Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
FRANKIE
By the time he got done with his last appointment of the day, which was a bar that didn’t open until nine at night, and then got all his paperwork and reports filed, it was past ten.
He paused by Lucas’s door and debated about knocking, but then he remembered that he was spending his evening with Gage, and he wasn’t about to interrupt that.
He had no idea if it was one of those blossoming love stories—two best friends who circled around each other for years until they finally gave in and admitted their feelings. Of course, it sounded like Lucas already had admitted his, and Gage rejected him, which was wild to Frankie.
If he’d had even a prayer of a chance with a man as funny and good-looking as Lucas was, he would have jumped at it. He would have done anything to protect it. But that ship had long since sailed.
Walking into his place, he found Fallon on the couch with his phone in his hand, glasses askew, fast asleep. Slipping off his shoes, he poked his head in Elodie’s bedroom to find her snoring gently with her fist pressed against her lips.
He hated that he was relieved because he liked being the one to put her to bed, but he was also exhausted, and he had a mountain of shit on his to-do list. He wanted just a moment to himself to exist without someone needing his time or attention.
Sneaking into the living room, he grabbed one of the knitted blankets that Fenton had given him for Christmas a few years back and draped it over his brother. Fallon immediately stirred, one eye open as he stared at Frankie.
“You don’t have to get up,” Frankie whispered.
Fallon groaned. “Mmph. You want…a report.”
He laughed. “Tomorrow. Everyone is obviously fine. Though I can drive you home if you don’t want to take an Uber and don’t want to stay.” Fallon had never learned to drive and was adamant he had no plans to.
“I’m warm,” Fallon said.
“Okay.”
Fallon bit his lip. “I’m fighting with Charlie.”
Frankie felt a little wave of white-hot frustration in his gut.
He fucking hated Charlie. He and Fallon had been together for about six months, but the guy was a complete fucking tool.
He treated Fallon like both a child and a piggy bank.
The guy worked four hours a week doing some sort of IT consulting, and three months in a row, Fallon had come to Frankie for financial help because Charlie had spent their entire rent budget on bullshit at the mall.
He’d also overheard Charlie telling someone on the phone once that dating Fallon was basically like dating a girl but without all the bullshit that girls brought into relationships, and that had sent him over the edge.
He didn’t tell his brother. The last thing he wanted to do was trigger his dysphoria, but he’d pushed Charlie against the wall and told him that if he really thought that, he was going to walk away.
Charlie had fumbled through a litany of excuses trying to explain that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. Frankie hadn’t believed him, but Fallon had been so fucking excited to have his first boyfriend that he couldn’t bring himself to ruin it.
Not yet.
But the fucker was on notice.
“What did he do this time?” Frankie asked.
Fallon turned on his side. “I don’t want to say. You’ll just start ranting again about how we should break up.”
“I have never ranted about that,” Frankie said sourly. “But if he’s making you feel bad about yourself…”
“I just…want to give it time,” Fallon said. “Just a little bit longer, okay? It’s easy for you to tell me to move on and that I’ll find someone else. But it feels fucking impossible to be gay and trans some days. The way guys look at me…” He trailed off, and Frankie’s heart twisted in his chest.
He couldn’t and wouldn’t ever know what that felt like. It wasn’t the same when guys dumped him or didn’t want to date him because he had kids.
Someday, the kids would be grown up, and Frankie would be by himself again. Fallon would always be trans. That was a fundamental part of his person, and most of the time, he was proud of it. He never shied away from telling people who he was.
But Frankie could also see the weight that he carried because of it.
“I don’t want you to make yourself miserable for the sake of being in a relationship.”
“He makes me feel good sometimes,” Fallon said, his voice small.
Frankie shifted over and took Fallon’s glasses off his face, setting them on the side table.
“He should make you feel good most of the time. But I’m not going to tell you what to do, and I will never judge you for your choices.
All that matters is that you never forget I’m here.
And between us, pride doesn’t exist, okay? ”
Fallon took a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay. Thank you.”
Standing up, Frankie leaned over and kissed Fallon on the temple. “Stay as long as you need.”
His brother said nothing. His eyes drifted closed, and after a little while, Frankie stepped back and made his way into his room. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to do anything about it.
Instead, he stripped down and hopped in the shower, pressing his hands to the wall as hot water cascaded down his back.
Fuck, it felt good. His muscles started to relax, and then so did his mind.
With his eyes closed, the images in his head drifted back to Lucas.
To the way he smiled. To the way he pulled Frankie over to a table and fed him and let Frankie ask him questions without reservation.
To the way he somehow seemed to soothe Frankie in ways no one ever had before. It was bizarre. He hardly knew him, but Christ, he wanted to. No, he wanted more than that. He was done trying to deny it.
He wanted Lucas’s competent, gorgeous hands all over him. He wanted Lucas’s smart mouth to kiss him. He wanted to tell Lucas what to do and watch as he fell apart under Frankie’s hands. Because the one thing Frankie was best at was spoiling the people he cared about.
Fuck, he would spoil Lucas. He would ruin him for all other men if he were given the chance to do it.
For now, he had his fantasy.
Touch me, he’d say. He gripped his dick as the Lucas in his mind reached for him.
Frankie knew how it would go—Lucas would graze the tips of his fingers over the length of his cock.
He’d feel how hard it was, feel what Lucas did to him.
He’d hold him by the throat at first, and his voice would sound like a growl when he said, “Kiss me.”
And Lucas would obey because he was a brat, but Frankie could also tell he liked to be bossed around. He liked to be given strict boundaries of control. He liked to know exactly what was expected of him.
For him, Frankie knew that was freedom.
Lucas would taste good. Like the cinnamon buns he’d left on the doorstep. Like summer citrus and autumn spices and the sharpness of winter snow.
His body would be pliant as Frankie fucked him with his fingers and then spread him wide and bounced him on his cock. Frankie would pin him to the wall with his legs in the air, and he would introduce Lucas to god. Over, and over, and over.
His entire body began to shake, his arm aching as he jerked himself raw. He managed to get his free hand over his mouth to catch his cry as his balls tightened, and his come splattered the wall as he let go.
“Fuck,” he gasped against his palm. His knees felt weak as the aftershocks rolled through him, and as he let the water wash away the evidence, shame crept back into his body.
God, what would Lucas say if he knew that Frankie had done this to the fantasy of him? Was he really that fucked-up?
He swallowed past his personal little wave of humiliation as he washed himself clean, then got out and threw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.
Creeping back to the living room, he noticed that the couch was empty, and he assumed Fallon was in the guest bathroom, so he took the chance to sneak into the kitchen for what Lucas had left him.
Most of the plate was still intact, sitting under the cling film.
Frankie peeled back the plastic and pulled one edge of the bun away. It was still covered in frosting and thick layers of cinnamon. He wished he’d been able to try it fresh from Lucas’s kitchen, but this was just as good.
The pastry melted on his tongue, the perfect blend of spiced and sweet. Just like Lucas, he thought with a near laugh. He reached for another bite when he heard a sudden noise coming from the hallway.
It was a thud. Then a sharp cry.
Lucas was the first thing on his mind as he darted to his front door, and he wasn’t disappointed when he saw the man standing there with Gage. But neither of them was hurt as far as he could tell. No, it was Fallon. He had pressed himself against the wall, and Charlie was lying at his feet.
The fucker was staring up at Gage, and there was an obvious red circle around his left eye that was getting darker by the second. Charlie looked pissed off enough to spit fire.
“What the fuck is going on?” Frankie demanded, looking from Charlie to his brother.
Lucas jolted. “Frankie?”
“Yeah, hey,” Frankie said. “I heard a shout.”
“That was him,” Gage said, pointing at Fallon. “This motherfucker hit him.”
Rage like Frankie had never known ripped up his spine. He was so consumed by it that he didn’t realize he was being held back by strong arms until he tried to swing. Then Gage was blocking his line of sight, his back to Frankie.
“Better not,” Lucas murmured in his ear. He had both arms wrapped around Frankie’s chest, and his presence alone was the only thing that was taming his fury. “You don’t need to go to jail tonight.”
“I’m calling the fucking cops!” Charlie spat.
“And I hope you do,” Gage said, folding his arms. He stepped aside so Frankie could see Charlie better. “We saw what you did to your boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah, a drunk guy and a blind guy. I’m sure the cops will believe you.”
Gage burst into laughter. “Oh, my dude, try us. I’m being so for real. I’m begging you to call.”