it down, “five,” he ducks down out of view momentarily before tracking the truck the other way.
“I think we’re clear, baby.”
And the moonlight streaming through the sunroof catches in her eyes, turning them a shade of seafoam.
Illuminating something that he can’t quite unpack right now through the haze of lust.
Frankie fits his mouth to hers again, suddenly possessed with the need to feel. His palm slides down to cup one breast, pinching her nipple before spreading wide over her ribcage.
He runs greedy fingertips over her skin as he moves, kissing at her stomach and biting at her inner thigh.
She props herself up on her elbows and takes his cap from her head, tossing it onto the driver’s seat before raking a hand through her curls and reaching for his cheek.
He turns his face to kiss her palm.
And Frankie almost lets something slip on a sigh.
“I—”
“Need you,” he swallows hard. “I need you, Aud,” Frankie’s voice is a cracked whisper when he pauses to look up at her.
“Have me, Frankie.”
And he again kisses her palm before sucking her thumb into his mouth, crawling back up her body. His right hand snakes down to pump his cock, the other fitting into the crease of her thigh.
“Are you—?” He murmurs against her lips.
“Frankie—” she chokes on a desperate breath and he thrusts inside of her such that they both cry out, Audrey’s nails sinking into his tricep, Frankie’s mouth open, teeth catching at her jawline.
“Oh God,” he rests his forehead against hers as she tangles her fingers in his wet curls, tipping her face to suck on his bottom lip.
“Frankie, move,” she urges and he does, slowly at first. Long, deep strokes before he sits up, hands settling on her hips as his speed builds.
He’s not slow about chasing his own release.
One knee on the floorboards, the other foot hiked up on the seat with her leg over his hip, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, yanking her against him to meet his every thrust. Audrey braces one hand against the door, and the other on the back of the seat.
Frankie’s a man in a trance.
Breath hissing through clenched teeth, gaze fixed on where he sinks inside of her. A curl falls loose across a forehead growing damp with sweat.
Audrey arches in his hold, “you feel so good Frankie.”
“You’re so tight, baby.”
When he reaches up to grip one shoulder he pulls her ass clear off the seat.
But even in this one-track haze Frankie is quick to protect her, arm looping around the small of her back, and the other coming to the crown of her head, guarding it against the roof as he twists to sit on the seat with her on top of him.
He pauses a moment with wide, panicked eyes, as though he’s surprised even himself.
“Smooth, Morales,” she grabs his face between her hands and slips her tongue into his mouth. “Very. Fucking. Smooth.”
And she’s in control now.
Audrey leans back to brace her hands on his thighs, rolling her hips, allowing them both to feel every inch of each other. Frankie’s head falls back into the space between the headrests, hands roaming her skin, squeezing at her breasts, fingers fitting into the spaces between her ribs, thumbs running down over her abs before settling below her navel, feeling how his cock fills her from the outside.
“Oh shit,” Frankie’s head snaps back, lip curled as he watches in lurid fascination. Audrey indulges him for a moment before she shifts forward, one hand on the seat, the other on his chin.
“Look at me.”
And he angles big brown eyes up at her before she kisses him with an open mouth.
Frankie licks warm and wet down her neck, sucking at the salt of her skin mixed with seawater. He buries his nose between her breasts as he meets her hips halfway, palms skating over her back, one hand tangling in the curls at the base of her neck.
It’s too much when she meets his gaze again.
The way that lust has blown her green eyes dark. The way that plush lips hang open and wet from his tongue. The humid heat of bodies and the smack of flesh.
The way she looks at him with something he can’t name.
And Frankie can’t hold back anymore. He’s rough with her now. Building with frantic speed that has her bracing one palm against sunroof glass with her head thrown back, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing around the truck.
“Fuck, you’re so deep,” she keens.
“Yeah?”
He knows.
One hand moves to cup the base of her skull and roughly pulls her face back to his.
“You like that?” Frankie presses his forehead to hers, grabbing her hard by the hips, and thrusts up hard into her cunt.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
“Yeahh you do,” he smirks, tipping his face to kiss her. “I know what my girl likes.”
He holds her hips, fully inside of her, the head of his cock pressed deep, guiding her back and forth to grind against him. Putting pressure on her clit.
“Frankie, Frankie, Fr—ohh,” she breathes.
She can feel him smile against her mouth.
“You gonna come for me, baby?”
She moans and tries to roll her hips but Frankie’s fingers dig in.
“My pace, baby.”
And she groans in frustration.
“No, none of that,” he chuckles darkly, one hand sliding along the crease of her hip to rub circles against her clit.
Audrey digs the nails of one hand into the seat and wraps the other hand around the back of Frankie’s neck.
His tongue slips back into her mouth and he rolls his hips without pulling out, just barely teasing at that spot deep inside of her that makes her fall apart.
“Jesus, Frankie,” she throws her head back. He watches her chest heave. The way the curves of her breasts catch the moonlight shining through the sunroof. He latches his mouth to one, tongue laving over sensitive skin.
The hand on the back of his neck grips hard at his hair and Frankie slips the flat of his teeth over her nipple before she tugs, bringing his mouth back to hers.
Frankie’s arm wraps around the small of her back as his thumb and his hips speed up, growling now. She reaches down, skating her hand over where his rests. Her fingers replace his thumb on her clit and Frankie squeezes the globes of her ass.
“Frankie, I don’t think…”
“Turn around,” he commands.
And she arches an eyebrow, slowly climbing off of him, both moaning at the loss of contact. Frankie urges her around, a palm skating between her shoulder blades, pressing her forward to lean against the back of the passenger’s seat. She languidly drapes her arms over either side of the headrest.
Frankie shifts on the seat and slowly sinks inside of her again.
“Ohh fuck,” she sighs, forehead thumping against leather.
Frankie spreads his thighs wider.
“Sit, baby,” but he doesn’t allow her time to react before yanking her down onto his lap, fully sheathed inside of her. He moves slowly at first testing this new angle before leaning forward, dropping kisses down her spine.
“That better?”
And she hums a laugh, glancing back over her shoulder. Frankie’s eyes flick up to her and he grins, nipping at her skin.
He hooks a hand over her shoulder as he fucks her with the other on her waist, building in pace until his hips lift off the seat with every thrust as she bucks her hips back against him. Audrey reaches between her legs to rub her clit and Frankie growls.
“Yeah, baby.”
And the angle is perfect now and Audrey starts to cry out from the depths of her chest. “Frankie, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, that’s—OH.” She braces her free hand on the back of the seat and Frankie feels his balls tighten when she pushes back against him as pleasure sears through her.
Frankie slows his thrusts, moaning as her walls milk his cock.
Audrey finally exhales on a ragged cry and Frankie wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against his skin as hips pick up speed, chasing his own release.
She arches in his hold, head falling back against his shoulder. Frankie hips snap hard with a shout as his cock pulses, his body shuddering with it.
Nose smashing against her cheekbone.
Teeth softly nipping at her jaw.
Audrey reaches up to cup his cheek, lips pressing softly to the corner of his mouth. Frankie kisses her properly, slow and wet as palms rub across her stomach, up her ribs and over her breasts as his tongue slips into her mouth.
The windows of the Rover have gone foggy with heat.
He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her to him, softening cock still inside of her, chest heaving as she moans softly through ragged breaths, still tingling.
Frankie kisses at her cheek and up to her temple before whispering, “was that…?”
“So good.” She shifts and Frankie holds her tighter, head thumping against hers.
“Don’t. Don’t leave me yet,” he pants.
“Frankie,” she scratches lovingly at his scalp. “Baby. I really have to pee.”
And he laughs a self-satisfied laugh against her hairline.
“Okay,” he shifts her, pulling out of her heat with a moan. “Wait,” he holds her with an iron arm around her waist, swiping a hand through the fog on the window, checking that it’s clear before he cracks the door.
He shifts her onto the seat as he steps out first.
“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can…”
He holds both hands out to her, corseting her waist, intending to half lift her down onto the beach. “You’re gonna fall, Bambi Legs.”
And she can’t help the hearty laugh that it pulls from her.
True to form, her legs falter the moment her feet hit the sand, but Frankie holds her to his chest, staring down at her through warm brown eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear with a wink.
Frankie kisses her on the forehead and spins her around towards a small outcropping of rocks. “Go on, Bambi,” he swats her on the ass.
“Can I have my underwear at least?”
“No,” Frankie screws up his face and scoffs, reaching into the tangle of clothes in the backseat to fish out her thong. He has it crushed to his nose when he turns around.
“Perv,” she quips with a grin, swatting him on the arm with them after he hands them over.
She returns to find Frankie leaning against a tire, back door open, barefoot and clad in his jeans and cap, one of her cigarettes dangling between his lips.
“Excuse me, sir, you can’t smoke there,” she quips as she molds her body against his, slipping her hands into his back pockets. Frankie lights the cigarette and blows the first puff out of the corner of his mouth before holding it to her lips. She inhales before Frankie follows suit.
Audrey pulls away from him, reaching for her sports bra and linen pants. Frankie presses his chest to her back after she pulls them both on, reaching for his t-shirt.
“Leave it,” she spins around and Frankie pops the cigarette between her lips as she runs her hand over his bare stomach.
“Yes, ma’am.” Frankie smiles before his eyes fall on the backseat.
“We gotta clean this.”
Audrey slips around him, cigarette dangling from her lips, and pops the trunk open, rummaging around for a moment before tossing a packet of Clorox wipes in his direction.
Frankie cleans the seats as she starts the truck and rolls the windows down.
They drive back to the safehouse along the coastal road in companionable silence, wind whipping around the cabin, carrying wisps of cigarette smoke on salted breeze.
Audrey drives with one hand, fingers of the other laced with Frankie’s.
_____
TUESDAY
When Santiago slips into the driver’s seat the next day for their early morning recon run, the first thing he does is briefly peer over the top of his sunglasses.
“Goddard, I can see your ass-print on the hood.”
“How do you know that’s not Morales,” she quips from the backseat.
“Morales has no ass.”
“Well, you said no come stains.” She pops her gum in the backseat as she loads another magazine into her rifle. “Nothing about ass prints.”
Frankie pulls the brim of his cap down against Pope’s searing stare and bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk.
“Unbelievable,” Santi starts the ignition. “You two are unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably good at fixing that belt.” Frankie quips, banging one palm on the dashboard as they pull out of the drive.
“Fuck you, Fish.”
“She did that already.”
Audrey cackles from the backseat.
_____
Six hours later, Benny shows up on the doorstep of their safehouse.
Audrey greets him in leggings and a worn green t-shirt.
“Well hell-o,” Benny peers down at her over the frames of his aviators.
“Miller?”
“Yup, yeah. Ben Miller,” he holds out his hand.
“Audrey Goddard,” she offers a sturdy shake. “Come in, come in. The boys are just through in the back here,” she gestures through to the backyard.
Fish and Pope are locked in a sparring match, Frankie’s arm around Pope’s throat, wooden knife pulled out, ready to jab between Santi’s ribs before Pope taps him twice on the arm.
“Boys?’ Audrey calls.
Both of their heads turn in her direction and immediately they erupt in camaraderie.
Hugs and claps on the back, big smiles all around.
Audrey slips back inside, allowing them a moment to catch up.
After they’ve said their hellos Benny nods towards the house, “so uh, who’s that? She come with the place?”
“Moose? Nah. She’s running this thing.” Santi grins.
“Like the coordinator?”
“No, like the Mission Commander, Benny.” Frankie scoffs.
“No shit,” Benny perches his hands on his hips.
“Well. She technically outranks you,” Santi whacks Benny’s chest with the back of his hand. “Don’t overstep.”
And overstep is the first thing that Benny does.
“So you’re the Mission Commander?” Benny barks when she returns.
“Yes,” Audrey sets a fresh pitcher of water on the patio table.
“What’s your background?”
“I’ll have Davis email you my full roster,” she slips dark shades over her eyes against the sharp afternoon sun.
“Can’t tell me yourself?”
“We don’t have that much time.”
“What branch?”
“Never served under a branch.”
“So you never served.”
“I’ve been serving for almost 25 years, Miller.”
“Benny, did you not get—” Santi starts.
“I did. Didn’t read it.” Benny’s eyes are still locked on hers from behind mirrored aviators. “Alright,” he nods toward the lawn. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Frankie lets out a low whistle. “You’re about to be humbled, Benjamin.”
“Maybe,” he calls, not believing it for a second. “You’re tiny, though,” he says to Audrey, who slips off her shades and tosses them to Frankie.
Audrey’s no waif, but Benny is nine inches taller and has fifty pounds on her.
And Benny fights guys bigger than he is down at the gym all the time. And wins.
There’s no way in his mind that she can best him.
“Take those off, pretty boy,” she points at his shades.
“‘S fine.”
“Alrigh,” she toes at the dirt, “not on me if they break.”
“Alright, keep it clean you two. No punches, no kicks, nothing permanent,” Santi calls. “Aud, you got knives on you?”
She reaches into her boots and pulls two out to hand over.
“Benny?”
“Nah, I just got off a plane, man.”
“Alright, set it up.”
Benny jumps a few times before holding his fists up to his cheeks in a guard.
Audrey drops her right foot back and crouches.
And Santi gives the cue.
Immediately Benny closes the distance between the two of them, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. She’s quick to react, twisting to hook the inside of her elbow around the back of her knee, pulling tight such that the crease of her hip and the top of her thigh apply pressure on Benny’s neck, choking off his carotid artery.
He has no choice but to tap out, aviators hanging awkwardly off of the end of his nose.
“Okay,” he finally hands them off to Santi, raking his hair out of his eyes, “two out of three.”
Santi gives the signal again and Benny goes for her knees this time, immediately dropping her to the ground. They tussle for a moment before Audrey locks Benny in a triangle choke that he can’t find his way out of.
He taps out against her collarbone.
“Okay, three tries,” Benny grunts, blue shirt starting to darken with sweat.
“Benny, that’s—” Fish tries to intervene.
“It’s fine, Frankie,” Audrey’s chest is heaving as she holds up a hand in his direction. “Let him have it.”
They get back into position and when Santi gives the signal Benny is immediately behind her, trapping her neck in a chokehold between his arms, huge palm applying pressure to the back of her skull.
Frankie twitches but Santi holds out a hand.
Audrey jumps with her legs in the air, using their weight to swing Benny forward, turning as she lands and slipping her head from between his arms. Benny braces himself on his palms and immediately constricts, balling himself in an effort to cut off her ability to hook any of his limbs. In a flash she leans on his back, wrapping an arm over one shoulder and the other under the opposite armpit, prying one elbow away from his torso with a jab of her knee. Her leg hooks it and kicks back, taking Benny’s arm with it to its full span. She locks the top of her foot over her calf with his outstretched limb between her legs and spreads her knees, the pressure from her hips bending Benny’s arm the wrong way until he frantically slaps at a patch of dirt.
She instantly unfolds from him and rolls away into the grass.
“Alright,” he pants, holding out a fist, still face-down on his stomach. “You win.”
Audrey taps it with her own knuckles, fighting for breath. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Benny swallows hard through his panting, “Yeah I’m good.”
He sits up and stretches his arm for good measure.
“Can we be done here?” Frankie asks, unsure that his heart can handle seeing her in danger, and positive that his dick is going to act up seeing her get herself out of it. “It’s fuckin’ hot.”
They take turns with showers between the safehouse’s two bathrooms, until Frankie slips in with Audrey.
“Thoughts?” He asks quietly, wetting his hair under the spray.
“He made good choices out there,” she hands him the bottle of shampoo. “Smart in a fight.”
“Yeah, Benny fights down at the local gym. Kind of a small-town celebrity.” He sneaks a kiss at the nape of her neck as he scrubs at his scalp before rinsing. “I didn’t know you could do that, though.”
“Getting too old for much hand-to-hand these days,” she winks over her shoulder at him as he grabs the conditioner bottle from her, raking cream through her curls before slicking the excess through his own hair.
“He got you good back here,” Frankie delicately runs thick fingers over the bruises blossoming on the wings of her hip bones from when Benny took her knees out from under her.
Frankie wraps his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest a moment.
“Don’t like seeing you like that.”
“This is what we do, Frankie,” she soothes a palm over his forearm.
“Yeah.”
And he gently turns her head to slip his tongue into her mouth, enjoying this moment to themselves.
Frankie warmed by the water.
Audrey warmed by Frankie.
_____
They rejoin the boys in the kitchen where Santi has started on steaks and Benny has thrown in to whip up roasted vegetables.
Frankie cracks open beers and passes them around.
Afternoon flows into evening. Beer flows into liquor.
Camaraderie abounds.
Somewhere around 10pm, when Audrey excuses herself to the restroom, the whiskey in Benny’s veins springs a question loose.
“Alright, boys,” his voice is low. “Which one of you is hittin’ that because if you’re not, I’m gonna.”
“That’s pretty bold of you to assume she’d have you, Benny,” Pope reaches for his glass.
“It’s that white boy confidence,” Frankie quips from where he’s leaned back in his chair and Santi snorts, nearly spitting out his drink.
“I mean—” and Benny makes a show of running his hand through his hair. “But seriously, is she single?”
“She’s not gonna fuck you, Benny.” Santi grins.
“Alright, okay. I see you, Pope,” Benny smacks the back of his hand against Santi’s arm.
“I think I have to turn in, boys,” Audrey sighs when she returns, reaching for her glass without sitting and tossing back the last of her gin. “We’ll run it through top to bottom tomorrow and get you geared up,” she nods at Benny. “I have Davis’ guys refreshing the intel. Provided everything still checks out, we’ll execute on Thursday as originally planned.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Benny nods. Bourbon eyes starting to fall heavy on the sway of her hips.
She places her glass in the sink before moving to gently grab Frankie’s chin one hand, thumb and middle fingers fitting in the bare patches in his beard, and bends to give him a quick, chaste kiss.
He hooks an arm around her waist when she moves away, hauling her against him again, “I’ll be there in a sec,” he assures her before craning his head up for her lips again.
“No rush,” she soothes a hand over the span of his chest, “I might be back down for water, but you boys enjoy. G’night.”
When she’s upstairs and out of earshot, Benny erupts in hushed tones.
“CATFISH, YOU DOG.”
Frankie grins and blushes in that order.
“Damn,” Benny muses to himself as he takes another sip of whiskey. “I would not have guessed.”
“Ah c’mon you should know better, Benny.” Santi jabs a thumb in Frankie’s direction. “Big Dick Morales, remember?”
“BIG. DICK. MORALES.” And Benny holds his hand up for a high-five that Frankie rolls his eyes at, crossing his arms against his chest instead. “Damn.”
“Bastard finally found his glass slipper,” Santi quips.
“Jesus Christ, Pope,” an agitated Frankie rubs at his eyes. “Okay can we—” Frankie winds his hand forward through the air, wanting desperately to move away from this line of conversation.
Benny leans in across the table, finger pointed at the ceiling in reference to the woman upstairs, “the whole thing? Fuuuck.”
“Dude, you can hear the two of them like three rooms over,” Santi snarks.
“Oh well you gotta enlighten us, Catfish,” Benny spreads his arms and leans back in his chair.
“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Benjamin.” Frankie quips, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey.
“Ah, c’mon, Fish. You know me and this one are painfully single.” Benny smacks Pope on the arm again. Like literally, my balls ache.”
“That’s not a real thing,” Frankie shakes his head.
“It is!”
“Then get acquainted with your hand, Benny, I dunno what to tell you.”
“She is smokin’ hot, Catfish. Can I at least get some material here…”
Frankie shakes his head and starts, “I’d suggest you try www dot p-o-r…”
And there’s a snort from the stairwell
Audrey in black sleep shorts and a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, metal waterbottle in hand.
And she watches the tips of Benny’s ears start to burn.
Even Santiago sits up a bit straighter.
Frankie covers the smirk on his face with the heel of his palm.
Because he knows Audrey’s about to put Benny back in line for the second time today.
“Don’t let me stop you, boys,” she pads over to the sink on bare feet to fill her bottle.
Fraught silence hangs in the air until Benny pipes up.
“We uh, we were just asking Big Dick Morales over here to tell us his secret.” Bourbon has made Benny’s tongue loose. “Seems like you could have anyone and yet you chose this guy. Must know something we don’t.”
Audrey has a measured tolerance for many things.
Slandering her lover is not one of them.
“Benny,” she places her water bottle on the table. “Benjamin?” And she drapes her arm across Benny’s shoulders in a move that sends him rigid in his chair from the slouch he was in.
“You really want to know his secret?”
Benny swallows hard.
“He’s sweet. He’s smart. He’s funny. There’s no peacocking with him. It’s that easy, Benny.”
Benny snorts like he doesn't believe her.
Sober Ben Miller would never steal a friend’s girl. Drunk Ben Miller is a 6’3” blue-eyed, dirty dishwater blonde who’s never been told ‘no.’
And Audrey needs to disavow him of whatever little fantasy he has that distracts him from the task at hand and makes him think she’ll end up in his bed after the celebratory round of drinks when this is all through.
She cranes low to whisper near Benny’s ear, eyes glinting where they’re locked on Frankie’s mischievous, half-lidded ones. “Okay, here’s a secret, Benny. You ever found that spot that’s so deep it makes your lady see stars? Not the one up front, any idiot can find that. It’s way back in there, tucked away because it’s the most precious place you’ll ever go. That one spot that sets her whole body reeling for minutes afterward. You ever found that?”
And she waits until Benny answers, “no.”
“No? Santi, you ever done that?” She doesn’t move, and doesn’t break Frankie’s stare as she asks it.
“Once or twice,” it’s the truth, but Santiago smirks because he knows what she’s doing and agrees that it needs done. “It’s been years though.”
“Wild. Frankie hits that every. time.”
She claps him on the back, “you should try it, Benny. Good communication is key, but you’ll get there.”
And she hooks a finger into the cap of her water bottle and heads for the stairs.
Frankie throws them a salute with two fingers and follows right behind her.
“Was that too harsh?” She whispers when Frankie turns the lock on the bedroom door, brown eyes wide.
“Baby,” he grabs her around the waist, peppering her face with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his scruff. “That was so. fucking. sexy.” He trails his nose down her neck, licking and sucking at her skin.
“I only told the truth, Francisco,” she throws her arms around his neck.
And Frankie presses her to him, palm accidentally catching on her bruises and she winces.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes with lips on her neck.
“‘S okay,” a kiss, “get in bed, Frankie.”
Frankie hums, tongue licking behind her teeth.
And she crawls under the duvet, settling on her side as Frankie quietly strips down to his boxer briefs, placing his cap on the nightstand.
Frankie hums as his lips find her ear and his hand cups her breast, making her arch back against him with a moan.
“Shhh baby,” Frankie soothes. “Not sure how thin these walls are.”
“Pope doesn’t give a shit.”
“Benny might. Wouldn’t want to scare the kid.”
“That’s a grown man, Francisco,” she whispers as she twists in his hold, hand cupping his jaw. “And I don’t really care what Benny hears,” her fingers slip down his stomach, nails catching on the trail of hair leading under his waistband.
She smirks against his lips, “how did that conversation even start?”
“Mhmm,” Frankie squeezes her thigh and pulls her closer to him, nose skimming her cheek. “Benny wanted to know if you’re single.”
“Am I not?”
“No. You’re mine.”
And he moves before Audrey can process Frankie having laid their situation that bare in front of her. He rolls and pulls her with him to lie on his chest, hand cradling her skull as his lips find hers.
But he senses her hesitation.
“Do—do you want to fuck Benny?” His eyes are suddenly soft. Unsure of himself.
“No, Frankie, I don’t want to fuck Benny.” She adjusts to straddle his hips and sits up, raking her hair out of her eyes.
“Then wh—”
“Shhh, Frankie, please,” she soothes both hands over the slight swell of his belly. “Tonight, I’m yours,” she cranes down to kiss him, “and for the rest of this trip, I’m yours.”
But it all sounds so temporary.
And he wants so desperately to push back. To ask what happens in the after.
What happens when she goes home? Does she lay in bed alone, sleeping like a baby, or is her bed warmed by someone else?
Does she wish for his company when she goes to the movies, does she need someone to hold her shopping bags at the mall, who packs her groceries in her fridge, or does she do it all alone?
Does she make herself come and wish it was him?
Is he some secret she keeps stashed away?
Is there another?
Does she think of him at all?
“But—”
“Francisco. Leave it.” Her gaze is granite. “Please. Please let us just have this. Right here. Right now.”
And the thing in her eyes is back again. The thing he can’t quite name.
But there’s want there too.
And it’s only the whiskey with a side of beer that allows him to acquiesce.
“Okay,” he whispers, kissing her deeply before sitting up, palms skating up the panes of her back before flipping her over, parting her legs with his shoulders.
And he means okay out of desperation. The visceral need to prove his worth to a woman that could slip through his fingers and into another man’s bed on a whim.
There would be a taker downstairs.
And okay he’s going to do his best.
Okay, he’ll pour want—need—through his fingertips.
Okay.
He’ll crack granite.
And Frankie has all the right moves. The skillful flick of his tongue, the hollowing of his cheeks, and the pump of his fingers.
But Audrey’s brain won’t let her come.
“Baby,” he looks up from between her thighs, rubbing a palm down her stomach, “where are you?”
She takes a deep breath as he rakes his hair off of his forehead and runs his tongue over a bottom lip wet with her slick.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” She props herself up on her elbows and Frankie gently lets her legs fall open to climb up her body, the tip of his nose brushing hers.
“What’s wrong, gatita?” He whispers.
And that word feels a world away from where they are now.
“Think I’m just distracted, Frankie.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, that’s okay, baby,” he tucks a stray curl behind her ear before shifting around to lay next to her. He settles on his side, pulling the duvet up enough to take the tent in his boxer briefs out of the equation.
She stares into the middle distance while Frankie sits with her in the silence.
Palm still rubbing her stomach under her t-shirt.
Trying to soothe himself with her skin.
He’s losing her.
She settles down next to him, his hand settling on her ribcage, thumb rubbing soft circles into her skin.
Big green eyes settling on brown ones that are doing their best to hide panic.
When she reaches for his cheek his lids flutter closed, her cold hand a balm to his burn.
Audrey maps the contours of his face with reverent fingers. Palm curving over the roundness of his cheeks. Nails catching on his beard. Thumb tracing echoes of the joy that accumulates in the corners of tired eyes.
She runs her index finger lightly over the scar on the bridge of his nose.
She presses a kiss to his lips.
And he offers a soft smile when he opens his eyes again.
“Frankie,” she whispers, running her thumb feather-light over his bottom lip, “do you remember what I told you. That second night?”
“You told me a lot of things that second night,” he runs his fingertips down her spine.
“But what I always come back to is—”
“You’re beautiful.”
They both whisper it at the same time.
The corner of Frankie’s lips quirk in a gentle smile that dimples one cheek.
“You’re beautiful Frankie,” she kisses his chin. “I need you to know. You’re beautiful.”
And it soothes him in the moment. Enough that his eyes start to slip closed, pulled at first by the weight in his chest. The need to shut out this reality.
She turns in his arms to press her back to his chest and he pulls her in to him, tucking his nose against her neck.
Settling into each other like they do every night they share a borrowed bed.
And Frankie slips off, warm breath skating over her skin.
But Audrey’s heart still pounds in her ears.
_____
They shift around each other in the night.
Frankie’s legs tangling with hers.
Her fist clenching in the cotton of his shirt.
His palm cupping her warm breast. Staying there.
Audrey’s tongue slipping into his mouth.
Frankie pulling at her waist urging her on top of him.
“Baby, I need you—” he swallows hard. Unable, through the haze of sleep, to stave off the seep of apprehension into his viscera.
Desperation.
It bleeds into the haze of his dreams and back out into reality when her weight blankets him.
He skates his nose up the side of her neck, hot puffs of breath dampening her skin before he nips at her ear, “now. Right now baby.”
Take this feeling from me.
Let me prove that you’re mine.
She sits up from where she straddles his hips, pulling her t-shirt off as Frankie rights himself to lave his tongue over one tight nipple.
Audrey wraps her arms around his neck and his hands settle over her shoulder blades before he lays her backwards, kissing a path down her form as her fingers tangle in his hair.
He feasts until her body goes taught with pleasure, every throb of her walls around his fingers a beat of reassurance to his buzzing mind.
She keens his name when she breathes again.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he hurriedly tugs his boxer briefs down, pumping his thick, weeping cock.
He rubs the head of his cock through her folds before sinking in slowly, mouth dropping open a fraction with each inch that he gives her.
Audrey’s back arches off the bed, hand flying to cover her mouth.
Frankie weights her form with his, kissing at her knuckles, begging for the moans trapped behind them.
She allows it.
Allows Frankie’s tongue into the wet of her mouth, still tasting of her.
Allows him to sit up and bring both of her legs together, holding her ankles with one massive hand as she reaches back to grip the edge of the bed. He guides one to each shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of her thighs.
Knocking against something sacred.
And she’s trying.
Trying not to scream for him.
Not to let slip how she needs him.
Here. Like this.
All ways. Always.
But Frankie settles one palm low on her stomach and applies pressure with the heel of it. Feeling the bulge of his cock as he fucks into her.
A bit more pressure and the crown of his cock catches her g-spot. Over and over.
Sending sparks across her vision.
And Audrey loses it.
Composure.
Sanity.
The scream choked in the back of her throat.
The tenuous hold she had on the tide of pleasure that breaks over her now, causing frantic hands to reach for his wrist and nails to sink into his thigh.
Walls throbbing around his cock.
She’s probably woken the whole house.
Good.
Frankie’s jaw clenches through the pulsing of her cunt, thumb slipping through the slick he pulls from her core to wind against her clit.
He can’t keep the moans in now.
And so he gives them to her.
Leaning forward with one leg still over his shoulder to bite at her bottom lip.
“You’ve got one more in you,” he inhales through his teeth, “don’t you, baby? One more, come on baby.”
“Frankie,” she sobs, swallowing hard, “you know better,” she grips at the sweaty roots of his hair. “You know better than that, baby.”
And he growls from somewhere deep in his chest, sitting up enough to let her leg down.
But he lets it down across his body, slipping his cock from her heat and flipping her over onto her stomach with the momentum of it.
Audrey immediately braces herself on her forearms as Frankie thrusts back inside of her, the weight of his body falling against her not a moment after.
“I do know better,” he mashes his nose to her temple. “I know my baby likes it like this, doesn’t she?”
And it’s so sordid. The speed with which Frankie’s hips move now, skin slapping against hers. The way his tongue licks a stripe over her ear. The wet squelch of his cock through her slick.
The grunts he can’t help when he’s this close.
Audrey grins with teeth in her bottom lip from under a cascade of black curls.
“I can feel it, you know,” Frankie purrs, beard scraping against her cheek before his nose follows suit. “Feel when I’m in that spot.” He sucks on her neck before sliding the flat of his teeth against her skin.
She lets out a sultry hum.
“Like it was made for me. So fucking tight around my cock.”
And all she can do is moan in response because he’s slowed his pace. There’s the slightest circle to his hips with every thrust.
Grinding deep—hard—as if to prove his point.
He’s doing it spectacularly.
“Jesus, Frankie,” she moans, head dropping into the space between her forearms.
She’s warm gold in his hands, pliable and glistening. Bending with his attention. Made malleable with his want.
Something precious.
He props himself up with one arm and runs a reverent palm down her spine before fitting fingers to the curve of her waist and slipping under her hips.
She keens the moment he starts toying with her clit.
“Harder, Frankie,” she gasps with the breath that he hasn’t stolen from her ribcage.
He moans, a deep, cracked thing as he buries his face between her shoulder blades.
The snap of his hips jostles her against the mattress, slowly at first before Frankie’s rational brain shuts off.
He slips his fingers from her, reaching for her thigh and pulling it up towards her waist, fitting his knee behind it.
Hips grinding her clit against the bed.
His pace builds until his moans drown out her fractured sobs of pleasure, teeth scraping at her shoulder, her body blanketed by the breadth of his form.
She slips one hand down to work her clit. “Frankie, yes, yes, ye—”
“C’mon, baby. Yeahhh—”
“Oh fuck. Frankie. Frankie, Frankie, Fr—” Her body bows, back colliding with his chest the moment he moves to kiss her with a open, uncoordinated mouth as her walls clench hard around him.
“‘M gonna fucking come,” he hisses in her ear. “Gonna come. Gonna—fucking—cover you with it.”
And she keens between the aftershocks and Frankie’s promise, burying her face in the tangle of sheets.
“You—yeahh—you want that? Want my come? Fuck, baby—” he chokes out.
And it takes everything he has to pull out of the grip of her cunt at the last minute, wrapping his fist around his heavy length, pumping his cock twice before thick ropes of come streak across her spine.
Frankie roars, rushing to slam his cock back inside of her, still throbbing with his release, body twitching and trembling with pleasure before he stills.
Audrey’s soft moans call him back to her.
Fragile, wrecked things, tangled with heaving breath.
Frankie pulls out with a groan from them both as Audrey protests the loss of his heat at her back.
Until the hot wet of Frankie’s tongue slides over her skin.
He cleans her of his come with a greedy mouth, lips sucking up her spine as he does.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
Finally he returns his full weight to her, one hand splaying against her jaw and bringing her face back towards his.
He tastes of himself.
Bitter salt and insatiable lips.
Audrey’s face drops back into the sheets when he lets her go, arching up against him with the need to feel his solid weight.
His warmth.
Frankie gently gathers her hair in one hand, peppering her neck and back with kisses before he rests his chin into the curve of one shoulder.
She’s molten now.
“W’s that okay?” He whispers.
And she’s incapable of doing anything more than letting out a throaty, satisfied hum and pressing a kiss to the scruff of his cheek.
Frankie musters enough strength to pull her with him back up to the head of the bed, tucking her against his chest, palm soothing over her back as she nuzzles her nose against his neck.
Audrey’s hazy, murmured, “you’re beautiful,” is the last thing either of them hear before sleep takes them again.
_____
THURSDAY
“Boys, we have a slight wrinkle. They’ve got three more jeeps out here than they did yesterday,” Audrey reports as she stares through a pair of binoculars from where she’s parked a mile away from the compound.
“Benny and I could slash those tires before heading in,” Santiago’s voice crackles over comms.
“Too risky and you wouldn’t have time. They’re on the opposite side of the compound from your entry point.”
“Problem is, more trucks means more men,” Benny chimes in.
“It also means unfamiliar faces. Might actually make it easier to slip in,” Frankie muses.
“I have a distraction in my back pocket, but report back when you’re in position,” Audrey radios.
“I bet you do.”
Frankie growls, “she means an RPG, Benny.”
They suffer through fifteen minutes of silence before Santi reports back. “You were right, Fish.”
“Let us walk right in,” Benny murmurs.
“Consensus seems to be they’re prepping to move the hostage in about an hour. We’ll ingratiate ourselves until then.”
“This’ll be easier than we thought, boys.”
Frankie hisses, Audrey shushes, and Santi shoots him a pointed stare.
“Don’t fuckin’ say that Benjamin.” Fish growls.
“It’s not done yet,” Audrey murmurs.
Ten minutes later, Benny asks, “Moose, did those Jeeps look armored?”
“Unfortunately for you, no.”
“Okay, we have a slight hiccup,” Benny’s voice is low. “Their planned extraction route has changed. They’re heading in the opposite direction from the airstrip.”
“Great,” Frankie mutters.
“So, my way,” Audrey chimes in.
“The planned route runs right past you, Moose,” Santiago adds.
“We could still take the risk. Break at the last minute?” Benny suggests.
“Too dangerous if those Jeeps aren’t armored. Aud can start knocking them off but they’ve got more men than we accounted for and we dunno how many vehicles they’re going to mobilize,” Fish scratches at his chin and reaches for a map.
“Moose, that Rover have a turbo on it?”
“It’s got two, Benny. But we still can’t make that run to the safehouse. The jungle’s too dense and they’ll be too hot on our tail the minute they get wise. We have to get the hostage into the chopper and Frankie’s gotta make the final run.”
And it’s like she and Frankie have the same idea at the same time.
“So, this is risky—” Fish starts.
“The beach.” Audrey says.
“Think that would give you enough space?”
“If you can be there the minute we break through.”
“I can.”
Audrey’s quiet for a moment, running through contingencies. “Okay boys, we’re gonna do a live handoff.”
“You’re not gonna stop, Aud?” Santi asks, voice jumping half an octave.
“I don’t think we’ll have time. Think you and Benny can handle that switch?”
“You hop in the bird and I can hand her up,” Benny mumbles to Santi.
“Yeah,” Pope nods with bright eyes. “Yeah, that’ll work.”
“We’re good if you both are,” Benny reports.
“Frankie, you good?” Audrey asks.
“I’m good. Give me a five minute warning before hostage extraction, I’ll get this up and hold the area.”
“Okay. Santi and Benny, you come straight to me. No sense in taking men out if they’re headed this direction anyway, it’ll just tip them off. But that means you boys are gonna have to floor it. Give me as much lead time as you can.”
“Done.” Benny answers.
“I’ll drive. You get in the back with the girl,” Pope nods.
“Yeah.”
“Anyone have any questions?” Audrey asks.
She gets three ‘no’s.’
“Everyone clear on their role?”
She gets three ‘yes’s.’
“If anyone has any doubts, speak up now. If not, everyone confirm, individually, that this plan is a go.”
Without hesitation, everyone answers ‘confirmed.’
“Alright boys. Benny and Pope, are you both in position to start the clock?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’m officially marking five minutes until extraction. Frankie, get her up.”
“Roger.”
Ninety seconds later Frankie confirms he’s in the air and has cleared the airstrip.
“Benny and Pope, you’re cleared to move in accordance with the timeframe.”
They’re out and in the back of the Jeep in another seven minutes. An unknown man slips into the passenger seat thinking he’ll hitch a ride with the boys, and Benny covers the girl’s eyes and ears with two massive hands as Pope fires a silenced shot at the man’s temple before he floors the truck.
They catch up to Audrey in another two minutes.
“They’re sixty seconds behind us,” Benny blurts out as he opens the door, immediately grabbing the girl out of the backseat. “Sorry about this, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he picks her up and hurriedly transfers her into the Rover, sliding in behind her and slamming the door.
She’s quiet and pliant, but there’s panic in her eyes.
“Santi, there’s two minutes on that,” Audrey simultaneously tosses a live charge to Santi who slaps it onto the Jeep, right over the gas tank, before he slips into the passenger seat, slamming his door as Audrey hits the accelerator.
“Frankie, we’re on the move. ETA to the beach is seven minutes.” Santiago reports.
Audrey catches the little girl’s wide brown eyes in the mirror.
“Hey Diana,” she says with far more calm in her voice than she has any right to have. “I’m Moose. This is Pope,” she gestures to Santi who turns around and offers the girl a winning smile, “and that’s Ben next to you.”
“I know all of this is a lot. But we’re here to get you home.” Santi assures her.
“You ever been on a helicopter, Diana?” Audrey asks again and the boys pick up on where she’s going with it.
“One time,” the girl answers in a soft voice.
“That’s awesome!” Benny chimes in. “Did you like it?”
She nods.
“Well, there’s a helicopter coming around just for you that’s going to fly you to your parents.”
“Okay.”
“We’re gonna help get you inside, but we’re gonna need you to be really brave, okay?” Santi says. “The guy flying the helicopter is called Catfish, he’s my best friend. And I’m going to be with you the whole time.”
She nods, eyes still wide with fear.
“We’re gonna have to move pretty fast once we get down to the beach okay?” Benny says as they hear the charge Santi set go off in the background.
“We’re gonna crawl out through there,” Pope points at the sunroof.
And she starts shaking her head ‘no.’
“Hey, Diana?”
This from Audrey.
“I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
“Really?”
“I really do!”
She brightens a bit at that.
“I know you can do this. And these boys are going to keep you safe, that’s what they do best. Keep people safe. And then in less than an hour, you’ll be with your parents.” She meets the girl’s eyes in the mirror again. “I promise.”
“You pinky swear?”
Audrey laughs and reaches one gloved hand behind her.
“I pinky swear.”
And she feels a small tug at her hand.
Benny holds his pinky out and Diana wraps her small finger around it before doing the same with Santi.
“Frankie, beach in one,” Audrey reports.
“Roger,” he returns over coms and thirty seconds later they hear the thump of rotor blades. “They’re about two minutes behind you.”
“That’s your ride, Diana,” Santi flips the switch to open the sunroof as he crouches on the passenger seat.
“Diana?” Audrey asks.
“Yeah?”
“Keep your eyes shut real tight for me until Pope tells you to open them again, okay?”
And the little girl shuts her eyes and covers her ears as Audrey wrenches the wheel to the right and hits sand.
“Frankie, I’m going to aim for 60 mph, or I’ll run out of beach too quickly,” she reports.
“Roger.”
And Audrey lines the Rover up on firm sand as the thump of rotor blades grows louder. Wind and sand whip around the cabin as Santiago climbs out of the sunroof.
When Frankie gets the bird close enough, the downdraft from the rotor blades keeps sand in the cabin to a minimum, but creates a wake around the Rover.
Audrey’s only able to see about a hundred feet in front of her at any given time.
“Frankie, my vis is shit, callout if we’re gonna hit anything.”
“You’re clear for at least two miles if you hold it straight. Rock outcrop that would take some maneuvering just short of mile three.”
Two minutes. They have two minutes.
Santiago grips the roof rack in a crouch until Fish brings the helicopter skids within two feet of the truck.
He easily launches himself onto the skids, Frankie expertly accounting for the impact.
The bird doesn’t even rock.
Audrey chances a glance up at the chopper.
This is gonna work.
She gestures for Benny to get into position.
He urges Diana onto the front seat, and mercifully she doesn’t put up a fight.
Benny climbs onto the center console, but the moment he sticks his head out of the sunroof, bullets start flying.
Santiago instantly reacts, laying down suppressive fire as Benny hoists himself up, hooking one foot under a bar of the roof rack, knee on sunroof glass to straddle the open space before he reaches down into the cabin, hoisting Diana up off of her seat with a hand under each arm, his back to the gunfire, shielding her.
Immediately she clings to his neck.
It’s a small blessing when bullets pause.
They don’t want to hit the girl, and Audrey mutters “thank fuck,” under her breath.
Benny assesses their angle and makes eye contact with Santiago who lays his rifle down.
“Close the sunroof!” Benny yells over rotor blades and wind, and immediately Audrey reaches up to comply, giving Benny more space for solid footing.
It takes less than three seconds for the motor to slide glass closed, but Audrey swears it takes at least a year off of her life.
Benny’s dialed in and readjusts in an instant, standing to his full height.
Frankie and Audrey hold the vehicles dead even with each other, hurtling across the beach at highway speed.
Benny doesn’t hesitate, putting one foot on the skid of the chopper before gently loosening Diana’s hold on him. Santi puts a foot on the skid next to Benny’s and gets well within arms reach.
Benny still holds Diana close to his body, Pope instead reaching for her.
“On three!” Benny yells, blonde hair whipping around his face.
“ONE.”
Santiago places his hands under Benny’s, making sure he has a firm grip on the girl.
“TWO.”
Benny holds her out just a little farther.
They lock eyes and both nod.
“THREE.”
Benny’s hands drop away and Santiago pulls her in tight to his chest, falling backward into the helicopter as Benny takes his foot off the skid.
“FISH, WE’RE CLEAR GET OUTTA HERE,” Benny crouches down on the roof, screaming into comms as Audrey flips the switch to open the sunroof again.
Benny drops back into the Rover as Frankie pulls hard to the right, peeling out over the ocean and out of range of the bullets that have once again started flying.
Benny reaches through the cabin to grab his rifle off of the back seat and immediately starts firing out of the sunroof as Audrey slows down enough to turn around without rolling the Rover, bringing the truck to a stop.
There’s half a mile between them and the rocks.
Thirty seconds.
She scrambles into the back seat and reaches into the trunk before slowly poking her head up in front of Benny.
Audrey shuffles to the right for clearance, stands on the back seat, and slings a metal tube up over her shoulder.
Half a second later she launches off an RPG.
Anything that remains when the smoke clears is easy work.
Benny takes out three men and Audrey picks off the tires of the one Jeep that made it through.
Everything finally falls silent, save for the muted sounds of the ocean and the crackling of fire—dulled by their ringing ears.
Audrey reaches for the transmit button on her comms.
“Beach is clear.”
She glances back at where Benny is standing on the passenger seat behind her.
Audrey reaches out a hand.
And Benny shakes it with a laugh.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Benjamin.”
“Roger that, Moose. Roger. That.”
_____
Benny tries to hail Pope and Fish over comms periodically on their way back to their safehouse, but between the distance and the terrain, he doesn’t get anything back.
He tries calling and texting, but nothing gets through.
“They’ll have ditched the bird, and it’s probably four hours by car,” Audrey muses as she pulls into the safehouse drive.
“So maybe 6:30? 7?”
“Probably about that.”
“‘Kay.”
But the pauses between their words are thick with worry despite everything still going according to plan.
They both shower and change into comfortable clothes, Audrey calling in a status report and cleanup while Benny makes hotdogs for their late lunch.
They fall into conversation that’s far more comfortable now.
He pours Audrey a gin and soda around 5 pm when he can tell she’s still on edge.
He fixes one for himself too and suggests they sit on the front porch.
6:30 pm comes and goes and Audrey parks herself on the hood of the Rover to light up a smoke.
Benny sits down next to her, propping sandaled feet up on the bullbar.
“Want one?” She angles her packet of Parliaments in his direction.
“Nah,” he politely shakes his head. “Don’t smoke. But you’re good, I don’t mind.”
And she huffs a laugh because Benny’s the one who followed her over here.
He tells her fight night stories to pass the time as she chain smokes, hoping to distract her enough to soothe her buzzing nerves.
And his.
Audrey pulls a sweatshirt on to guard against the chill.
When 7:30 rolls around, Benny slips a cigarette out of the box and asks if she can give him a light.
Audrey smirks and acquiesces.
At 8:15pm, Audrey’s phone lights up, notifying her that something has tripped the perimeter alarm.
She quickly unlocks it and holds it up between her and Benny as she presses play on the video.
It’s a car they don’t expect, and in the fading light, it’s too dark to make out who’s inside.
Benny calmly slides off the hood and opens the Rover, tossing Audrey a rifle and grabbing a pistol for himself before quietly shutting the door. They move in silence to meet behind the truck, staring through the cabin out through the front windscreen, waiting for the car to appear.
It slips calmly into the drive as they both hold guns at the ready.
Santiago steps out first with a smile on his face. The moment Frankie appears from behind the driver’s seat, Audrey drops her rifle and takes off running.
“Audrey,” Frankie sighs as she collides with his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He wraps one arm around her back and cups the base of her skull, pressing her tight to him.
“The FUCK took you so long?” Benny booms as he lays his pistol on the hood.
“Stopped for coffee,” Santiago quips, giving Benny a hug and a pat on the back. “Nah, their security detail had car trouble, so we swapped them out so they could move. Frankie fixed this piece of shit up, but it took some time.”
“Gave Benny and I some time to bond,” Audrey moves to give Santi a quick hug now as Benny wraps Frankie in his arms and thumps him on the back.
“That was some real Fast and Furious shit, boys!” Benny whoops.
“Yeah it was,” Frankie returns to Audrey’s side, arm draped around her shoulders.
A smile of pride playing on his mouth.
“Y’all hungry? We’ve got hot dogs,” Benny throws a thumb over his shoulder at the house.
“Fucking starving.” Frankie laughs.
_____
Mirth and liquor flow freely for the rest of the night.
“Okay, so wait, wait. Y’all gave me shit, but Benny doesn’t have a callsign—” Audrey points at the man in question..
“Benny’s callsign is ‘Benny’,” Santi swallows a mouthful of whiskey.
“Sorry, what?”
“Well,” Frankie braces both hands on his thighs with a grin. “This one—this one ti—” but he can’t get it out without dissolving into a fit of laughter. “Benny is ‘Benny’—like Benadryl.”
“Yeah, walk me through that,” she rakes a hand through her curls.
“He got stung by a bee one day, took two Benadryl and slept through an entire training exercise.” Santi is grinning so hard that his face hurts.
“Benadryl can do that, yeah.”
“No. Babe,” Frankie laughs, resting a hand on her shoulder, “he slept through the training exercise WHILE he was out in the field.”
Benny is blushing now.
“He would come to enough to get into a helo, but then he’d fall asleep. Strapped into the seat,” Santiago gestures at his chest through howls of laughter.
“He got out of the bird, got into position on the ground with his rifle like he was about to line up a shot and fell the fuck asleep again,” Frankie wheezes, bracing his hand on Santi’s shoulder as he folds forward in his chair.
And she can’t help but laugh at the sight of Frankie having lost all composure.
“Fucking blanks flying everywhere,” Pope makes a cutting motion with his hand, “my man is OUT COLD.”
“There are pictures,” Frankie wipes at his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Benny grumbles, but there’s a smile hiding just behind his lips. “I assume you know about these two idiots.” This to Audrey.
“I do, yeah,” she smiles as she takes a sip of gin.
“You gotta tell me how you got Moose now.”
“Oh,” Santiago reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone, finding the picture before sliding it over to Benny. “She saved our asses by nailing that shot.”
“Oh, cool.”
Benny isn’t quite impressed.
“Through night vision from a mile away, Benny.” Frankie adds.
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline now and he holds Santiago’s phone closer to his face.
“Damn, Moose. That’s sick,” he slides the phone back to Santi, “thought it was because of your tattoo.”
“YOU’VE SEEN IT?” Santiago screams.
Benny holds his hands up in front of his chest, “she had a tank top on earlier, I didn’t know it was some kind of secret.”
“It’s not, Benny. Santi just thinks it is,” she winks as one hand idly winds in Frankie’s curls.
“Unbelievable,” Santiago shakes his head.
“I like you, Moose.” Benny holds his glass up in her direction.
She taps the side of hers to his, “I like you too, Benny.”
“You do excellent work,” he swallows a sip, “clean, precise, efficient. Think on your feet. Hell of a shot. You wind this one up,” he points to Santi, “and this one is in love with you,” he gestures towards Frankie.
And Audrey hides it in the moment, pulling her hand away from Frankie’s hair under the guise of reaching for her glass.
The truth is.
Benny’s just said the last thing she wants to hear.
Warning: Spoilers Ahead for Chapter 11 of The Margay
@kenobiwanx has once again brought my two idiots (affectionate) to life in an absolutely gorgeous piece of artwork from a scene in the final chapter of The Margay!
“Trevor?” Audrey starts. “Could you take a picture for us?”
“Of course, sweetheart, of course.”
“You can use that one, right there,” Frankie tips his chin towards his phone where it rests on top of his towel.
“Alright now, smile,” Trevor says, holding the phone up.
Frankie puts his arm around Audrey’s shoulders and she slips hers around his back.
“Oh come on now, you love each other?” Trevor teases.
And Audrey looks up at Frankie, wrapping both arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he holds her against his chest.
“There you go,” Trevor says.
Audrey presses a kiss to Frankie’s cheek right as he snaps the picture.
A big grin plastered to Frankie’s face.
Art after the jump!
Gio, I am once again in absolute awe of your talent. 💚 Those are my babes. 🥹 Happy and in love. I swear I can hear a little laugh at the back of Frankie's throat every time I look at this picture. I cannot thank you enough for sharing your gift with me and this community. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
The Margay (Frankie Morales/Sniper!OFC, POC OFC, no age gap) (COMPLETE)
Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI
Series Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert government agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. Two frayed things toe the line between the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And maybe, just maybe, they make it out alive. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.
You Brought Me Poison Flowers (Joel Miller/Herbalist!OFC, POC OFC, age-appropriate age gap) (on hiatus)
Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI
Series Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no real plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn. WIP - Undetermined amount of chapters.
Misc. Other Works
Talk Refined - Ezra x f!Reader
Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.
Woodsmoke - Frankie Morales x gn!Reader
Life has been running you ragged lately, but someone is waiting for you when you get home. For a moment, you don't have to be strong. Content warnings: Mentions of difficult family life, attending therapy, absent parents, wounded inner child, loneliness as a general theme.
Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here to Ohforficsake.
Shoot me a message or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for anything herein! Thanks so much for reading.
