3. Chapter 3 #3
Was he blushing because he liked it? Or was he embarrassed? Or worse, was he ashamed of how their last encounter had gone and was too uncomfortable to say anything? Sam tapped the keg, grabbed a plastic cup from the side of the box, and poured himself a beer.
He took a long drink and sighed, letting the foam roll on his tongue, lips slipping into a smile. “Make me.”
Frankie stepped forward, unable to resist the bait.
He was hot-headed that way, and he briefly wondered if Frankie might actually hit him.
He flicked his gaze steadily over Frankie, challenging him.
It felt strangely good to fuck with him a bit.
Sam had spent 15 years curbing his tongue for the sake of their friendship.
In his eyes, their friendship was over, and if Frankie insisted on maintaining the way things used to be, then Sam would make it painfully clear that he wasn’t interested in friendship.
He wanted him.
His body.
His moans, his whimpers, his hot, breathy kisses.
Kisses that Frankie hadn’t returned, but he hadn’t run from, either. Sam had clung to that moment in the alleyway, playing it over and over in his mind. The hard feel of Frankie’s cock against his palm, and how it was now permanently imprinted on him somehow. How hard and big and fuck…
That had always been a boundary for him when they worked out together at the gym.
He never, ever went into the locker room or the showers at the same time as Frankie.
He kept far away from the temptation, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing him naked.
He had kept and held to that sacred line of friendship for all those years.
But that line was gone now.
It had been obliterated the moment Sam had kissed him.
“Is this how today’s gonna go?” Frankie demanded testily.
“You were the one wanting to make this friendship work,” Sam bit back.
“And you don’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
Frankie sneered, “Then why the fuck are you here?”
“Because I love your family. They're my family, too,” Sam retorted. “I came here to drink good beer, eat good food, look at baby pictures, and hang out. That’s it.”
“That’s not all,” Frankie growled.
“You’re right.” He sipped the white foamy head off the beer. “I also came here to flirt with you every chance I get. Because I’ve wanted to for years.”
Frankie blinked, anger deflating from his stiff stance. “Years?”
“Years.”
“Fuck, Sammy—why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because, unlike you, I knew that the second I told you, our friendship would be over. And I didn’t want to let you go.”
His former best friend paused, and his silence was filled with the expressive features on his handsome face. So open, so full of deep, overwhelming emotion at times. Sam could read him like the back of his hand after so many years together.
“Is that why you moved to LA?” Frankie finally asked, his voice low.
Sam gazed out over the parking lot, watching the world dance, laugh, and play. He thought about Papi. He thought about his life here, once upon a time. About how much he missed it, but couldn’t come back. He had moved on and knew that’s what Papi would’ve wanted for him.
“I…,” he bit back a sigh, not sure he could be that honest. “You want a beer?”
Frankie shifted nervously again and nodded. He liked this—he liked not just shit-talking or joking with him. He liked seeing him vulnerable and nervous. It lit something inside him that had been smoldering for years.
Sam sighed.
This was dangerous. This was playing with fire, knowing only he would get burnt.
Sam handed him the beer, watching Frankie slip his lips over the rim of the plastic cup and take a drink, his throat muscles working as he swallowed.
The light stubble of whiskers darkened over his neck and chin.
His full lips were supple and plump, wet from cold beer.
And Sam wanted to draw that lower lip into his mouth and suck.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” Sam drawled, surprising himself.
Frankie choked and coughed into his beer.
Sam always knew his filters with people were just slightly off.
He blamed it on his lack of caring about social norms and niceties because he had a crazy mother who said everything that raced through her delusional mind.
He also blamed it on his age. He was too old to care about what others thought about him.
It didn’t matter or affect his life in the slightest. Being this honest with Frankie felt surprisingly liberating, almost intoxicating.
Sam stepped forward, unfazed by Frankie’s entire body going ramrod straight, as he whispered directly into his ear. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined sucking your cock? Letting you stuff my mouth as you fucked my face…? I like it rough, and I have a feeling you do, too.”
Frankie swung his face around so quickly that their lips nearly brushed, and he jerked backward, beer sloshing out of his cup, drenching his hand. “Fuck.”
Sam gulped down a long swig, topped off his beer from the keg, and glanced once more at the very flustered Frankie. “If you’re brave enough to join me, I’ll be with Tony, looking at baby pictures.”